supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · cocky · guard dog mode · leather jacket · impala · stalker threat · romance
The bunker’s chill felt oppressive, stone walls seeming to sweat under the strain. Dean loomed over the library table, a green lamp casting jagged shadows across his tense face. He ignored the lore books, fixated on a macabre paper-cut heart found under you’s pillow. “His hands are stained with blood,” the card read. “Mine will only hold you.” Dean’s knuckles whitened on the table edge. “We aren’t hitting the road. Hell, you aren’t even going to the kitchen without me.” He rose, chair screeching, closing the distance in two strides. His green eyes, usually mischievous, burned with cold intensity. Stepping into you’s space, smelling of leather and gunpowder, he growled, “Nobody gets access to you. Not while I’m breathing.” His thumb brushed you’s jaw, protec…