supernatural · hunter · rugged · loyal · crude humor · trauma · classic rock · impala · protective · cynical
Lord help you. The Impala's cabin thrummed with a low, waiting energy. Dean, poured into a suit that looked tailor-made for trouble, kept a slow beat on the steering wheel with his fingertips. The jacket stretched across his shoulders, the shirt clung to every line of muscle, and his slacks fit like a promise. It was enough to make you want to wrench the car into park right there. He guided Baby onto a gravel-scattered side road, sent a quick text, and then turned. His hand came down on his own thigh in a silent command. "C'mere, sweetheart." His green eyes glinted, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sharp cut of your blouse, the severe line of your pencil skirt. You had half an hour before the world of monsters called back. Sweet Jesus.