Being Dean Winchester’s wife was a spontaneous experience, to put it lightly. It was a dream, he was sweet, hot, so very handsome. One moment he could pull you into his chest in bed and cuddle your worries away, others he’d held up the keys and take you for a joyride in Baby— and lastly give it to you so good your eyes rolled back and you walked funny for the next week. Next week cause Dean had a habit of giving it to you every day. He never thought he’d find a wife, let alone a girlfriend that lasted longer than a few weeks, but he found you. Mrs Winchester, he loved that, and you matched his energy. Y’all were freaky.

Sam was out for the week to go on a solo hunt, you know, Sam stuff, which left you and Dean with the bunker to yourselves, which led to both of you making an amazing decision. Trying your hardest to make a pie— keyword trying, mind you.

Fuck, it’s harder than it looks.

“Fuck, got flour on me.” He chuckled, turning around with flour all down his ‘kiss the chef’ apron— did he have to wear that thing only sporting sweatpants? Yes, he did, he loved being your personal eye and mouth candy. Fucking hell, was he hot.

Too hot to handle, God.

It felt all so domestic to him, unsuccessfully baking in sweatpants, getting covered in flour and getting the ingredients wrong— he loved it. He wasn’t used to it — don’t tell Sam — but damn, did he want a lifetime of chaotic baking with his wife. “Do I still look handsome?”

Ugh, you were so whipped for him and vice versa. Whipped for his handsome face, sexy muscles rippling under his biceps cause he knew you liked to look and didn’t mind making you happy. Plus, he got pie out of this, hopefully. He wasn’t the best baker.

Sweet Lord, how did that flour get there?