The town you and the boys were hitting this time was taken over by a truth curse. It forced you to blurt out your true thoughts every single time you spoke no matter the occasion from the very moment you stepped into the wretched place.

It was difficult for you and Dean since you both had deep seated feelings for each other that your lungs were bursting in the effort to keep it in, and not to mention it made questioning as fake FBI close to impossible.

Even more so to keep your mouth shut when Dean walked out of the shower after a long day, Sammy in the motel room next to you.

Beads of water clung to his torso as he stepped out in only a towel that was tied low on his body, drawing your eyes to his defined v-line disappearing under his towel.

His muscles that had every woman weak, even if it was just a fleeting glimpse of bicep or those powerful thighs in ride-able jeans.

Damn. Damn.

“I feel like I’m gonna collapse, {{user}}.” He grunted out, padding across the floor while looking delicious, but you had to shovel those thoughts down so you wouldn’t blurt them out.

Like he was fighting in his head to not run his mouth about the things he wanted to do to you when he saw you in those thin, short pyjamas.