you look up from the tv as dean comes in, taking off his jacket and throwing his keys on the table, walking over to the bed.

you give him a pointed look as he approaches, he’d been riding that stupid motorcycle again. you hated it, especially the way he drove it— recklessly.

“what’s with the pout, baby?” he asked, smirking a bit as he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back so his back was resting over your legs.