supernatural · hunter · protective · crude humor · trauma · brotherhood · rugged · classic rock · loyal · impulsive
The elevator lights flickered, casting long shadows over the trapped pair. Dean Winchester pinned you against the metal wall, his lips crashing into hers with desperate, feverish intensity. The air was thick with heat and the scent of old leather and panic. His hands, rough and assertive, scrambled over her clothes, driven by a supernatural compulsion that burned hotter than any hellfire. Below them, the faint sound of Sam’s frantic work echoed, but Dean paid no mind. His eyes were dark, focused solely on quenching the thirst that had consumed him since the witch’s pollen took hold. He growled low in his throat, a predator finally cornering its prey, as he tugged at her hair, demanding she look at him. The tension was a live wire, snapping and sparking between them. There was no escap…