SPN Oneshots

SPN F.A.L (#2.)

SPN F.A.L Prompt #2.
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This has Fluff, Angst, and hints of Lime. ((F.A.L.))

"Houston. We have a problem."
"Would shooting you solve this problem?"

"Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?"
"You'll get my foot up your ass. Is that a bonus?"

"We can't be friends anymore. I've always seen you as something else."
"An issue? 'Cause if that's true, me too bud. Me too."

((Based around a GenderNeutral ||Hunter|| reader. Gabriel.))
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It was your turn for doing any and all laundry that was currently residing in a small, mildewy pile hidden within the Bunker's walls.

Unfortunately enough for you, that meant doing laundry for more than one person, like yourself.

To make it worse, rather than easier, it was three of the worst smelling men you've ever laid eyes on.

You found it hilarious, the fact that they were the most popular amongst the ladies, and still managed to fail miserably at any and all self care.

"What a bunch of sleaze-balls... Are you fucking yankin' me right now? —Oh, that's just disgusting!"

You muttered, lowly. Picking up a pair of pants completely covered, head to toe, in last weeks hunt from the bathroom. It was absolutely dripping with Vampire blood, and the straying bits of what you could only assume was brain matter.

However that was possible.

"Goddamned slobs. Can't pick up after themselves. That's not even natural!"

Looking back to the bathroom's entrance, you saw a figure quickly dashing away, careful to not be seen and roped into any duties.

Dropping the large, white laundry basket you had brought with you; you slid into the main hallway with your hands on your hips and a distasteful grimace upon your face.

"Hey! Don't think I didn't see you, asswipe. Get your fuckin' ass back over here. Pronto!"

The figure stopped in place before taking another step, and slowly turned around like a deer caught in headlights.

"Heyyy, Sugarface..."

Gabriel's eyebrows were turnt upwards, and a shameful smile across his face.

"I know this is your laundry, you're the only one that was covered head to toe in this shit. The machine is right there, man."

You shuffled backwards into the bathrooms opening again and pointed to the washing machine, your heel tapping against the blood-slickened floor.

"Shucks. What a shame. Gotta tell you though, I'm actually VERY busy, so don't mind me! I'll just be on my way."

He quickly turned back around, attempting to squeeze his way out of any accountability that crossed his way, instead putting you in charge.

"Gabriel. If I have to bring the force of Thor's Hammer down on you, I will. We have the damned thing in the artillery room for your Dad's sake."

He turned his head, rather than his full body, to look at you leaned against the door.

A pained look etched his face as he remembered the last time someone brought out that weapon for him to get a face full taste of steel.

He groaned heavily, shoulders shrugging downwards in defeat.

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"I'll happily do Sam and Dean's laundry, not yours. Yours is a whole different excursion that I'd rather not even look at."