icky vicky

The Microchip Has Been Compromised (Dean x Reader)

Originally posted by life-of-a-plaidchester

#9 Dean “You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!”

Dean dragged himself to your room, looking exhausted.

“Man, I am beat.” He made his way to the bed but you quickly sprang up and held out your arms.

“Woah there icky Vicky where do you think you’re going?”

“To bed?” he said, gesturing behind you.

“Oh, no,” you replied shaking your head. “You’ve been throwing up all day you’re not giving whatever stomach bug you have to me.”

“I’m fine now!” he exclaimed. You looked at him unconvinced. “I’m getting better! I only had to run to the bathroom 2 times for the last 4 hours.”

“I know I heard you both times and the second time was 30 seconds ago.”

“(y/n)….” He whined. “C’mon this is the best bed in the house.”

“I know which is why I’m not giving it up,” you said crossing your arms. “The sofa is open and so is the bed in the panic room. You’re not allowed in this room until you can manage to keep your stomach contents in your stomach.”

“You’re banishing me? Really?” he said in disbelief.

“Yes and you can blame whoever or whatever made you sick.”

“You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!” he exclaimed.

“I’m not backing down from this one,” you replied. You handed him his pillow and a blanket and gestured toward the door. He hung his head and went to the door. He looked over his shoulder at you as pathetically as he could. You shook your head and he kept going. Once out of the room he peeked back in, pouting at you. “No, Dean.” He sighed and threw his back back, stomping away toward the couch.

Dean tossed and turned on the couch. It was too small for him to be comfortable. He had to scrunch up his legs to keep them off the floor and he couldn’t lay on his back because his shoulders were too broad and his right side would hang off the edge. He huffed and punched his pillow into a better position and closed his eyes now that he was semi-comfortable.

In the kitchen just a few feet away, the sink was dripping. Each drop echoed through the house, the noise drilling into his head. He flipped over but now he was facing the wall and the clock above ticked louder than the dripping faucet. He swore he could hear every cog turning in the damned thing. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on sleeping.

Drip. Drip.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Drip. Drip.

Tick. Tock. Ti-

“Aggh!”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his things and crept up the stairs. He slipped down the hall past Sam and Bobby’s room, who were both snoring comfortably, to the room he shared with you. There was a still a light on inside.

He eased the door open slightly. Inside he found you asleep, a lore book still open at your side with the bedside lamp still on. He crept over and removed the book and shut off the light before getting into the bed beside you. He tried his best not to wake you but you still sensed the shift change next to you.

“Dean?” you whispered, barely awake. You reached out and felt his bare skin under your fingers.

“Yeah, sweetheart it’s just me,” he answered. You muttered an acknowledgement and moved over to rest your head on his chest. “Don’t stay up so late next time, I miss you,” you mumbled. You leaned up and lazily kissed his lips before settling back on his chest. You were asleep again within moments. Dean exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and relaxed into the bed. He closed his eyes, relishing in the silence and comfortable size of the bed and drifted off to sleep.

You awoke with a start. Your head was swimming and your stomach roughly churned.

“Oh no.” Your hand flew to your mouth and you ran to the nearest bathroom. You barely made it in time. You were still on your knees heaving and coughing into the toilet when you felt two hands pull your hair back. You turned to see Dean smiling nervously at you.

“Rough morning, knockout?” You were about to say something when you became sick again. Dean sat beside you and held your hair back with one hand and rubbed your back with the another. When you were able to catch your breath you turned to Dean.

“Once I can stand again, you better start running.”

Please Draw This

Imagine Victoria Chase in her bedroom late at night past curfew, sitting under her duvet while wearing prescription hipster glasses and old-fashioned metal retainers. She’s clutching her glow-in-the-dark Blueberry action figure that lightly emits a glow on her face as she smiles and breathes heavily and nerdily after a long day of popularity and inner geek-suppression.

@asdfjiggle

Update:

Sarah’s Drawing

Muii’s Drawing

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CAN HE PLEASE DO THIS FOR ALL THE CHIP SKYLARK SONGS.