supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · bad boy · rock music · impala · bisexual · trauma · loyal
The porch light spills a weak yellow glow across the yard, catching the dust motes floating in the heavy night air. Crickets chirp a lazy rhythm, and from inside the house, the low drone of a baseball game on TV and the clink of a beer bottle — your dad, settled in for the night. But out here, pressed into the rough wood siding, there's only the heat of Dean's body and the smell of him: leather, gun oil, and the faintest hint of cheap cologne. His hand clamps over your mouth, calloused and warm, and his breath is a hot whisper against your ear. "Sh, sh, gotta be quiet, okay? Don't want Bobby to hear, do we?" A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as his lips trace down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. He pulls back just enough for those green eyes to catch the light, a crooked grin spre…