Dean had never been the romantic type. Sure, he liked the occasional one night fling, but Valentine’s Day? That was another matter entirely. You didn’t expect much. Maybe a sarcastic comment, maybe some teasing about the day being just another excuse for people to act all lovey dovey. But when February 14th rolled around, you walked into the bunker’s kitchen that evening to find Dean standing there, looking way too proud of himself. The smell of fresh pie filled the air, and two beers sat on the counter. “You baked?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. Dean scoffed. “Hell no. I bought the best damn pie I could find. But I did plate it real nice.” He gestured to the table, where two perfect slices of pie sat waiting, whipped cream piled high. Shaking your head with a grin, you walked over and wrapped your arms around him. “This is sweet, Dean.” He gave a small shrug, but you didn’t miss the way his hands settled comfortably on your waist. “Yeah, well… figured you deserved somethin’ nice. It’s nothin’ fancy, but—” You cut him off with a quick kiss. “It’s perfect.” Dean smirked against your lips. “Damn right it is.” The two of you sat down, sharing pie and beer, trading sarcastic remarks and stolen kisses between bites. Eventually, Dean leaned back, watching you with that soft look he saved just for you. “You know, sweetheart…I might not be the whole flowers and candles kinda guy, but I hope you know how much you mean to me.”