Hermione gave a muffled groan, knowing that somewhere on her bed, someone had just texted her at an ungodly hour of the night. Sam had gotten her the phone a month ago, for Christmas, and so far she had his, Dean's, Castiel's, Luna's and Harry's numbers, which were just about all she needed, in her opinion. She felt around, murmuring an apology to Crookshanks when she disturbed him, before she found the little device, shutting her eyes before she flicked it on, blinking cautiously to look at the text message.
Do you want me to stop?
Hermione huffed, getting out of bed to shuffle down the hall and into Dean's room, glaring at him as he blinked at her hair, "We live in the same bloody house. What do I want you to stop doing? Texting me at – " she glanced at the phone still in her hand " – one forty-eight in the morning? Yes, that's something I want you to stop doing."
"No, I meant what we talked about last night," Dean said.
Hermione sighed and moved to sit on his bed, flopping on her back and rubbing her eyes, "I just woke up, Winchester. What did we talk about last night?"
"How I call you Sweetheart," he frowned, "Do you want me to stop?"
"Why the hell did you suddenly think of this question?" she asked, sitting up and looking at him incredulously, "Why the hell are you even awake?" She scoffed, stood, and shook her head before walking back to her room. Dean sighed and settled back down, putting the book she'd gave him on his nightstand, turning off the lamp before his phone buzzed.
No, I don't want you to stop calling me Sweetheart. Now go the hell to sleep.
Dean grinned, waiting a minute or two until he texted back, Yes ma'am.
"Dean!" she warned from down the hall, making him chuckle and set his phone down on his book, shutting his eyes with a smile.