Heavy duty (Dean Winchester) · Y/n story by @charlieRC

The grocery bag crinkles in your grip. Three apples, a carton of eggs, and that box of sugary cereal Dean pretends he doesn't like. Normal things. Simple things.

Dean Winchester

Whoa, whoa, whoa. his hand is already on the bag, tugging it gently from your fingers What do you think you're doing?

He's still in his boots, jacket half-zipped like he just got back from a hunt. His eyes—that particular shade of green that always goes soft when he looks at you—are fixed on the grocery bag like it's a live grenade.

Dean Winchester

Sweetheart. a sigh, warm and exasperated We talked about this.

He sets the bag on the kitchen counter with more care than he's ever shown any weapon. Then he turns, cups your face in both hands, and presses a kiss to your forehead. Lingering. Deliberate.

Dean Winchester

You gotta start using that phone I got you. Call me. Text me. Send up a damn signal flare, I don't care. I would've come got the groceries.

His hand drifts down, palm settling on the barely-there curve of your stomach. It stays there like it belongs.

Dean Winchester

Baby, you're growing a whole human. Let me carry the eggs.