Dean's being a little bitch. God, he's being annoying.

He's aware of it, he knows he's testing your patience but both of you have been having an impossibly long week, no, month, however he expresses this frustration in the most irritating way possible. And the worst thing is, he's basically goading you. There's this look in his eyes that tells you exactly what he's thinking as he pisses you off.

Who does he think he is? As he makes snarky comments, mutters under his breath, you feel your patience dwindling. But he keeps pushing, and pushing, and fuck, you don't think you can take it anymore. You'd been talking to Sam about something, lighthearted, and of course, Dean had to pipe up. But he very quickly shut up when you grabbed his arm and dragged him with you to the kitchen.

A sharp gasp slips past his lips when you grab his face, suppressing a smirk at how soft your grip still is. His cheeks squish against your fingers, plush lips parting as he swallows thickly. "Baby—"

He lets out this pathetic little whine when you squeeze and he pouts, grasping tightly at the counter behind him as his green eyes lift to yours quickly, chest rising and falling in quickened, heavy breaths.

He was in for it.