Dean One Shots

Plus-Sized and Sexualized (smut, plus size reader)

"Sammy, do you think we really upset her?"

"I don't know. I thought we were all kidding around. I don't care what she eats or how she looks."

"Me, either! She always looks beautiful to me." Dean insists, dipping a fry into his cheese sauce.

"You think Y/N is beautiful?" Sam asks in surprise. "Not a word you use very often."

"Well, yeah, but she is. She's smart too, smart like you, and so damn funny. Yesterday she made this joke about..." Dean trails off, realization dawning on him. "Oh, wow."

"What?" Sam asks and Dean smiles at him.

"I think I like Y/N. I think I like her alot."

~~~~~~~~~~

You toss and turn in bed all night, unable to get any rest. Sam and Dean's comments weighed on your mind. Sure, you were low-maintenance and casual around them, but what did they expect, for you to gank a werewolf in heels and a mini skirt?

You get up and pace around the room, playing their words over and over in your head. You almost jump out of your skin when your phone goes off. You pick it up and see a text from Dean.

We're going fed tomorrow, might wanna dress the part. Sam's salad make him sick, I'm gonna need you to be my partner. See ya at 8.

You scowl at the screen. Dean's comments had hurt you more than Sam's. Maybe because you were harboring a huge crush on the older Winchester, or maybe it was because he was completely oblivious to you.

You hunt your suitcase and start digging through it. You'd never had to go Fed with the Winchesters before. You find your black dress in the very bottom, and your matching pumps underneath. You scrounge around, hoping you hadn't forgot your makeup bag. You rarely used it, so you often left it at home. It's underneath the pumps, looking like it's seen better days.

You lay everything on the dresser top, along with your one and only push up bra. Tomorrow you've really got to look the part of a well-dressed, put-together FBI agent. You roll your eyes and climb back into bed, dreading the next day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shit. Shit. Shit. You eyed yourself in the mirror, scowling. You had put on a little weight since the last time you'd gone fed, and it certainly showed. Your dress clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination in the way of your curves. For a split second you wonder if you should tell Dean you couldn't go, but decided against it. He'd tease you relentlessly.

Your makeup was applied hastily, but the overall look was very pleasing. You had gone all out today: foundation, powder, lipstick, eyeliner, basically a full face. Your hair was neatly arranged, and you had managed a full five hours of sleep, almost twice as much as you usually got.

You knew you had a blazer jacket somewhere in the trunk of Dean's car. You threw your bathrobe over your dress and hurried to his and Sam's room. Sam answered after the first knock.

"Hey, Y/N, I'd invite you in, but-"

"I know, you're sick. Hate to hear it. Can you hand me Dean's keys? I need to get my blazer out of the car." He nods and starts to say something, but cups a hand over his mouth. You start to ask if he's okay, but that question is answered when he spews vomit all over the front of your robe.

"Jesus, Sam, that's disgusting!" You cry, tearing your robe off and throwing it on the ground. He mumbles an apology and drops the keys in your hand, promising to have your robe laundered before you get back.

You hurry to Dean's car and start digging through the trunk, hoping that the jacket wasn't too wrinkled or stained somehow. You're so busy with your search that you don't feel your dress riding up your thighs, and you certainly don't notice Dean coming up behind you.