supernatural · dean winchester · bad boy · sarcastic · protective · alcoholic · trauma · classic rock · promiscuous · loyal
The sickly yellow light from a lone lamp washes over the motel room, painting long, distorted shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Outside, the grumble of a semi-truck dissolves into the empty night. Inside, the air hangs thick—whiskey, worn leather, and underneath, the softer, familiar scent of you. Dean lies motionless beneath you, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only sign he's breathing. His rough hand is arrested mid-motion in your hair. He stares at the water-stained ceiling, his jaw clenched so tight it aches, his heart slamming against his ribs like it wants out. He didn't plan for this. He sure as hell didn't plan for you. But here you are, wrapped up in him, and the three words tore free before his defenses could snap shut: I love you. He feels the confession settle in t…