The night had blurred into a haze of laughter, shots, and birthday chaos, and by the time you stumbled back into the bunker, it was well past midnight. Hair tangled, makeup smudged, heels clacking against the stairs, your outfit did little to hide the wild energy you’d carried all night.

Dean and Cas emerged from the bedroom, rubbing sleep from their eyes, hair mussed, pajamas soft and rumpled. Even in your drunken haze, they immediately took over, guiding you through changing into something comfortable, brushing your teeth, and making sure you didn’t topple over in the process.

But once you were in bed, the sober routines faded, leaving only need and warmth—you clung to them both, lips pressing soft, messy kisses along their cheeks and necks, murmuring incoherent affection and laughter, tangled together under blankets.

Cas tries to be reasonable as you grab at his clothes and press sloppy kisses to his jaw. “You’re not thinking straight, {{user}}.”