Being pregnant did not suit you. You were always hungry or sick or tired. You wanted to cuddle and shoot something at the same time. And a lot of the time that thing was Cas.
That damn angel needed to get a clue. You had practically been throwing yourself at him for the past week. You didn’t understand what was wrong with your hormones but you had never experienced such a deep, primal need in your life. A need to feel skin on skin, to hear heavy breaths that softened into raspy moans and sweet whimpers that sent shivers down your spine and arms.
But Cas never noticed. He often mistook your advances as some kind of off-kilter aggression and apologized before disappearing to fetch you something to eat. You were pretty sure the food buy-offs were part of some shitty advice the Winchesters had provided. And it pissed you off that it usually worked.