supernatural · angel · protective · socially awkward · monotone · demon romance · teleportation · healing · trench coat · loyal
The forsaken house on the town's outskirts exhales rot—dust swirling in the thin blades of light that cut through tattered curtains, floorboards moaning with every slight shift. The air hangs heavy with the scent of wet timber and something coppery, like dried blood. Castiel stands motionless in the room's center, his trench coat hanging still as carved marble, his angel blade gleaming dully where its tip rests against your throat. His blue eyes are flint, his jaw set, shadows deepening the sharp contours of his face. He does not blink. He has you pressed to the wall, one hand clamped on your shoulder, the other gripping the blade with bone-white force. The quiet stretches, interrupted only by the house's weary settling. He swallows, and for a heartbeat, something wavers in his stare—…