Supernatural Lemons❤ {Completed}

Dean Winchester x Reader: Puppy (Supernatural)

"Deeeeaaaaaan," you groan, flopping unceremoniously onto the flimsy motel bed onto your stomach, giving your boyfriend of seven months and eight days--you were keeping track--your most pleading look.

    "Aw, c'mon, (Y/N)," Dean shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "It's the worst possible idea. I mean, a puppy? With the life we live?" You tilt your head and purse your lips, pouting. "Quit with the puppy-dog eyes. No pun intended."

    Sam chuckles from behind his laptop, shaking his head slightly at the four minute plead-and-deny conversation you two have been having, and it seems there's no end in sight. "I'm gonna go grab us some stuff from the gas station on the corner. You two have fun." He snaps his laptop shut and saunters past you and Dean to the door, pausing by his brother to say, "There's no way you're winning this one."

    Dean rolls his eyes and shoves his brother towards the doorway. Sam just laughs. "You better get me some pie," Dean mutters.

    Sam nods. "Pie for you, (favorite food) for (Y/N). I know the drill," and with that, he slips outside.

    You turn your attention back to Dean. "It'd make the drives a lot less boring," you point out. "And, I mean, you already sneak weapons galore into motels, so it's not like lodging would be a problem."

    Dean sighs and runs a hand over the stubble on his chin, giving you an exhausted look. "(Y/N), I swear if it gets one trace of anything gross on, in, or within a five foot radius of my baby..."

    You jump to your feet, grinning broadly. "Are you saying yes?" You exclaim giddily. Dean groans and murmurs something about this being 'the worst possible decision' and 'if only you weren't so darn cute' with a few more colorful words in between.

    "I'm saying," he finally speaks clearly enough for you to be sure what he's saying, "that this dog had better be the most well behaved dog I've ever seen when it's in my car." He tries, for a moment, to be stoic, but his features soon melt into a smile.

    "We're getting a puppy?" You squeal, jumping to your feet and running into his open arms, hugging him tightly and burying your head into his chest, taking in the familiar scent of faint cologne mixed with smoke and dirt that lingers on every item of clothing he has.

    "We're getting a puppy," he confirms, holding you tightly and lifting you a few inches off the ground, placing one hand at your waist and putting the other on the back of your head, pulling you as close as he can. "Leave it to my own girlfriend to turn against me and convince me to get some stupid lap dog. I hate you," he finishes with a chuckle, pulling back a bit to admire the excited grin he loved seeing on your face. The way it lights up your eyes and makes the corners of skin by them crinkle up in the most beautiful way; he loved seeing that smile.

    "I love you too," you say, flashing another bright smile and taking his hand, practically dragging him out of the motel room. With a flick of his wrist, Dean puts the keys into the ignition and the Impala roars to life.

    Sam catches a glimpse of Dean and you tearing down the street and smiles knowingly. "I told you so! Have fun adopting Fluffy!" He calls out, somewhat glad that you won the battle--how much harm could a puppy be, after all? Dean again rolls his eyes and revs the car, speeding off.

    At the animal shelter, you and Dean give the staff glimpses of fake IDs labelling you as Harvey McCarther and Miranda Thompson before going to see the cages full of eager dogs. Dean eyes some of the larger dogs, German Shepherds and the like, with an interested expression, but you've already knelt down at one cage where small balls of fluff are running over and pawing through the bars with excited yips. Dean can't help a quiet 'aw' from escaping is lips as he kneels beside you.

    "I heard that," you say smugly, but your voice sounds almost entranced as you beam down at all of the small dogs that have fallen in love with you already. One catches your eye; a white-blonde coated puppy with a pink collar and ears colored a chocolate-y brown that matches the color of her eyes. A staff member informs you that the puppies in that cage are hypoallergenic and don't shed--Dean lets out a breath you hadn't noticed that he had been holding--and tells you they're very trainable and loving.

    "Which one do you want, babe?" Dean inquires with his lips by your ear, hugging you from behind.

    You point to the pup who had stolen your heart earlier, and as if she knows she's been chosen, she barks happily and wags her tail eagerly. Everything is a blur as Dean fills out forms for the adoption agency and you try to contain the ecstatic dog on your lap as she leaps up to lick your face every few seconds. You soon find yourself in the Impala, Dean's lips pressed gently to yours, with the puppy scurrying from one lap to the other, whining eagerly. She finally interrupts your moment of romance by placing her front paws on the steering wheel and honking the horn.

    "Whoa, whoa, whoa, there, kid," Dean chuckles, dumping the squirming pile of fur onto your lap. "I like you and all, but you aren't quite qualified to drive my car yet."

    You smile over at your loving boyfriend. You could have sworn he nearly fainted when you jokingly asked, "How do you feel about cats?"