slivingdeadgrrl

[slivingdeadgrrl]

[slivingdeadgrrl]

[slivingdeadgrrl]

happy birthday to everyone's favourite final girl

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[slivingdeadgrrl]

Shannen Doherty as Rene in MALLRATS (1995) dir. Kevin Smith

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𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ voicemail,

summary. you and dean broke up, he tries to call you a couple of hours after.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. angst

wordcount. 506

notes / warnings. i'm gonna break your pretty heart 🤭

Your phone buzzes at 2:41 a.m.

One missed call.

1 new voicemail from: Dean.

You stare at the screen, pillow bunched beneath your chin, fingers trembling. You don’t listen right away. You don’t think you can. But you also know you will.

Eventually, you press play.

His voice crackles through the speaker, low and tired and hoarse, like he’s been drinking or maybe just trying not to cry.

Hey… it’s me. Uh. I guess you knew that. I dunno why I’m calling. I just—fuck. I keep looking at your toothbrush.

You blink. It’s such a stupid thing. Mundane and small and intimate. The toothbrush. Blue, with little white polka dots. You left it behind because you didn’t think you’d need it anymore.

I was gonna throw it out. Thought I should. But it’s just sittin’ there. Like it’s waitin’ for you to come back and use it. Like I’m waitin’ for you to come back.

Silence. A breath.

God, I don’t even know what the hell happened tonight. One second we were yelling and the next… you were gone. Just like that. Slammed the door and didn’t even look back. And I—I just let you.

You can hear it in him now. That way his voice breaks when he’s trying to hold it all in. When he’s leaning against the wall in the dark with his head tipped back and his eyes all red and burning, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

I said some shit I didn’t mean. You did too, I guess. Doesn’t make it hurt less. I just… I thought we were stronger than that. Thought we’d fight like hell and still come back to each other. Like we always do.

You bury your face in the pillow. It doesn’t help. You still hear every word, every breath, every goddamn crack in his voice.

I don’t blame you for leaving, sweetheart. I know I’m a mess. Hell, I am the mess. I’ve never known how to do this love thing right. But you—you made me feel like maybe I could. Like maybe I was worth loving, even when I didn’t believe it myself.

He pauses again. You think you hear a soft sniff. Then a bitter little laugh.

Look at me. Leaving voicemails like a damn teenager. You probably blocked me already.

You didn’t.

You never could.

I don’t want to let you go. But I will. If that’s what you need. If being with me just keeps breaking you down, then… I’ll disappear. You can pretend I never touched your skin. Never kissed you ‘til you forgot the world. Never held you like you were the only thing keeping me breathing. I just—I just needed to say it. One last time.

A pause. You swear time stops.

I love you. I still love you. Probably always will.

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. You think it’s over. But then—

Come home. Please.

Click.

The voicemail ends.

You’re crying so hard, you don’t even realize your phone’s slipping from your hand.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[slivingdeadgrrl]

half of me wants to cradle a crying dean winchester and tell him everything is going to be alright and the other half wants me to bounce on his dick crazy style

[slivingdeadgrrl]

being THE cky girl

IMAGINE….

being friends with the cky guys since highschool

mainly filmed for them

bc in bams words “watching chicks get hurt isnt as funny as watching guys get hurt..”

that doesn’t mean ur not getting pranked tho

never being able too sleep around them bc ur gonna make up too some fucked shit

getting antiqued, getting literally waterboarded out of ur sleep

and ofc someone probably farting in ur face

bc these men are 7 years old mentally

probably would be the only voice of reason

“no ryan…u should not agree too get thrown off a waterfall in a barrel!”

it baffles u how dumb they can be

but hey…whatever betters the film

helping bam edit the clips and hysterically laughing over them

being there for dicos pranks and trying not too piss urself as u watch

almost throwing up after raab shows up at ur backdoor, ass full of shit

why do u even hang out with these gross fuckers

hanging out at the bar with the guys

10/10 experience

always going for some weird adventure

having too drag a drunk raab home safely

getting a matching tattoo with ryan

probably some stupid inside joke

filming bam skate

watching him eat shit multiple times and laughing in his face

its hilarious

helping dico pester rake yohn

coming up with science questions too ask him

also maybe the one too squirt mustard on him

hey its not like he can punch a girl! right…?

going to CKYs shows

definitely having a crush on chad

bam makes fun of u for it

“yea im with the band” type attitude

jess is sweet, vern and u are chill, derons….actually a little scary and chads hot!

what more can a girl ask for!

probably would go w bam to a lot of concerts

definitely vibe with him on music taste

ALWAYS at bams house

u barely see ur own bed anymore

but u wouldnt have it any other way!!

———————————————————

quick little drabble bc im bored!! uhhh i need too write an actual story soon soooo yall should send me requests (i promise too answer pretty pleaaaasse)

[slivingdeadgrrl]

THE CKY GIRL‼️

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“give to me your leather, take from me my lace”

[slivingdeadgrrl]

Vivienne Westwood: 'Hercules and Omphale Heart Bag' (1993)

[slivingdeadgrrl]

all i want is a needy making out session with dean.bring back dry humping

AMENNN me too !!!! i just know dean winchester is a dry humping stan !!! bet that shit makes him whimper LMAOO

[slivingdeadgrrl]

The air at Bobby’s smelled like summer—smoke from the grill, a little motor oil, and something sweet from the pie Ellen had brought over. The sun was sinking low, stretching gold and pink across the yard, making everything look softer, warmer. It was a rare night like this, one where nothing was chasing them, where nobody had to check salt lines or clean blood off their jackets.

Dean knew it wouldn’t last forever. But damn, he wanted it to.

He adjusted his grip on the tiny, warm body in his arms, glancing down at his son. His son.

The kid was barely a few months old, dressed in a onesie that had seen better days, his little fists clenching and unclenching against Dean’s shirt. His dark lashes fluttered as he fought sleep, but he was losing. Dean felt something pull tight in his chest at the sight.

He still wasn’t used to it. This feeling.

For so long, his life had been nothing but chaos. Running. Fighting. Losing people. He never thought he’d get this—something steady, something safe. A family that wasn’t just borrowed time.

But here he was, standing in Bobby Singer’s yard, holding his son, with you right next to him—his wife, the love of his damn life—your arm brushing his as you reached out to smooth a hand over the baby’s back. The kid sighed at your touch, his tiny body relaxing like he knew he was safe.

Dean swallowed hard, blinking fast.

“You’re good at that,” he murmured, voice just low enough for you to hear.

You smiled, tilting your head against his shoulder. “He’s just like you. Stubborn as hell when he’s tired.”

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Great. That means we’re in for a lifetime of this.”

“Guess so.”

You squeezed his arm, and Dean turned his head just enough to press a kiss to your temple. He wanted to say something—something real, something that explained just how damn much he loved you, how you’d changed everything for him. But before he could, Bobby wandered over, tilting his beer toward the baby.

“Kid looks just like his daddy,” Bobby muttered. “Poor thing.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you guys got jokes tonight.”

Bobby smirked, taking a slow sip of his beer. “You gettin’ used to it yet?”

Dean knew what he meant. He wasn’t just asking if Dean was used to the late nights, the crying, the diaper disasters. He was asking if Dean was used to this—having something good. Something that didn’t come with an expiration date.

Dean glanced around the yard. Sam was near the grill, talking with Ellen and Jo, his face relaxed in a way Dean hadn’t seen in a long time. Bobby was here, giving him that same steady look he always did. And then there was you, standing beside him, looking at him like he wasn’t some screwed-up hunter, like he was just Dean—your husband, the father of your child, the man you loved.

Dean tightened his hold on his son, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his little chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough. “But—I wanna get it right.”

Bobby just nodded, the way he always did when Dean said something that meant more than the words let on. “You will, boy.”

Dean felt your fingers slip between his, squeezing gently. When he looked at you, you gave him that soft smile, the one that made him believe in things he never thought he’d have.

And for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester let himself believe it.

Because maybe, just maybe, this was what home was supposed to feel like.

[slivingdeadgrrl]

courtney love photographed for blender magazine by judson baker (2004)

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sorry but dean should have worn more hoodies. period.

[slivingdeadgrrl]

an angel and his pathetic dog

(and challengers but it’s me and sastiel)

[slivingdeadgrrl]

girl blogging .ᐟ💆🏻‍♀️