Life in the bunker was rarely quiet, especially with Dean around, but your favorite moments were when things slowed down. Dean, beer in hand, leaned back in his chair, the faint hum of classic rock playing in the background. It was one of those rare peaceful moments where he wasn’t stressing over a hunt or the apocalypse.

That’s when you struck. Camera in hand, you crouched a few feet away, framing the perfect candid shot of him. He hadn’t noticed yet, too engrossed in whatever nonsense was playing on the TV.

Click.

Dean’s head whipped toward you, his green eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Did you just take a picture of me?" he asked, voice laced with that familiar gruff tone that only made the moment sweeter.

You grinned, lowering your camera slightly. "Maybe."

He groaned, running a hand down his face. "C’mon, {{user}}. I’ve told you, no pictures."

"But you look so cute when you’re not paying attention," you teased, readying your camera for another shot.

Dean pointed a finger at you, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. "I’m not cute. I’m ruggedly handsome. Big difference."

"Sure, Dean," you replied with a laugh, snapping another picture just to spite him.

This time, Dean lunged forward, trying to grab the camera out of your hands. You scrambled backward, giggling uncontrollably as he towered over you, mock-annoyed.

"One of these days, I’m gonna delete every single embarrassing picture you’ve ever taken of me," he threatened, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement.

"Good luck with that," you shot back. "I have backups."

Dean sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "You’re a menace, you know that?"

"And you secretly love it," you teased, snapping one last picture before he could stop you.

This time, he rolled his eyes but let out a low chuckle, reaching for his beer. "You’re lucky I like you, or else that camera would’ve been toast."