Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 506
A/N: This was written in the early hours of the morning with no sleep during the night. It was me trying to prove to @mysupernaturalfics I can word in english when tired af! So, so sorry to anyone deciding to read this one.
You looked around the the laundry room letting out a loud sigh. Just how many black t-shirts and flannel button ups could two guys own? Not to mention just how were they wearing any socks and underwear when you clearly had a month worth for each of your Bunker-mates stabled neatly on top of the dryer.
Where they hell had they kept all of this when they had lived on the road for so many years? Or was it really possible for them to have collected all of this in 3 years? But seriously how? You never saw the boys shop.
You promptly rolled your eyes in annoyance as you emptied another load of flannel and jeans from the washer into the dryer.. Yet another pile of clean socks had landed on the floor between your feet and you let out a loud growl before yelling as loud as you could.
“Seriously guys! You need to start washing your own damn clothes!”
“Hey,” Sam’s voice sounded from the library, “we wash your clothes all the time.”
“No, you don’t,” you mumbled, knowing that Dean had once in awhile, but you were sure that Sam had no idea how to even work the machines.
You grabbed one of Dean’s flannel shirts, effectively making it ricochet and hit you square in the face, one of the sleeve buttons hitting you in the eyes. It didn’t hurt half as bad as your loud whining noise suggested, but you were feeling sorry for yourself as it was.
Dean appeared in the door as on cue, carefully peeking in to check on you. “You okay in here, sweetheart?”
“No, your flannel attacked me,” you pouted, glaring at your boyfriend in the door, who was doing his very best not to laugh.
“My shirt did what now?” he inquired with a smirk, making you whine again.
“It’s not funny, Dean. I am probably getting a black eye now,” you sulked as Dean walked towards you.
“How is it you can gank 4 werewolves solo but my shirts defeats you?” Dean smirked, making you even more furious. You all but stomped your foot in the ground but before you had time to come up with a snarky comeback the shirt was being pulled from your hands.
“Hey,” you protested when Dean tossed it back in the basket with the still dirty clothes, “I already washed that.”
“Yeah? Being washed twice will be the punishment for hitting my girl in the face,” Dean smiled playfully at you making you giggle when he started peppering kisses all over your face.
You squealed, halfheartedly hitting his chest as he swept you off your feet, bridal style into his arms, “I am not done, Dean.”
“We are taking a break. I got some sheets we can dirty up and I promise you I’ll help you clean them later,” Dean winked at you, making you hide your face against his neck, giggling as Sam’s voice sounded from the library yet again.
“Do not mix that with my clothes!”