Dean x Reader One Shots

Dog Dean Days (Dean gets turned into a dog... oh boy)

Summary: Imagine having to deal with a puppy!Dean after a witch jinxed him.

Word Count: 2,292

You'd hated dogs since you realized you were allergic to them at the ripe age of 12, and since then have avoided them like the plague. It wasn't even until a hunt brought you and your mom to an animal shelter that you actually had full-on contact with the beasts, but it didn't take long before your eyes were itchy and swollen, before your throat got scratchy and your skin patchy.

So naturally when Dean was turned into a dog–of all things–you weren't certain whether the witch was trying to get back at him or you. Sure, Dean wasn't entirely a fan of the four-legged-mongrels but he didn't have to deal with them; he didn't have to feed the damned things, he didn't have to damn-near overdose on antihistamines to keep from dying of allergies. He just had to... be. Wag his tail and shit on things and let his tongue hang out of his mouth while slobber went everywhere.

Slobber that you had to clean up, thanks to the most recent Winchester fight that left the pair separated and stubborn as ever. You only stuck with Dean because he was the one with the car, the one that picked you up, and you didn't realize the brothers were in a tizzy until Dean showed up with coffee and an empty passenger seat.

Those two fought like old folks in a home.

You swore when Dean scratched at the motel door and whined, a set of actions that prompted you to groan, roll your eyes, drop the book of spells on the table, stand, and walk over to him. In that order. But with more irritation than anything, and even when he turned and looked at you with huge, golden eyes that contrasted with his brown fur, you didn't feel a single ounce of love toward the man.

Toward the dog.

Hell if you knew, people weren't supposed to be dogs. Ever. That's why they were people.

"I swear to any mythological god, Dean," you slipped your feet into a pair of his boots mostly because of ease-of-access, then smirked when you heard him growl, "If you shit on the pavement and make me clean it up I'm going to put you in the Impala."

He whined when you said that but his butt was still shaking from side to side while his tail wagged, his body obviously too small in comparison to the long (and fat) tail to hold still. Clearly unwilling to let the smell of dog linger in his precious Impala, Dean took a few steps back while keeping his nose pointed at the door.

You threw a jacket over your bare shoulders, partially because you figured it was too cold outside for a mere tank top, partially because you weren't in the mood to deal with the guys you heard outside (loud laughter and obvious drunkenness wasn't a girl's best friend, especially when she was wearing a low-cut tank top), then you opened the door and grumbled when Dean darted outside.

He was quick to hop into the flowerbed that sat beneath the glowing motel sign and squat, so you gave him the privacy he might have appreciated by turning back toward the motel room door. Sure enough you saw the group of guys sitting in lawn chairs outside their room with a cloud of smoke hovering around them; as soon as you made the mistake of making eye contact you heard a whistle, a less-than-subtle summoning, and a "Hey, Sugar, how you doin'?"

You ignored them, pulled out your phone instead while you waited for Dean to prance his way back over to you in his puppy form, but the longer you ignored, the more they jeered.

"Why don't you come over here and tell me about yourself?"

"What's a pretty lady like you doing alone?"

"Why don't you smile, Pumpkin, you probably look so sexy with a smile on those beautiful lips."

Ignore them. That was always the best route because you knew that as soon as you entertained them they wouldn't let it go; yet the longer you were quiet, the more you silently willed Dean to hurry the hell up, the louder they got.