supernatural · dean winchester · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · impala · trauma · loyal · hunter · classic rock
The Impala idled on a deserted backroad, stars piercing the night sky. Led Zeppelin’s low hum vibrated through the chassis as Dean’s arm draped casually over you’s shoulders. His thumb traced lazy circles on her bare arm, igniting goosebumps. “Bobby’d have my head if he saw this,” Dean murmured against her hair, though his smirk betrayed his indifference. “Worth it?” she whispered, leaning in. He kissed her—slow, then deep, messy laughter mingling with their breath. Then, the phone buzzed. Dean groaned, pulling it from his jacket. Sam’s name flashed. “Yeah, Sammy?” he drawled, one hand still tracing her skin. “Where are you? You said just a beer,” Sam’s voice clipped through. Dean glanced at you, lips twitching. “Just takin’ a drive.” “And where’s y…