#d.w 💭♡

[candytoothed]

🎀 apparently u guys love my late at night drabbles so here we go! manifesting attracting spn fandom oohhmmmmm

okay but dean winchester with a gf who has a case of daddy issues

nsfw mdni. smut, praise kink, “daddy” kink, oral (f!receiving), sex yuh, switch!dean sorta?? idfk, riding, pet names (baby + sweetheart)

dean sees it in the little things.

not in some poetic, soul-mirror kind of way— he’s not that guy. he knows the look you give him when you do something as mundane as setting a plate of breakfast in front of him, like you’re waiting for a gold star. you don’t say it, but it’s in the slight lift of your brow, the hesitant twitch of your mouth. do you still like me? or am i annoying?

and yeah, you crave his attention— but it’s never loud and desperate. it's quiet, cautious, like you're scared to ask too much of him. like you're trying to make yourself smaller before he can decide you're too much.

he’s seen that before. in mirrors, in motel windows, in the way he used to look at his dad when he'd come back from a hunt— half relief, half desperation. please, just love me.

and either way, he’s always thought of you as a sweet, gentle soul who just yearned to be loved. but that’s exactly what he is too, underneath the bravado and leather jacket. a boy who learned to be a man too fast, who never figured out how to stop performing long enough to ask for what he needed.

you’d told him about your dad one late night, half-whispered, eyes on the ceiling like you didn’t really want to be saying any of it. you laughed, bitter and small, and said something about how men always made you feel like a stranger in your own skin. then you winced, like the words tasted stupid the second they were out, and tried to laugh it off.

dean wanted to fill that void in your life. he was more than glad to be the man you trusted, who you admired. and a bonus, if he could be that for you, you would stick around. you’d never leave him and he’d make you proud. he would be the absolute best, strongest gentleman you’d ever seen.

well. in his eyes, a big strong manly man did not resemble him at all in this moment.

“fuuuck..” you mewl, your hands gripping your boyfriend’s moist shoulders as you ride him with all your might. his face was twisted in his usual lust filled way, his eyes squeezed shut as tiny groans and whimpers fell from his mouth— not that he even realized, thank goodness. he’d definitely force them down if he noticed, but they were music to your ears you never wanted to end.

“ohh.. thank you..!” you squeak, bouncing on him with heavy breaths. “th- thank you, dad- dean… it’s so good…”

it’s a very quickly fixed error, but even in his dizzy, dumb state, dean caught it.

his hands on your hips tightened before sliding down and squeezing large handfuls of your ass, earning a delicious moan from you. “wha- what’s so good, baby?” he gruffs, wanting to hear more as his hips buck up feverishly.

you respond immediately, leaning down to press kisses along his neck and jaw. “you.. you you you..”

dean lets out another small whimper, his eyes opening and watching your tits bounce mesmerizingly in front of his face. he swallows hard, looking up with an eager gaze as he guides you up and down his dick. “yeah?” he hums lightly, almost unsure of what you’re saying.

“you’re so good..” you mutter, not even knowing the effect it would have on your “manly brute” of a boyfriend.

you gasp at the loss as he quickly pulls you off him, shoving you down on your back against the squeaky mattress. your eyes widen, chest heaving as you watch him slither down between your disgustingly messy thighs.

you whine as he kisses your inner thigh, picking up your head to stare at him. “oh- baby, what are you-”

“call me daddy.” he demands before licking a long stripe up your clenching pussy. you gasp again, your eyes squeezing shut instinctively. shyness floods you, and you drop your head back down against the bed with a breathy moan.

his eyes dart up to you, his thick leaky cock beginning to rut against the sheets like a horned up teen. “say it. please.” he grunts, his breath fanning your sensitive cunt before delving right in, his nose purposefully bumping your clit as he slurps your juices, not even waiting for you to say anything.

you moan loudly, your hands squeezing the bedsheets tightly. “oh god, daddy!” you whine, your hips twitching at all the stimulation, a hand coming to tug on his hair. the tight grip of your fingers curling around his locks cause a delighted hiss to slip past him, his mouth only opening wider.

“yesyesyesyes…” you babble, the squelchy gushes of your pussy and dean’s skilled tongue louder than your own voice. “mmph- i love you!”

dean groans, his tongue laying flat on your clit, shaking his head side to side quickly before replying, “i love you, sweetheart” right against you.

[candytoothed]

“excuse me, miss?”

you turn around, startled by the gravelly, yet soft voice behind you. standing there is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, even under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“yes?” you hum, blinking gently with a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he inhales, eyes uncertain like a deer caught in headlights. “do you.. know where the bathroom is?”

you pause, your gaze drifting toward the hallway as you think for a moment. “i think it’s down that hall? i’m pretty sure, yeah..!” you gesture with a point of your finger.

he nods, but his gaze doesn’t follow your point. he’s still looking at you. intense, like you’re the center of his world.

“thank you,” he murmurs.

you smile again with a reassuring nod, your expression warmer than intended.

“hey, um—” his voice falters as he takes a step closer, his presence suddenly feeling all too real. “do you know a.. dean winchester by any chance?”

you ponder for all of two seconds before apologetically shaking your head. “i don’t, i’m sorry.”

his face falls. like a piece of him is slipping away.

he starts to panic, even though he knew this was destined to come. castiel told him, sam told him, bobby told him.

“really?” his voice suddenly cracks, catching you off guard. "he’s— he’s… the love of—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated huff, looking down at the floor. it’s not worth telling you. your memory is gone. destroyed.

you hear the rawness in his voice, the desperation he’s fighting to keep tucked away. your breath catches as you watch him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears now.

“the love of your life?” you murmur gently— god, always so gentle.

he lets out a small bitter laugh, but it’s barely there. he swallows, the sound thick in his throat.

“yeah.” he says, voice shaky but determined to play along. “sure, yeah.”

a wave of sympathy rises within you, one you’ve always given to those who seem like they need it the most. and there it is, that stupid face filled with sorrow you gave to people no matter their problem, big or small.

“where is he?”

dean stares hard, his gaze unwavering, as though your eyes might hold him together for all of eternity.

"he’s lost.”

[candytoothed]

𐔌　𝓒ON𝓢UME 𝓜E ₊˚ ♡

○˚𑄽𑄺˖° SUMMARY: dean wants to be your everything, no matter the cost.

⋆˚✿˖° NOTES: loser!sub!dean x vampire!reader smut blood consumption finger sucking pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, sweet girl, gorgeous) hair pulling begging dry humping unprotected sex overstimulation they r obsessed with each other!! dean's a little ooc ig meow! it's like semi edited wahh

○˚♡˖° WORD COUNT: 4.4k woah!

˚○ ୨୧ main masterlist taglist navi

dean being with you, a literal vampire, didn’t feel like damnation. it felt like heaven. for all your many centuries of existence and the blood that kept you breathing, you were delicately affectionate from the moment you’d met him. it’s actually what kept him from ganking you during the first few weeks you decided to stick around.

and thank goodness he didn’t.

you practically pacified the sweet boy in just a few months, often resulting in him curled up in your arms like a half tamed puppy after a long day, all of his previous bark and bite from earlier faded to quiet whines and slow blinks as your fingers threaded through his hair.

it’s disgusting the way dean constantly finds himself submitting to you. he’d rip his heart out with his bare, calloused hands and gladly give it to you the second you asked.

he’s screwed.

his love was all consuming, constantly having a dizzying headache of wanting you so bad it scraped his ribs raw. and he figured maybe you had spelled him somehow, to make him want to give up his one and only soul for you, a monster.

because dean didn’t love, not really. he never yearned for someone the way a man in love should. not until you.

he lived for these moments with you, where the shit world he fights against every day is still and kind for once. where he’s shirtless in bed, holding you like he’d fall through the mattress if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

your low cut tank top gave dean a wide view of one of his very few sanctuaries... your tits.

he leans forward to place a small kiss on your chest before tilting his head back to look at you with those hypnotizing green eyes, his hands rubbing your sides to eventually stop at your hips and giving them a light squeeze.

you exhale, lightly rubbing his biceps as you lean back against the headboard. “baby, i haveta.. eat.. soon.” you murmur, gently reminding him of your nature. you’ve always hated bringing it up, having to admit the hunger that stirred beneath your flesh.

he frowns with a sigh, placing another kiss on your chest and nuzzling his head between your breasts like a petulant child, rubbing his nose against the soft skin before looking up at you again with an alluring glance that made your unbeating heart tug.

“jus stay for a few more minutes.” dean grumbles, letting his lower lip fall in a tiny pout as he blinks up at you, his chin still squished between your boobs.

you giggle, petting his hair and bringing up a finger to trace over his pouting lips. “i didn’t say right this second. just soon, kay?”

a soft whine escapes him as the pad of your finger lightly brushes against his lips, like just the small touch from you had blessed him. the large hands resting on your hips slide down underneath your loose shirt, now roaming over your bare skin.

he shamelessly takes your finger between his plump pink lips as you eye him with a soft smile, a little noise of content falling out of you. he sucks and gently nips on it, his eyes never pulling away from yours. you know, like a whore.

you adore when he's like this, all soft and subby. you coo, your free hand still playing with his hair as he swirls his pink tongue around your digit.

he softly whimpers as he reluctantly slips your finger out of his mouth before smooching a gentle kiss on the pad of it. his hands are now soothingly rubbing your back underneath your shirt, his lips trailing down to scatter soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

one of his legs suddenly slip between yours, knee brushing against your core before cooing at your surprised squeak at the contact, your hips automatically jerking at the friction.

“okay,” you rasp, nodding your head in attempt to recollect yourself with a hard swallow. “i said soon as in.. only a few minutes, baby.”

he simply hums before leaning forward and stupidly taking the skin on your jaw between his teeth.

hunger crawls up your throat without warning, blooming hot and desperate. you can smell him more now from this angle— sweat and blood, and god, his awaiting throat is right there.

and he just purrs like he knows how it’s affecting you, the noise vibrating against your skin.

“dean.” you warn sharply, fighting the necessity to indulge in your needs. you resist the urge to sink your fangs into him 24/7, and it's even worse at times like these when he’s all over you.

“i'm hungry, be careful.”

he simply hums again as he places a kiss on your jaw before moving down until his lips press gently against your pulse point, his teeth nipping on the sensitive skin of your throat, almost as if to tease you.

“you’ve already taken my blood before.” he points out with a small grunt, burying his nose into your neck.

you wince at the memory. it was in an empty ghost town where your stash had been destroyed, and you thought your life was over. you’d resisted for hours until you just couldn’t anymore. then dean had offered his wrist with a smile and a “c’mon, sweetheart, you need to. please.”

you didn’t want to, but what other choice did you have? you’d been careful. gentle. he even said it didn’t hurt.

you whine, pulling him closer despite the logical part of your brain telling you otherwise. “that can never happen again, deany.” you murmur, lashes fluttering at his wet nips and pecks.

he huffs against your skin. “why the hell not? nothing happened, right?” he says matter of factly, his tone still soft as his fingers trace patterns over your back. he wants to be what you crave and he wants to be the one to give it to you. he needs to be needed.

“yeah, but,” you start with a pout. “i don’t ever wanna hurt you, honey.” you mumble, eyes following his mouth as he kisses and presses himself all over you like a needy little puppy.

eventually, he lifts his head to look at you again, a small pout of his own on his lips as he stares at you with a pleading expression. “what, you think m scared of you? you’re not gonna hurt me, sweet girl.” he notes with a shift, leaning up to press a soft kiss on your chin, and then your nose.

his knee was still pressed against your center, and he couldn’t help but tauntingly move it, just slightly, enjoying how much it seemed to rile you up.

“i can’t, baby, i can’t..!” you whine, eyes rolling back momentarily. you let out a breathy sigh, a lovesick smile sneaking out as he begins to pepper your face in kisses.

he chuckles, finding your whines and whimpers absolutely adorable. “why not?” he asks with a small coo, his hand petting over your puffed out cheek.

his other hand presses flat against your back, thumb rubbing circles over it as his nose gently rubs against yours. he knew that he was slowly but surely pushing you to give in, and he always plans on getting what he wants.

“because! if i start, i won’t stop— i can’t control it!” you’re quivering now, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded as he rocks his knee against you.

“sweetheart. please?” dean softly hums, his green eyes looking up at you with need. “just a little bite.. that's it.” he murmurs. there’s no hesitation in him. no fear. just a desperate, boyish need to be yours in every possible way.

he further presses his knee against your fabric covered cunt, urging you to grind against him. “fuck, c’mon. let me take care of you.” he exhales.

you let out a heavy breath, hips jerking with a small whimper until you shakily nod. “okay.. your wrist. n-not your neck..” you mumble, listening intently to the sound of his heartbeat.

he can’t hold back from letting out a deep, guttural groan at your confirmation. he brings his wrist up to your mouth, offering it like a gift with pride. “drink, baby...” he whispers huskily, his hand going to your hip to help you rock on him.

you breathily hiss at both the sensation and dean's eagerness to feed his girl, bringing a shiver to your spine. you snatch his wrist into your cold grip before pausing to listen to the flow of his blood, his eyes slightly widening.

“are you sure?” you whisper with closed eyes, hunger twisting low and sharp in your belly.

“yeah, positive.” he breathes, nodding rapidly as he stares at you with pure adoration.

with a flash of movement, you drag his wrist to your mouth, and your fangs sink in.

your nails dig into his forearm as the blood hits your tongue, rich and wild and oh so human. your head spins with the taste of him— it’s overwhelming, addicting, too much, but you drink like you're starved, a low involuntary growl rumbling out of your throat.

dean lets out a soft cry, his entire body pressing up against you. he can feel your nipples poking through your shirt, his forehead dropping to yours as he cradles the back of your head with his free hand.

“jesus christ,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple as his eyes squeeze shut with a grunt.

he bites down on his bottom lip, letting out an involuntary moan. he's never felt something so intense before, the feeling of your fangs inside his flesh, the feeling of you sucking on his skin, and all the little sounds you’re making. he groans as your body arches into him, his jeans somehow getting even tighter.

his body goes on autopilot, hips bucking against yours, desperately in search of more friction. his free hand pulls your shirt up enough for your boobs to bounce out, his tongue swiping over his lips as he stares down at them before glancing up at you again.

“you’re so hungry, aren't you..?” he murmurs, hand moving under the shirt to squeeze a handful of your tit as he plants kisses along your neck.

god, his blood is everything. thick and warm and utterly his, laced with all the things you crave most. his loyalty, his love, the deep desiring thrum of a man who would burn himself down if it meant keeping you full.

your supernaturally tight hold manages to grip harder around his wrist for another greedy mouthful, and you feel him sag into you, breath catching on a ragged sigh. but even still, there's no fear, no hesitation. just dean, wide eyed and adoring, like he’s grateful to be devoured.

and that’s what jolts you back.

you yank yourself away from his arm with a choked gasp, blood still wet on your lips, your heart pounding like it’s about to explode. your fingers loosen their death grip on his wrist as you try to catch your breath.

his hand moves from your breast to caress your cheek, whispering sweet words, only to be interrupted by your snarl. “clean it up before i suck you fucking dry.” you whimper, voice barely holding together.

the sight of dean's blood smeared on your lips and your darkened eyes causes him to let out another low moan. he blinks, drunk on the intimacy still coiling between you.

“fuck...” he whines quietly, his hand on your head still playing with your hair mindlessly. he can't help himself, you just look so cute and kissable in this moment. he leans in closer, fingers going under your chin to lift you up a little, wanting a taste of your bloody lips.

you exhale, eyes shutting as you shake your head and press a hand against his chest to stop him.

his gaze flicks down to his bloody wrist. he lifts it up to his mouth and begins to leisurely lick the blood away, his tongue leaving soft, slow drags on it.

you groan at the sloshy sound, eyes tightening further as you put your hand over your nose, the smell getting to you.

a slight smirk forms on his lips like he knew him swiping up his blood so lewdly would push your buttons. his tongue continues its slow, meticulous work before he mumbles, “m glad you like it. tastes kinda salty.”

one second he’s all teasing and smirking, and the next you’re on him, fangs out, fingers like iron shackles around his wrist as you drag it back to your mouth.

but even at that, which should scare him, even as a hunter, doesn't bother him in the slightest. he lets out a soft coo, his free hand slowly moving up to gently caress your cheek as you settle on top of him.

he doesn't even care that he might provoke you in this state when he murmurs, “so fuckin pretty, honey,” like he’s delighted.

you hover just above the open wound on his wrist, trembling with your mouth parted and full of blood you still haven’t downed. your eyes flash, dark and feral and a little wild— and he just keeps staring like he’s witnessing something holy. like you’re absolutely fucking divine.

his blood lingers on your tongue, warm and metallic. and despite your bloodthirsty disposition, you’re really not seconds away from losing it and all hell breaking loose like you assumed. you know it.

and dean does too. your stupid, gorgeous dean, presses a kiss to your bottom lip, messy with red liquid.

he slowly pulls his wrist away from your grip, but he doesn’t move far. his palm stays cupped against your cheek, grounding you, like he wants to be tasted.

“you good, buffy?” he grins, soft and teasing with his eyes locked on your face, searching for any signs that you might still be hungry.

“mhmm,” you hum, pecking his thumb with a small smile. you shift in his lap, adjusting your weight until you’re draped over him, tucked into the warmth of his body.

“yknow,” he starts, voice low. he peers down at the blood smeared on his wrist, lips parting with an aroused exhale. he clears his throat before turning back to you, still brushing your face. “you can take it whenever you need to, baby.”

you smile softly at the words, shaking your head. you wouldn't do that to him. “thank you, but-”

“no, i'm serious.” dean cuts you off sharply, voice desperate, and eyes intensely staring into yours like a promise. “don't fight it. swear to god i'll give you everything- don't haveta eat from anyone else ever again.”

you swallow, lashes fluttering as you blink profusely. you shakily breathe, and you find yourself nodding, eyes darting back to the blood seeping out of his wound. you can feel your meal sliding down the back of your tongue, thick and warm.

“please, baby, please,” he whispers huskily, his hands roaming down to grip the globes of your ass. “wanna be your everything. please.”

your hand shoots up, fingers curling around his throat, and you shove him back into the headboard— not hard, but needing. his heart's racing as he stares straight at your perfect fangs baring out to him.

and god, he loves it. he loves you. the soft, sweet side you show the world and the raw creature underneath. the monster with blood on her lips and love etched into her bones.

dean groans out your name, wanting you to take everything he has to give. he looks at you with a desperate look in his eyes. you need me, it screams.

his fingers tighten around your thighs, nails digging in. there’s a tremble in his jaw he doesn’t even try to hide. he should feel pathetic, he thinks, being this far gone over you. but he feels chosen. he wants to be consumed. in fact, he wants to cry from how much he wants you, how much he wants you to bite him, and take everything he has to give.

you growl, a sound you don’t even mean to make, and the way dean reacts is almost embarrassing. he shudders underneath you, hips twitching slightly, eyes rolling back.

your bottom lip juts out into a small pout as you squeeze his throat tighter, eliciting a small whine from him.

you shove your lips onto his, licking and sucking feverishly. he immediately kisses you back, returning your lust driven bites with needy twirls of his tongue around yours. it's gross, spit drooling down your chin with your mouth moving in the most uncoordinated motions, but neither of you care. if anything, that's what makes it so good.

your hand around his throat squeezes, and you can feel his pulse hammering against your palm. his heart’s beating like it’s trying to climb out of his chest. he pants your name against your mouth like a prayer, almost dizzy with how much he wants you.

you pull away with heavy breaths, lips bitten and soaked wet with his saliva. he groans, tilting his neck closer to you, his hand gripping your wrist to pull it away. you moan loudly, staring at the skin with eager need.

he breathes, “take me”, and you’re gone for the second time tonight.

you surge forward, fangs sinking into his throat. his blood pours over your tongue once more, thick and alive. your body jolts like it’s been electrocuted as you moan against his skin.

dean cries out, a raw, broken shout as his eyes squeeze shut. his hips buck under you and his entire body arches up into yours.

he’s completely at your mercy, letting you take whatever you need, just as long as he can get that delicious feeling of you biting him, and the crazy pleasure he gets from being your source of nourishment.

his love floods your senses, overtaking every thought. you weren’t starving before, but nothing has ever felt so good as this. as his blood, your dean.

his eyes are heavy lidded and glassy, pupils blown wide as he feels himself being drained. there’s a tear slipping from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t even feel it, too busy whispering your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

“fuck,” he chokes, voice wrecked and boyish. “you’re gonna kill me— oh god, baby—”

you pull back a little, just enough to lick some seeped blood from his neck. your lips are stained crimson, eyes still half feral, and he's fighting to not completely sob at the sight.

you kiss his pulse point, slow and wet. “you're not gonna die, sweet boy.”

“i love you.” he blurts, like the words are punched out of him. he groans, squeezing the fabric of your shirt as he rolls his hips up. “oh, i love you. drain me, fuck me, take me— fuck, please!”

you moan loudly, right in his face as you grip it, holding him like he’s fragile. and he is. he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted so badly.

he can barely even think straight, his thoughts spinning with need and desire. he wants to be the only one you ever need. he groans, eyes rolling back and his hips bucking against yours mindlessly, seeking any sort of friction.

you let out a large exhale, practically shoving your hand to the front of his jeans, tugging down the zipper with little struggle and much need. his eyebrows are pinched tight, lips parted as he yanks his pants down, kicking them off his feet.

he snatches your tiny top into his large hands, pulling it up and over your head before leaning forward to kiss you again, tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth while you slide down your panties with quiet mewling sounds.

he immediately slips two fingers past your entrance, earning a moan from you while his other hand grips the side of your face, keeping your mouth on his. he skillfully slips his digits out before shoving them right back in, over and over again.

you bite his lips, more blood drawing from the stab of your fangs.

he groans, eyes rolling back before pounding his fingers harder into you, the spongy spot of your cunt massaging against them.

you cry out his name as you reach your high, his fingers dripping like water with arousal. he whines, staring down at them. he quickly takes them into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the skin like a man starved. you tug down his boxers, mindlessly throwing them across the room.

he smiles gently, pulling his fingers out with a small pop before flipping you to lay on your back. he bends down, leaving wet kisses along your neck and boobs as you whine with need. “i know, honey.” he coos a little shakily as he starts to drag his tip up and down your folds.

you gasp at the stretch as he slides further into you, eyes squeezing shut at the tight fit. you’re babbling like a fool in love, hands gripping his hair with a death grip. once his dick is fully inside, he pauses, waiting for the go as he murmurs words of praise into your neck.

“please, move, please..!” you plead, tugging his hair to pull him away from your skin, latching onto him as you suck on his bottom lip with a little buck of your hips.

dean moans, sticking his tongue out automatically as he starts to rock into you, thrusting at a steady pace filled with tender care despite the blood still dripping from his wounds.

a hand squeezes your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as your legs wrap around his waist. he shakes his head, using his free hand to pull under your thigh and lift a leg onto his shoulder. you cry out as he starts to hit deeper inside you at the angle, arching your chest into his.

your walls clench around him, girthy cock hitting all the right places. his balls slap against your ass as he slams into you, the lewd sound echoing throughout your apartment. his fingers slither down to your sensitive little clit, starting up small circles against it as you mewl.

it feels like he's staring into your soul as he rubs all over your clit, letting out soft whines at your wanton expression.

you’re frantically babbling, hand still tugging his hair. “g-good boy, dean, mmph..! it's so good, s-so s'good...”

your fingers swipe through the aching crimson mark on his throat, earning a mix of a grunt and moan from him as you kitten-lick your stained digits. he desperately thrusts into you, leaning forward with his tongue sticking out to copy your movement, tasting himself on your skin. it's almost creepy the way you both get off to it. your tongues brush against each other as you keep licking from your fingers, and it's enough to get you close to your release.

he notices, of course, and rapidly speeds up his fingers below, moaning your name as he pinches your puffy nub. you squeal, head tilting back as your hips jerk into his hand.

“shit, sweetheart.” he whines, releasing his grip on your nipple to spread kisses against your other tit, tongue lathering saliva as he spits down on the perky bud. “my sweet girl, fuck, i love you!”

your pussy squeezes around him like a vice as you finish. you both feel like you’ve been doused in a mind numbing drug as you cum at the same time. his jaw drops, red stained lips locked apart and eyes shut as he shoots his cum into you. he kisses your thigh on his sweaty shoulder, your cunt twitching as he lays your leg back down on the bed.

he lets out loud whimpers, cock still inside you as he feels your mix of releases seeping out of your pussy.

you open your eyes, cooing immediately at the sight of his dazed eyes, his head probably still fuzzy from the blood loss. he notices your glance and brings a hand to his neck, wincing as he touches the puncture marks left by your fangs.

he smiles sweetly. he can't help but be filled with joy from you taking his blood and seed.

god, he can barely string words together, barely even remember how to speak at all— but manages to let out one little word.

“more..” he whispers, voice barely even audible, as his hands grip your hips again.

you whine softly, shaking your head as your hands reach for his face. “no more, baby.” you exhale, still panting heavily. “mm, did so good, sweet boy..”

he sighs in defeat, but nods nonetheless. he's tired as fuck, and he did good, he pleased you. that’s all that matters.

you tiredly lean over to the nightstand, pulling out a tissue from the box before putting it against his neck. the pressure causes a slight sting, but he doesn’t mind. he loves the feeling.

his eyes flutter close as he listens to your sweet nothings, feeling a sense of delight washing over him. not wanting to lose contact with you, he grabs your hand, bringing it up to press a kiss on your knuckles. his grip's a little weak as he tugs you closer, laying down on your body.

both of you slightly wince at the aftershocks. you lean closer to give him a peck as you pull him onto you, hands threading through his hair.

he looks up at you with glassy eyes as you lazily suck on his lip, his body relaxing even more. his hand goes up to gently brush some hair away from your face before shutting his eyes. “we should clean up..” he murmurs lightly, tone all soft and sugary, and a little slurred from his fatigue.

“i'll do it.” you coo, pressing a final kiss against his mouth. he hums in content, turning his head sideways so his cheek squishes against your chest as sleep takes over him after one more declaration of love from his lips.

so, yeah. that sick, endless love dean winchester has always quietly craved is here in the grasp of a vampire. and good luck to any fucker who tried to separate them.

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

sorry for any mistakes !!! this has been sitting in my drafts so i kinda just wanted to get it out 😓 i love crazies mwah lowk inspired by this bot !!

taglist: @multiversefanfics @misticsilver

also tagging spn moots cough …! (lmk if u dont wanna be!!! <3) @soldiersgirl @deanstubble @losers-clvb @jaredwnch @mostlymarvelgirl @manicpixievixen @sapphic-destiel @cherrygirlfriend

[candytoothed]

dean doesn’t really care that you’re not conventionally attractive or whatever the fuck.

he’s had enough hot ladies in the past for the rest of his life. he’s not the same anymore— he doesn’t scout for the perfect lips or the roundest ass like a douche.

he likes your oddly shaped nose. he likes the unflattering crinkles in your face. he likes that you’re pretty in the best way, in the most comforting way. because he loves you, and that makes him love your features even more than he would if he’d only seen you on the street or at a bar.

he likes that he can touch you and expect little bumps and patches of cellulite. you’re real. you’re here. with him. and you’re gorgeous.

[candytoothed]

𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER TWO - a friend of ours

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 3.6k (LMAO I DIDNT MEAN TO)

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

that night buzzed with the kind of energy that sat between anxiety and something giddy. the diner booth was small, the table sticky with years of spilled milkshakes and teenage secrets, but it was perfect. sam and dean were loud, messy, and impossible to look away from, leaving you to spend over an hour with them.

you debated on telling your family about your new friends when you got home. would it even matter? would either of them want to talk to you again? maybe they were just bored. so you kept it to yourself, telling your mom you were late home because of how long the game went.

you didn’t expect to see them again so soon, and at homecoming at that! you didn’t even think they’d want to go, you assumed dean would think it was just a stupid, corny “mating ritual”.

you lean against a wall, red solo cup in hand, trying to blend into the brick, watching couples dance and enjoy their night as disco balls spin shadows across the gym. your eyes flicker all over, scanning for the brothers unconsciously. that’s when you see them.

dean lazily sways to a slow song with some cute girl clinging to his arm, his hands settled low on her waist. sam was nearby, moving with exaggerated flourishes as he danced by himself like no one was watching, which they probably weren’t— well, except for you, of course, grinning widely at his whimsy antics. 

then the music shifts, the syrupy slow ballad fading into something faster, something with life. 

you can see dean freeze on the floor, dropping his arms from his date’s waist and snapping to sam with surprise in his wide eyes. he slaps his brother’s shoulder, exclaiming, “ohmygod, they’re playing good music.” 

sam whips around to face the dj booth, a grin blooming across his lips. “holy shit, they are! they’re playing good music.” he repeats in a lower murmur, able to recognize the voice of david bowie anywhere.

“living room routine, now.” dean orders, snapping his fingers and leaving his date very confused as the two start to push their way to the middle of the gym floor. 

“wait, do we have to go right in the middle-” sam awkwardly starts to protest.

“dude, shut up.” dean cuts him off with a bark. “you made me come here, we’re doing this.” 

you blink, sipping your punch a little too quickly. suddenly, you find yourself starting to slightly bop to the music (in your own reserved way), your eyes squinting as they follow the boys to the center of the gymnasium. your lips part in surprise as they start to swing their arms back and forth, circling around each other with mock-serious expressions on their faces. you smile toothily, definitely not having expected that.

dean catches your gaze mid-spin, throwing you a silly smirk and winking your way as he dances, ignorant to the looks he’s attracting. 

you grin, waving to him meekly, but his eyes are already off you and enraptured in his own wild movements. the stiff crowd ogles the boys as they roll their shoulders back and spin around like idiots, but neither of them mind, and that just makes you grow even fonder of the pair.

you swallow at the thought. maybe it was kinda weird that your homecoming dance was centered around two older students you just met. maybe you should've gotten a date.

you take another awkward sip of your punch, trying to decide if you should go— oh nono, not this again.

you shake off your thoughts to put your solo cup down on the side somewhere, not even taking your eyes off the two boys as you try desperately not to make it seem like you’re dancing towards them, but you are, bobbing your head like a dork as you move.

dean cheers as you get closer, letting out a silly “whooo!” as he snatches your hand into his without warning, twirling you around and grinning while you let out a laugh. and all of a sudden, it’s like the world in your head you’ve been trapped in since you were six years old fades away as sam loosens his tie and loops it around your neck like a medal, inviting you to their special world of chaos. 

and for the second time in a little over 24 hours, you ventured out and got what you wanted.

later outside, when the cold is piercing your skin and the night wraps itself tighter, you walk with them through the rich part of town, streetlights buzzing above as you three shuffle up a stone path to some mansion party dean was invited to.

“god, it’s freezing!” he grunts, lips pursed as he shivers, shirtless under his suit jacket that was long gone... 

“no one told you to start stripping, casanova.” sam grins, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walk up the steps. he was warm. you remember when aunt helen used to wrap you up in her arms just the same.

“a-are you sure it’s okay that i come?” you ask meekly, looking up between them as you start to climb a staircase.

“yeah, course.” dean lazily nods, like it's obvious, as he struts up the stairs. “just remember, pete’s not paranoid— he’s sensitive.” he mocks with a small roll of his eyes, sticking out his tongue.

“DEAN!” a boy, who you assume to be peter, calls from the top of the steps, looking absolutely stoned as he greets us with a wobbly cup in his hand. “dude, that waitress from olive garden, she was such a tease.” he scoffs with a dazed smile plastered across his face as dean makes a playful boo-hoo face.

peter's eyes dart to your timid stance, and his beam widens. “will you marry me?” 

“nono,” dean snorts, waving him off. “you hopeless stoner— who attends the culinary institute.” he adds, shaking his head in exaggeration and clicking his teeth as pete winces in response, his hand on his heart dramatically. 

“nice try.” sam nods with a small smile, leading you inside. dean dashes in front of you both, walking down the steps to the basement like he owns the place. 

he turns around to you with a wiggle of his brows, holding his arm out wide. “so, this.. is a party.” 

you self-consciously step down into the basement and feel completely swallowed.

there’s music blasting as you enter the large room, stale beer and cigarette smoke in the air as you three start to walk through the array of people, the room packed with kids playing quarters, others pouring vodka into a watermelon.

“this is what fun looks like,” dean murmurs to you as he spots two of his friends sitting on a couch. “you ready to meet some desperate women? yeah you are, go have a seat.” 

you tuck a strand of hair (that wasn't even loose) behind your ear as you approach two girls around dean’s age, making your way to sit on the very edge of the couch with hunched shoulders.

“hey ladies,” dean purrs, leaning over the sofa cushions. he introduces the girls to you with a curt nod, you smiling as one of them takes your hand into hers to shake.

“mary elizabeth.” she says with a blank expression. “that’s alice.” she hums, nudging her head to the blonde next to her. 

“nice to meet you.” you smile lightly, hyper aware of the press of bodies, the sticky couch fabric, and the music pulsing through the floor. sam drops into the spot next to alice, sighing as he leans back into the cushions.

“this is her first party ever.” dean lets out a smug little hum, one brow teasingly quirking. the girls let out a little gasps as he swishes his beer around with playful nods. “so i expect lovely, heartfelt, soul-changing orgasms from both of you.” he grins, gaining a bashful look from you while he keeps swirling his beer like a wine snob.

“dean, you’re such a dick.” mary elizabeth snaps, rolling her eyes, though a tiny grin pulls at the edge of her lips. 

dean takes a swig before grunting, “where the hell did you go?” 

“the dance was a little boring, don’t you think?”

“you’re selfish, you coulda told someone.”

“awe, baby, cry me a river.” 

“how is it that you’ve gotten meaner since becoming a buddhist?” dean snorts, his thumb pointing to her, casting you a look that says, you hear this shit? you smile at him with a small shrug, since no, you weren't really listening anyway, kind of zoned out in your own world.

“i dunno, deano. just lucky, i guess.” 

“i think you're doing something wrong.”

“mmm, or something very right..”

dean and mary elizabeth continue their somewhat flirty banter until sam catches sight of someone across the room, a beaming glint dancing in his eyes as he looks that way.

dean catches this, spinning around in wonder before smirking knowingly. “ah, look who’s here.”

your head follows, blinking curiously. “is that brad hays?”

“yeah, he comes here sometimes.” alice smiles after sam got up to greet the quarterback. 

you scoot a little closer to them on the beat up couch, silently noticing how dean went to go mingle right after sam left, so now it was just you three.

“but he’s a popular kid...!” you utter in surprise.

mary elizabeth’s eyebrows pinch, shooting you a sharp look. “then what are we?” 

you start to think of something to reply with, but you can't. the girls turn away, ignoring you. you swallow, fingers unintentionally pulling at the strings of your shirt. then peter unexpectedly approaches the couch with a tray in his hands, like your very own fairy godmother (just... high as a kite).

“hey, you look like you could use a brownie.” he murmurs, definitely high, bending down over the cushions to hold out the tray as you exhale in relief. 

“oh, thank you!” you smile warmly with a nod, taking one of the treats, your nerves bubbling up in your stomach. “i was so hungry at the dance. i was gonna go to kings, but i didn't really have any time—” you bashfully cut off your tense rambling, not catching the knowing smirk mary elizabeth throws to peter as you thank him.

you take a large bite, sighing at the tasty chocolate coating your tastebuds, and completely blissful about what you're actually doing.

wowwwieee..!

and well, soon enough, you’re completely baked out of your mind, sunk into a carpet. more of the party surrounds you now, practically pissing themselves with laughter as a random kid no one knows talks and talks and talks.

“have you guys felt this carpet? this carpet feels so damn good.” you murmur, stroking it leisurely.

mary elizabeth’s cackling, clearly very entertained by your antics. “hey, hey,” she interrupts, grinning wide as you look up from the carpet. “what do you think about high school?”

“high school?” you squint at her with a scoff, frowning immediately. “bullshit. the cafeteria's called the nutrition center, people wear their letter jackets even when it's 98 degrees out,” you start babbling again, contently disregarding the amused chuckles around you. “and why do they give out letters for marching band? that's not even a sport, and we all think it! right?”

you feel so many eyes on you, but they don't feel bad. people were laughing— happily! and with you, not at you. probably.

“this kid is crazy..!” mary elizabeth laughs, turning her head to face the other lingering people. 

you stare intently at the girl's punk wave haircut, expression flat. “mary elizabeth, i think you might regret that haircut when you look back at pictures..” you say simply, her face contorting into playful offense as everyone else cackles. 

“i'm really sorry.” you swallow at the reactions. “that sounded like a compliment in my head.” you murmur sheepishly, eyes flicking between each snickering person. 

“well, it’s kinda true.” alice giggles, turning to mary elizabeth, who lets out a gasp in mock horror. “shut up!” 

dean walks back into the room out of nowhere, scanning the chaotic scene in confusion, just as mary elizabeth coos, “ugh, i can’t even be mad— look at her!” 

dean glances toward you, blinking at your unusually carefree demeanor before smiling at the realization. he shakes his head in disbelief. “pete, did you get her stoned?” 

“she likes it, just look at her!” peter replies in his defense, pointing a finger toward you with a playful tee-hee. 

“god,” dean scoffs lightheartedly, still shaking his head from side to side toward you. “well how d'ya feel, space cadet?” dean hums in amusement, raising his brows.  

your nonchalant eyes reach his as you pause to think for a moment.

“...i just really want a milkshake.”

the entire room explodes with laughter, bringing a small smile to your lips. you love that people find you so funny, it’s a rare feeling.

“shit, me too.” dean grunts in agreement at the thought. he waves his hand, beckoning you to get up and follow him as he starts to turn away from the party. 

you oblige, joining him as he heads into pete’s minimalistic kitchen. “alright, sit down, stoner.” he says, nudging his head toward a stool, throwing another teasing glance your way. 

he grabs what he needs for your milkshakes while you just stare. you watch in satisfaction as he tosses a scoop of ice cream into a blender with a flourish, humming some metallica song under his breath.

“dean,” you start all of a sudden, voice a little whiny, which brings a smirk onto dean’s gorgeous lips. “you have such pretty green eyes.. the kind of pretty that deserves to make a big deal about itself.” you babble tiredly, smushing your cheek against your hand. "ya know what I mean?”

he chuckles, looking down at the opened milk carton as he pours it into the blender. “ya think so?” he hums with a small grin.

“mhm.” you hum before moving on. “what a great word. milkshake.” you murmur dreamily, still watching him with a quiet sense of joy. “it's like when you say your name over and over again in the mirror, and then after awhile, it sounds crazy..!”

dean grins wider, genuinely entertained, which actually makes you a little shy. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’ve never been high before?”

“me? nonono!” you chuckle, pulling your head off your palm. “see, my best friend michael, his dad was a big drinker, so he hated all that kinda stuff. parties too.” you explain blankly, tapping your hands against the island counter as you speak. 

“and where’s michael tonight, huh? gettin lucky?” dean jokes per usual, turning with his back facing you to put the milk back in the fridge. 

“oh, he shot himself last may.” you answer in a quiet tone. and nonchalantly at that, like it was nothing surprising to mention.

dean spins around from the fridge, with a silent gulp, his mouth in a tight line. and you’re just… stoned. 

“i kind of wish he'd left a note.” you smile, but it doesn't really reach your eyes. you're about to continue, but at his awkward nod, you huff with a small sense of worry and snap your head behind you. “where’s the bathroom?” 

“uh, it’s up the stairs.” he mumbles, now unsure of how to act around you knowing this information, which you just barely take into consideration in this state. if you were boring regular you again, you'd definitely apologize like nobody's business and probably run away in embarrassment.

but instead you thank him, hopping off the stool and wandering up the carpeted stairs, zoned out. you internally groan. your limbs feel like jello, letting out a tired exhale after climbing the steps. you unsteadily tread down the hallway, where you find a large ornate mirror hanging against a corner wall. 

you pause in front of it, leaning in closer to stare at yourself. your reflection stares back, pupils blown wide as you whisper your name curiously. you repeat it again, glaring in your eyes before murmuring, “weird”, under your breath.  

you’re definitely a little lost as you turn face to three doors. oh. did dean say where exactly the porcelain throne was or...? whatever! you push open the door closest to you without another thought.

your eyes widen in surprise as you're able to make out sam winchester and brad hays inside, sitting closely on a king sized bed. oh yeah, and they're kissing. 

you swallow, eyebrows raising as they rip apart from one another quickly at the sound of the door creaking open. your lips purse, blinking twice before spinning around and walking right out. 

sam and brad stare in surprise, one definitely more afraid than the other. “who was that kid?” brad whispers tensely, keeping his eye on you as you walk down the hall, his heart racing. 

“don’t worry, she’s a friend of mine.” sam reassures him, grabbing his arm with a small brush of his thumb. “stay here.” he says before getting off the bed and following you out. 

you hear the mattress squeak as sam gets up, turning around at the footsteps behind you. “i didn’t see anything.” you say immediately. “i’m really sor-”

“you did, and it’s okay.” sam cuts in gently with a nod. he glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one’s looking, then sighs. 

“listen… brad doesn't want anyone to know-” he starts, but pauses as he notices your, um... not a lot of there there eyes staring back at him.

“wait, are you baked?”

“like a cake.” you reply with a giggle, your smile widening as sam huffs out a chuckle despite his anxiousness. “that's what pete said. and how you can't have three on a match because they would find us.” you continue talking with flailing hands as sam pinches his temples with a grin. “and everybody laughed, but truthfully, i don't know what's funny..!” 

“okay, listen.” sam exhales, shaking off his smile and replacing it with a serious tone. “i need you to promise that you're not going to say anything to anyone about me and brad. okay? this has to be our little secret.”

you blink at the echo of those words that are now poking at something buried in you. our little secret. yeah, you’ve heard that before. you can do that. 

“okay, sure.” you nod simply. 

“thank you.” sam sighs in gratitude, patting your shoulder. “we’ll, uh, talk later, okay?” he says sweetly before turning to go back into the bedroom. 

“looking forward to it!” you blurt out with a nod, immediately cringing at yourself. 

you hear his laugh before he walks in and shuts the door. you hum, spinning to drift back down the stairs.

the party has thinned into whispers and scattered laughter. empty cups litter the furniture everywhere, and you feel bad for the parents of the house. you're now sitting on the couch, legs curled up beside alice and mary elizabeth as you nurse your milkshake like it's life support, the straw making a small crackle every time you sip.

across the room, dean’s watching you with a furrowed brow, beer neck loose in his rough hand. his head turns as sam thumps down the stairs, motioning his little brother over to where he leans against a ping pong table. 

“hey.” sam hums with a small exhale. 

“dude.” dean whispers, taking his eyes off you to look back at sam. dean tells him what you said in the kitchen, his expression firm and a little sympathetic. “i don't think she has any friends.. like at all.” he adds. 

sam blinks at him in surprise, his lips parted. he’s about to say something in response when dean interrupts him like he always does, getting up and striding over to where you are. 

“okay, sluts, gather round!” he declares loudly, solo cup held up high. “raise your drinks.” he orders once what's left of the party comes over to the couch.

you look up from your seat, where he towers over you, his jawline absolutely divine at this angle. you’re a little paranoid as you start to look around and see everyone staring in your direction, including sam and dean. 

“what did i do?” you ask softly, your hand tightening around the milkshake. 

“nothin.” dean shrugs plainly, inhaling a breath of air. “we just, uh. you’re a um…” he clicks his fingers together as he trails off, spinning around to face sam. 

sam rolls his eyes with a small smile, stepping closer to us. “well, um... you see things and you understand.” he explains gently, his nodding reassuring and kind, just like what you'd expect from him. “you’re a wallflower.”

you swallow, drying your sweaty hands onto your skirt. you look around the room shyly at the nods and friendly faces, your heart crawling up into your throat. “i didn’t think anyone noticed me.” you mumble, voice a little shaky as you look down at the floor. 

“well, then!” someone from the back of the room exclaims. he starts to sing, “raise a glass to fre— oh yeah— the four of ussss!”

laughter bursts like fireworks, sparkling and spreading all over the room. “tomorrow there’ll be more of usssss!”

you laugh too, smiling at the familiar reference as you look up again. 

dean spins around with a knowing grin. “shut up, nerds!" before turning back to you. he crouches down a bit, like he’s about to tell you a secret. he rolls his eyes sarcastically, booping your nose as you dopily grin back. he sighs, green gaze in your face. “i guess.. welcome to the island of misfit toys.”

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

erm i didnt mean to make it so long.. esp considering the first chapter was only 2.6k but oh well!! i loved writing this chap c: rah rah tags below :3

@losers-clvb @that-stanford-girlie @lisah-over18 @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @bakugotypecrashout @bitchyfestivalbouquet @anniebannanie0315 @imsiriuslyreal @crushmeeren @xothegiant @misticsilver

[candytoothed]

𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER ONE - the kind of thing people do

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 2.6k

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

the kitchen smells like toast and burnt coffee, it always does. the radio plays a song you half-remember from childhood, something your aunt helen used to hum in the car when the windows were down and the weather was just right. you don’t know the words, but you mouth along anyway, just because it feels good to try.

your mom’s already gone. she leaves early now, taking the long way to work even though she swears she doesn’t. there’s a note on the fridge, her messy handwriting squeezed into the corner of a grocery list.

“have a good day. be nice to yourself. love, mom :)”

you pick at the toast you made fifteen minutes ago, now cold and curling at the edges. the butter never really melted. you eat anyway, not because you're hungry, but because it’s the kind of thing a person does before school.

you glance back at the fridge. your sister left a photo of you two at the lake last summer, she must’ve just gotten the polaroid back from her friend. she’s the one with the huge sunglasses and obnoxious peace sign. you’re half-smiling, squinting against the sun like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to enjoy the moment.

the house is always too quiet in the mornings. you used to like it when you were younger, before everything started feeling too loud inside your head. now the quiet just feels like permission to disappear, and you’re trying not to do that anymore, it worries your family.

your bag sits by the door, already packed. a half-read novel, your spiral notebook with a bent corner, a pen that only works if you scribble on the margin first.

you exhale, not taking another bite of toast before pulling on your sweater and shoes. they’re the same shoes you wore last year, and the year before that. familiar and frayed at the edges, but you kind of like that about them.

this year will be different. different. better.

your ride honks outside. it’s not a friend, it’s derek, your sister’s boyfriend. he’s got a ponytail and an acoustic guitar in his trunk and calls everyone “brother” or “dude”, even your dad. you’re still not sure if he even knows your name, but he’s nice enough to give you rides.

you grab your bag, shout a half-hearted goodbye into the house for your dad, and head out to the beat-up sedan.

your sister spent the night at derek’s house, you can tell by the light circles under her eyes as you slide into the backseat. she liked to tell your parents she was at her best friend’s house or out at a party— even high school parties are better than sleeping over at derek’s, in their opinions.

“morning little dude.” derek lazily nods toward you in the rearview.

“hi.” you murmur quietly with a polite smile, pulling on your headphones. your sister doesn’t say anything.

you watch the trees blur by through the window, tapping your fingers to the music as you raise your volume to drown out derek’s smashing pumpkins tape. the high school comes into view too quickly, all brick and concrete and weirdly wide hallways.

you hop out of the car, adjust your sweater, and square your shoulders like someone pretending they’re used to this. the first day of school. you start walking next to your sister with a thudding heart as she talks to derek past the chain-link fence, past the kids clustered around the front steps, past all the noise.

she looks to you as you’re about to step inside the building. “high school’s not hard, okay?” she starts with a knowing glance. “just be yourself.”

you smile softly as you look back at her, even though you both know her advice is absolutely horrible.

shop. you make a mental note to change this class— you're not interested in using tools to make useless knick knacks. the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead is just loud enough to irritate you, and the smell of machinery and old wood clings to the air.

you sit by yourself, like always, watching some freshmen boys snort as a senior paints a cartoony goatee onto his chin with a grease pencil.

you swallow and avert your gaze, uninterested. your attention drifts to one of the many unfamiliar faces walking inside the room observantly.

he’s tall. too tall, like he’s been stretched out past what high school allows. maybe a junior, possibly a senior. but what sticks with you isn’t his height— it’s the mop of soft brown bangs that flop over his forehead, slightly curled at the ends to give him a gentle, almost boyish look. he also just has this sweet doe-like face, which makes you smile a bit.

then he grins wide and playfully, and the air in the room shifts. he walks straight to the front and without warning, launches into a dead-on impersonation of mr. callahan, the dull room perking up. you're thankful that he makes fun of the teacher instead of the freshmen, which you've been seeing and retrieving all day.

"the prick punch is not a toy." he mimics comedically, earning a few snickers from the students as his hand goes on his hip, his shoulders a bit hunched over. "i learned that in nam back in 68. callahan, the sergeant said. put down that prick punch and go kill some gooks."

the laughs die down a bit as the teacher steps into the class from the hallway, folding his arms as he walks up behind the boy, who continues obliviously. "but you know what happened? that prick punch killed my best friend in a saigon whorehouse."

mr. callahan sighs, a book in both hands as he stares, unamused. "i heard you were going to be in my class."

the boy turns around with an awkward, sheepish expression, but there's no trace of regret.

“are you proud being a junior taking freshman shop, sammy?"

sam huffs, scratching the back of his head, not even embarrassed at being called out. he's smart, not crafty, so what? "look, my name is sam." he notes flatly. "either you call me sam or you call me nothing... sir."

"okay, nothing." mr. callahan nods without missing a beat, pointing to an empty seat with the satisfaction of a man who thinks he’s just made the joke of the year.

sam resists the urge to roll his eyes as the class laughs. he ambles over and flops into the chair, unbothered, like he planned it that way.

"nothing, why don't you read first?" mr. callahan declares, opening the safety guide book as he leans against his desk.

you still have the faintest smile on your lips. sam's little act wasn’t about mocking mr. callahan, he was just trying to make the freshmen feel better, to make them feel like maybe this place didn’t suck quite as much as it did five minutes ago.

sam opens his manual with a furrowed brow, reading aloud in mock reverence. “chapter one,” he begins, eyes scanning the page with exaggerated curiosity. “surviving your fascist shop teacher who needs to put kids down to feel big.” he pauses to look up at the class with a nod, followed by some more chuckles. “wow, this is useful, guys! we should read on.”

your smile widens.

you weren't gonna go to friday football night originally. you have little knowledge on sports, let alone football. but your family insisted, saying you should go out and try to have a good time. it's not like you really had anything better to do anyway, and maybe you'd see sam.

you wanted to talk to him! you didn't know what you'd say, but he seemed like a friendly person, so maybe he wouldn't mind. he had that kind of presence— open, warm, like you wouldn’t regret trying.

with a lukewarm soda in one hand and nachos in the other, you make your way toward the bleachers. the chatter and cheers hit you like a wave as you settle near the edge of a row, hoping no one notices how stiff and out of place you look. you try to match the other students’ energy, clapping when they clap, shouting when they shout.

"come on devils!! whooo!"

you turn your head at the familiar voice, seeing sam towering over other students as he stands a few rows up, cheering for the school's team.

two girls pass by him with synchronized giggles. “hey, nothing!”

sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath that you can't make out over all the noise.

you want to go up to him so badly. he's intriguing, and you want this year to be different, to be better than all the horrible ones.

after driving yourself crazy, standing up and then back down twice, you shyly decide to approach him, your shoes echoing slightly on the metal.

"hey... sam." you murmur just loud enough so he can hear you over the roar of students.

his head turns with a bright smile, "hey!" he looks at you, pointing a finger like he's just recalled something before letting it drop. "you're in my shop class, right? how's your clock coming?"

you shake your head as your lips part. "my dad's building it."

"yeah, mine looks like a boat." sam chuckles with a small scoff. he looks back to the field, cheering and watching in enjoyment. you linger awkwardly, unsure what to do next. then he glances at you again. "you wanna sit over here, or are you waiting for your friends?"

"oh! no," you shake your head with a small, meek smile. "i'll sit here- if that's okay."

he nods and shifts, patting the spot beside him with an inviting grin as you sit down.

sam says, still facing forward, "thanks for not calling me nothing, by the way."

"it's an endless nightmare." he groans, shaking his head in annoyance, keeping his eyes on the game. "and these assholes actually think they're being original."

you nod nervously, your fingers wringing together in your lap. five seconds pass as your brain scrambles for conversation, something to say. literally anything.

"so, uh... you like football?" you offer gently, nodding as sam flashes you a beam.

"love it."

"oh, then maybe you know my broth-"

"hey dean." sam hums out of nowhere, his head turned to face someone beside you.

you look up from where you're sitting, your eyes almost widening as you glance at the prettiest boy you've ever seen. his dark jacket is half-zipped, hands shoved into the pockets, brows drawn together in disdain, but you swear your heart stops for a moment.

you take your gaze off him almost a second later, inhaling quickly as you look back at the crowd.

"could the bathrooms here be more disgusting?" the unknown boy grunts, sitting down next to you with no decorum, spreading his legs with a scoff.

you try to remain casual, scooting down a little as you keep your eyes fixed on the football field before you.

"well, i finally got hold of pete." he says, eyes on sam as he swipes a handful of popcorn from the bucket in his lap.

"party tonight?" sam asks along with a small, playful glare.

"nah, he's still trying to shag that waitress from the olive garden, that damn dog."

sam chuckles, shaking his head. "he's never tossing that salad."

now suddenly like he's just realized there was someone else sitting in between them, the boy looks to you curiously, giving you a once over before back at sam. "who's this?"

sam's lips part, blinking awkwardly. "uh, this is..."

you give them both your name, smiling politely. dean's eyes widen at your last name, stifling a laugh with his fist. "no shit! your sister dates ponytail derek, doesn't she?"

"is that what they call him?" you mutter, lips twitching into a reserved, lopsided grin.

"leave ponytail derek alone." sam scolds. "you put the ass in class, dean."

"i try, sam, i try." dean smirks, stealing more popcorn. he turns back to you, offering a charming smile. "hey, m dean."

you smile back, nodding your head as sam speaks up again.

"so, what's the plan, dean? you want to go to mary elizabeth's house?"

"can't. she got caught watering down her parents' brandy with iced tea. let's just go to kings." dean grunts, chewing his popcorn obnoxiously.

"hey, we're going to kings after the game if you want to come." sam bends down a little, smiling at you gently.

you nod your head for what feels like the hundredth time just as brad hays tosses a touchdown pass. the fans go crazy, especially sam, so you do too, clapping your hands loudly as you stand up.

you three headed to kings family restaurant after your team won, eating greasy diner food in a small booth with red cracked leather seats. you're sat across from sam, eyes flicking between both boys sitting side by side.

"so uh, you got a favorite band?” dean asks after shoving three curly cheese fries into his mouth.

you swallow, shaking your head with a small shrug. “well.. i... think the smiths are my favorite.”

“are you kidding?” dean grunts, freezing mid-chew, and for a second, you brace yourself for an insult or witty joke. but as he leans forward to take a sip from his soda, he grins, “i love the smiths.”

brad hays and his jock posse pass by behind you three to their table, some of them shouting “hey, nothing!” at sam, causing a huge grin to break from dean’s lips.

sam scoffs, spinning around in his seat. “let it go! jesus- it’s an antique joke. it’s over!”

“so, what’re you gonna do when you get outta this place?” dean asks you curiously, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“well, my aunt helen said i should be a writer.” you hum, looking down at the table. “but uh.. i dunno what i’d write about.”

“you can write about us.” dean hums with a small smirk, looking over beside him.

“yeah!” sam grins, turning his gaze back to you. “call it slut and the falcon..!”

ignoring the rolled eyes dean darts directly at him, sam adds, “make us solve crimes!”

"falcon? what are you, twelve?” dean grunts, munching loudly.

you smile, taking a piece of brownie into your mouth before asking, "how long have you guys been friends for?"

sam shakes his head, about to speak when dean beats him to it. "never."

you blink in confusion as sam grins, nudging dean's shoulder. "we're brothers."

you lips part a bit. of course they are, how did you not see that before?

dean leans back in the booth with his arms stretched along the top, chewing on a fry like it's a cigarette. sam hums something under his breath and drums his fingers on the edge of the table.

you’re full, but not just from the food. you’re full in a weird way, like something in your chest has opened, like the first breeze after a long, stale summer. you don’t say much more after that. you just listen, and watch, and sit between two people who don’t seem to mind that you’re quiet.

they talk about a party that might be happening saturday, and someone named craig who once shaved his eyebrows off on a dare, and they argue over whether or not rocky IV is a masterpiece or a cinematic war crime.

it’s not a big moment, it’s not even really a moment. it’s just a regular tuesday night. cheap fries, too much noise, and two people who haven’t asked you to be anything else.

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

literally so thankful my bsf proofread this bc she gave me such good writing tips im im im im thank yew for reading (!!) i know this looks kinda um.. cliche but i swear im gonna lock in!!!!! 😼

[crushmeeren]

did you kiss the brick before you threw it at me dolly??

“excuse me, miss?”

you turn around, startled by the gravelly, yet soft voice behind you. standing there is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, even under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“yes?” you hum, blinking gently with a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he inhales, eyes uncertain like a deer caught in headlights. “do you.. know where the bathroom is?”

you pause, your gaze drifting toward the hallway as you think for a moment. “i think it’s down that hall? i’m pretty sure, yeah..!” you gesture with a point of your finger.

he nods, but his gaze doesn’t follow your point. he’s still looking at you. intense, like you’re the center of his world.

“thank you,” he murmurs.

you smile again with a reassuring nod, your expression warmer than intended.

“hey, um—” his voice falters as he takes a step closer, his presence suddenly feeling all too real. “do you know a.. dean winchester by any chance?”

you ponder for all of two seconds before apologetically shaking your head. “i don’t, i’m sorry.”

his face falls. like a piece of him is slipping away.

he starts to panic, even though he knew this was destined to come. castiel told him, sam told him, bobby told him.

“really?” his voice suddenly cracks, catching you off guard. "he’s— he’s… the love of—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated huff, looking down at the floor. it’s not worth telling you. your memory is gone. destroyed.

you hear the rawness in his voice, the desperation he’s fighting to keep tucked away. your breath catches as you watch him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears now.

“the love of your life?” you murmur gently— god, always so gentle.

he lets out a small bitter laugh, but it’s barely there. he swallows, the sound thick in his throat.

“yeah.” he says, voice shaky but determined to play along. “sure, yeah.”

a wave of sympathy rises within you, one you’ve always given to those who seem like they need it the most. and there it is, that stupid face filled with sorrow you gave to people no matter their problem, big or small.

“where is he?”

dean stares hard, his gaze unwavering, as though your eyes might hold him together for all of eternity.

"he’s lost.”

[crushmeeren]

the homecoming scene made me so nostalgic. but this experience was way more fun than mine.

i’ve also been that high where i felt as if i was levitating lmao. this has such a found family feel to it and it warms my heart.

a lovely chapter dolly. 💌

𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER TWO - a friend of ours

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 3.6k (LMAO I DIDNT MEAN TO)

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

that night buzzed with the kind of energy that sat between anxiety and something giddy. the diner booth was small, the table sticky with years of spilled milkshakes and teenage secrets, but it was perfect. sam and dean were loud, messy, and impossible to look away from, leaving you to spend over an hour with them.

you debated on telling your family about your new friends when you got home. would it even matter? would either of them want to talk to you again? maybe they were just bored. so you kept it to yourself, telling your mom you were late home because of how long the game went.

you didn’t expect to see them again so soon, and at homecoming at that! you didn’t even think they’d want to go, you assumed dean would think it was just a stupid, corny “mating ritual”.

you lean against a wall, red solo cup in hand, trying to blend into the brick, watching couples dance and enjoy their night as disco balls spin shadows across the gym. your eyes flicker all over, scanning for the brothers unconsciously. that’s when you see them.

dean lazily sways to a slow song with some cute girl clinging to his arm, his hands settled low on her waist. sam was nearby, moving with exaggerated flourishes as he danced by himself like no one was watching, which they probably weren’t— well, except for you, of course, grinning widely at his whimsy antics. 

then the music shifts, the syrupy slow ballad fading into something faster, something with life. 

you can see dean freeze on the floor, dropping his arms from his date’s waist and snapping to sam with surprise in his wide eyes. he slaps his brother’s shoulder, exclaiming, “ohmygod, they’re playing good music.” 

sam whips around to face the dj booth, a grin blooming across his lips. “holy shit, they are! they’re playing good music.” he repeats in a lower murmur, able to recognize the voice of david bowie anywhere.

“living room routine, now.” dean orders, snapping his fingers and leaving his date very confused as the two start to push their way to the middle of the gym floor. 

“wait, do we have to go right in the middle-” sam awkwardly starts to protest.

“dude, shut up.” dean cuts him off with a bark. “you made me come here, we’re doing this.” 

you blink, sipping your punch a little too quickly. suddenly, you find yourself starting to slightly bop to the music (in your own reserved way), your eyes squinting as they follow the boys to the center of the gymnasium. your lips part in surprise as they start to swing their arms back and forth, circling around each other with mock-serious expressions on their faces. you smile toothily, definitely not having expected that.

dean catches your gaze mid-spin, throwing you a silly smirk and winking your way as he dances, ignorant to the looks he’s attracting. 

you grin, waving to him meekly, but his eyes are already off you and enraptured in his own wild movements. the stiff crowd ogles the boys as they roll their shoulders back and spin around like idiots, but neither of them mind, and that just makes you grow even fonder of the pair.

you swallow at the thought. maybe it was kinda weird that your homecoming dance was centered around two older students you just met. maybe you should've gotten a date.

you take another awkward sip of your punch, trying to decide if you should go— oh nono, not this again.

you shake off your thoughts to put your solo cup down on the side somewhere, not even taking your eyes off the two boys as you try desperately not to make it seem like you’re dancing towards them, but you are, bobbing your head like a dork as you move.

dean cheers as you get closer, letting out a silly “whooo!” as he snatches your hand into his without warning, twirling you around and grinning while you let out a laugh. and all of a sudden, it’s like the world in your head you’ve been trapped in since you were six years old fades away as sam loosens his tie and loops it around your neck like a medal, inviting you to their special world of chaos. 

and for the second time in a little over 24 hours, you ventured out and got what you wanted.

later outside, when the cold is piercing your skin and the night wraps itself tighter, you walk with them through the rich part of town, streetlights buzzing above as you three shuffle up a stone path to some mansion party dean was invited to.

“god, it’s freezing!” he grunts, lips pursed as he shivers, shirtless under his suit jacket that was long gone... 

“no one told you to start stripping, casanova.” sam grins, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walk up the steps. he was warm. you remember when aunt helen used to wrap you up in her arms just the same.

“a-are you sure it’s okay that i come?” you ask meekly, looking up between them as you start to climb a staircase.

“yeah, course.” dean lazily nods, like it's obvious, as he struts up the stairs. “just remember, pete’s not paranoid— he’s sensitive.” he mocks with a small roll of his eyes, sticking out his tongue.

“DEAN!” a boy, who you assume to be peter, calls from the top of the steps, looking absolutely stoned as he greets us with a wobbly cup in his hand. “dude, that waitress from olive garden, she was such a tease.” he scoffs with a dazed smile plastered across his face as dean makes a playful boo-hoo face.

peter's eyes dart to your timid stance, and his beam widens. “will you marry me?” 

“nono,” dean snorts, waving him off. “you hopeless stoner— who attends the culinary institute.” he adds, shaking his head in exaggeration and clicking his teeth as pete winces in response, his hand on his heart dramatically. 

“nice try.” sam nods with a small smile, leading you inside. dean dashes in front of you both, walking down the steps to the basement like he owns the place. 

he turns around to you with a wiggle of his brows, holding his arm out wide. “so, this.. is a party.” 

you self-consciously step down into the basement and feel completely swallowed.

there’s music blasting as you enter the large room, stale beer and cigarette smoke in the air as you three start to walk through the array of people, the room packed with kids playing quarters, others pouring vodka into a watermelon.

“this is what fun looks like,” dean murmurs to you as he spots two of his friends sitting on a couch. “you ready to meet some desperate women? yeah you are, go have a seat.” 

you tuck a strand of hair (that wasn't even loose) behind your ear as you approach two girls around dean’s age, making your way to sit on the very edge of the couch with hunched shoulders.

“hey ladies,” dean purrs, leaning over the sofa cushions. he introduces the girls to you with a curt nod, you smiling as one of them takes your hand into hers to shake.

“mary elizabeth.” she says with a blank expression. “that’s alice.” she hums, nudging her head to the blonde next to her. 

“nice to meet you.” you smile lightly, hyper aware of the press of bodies, the sticky couch fabric, and the music pulsing through the floor. sam drops into the spot next to alice, sighing as he leans back into the cushions.

“this is her first party ever.” dean lets out a smug little hum, one brow teasingly quirking. the girls let out a little gasps as he swishes his beer around with playful nods. “so i expect lovely, heartfelt, soul-changing orgasms from both of you.” he grins, gaining a bashful look from you while he keeps swirling his beer like a wine snob.

“dean, you’re such an dick.” mary elizabeth snaps, rolling her eyes, though a tiny grin pulls at the edge of her lips. 

dean takes a swig before grunting, “where the hell did you go?” 

“the dance was a little boring, don’t you think?”

“you’re selfish, you coulda told someone.”

“awe, baby, cry me a river.” 

“how is it that you’ve gotten meaner since becoming a buddhist?” dean snorts, his thumb pointing to her, casting you a look that says, you hear this shit? you smile at him with a small shrug, since no, you weren't really listening anyway.

“i dunno, deano. just lucky, i guess.” 

“i think you're doing something wrong.”

“mmm, or something very right..”

dean and mary elizabeth continue their somewhat flirty banter until sam catches sight of someone across the room, a beaming glint dancing in his eyes as he looks that way.

dean catches this, spinning around in wonder before smirking knowingly. “ah, look who’s here.”

your head follows, blinking curiously. “is that brad hays?”

“yeah, he comes here sometimes.” alice smiles after sam got up to greet the quarterback. 

you scoot a little closer to them on the beat up couch, silently noticing how dean went to go mingle right after sam left, so now it was just you three.

“but he’s a popular kid...!” you utter in surprise.

mary elizabeth’s eyebrows pinch, shooting you a sharp look. “then what are we?” 

you start to think of something to reply with, but you can't. the girls turn away, ignoring you. you swallow, fingers unintentionally pulling at the strings of your shirt. then peter unexpectedly approaches the couch with a tray in his hands, like your very own fairy godmother (just... high as a kite).

“hey, you look like you could use a brownie.” he murmurs, definitely high, bending down over the cushions to hold out the tray as you exhale in relief. 

“oh, thank you!” you smile warmly with a nod, taking one of the treats, your nerves bubbling up in your stomach. “i was so hungry at the dance. i was gonna go to kings, but i didn't really have any time—” you bashfully cut off your tense rambling, not catching the knowing smirk mary elizabeth throws to peter as you thank him.

you take a large bite, sighing at the tasty chocolate coating your tastebuds, and completely blissful about what you're actually doing.

wowwwieee..!

and well, soon enough, you’re completely baked out of your mind, sunk into a carpet. more of the party surrounds you now, practically pissing themselves with laughter as a random kid no one knows talks and talks and talks.

“have you guys felt this carpet? this carpet feels so damn good.” you murmur, stroking it leisurely.

mary elizabeth’s cackling, clearly very entertained by your antics. “hey, hey,” she interrupts, grinning wide as you look up from the carpet. “what do you think about high school?”

“high school?” you squint at her with a scoff, frowning immediately. “bullshit. the cafeteria's called the nutrition center, people wear their letter jackets even when it's 98 degrees out,” you start babbling again, contently disregarding the amused chuckles around you. “and why do they give out letters for marching band? that's not even a sport, and we all think it! right?”

you feel so many eyes on you, but they don't feel bad. people were laughing— happily! and with you, not at you. probably.

“this kid is crazy..!” mary elizabeth laughs, turning her head to face the other lingering people. 

you stare intently at the girl's punk wave haircut, expression flat. “mary elizabeth, i think you might regret that haircut when you look back at pictures..” you say simply, her face contorting into playful offense as everyone else cackles. 

“i'm really sorry.” you swallow at the reactions. “that sounded like a compliment in my head.” you murmur sheepishly, eyes flicking between each snickering person. 

“well, it’s kinda true.” alice giggles, turning to mary elizabeth, who lets out a gasp in mock horror. “shut up!” 

dean walks back into the room out of nowhere, scanning the chaotic scene in confusion, just as mary elizabeth coos, “ugh, i can’t even be mad— look at her!” 

dean glances toward you, blinking at your unusually carefree demeanor before smiling at the realization. he shakes his head in disbelief. “pete, did you get her stoned?” 

“she likes it, just look at her!” peter replies in his defense, pointing a finger toward you with a playful tee-hee. 

“god,” dean scoffs lightheartedly, still shaking his head from side to side at you. “well, how d'ya feel, space cadet?” dean hums in amusement, raising his brows.  

your nonchalant eyes reach his as you pause to think for a moment.

“...i just really want a milkshake.”

the entire room explodes with laughter, bringing a small smile to your lips. you love that people find you so funny, it’s a rare feeling.

“shit, me too.” dean grunts in agreement at the thought. he waves his hand, beckoning you to get up and follow him as he starts to turn away from the party. 

you oblige, joining him as he heads into pete’s minimalistic kitchen. “alright, sit down, stoner.” he says, nudging his head toward a stool, throwing another teasing glance your way. 

he grabs what he needs for your milkshakes while you just stare. you watch in satisfaction as he tosses a scoop of ice cream into a blender with a flourish, humming some metallica song under his breath.

“dean,” you start all of a sudden, voice a little whiny, which brings a smirk onto dean’s gorgeous lips. “you have such pretty green eyes.. the kind of pretty that deserves to make a big deal about itself.” you babble tiredly, smushing your cheek against your hand. "ya know what I mean?”

he chuckles, looking down at the opened milk carton as he pours it into the blender. “ya think so?” he hums with a small grin.

“mhm.” you hum before moving on. “what a great word. milkshake.” you murmur dreamily, still watching him with a quiet sense of joy. “it's like when you say your name over and over again in the mirror, and then after awhile, it sounds crazy..!”

dean grins wider, genuinely entertained, which actually makes you a little shy. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’ve never been high before?”

“me? nonono!” you chuckle, pulling your head off your palm. “see, my best friend michael, his dad was a big drinker, so he hated all that kinda stuff. parties too.” you explain blankly, tapping your hands against the island counter as you speak. 

“and where’s michael tonight, huh? gettin lucky?” dean jokes per usual, turning with his back facing you to put the milk back in the fridge. 

“oh, he shot himself last may.” you answer in a quiet tone. and nonchalantly at that, like it was nothing surprising to mention.

dean spins around from the fridge, with a silent gulp, his mouth in a tight line. and you’re just… stoned. 

“i kind of wish he'd left a note.” you smile, but it doesn't really reach your eyes. you're about to continue, but at his awkward nod, you huff with a small sense of worry and snap your head behind you. “where’s the bathroom?” 

“uh, it’s up the stairs.” he mumbles, now unsure of how to act around you knowing this information, which you just barely take into consideration in this state. if you were boring regular you again, you'd definitely apologize like nobody's business and probably run away in embarrassment.

but instead you thank him, hopping off the stool and wandering up the carpeted stairs, zoned out. you internally groan. your limbs feel like jello, letting out a tired exhale after climbing the steps. you unsteadily tread down the hallway, where you find a large ornate mirror hanging against a corner wall. 

you pause in front of it, leaning in closer to stare at yourself. your reflection stares back, pupils blown wide as you whisper your name curiously. you repeat it again, glaring in your eyes before murmuring, “weird”, under your breath.  

you’re definitely a little lost as you turn face to three doors. oh. did dean say where exactly the porcelain throne was or...? whatever! you push open the door closest to you without another thought.

your eyes widen in surprise as you're able to make out sam winchester and brad hays inside, sitting closely on a king sized bed. oh yeah, and they're kissing. 

you swallow, eyebrows raising as they rip apart from one another quickly at the sound of the door creaking open. your lips purse, blinking twice before spinning around and walking right out. 

sam and brad stare in surprise, one definitely more afraid than the other. “who was that kid?” brad whispers tensely, keeping his eye on you as you walk down the hall, his heart racing. 

“don’t worry, she’s a friend of mine.” sam reassures him, grabbing his arm with a small brush of his thumb. “stay here.” he says before getting off the bed and following you out. 

you hear the mattress squeak as sam gets up, turning around at the footsteps behind you. “i didn’t see anything.” you say immediately. “i’m really sor-”

“you did, and it’s okay.” sam cuts in gently with a nod. he glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one’s looking, then sighs. 

“listen… brad doesn't want anyone to know-” he starts, but pauses as he notices your, um... not a lot of there there eyes staring back at him.

“wait, are you baked?”

“like a cake.” you reply with a giggle, your smile widening as sam huffs out a chuckle despite his anxiousness. “that's what pete said. and how you can't have three on a match because they would find us.” you continue talking with flailing hands as sam pinches his temples with a grin. “and everybody laughed, but truthfully, i don't know what's funny..!” 

“okay, listen.” sam exhales, shaking off his smile and replacing it with a serious tone. “i need you to promise that you're not going to say anything to anyone about me and brad. okay? this has to be our little secret.”

you blink at the echo of those words that are now poking at something buried in you. our little secret. yeah, you’ve heard that before. you can do that. 

“okay, sure.” you nod simply. 

“thank you.” sam sighs in gratitude, patting your shoulder. “we’ll, uh, talk later, okay?” he says sweetly before turning to go back into the bedroom. 

“looking forward to it!” you blurt out with a nod, immediately cringing at yourself. 

you hear his laugh before he walks in and shuts the door. you hum, spinning to drift back down the stairs.

the party has thinned into whispers and scattered laughter. empty cups litter the furniture everywhere, and you feel bad for the parents of the house. you're now sitting on the couch, legs curled up beside alice and mary elizabeth as you nurse your milkshake like it's life support, the straw making a small crackle every time you sip.

across the room, dean’s watching you with a furrowed brow, beer neck loose in his rough hand. his head turns as sam thumps down the stairs, motioning his little brother over to where he leans against a ping pong table. 

“hey.” sam hums with a small exhale. 

“dude.” dean whispers, taking his eyes off you to look back at sam. dean tells him what you said in the kitchen, his expression firm and a little sympathetic. “i don't think she has any friends.. like at all.” he adds. 

sam blinks at him in surprise, his lips parted. he’s about to say something in response when dean interrupts him like he always does, getting up and striding over to where you are. 

“okay, sluts, gather round!” he declares loudly, solo cup held up high. “raise your drinks.” he orders once what's left of the party comes over to the couch.

you look up from your seat, where he towers over you, his jawline absolutely divine at this angle. you’re a little paranoid as you start to look around and see everyone staring in your direction, including sam and dean. 

“what did i do?” you ask softly, your hand tightening around the milkshake. 

“nothin.” dean shrugs plainly, inhaling a breath of air. “we just, uh. you’re a um…” he clicks his fingers together as he trails off, spinning around to face sam. 

sam rolls his eyes with a small smile, stepping closer to us. “well, um... you see things and you understand.” he explains gently, his nodding reassuring and kind, just like what you'd expect from him. “you’re a wallflower.”

you swallow, drying your sweaty hands onto your skirt. you look around the room shyly at the nods and friendly faces, your heart crawling up into your throat. “i didn’t think anyone noticed me.” you mumble, voice a little shaky as you look down at the floor. 

“well, then!” someone from the back of the room exclaims. he starts to sing, “raise a glass to fre— oh yeah— the four of ussss!”

laughter bursts like fireworks, sparkling and spreading all over the room. “tomorrow there’ll be more of usssss!”

you laugh too, smiling at the familiar reference as you look up again. 

dean spins around with a knowing grin. “shut up, nerds!" before turning back to you. he crouches down a bit, like he’s about to tell you a secret. he rolls his eyes sarcastically, booping your nose as you dopily grin back. he sighs, green gaze in your face. “i guess.. welcome to the island of misfit toys.”

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

erm i didnt mean to make it so long.. esp considering the first chapter was only 2.6k but oh well!! i loved writing this chap c: rah rah tags below :3

@losers-clvb @that-stanford-girlie @lisah-over18 @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @bakugotypecrashout @bitchyfestivalbouquet @anniebannanie0315 @imsiriuslyreal @crushmeeren @xothegiant @misticsilver

[crushmeeren]

sub dean just hits different

𐔌　𝓒ON𝓢UME 𝓜E ₊˚ ♡

○˚𑄽𑄺˖° SUMMARY: dean wants to be your everything, no matter the cost.

⋆˚✿˖° NOTES: loser!sub!dean x vampire!reader smut blood consumption finger sucking pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, sweet girl, gorgeous) hair pulling begging dry humping unprotected sex overstimulation they r obsessed with each other!! dean's a little ooc ig meow! it's like semi edited wahh

○˚♡˖° WORD COUNT: 4.4k woah!

˚○ ୨୧ main masterlist taglist navi

dean being with you, a literal vampire, didn’t feel like damnation. it felt like heaven. for all your many centuries of existence and the blood that kept you breathing, you were delicately affectionate from the moment you’d met him. it’s actually what kept him from ganking you during the first few weeks you decided to stick around.

and thank goodness he didn’t.

you practically pacified the sweet boy in just a few months, often resulting in him curled up in your arms like a half tamed puppy after a long day, all of his previous bark and bite from earlier faded to quiet whines and slow blinks as your fingers threaded through his hair.

it’s disgusting the way dean constantly finds himself submitting to you. he’d rip his heart out with his bare, calloused hands and gladly give it to you the second you asked.

he’s screwed.

his love was all consuming, constantly having a dizzying headache of wanting you so bad it scraped his ribs raw. and he figured maybe you had spelled him somehow, to make him want to give up his one and only soul for you, a monster.

because dean didn’t love, not really. he never yearned for someone the way a man in love should. not until you.

he lived for these moments with you, where the shit world he fights against every day is still and kind for once. where he’s shirtless in bed, holding you like he’d fall through the mattress if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

your low cut tank top gave dean a wide view of one of his very few sanctuaries... your tits.

he leans forward to place a small kiss on your chest before tilting his head back to look at you with those hypnotizing green eyes, his hands rubbing your sides to eventually stop at your hips and giving them a light squeeze.

you exhale, lightly rubbing his biceps as you lean back against the headboard. “baby, i haveta.. eat.. soon.” you murmur, gently reminding him of your nature. you’ve always hated bringing it up, having to admit the hunger that stirred beneath your flesh.

he frowns with a sigh, placing another kiss on your chest and nuzzling his head between your breasts like a petulant child, rubbing his nose against the soft skin before looking up at you again with an alluring glance that made your unbeating heart tug.

“jus stay for a few more minutes.” dean grumbles, letting his lower lip fall in a tiny pout as he blinks up at you, his chin still squished between your boobs.

you giggle, petting his hair and bringing up a finger to trace over his pouting lips. “i didn’t say right this second. just soon, kay?”

a soft whine escapes him as the pad of your finger lightly brushes against his lips, like just the small touch from you had blessed him. the large hands resting on your hips slide down underneath your loose shirt, now roaming over your bare skin.

he shamelessly takes your finger between his plump pink lips as you eye him with a soft smile, a little noise of content falling out of you. he sucks and gently nips on it, his eyes never pulling away from yours. you know, like a whore.

you adore when he's like this, all soft and subby. you coo, your free hand still playing with his hair as he swirls his pink tongue around your digit.

he softly whimpers as he reluctantly slips your finger out of his mouth before smooching a gentle kiss on the pad of it. his hands are now soothingly rubbing your back underneath your shirt, his lips trailing down to scatter soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

one of his legs suddenly slip between yours, knee brushing against your core before cooing at your surprised squeak at the contact, your hips automatically jerking at the friction.

“okay,” you rasp, nodding your head in attempt to recollect yourself with a hard swallow. “i said soon as in.. only a few minutes, baby.”

he simply hums before leaning forward and stupidly taking the skin on your jaw between his teeth.

hunger crawls up your throat without warning, blooming hot and desperate. you can smell him more now from this angle— sweat and blood, and god, his awaiting throat is right there.

and he just purrs like he knows how it’s affecting you, the noise vibrating against your skin.

“dean.” you warn sharply, fighting the necessity to indulge in your needs. you resist the urge to sink your fangs into him 24/7, and it's even worse at times like these when he’s all over you.

“i'm hungry, be careful.”

he simply hums again as he places a kiss on your jaw before moving down until his lips press gently against your pulse point, his teeth nipping on the sensitive skin of your throat, almost as if to tease you.

“you’ve already taken my blood before.” he points out with a small grunt, burying his nose into your neck.

you wince at the memory. it was in an empty ghost town where your stash had been destroyed, and you thought your life was over. you’d resisted for hours until you just couldn’t anymore. then dean had offered his wrist with a smile and a “c’mon, sweetheart, you need to. please.”

you didn’t want to, but what other choice did you have? you’d been careful. gentle. he even said it didn’t hurt.

you whine, pulling him closer despite the logical part of your brain telling you otherwise. “that can never happen again, deany.” you murmur, lashes fluttering at his wet nips and pecks.

he huffs against your skin. “why the hell not? nothing happened, right?” he says matter of factly, his tone still soft as his fingers trace patterns over your back. he wants to be what you crave and he wants to be the one to give it to you. he needs to be needed.

“yeah, but,” you start with a pout. “i don’t ever wanna hurt you, honey.” you mumble, eyes following his mouth as he kisses and presses himself all over you like a needy little puppy.

eventually, he lifts his head to look at you again, a small pout of his own on his lips as he stares at you with a pleading expression. “what, you think m scared of you? you’re not gonna hurt me, sweet girl.” he notes with a shift, leaning up to press a soft kiss on your chin, and then your nose.

his knee was still pressed against your center, and he couldn’t help but tauntingly move it, just slightly, enjoying how much it seemed to rile you up.

“i can’t, baby, i can’t..!” you whine, eyes rolling back momentarily. you let out a breathy sigh, a lovesick smile sneaking out as he begins to pepper your face in kisses.

he chuckles, finding your whines and whimpers absolutely adorable. “why not?” he asks with a small coo, his hand petting over your puffed out cheek.

his other hand presses flat against your back, thumb rubbing circles over it as his nose gently rubs against yours. he knew that he was slowly but surely pushing you to give in, and he always plans on getting what he wants.

“because! if i start, i won’t stop— i can’t control it!” you’re quivering now, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded as he rocks his knee against you.

“sweetheart. please?” dean softly hums, his green eyes looking up at you with need. “just a little bite.. that's it.” he murmurs. there’s no hesitation in him. no fear. just a desperate, boyish need to be yours in every possible way.

he further presses his knee against your fabric covered cunt, urging you to grind against him. “fuck, c’mon. let me take care of you.” he exhales.

you let out a heavy breath, hips jerking with a small whimper until you shakily nod. “okay.. your wrist. n-not your neck..” you mumble, listening intently to the sound of his heartbeat.

he can’t hold back from letting out a deep, guttural groan at your confirmation. he brings his wrist up to your mouth, offering it like a gift with pride. “drink, baby...” he whispers huskily, his hand going to your hip to help you rock on him.

you breathily hiss at both the sensation and dean's eagerness to feed his girl, bringing a shiver to your spine. you snatch his wrist into your cold grip before pausing to listen to the flow of his blood, his eyes slightly widening.

“are you sure?” you whisper with closed eyes, hunger twisting low and sharp in your belly.

“yeah, positive.” he breathes, nodding rapidly as he stares at you with pure adoration.

with a flash of movement, you drag his wrist to your mouth, and your fangs sink in.

your nails dig into his forearm as the blood hits your tongue, rich and wild and oh so human. your head spins with the taste of him— it’s overwhelming, addicting, too much, but you drink like you're starved, a low involuntary growl rumbling out of your throat.

dean lets out a soft cry, his entire body pressing up against you. he can feel your nipples poking through your shirt, his forehead dropping to yours as he cradles the back of your head with his free hand.

“jesus christ,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple as his eyes squeeze shut with a grunt.

he bites down on his bottom lip, letting out an involuntary moan. he's never felt something so intense before, the feeling of your fangs inside his flesh, the feeling of you sucking on his skin, and all the little sounds you’re making. he groans as your body arches into him, his jeans somehow getting even tighter.

his body goes on autopilot, hips bucking against yours, desperately in search of more friction. his free hand pulls your shirt up enough for your boobs to bounce out, his tongue swiping over his lips as he stares down at them before glancing up at you again.

“you’re so hungry, aren't you..?” he murmurs, hand moving under the shirt to squeeze a handful of your tit as he plants kisses along your neck.

god, his blood is everything. thick and warm and utterly his, laced with all the things you crave most. his loyalty, his love, the deep desiring thrum of a man who would burn himself down if it meant keeping you full.

your supernaturally tight hold manages to grip harder around his wrist for another greedy mouthful, and you feel him sag into you, breath catching on a ragged sigh. but even still, there's no fear, no hesitation. just dean, wide eyed and adoring, like he’s grateful to be devoured.

and that’s what jolts you back.

you yank yourself away from his arm with a choked gasp, blood still wet on your lips, your heart pounding like it’s about to explode. your fingers loosen their death grip on his wrist as you try to catch your breath.

his hand moves from your breast to caress your cheek, whispering sweet words, only to be interrupted by your snarl. “clean it up before i suck you fucking dry.” you whimper, voice barely holding together.

the sight of dean's blood smeared on your lips and your darkened eyes causes him to let out another low moan. he blinks, drunk on the intimacy still coiling between you.

“fuck...” he whines quietly, his hand on your head still playing with your hair mindlessly. he can't help himself, you just look so cute and kissable in this moment. he leans in closer, fingers going under your chin to lift you up a little, wanting a taste of your bloody lips.

you exhale, eyes shutting as you shake your head and press a hand against his chest to stop him.

his gaze flicks down to his bloody wrist. he lifts it up to his mouth and begins to leisurely lick the blood away, his tongue leaving soft, slow drags on it.

you groan at the sloshy sound, eyes tightening further as you put your hand over your nose, the smell getting to you.

a slight smirk forms on his lips like he knew him swiping up his blood so lewdly would push your buttons. his tongue continues its slow, meticulous work before he mumbles, “m glad you like it. tastes kinda salty.”

one second he’s all teasing and smirking, and the next you’re on him, fangs out, fingers like iron shackles around his wrist as you drag it back to your mouth.

but even at that, which should scare him, even as a hunter, doesn't bother him in the slightest. he lets out a soft coo, his free hand slowly moving up to gently caress your cheek as you settle on top of him.

he doesn't even care that he might provoke you in this state when he murmurs, “so fuckin pretty, honey,” like he’s delighted.

you hover just above the open wound on his wrist, trembling with your mouth parted and full of blood you still haven’t downed. your eyes flash, dark and feral and a little wild— and he just keeps staring like he’s witnessing something holy. like you’re absolutely fucking divine.

his blood lingers on your tongue, warm and metallic. and despite your bloodthirsty disposition, you’re really not seconds away from losing it and all hell breaking loose like you assumed. you know it.

and dean does too. your stupid, gorgeous dean, presses a kiss to your bottom lip, messy with red liquid.

he slowly pulls his wrist away from your grip, but he doesn’t move far. his palm stays cupped against your cheek, grounding you, like he wants to be tasted.

“you good, buffy?” he grins, soft and teasing with his eyes locked on your face, searching for any signs that you might still be hungry.

“mhmm,” you hum, pecking his thumb with a small smile. you shift in his lap, adjusting your weight until you’re draped over him, tucked into the warmth of his body.

“yknow,” he starts, voice low. he peers down at the blood smeared on his wrist, lips parting with an aroused exhale. he clears his throat before turning back to you, still brushing your face. “you can take it whenever you need to, baby.”

you smile softly at the words, shaking your head. you wouldn't do that to him. “thank you, but-”

“no, i'm serious.” dean cuts you off sharply, voice desperate, and eyes intensely staring into yours like a promise. “don't fight it. swear to god i'll give you everything- don't haveta eat from anyone else ever again.”

you swallow, lashes fluttering as you blink profusely. you shakily breathe, and you find yourself nodding, eyes darting back to the blood seeping out of his wound. you can feel your meal sliding down the back of your tongue, thick and warm.

“please, baby, please,” he whispers huskily, his hands roaming down to grip the globes of your ass. “wanna be your everything. please.”

your hand shoots up, fingers curling around his throat, and you shove him back into the headboard— not hard, but needing. his heart's racing as he stares straight at your perfect fangs baring out to him.

and god, he loves it. he loves you. the soft, sweet side you show the world and the raw creature underneath. the monster with blood on her lips and love etched into her bones.

dean groans out your name, wanting you to take everything he has to give. he looks at you with a desperate look in his eyes. you need me, it screams.

his fingers tighten around your thighs, nails digging in. there’s a tremble in his jaw he doesn’t even try to hide. he should feel pathetic, he thinks, being this far gone over you. but he feels chosen. he wants to be consumed. in fact, he wants to cry from how much he wants you, how much he wants you to bite him, and take everything he has to give.

you growl, a sound you don’t even mean to make, and the way dean reacts is almost embarrassing. he shudders underneath you, hips twitching slightly, eyes rolling back.

your bottom lip juts out into a small pout as you squeeze his throat tighter, eliciting a small whine from him.

you shove your lips onto his, licking and sucking feverishly. he immediately kisses you back, returning your lust driven bites with needy twirls of his tongue around yours. it's gross, spit drooling down your chin with your mouth moving in the most uncoordinated motions, but neither of you care. if anything, that's what makes it so good.

your hand around his throat squeezes, and you can feel his pulse hammering against your palm. his heart’s beating like it’s trying to climb out of his chest. he pants your name against your mouth like a prayer, almost dizzy with how much he wants you.

you pull away with heavy breaths, lips bitten and soaked wet with his saliva. he groans, tilting his neck closer to you, his hand gripping your wrist to pull it away. you moan loudly, staring at the skin with eager need.

he breathes, “take me”, and you’re gone for the second time tonight.

you surge forward, fangs sinking into his throat. his blood pours over your tongue once more, thick and alive. your body jolts like it’s been electrocuted as you moan against his skin.

dean cries out, a raw, broken shout as his eyes squeeze shut. his hips buck under you and his entire body arches up into yours.

he’s completely at your mercy, letting you take whatever you need, just as long as he can get that delicious feeling of you biting him, and the crazy pleasure he gets from being your source of nourishment.

his love floods your senses, overtaking every thought. you weren’t starving before, but nothing has ever felt so good as this. as his blood, your dean.

his eyes are heavy lidded and glassy, pupils blown wide as he feels himself being drained. there’s a tear slipping from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t even feel it, too busy whispering your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

“fuck,” he chokes, voice wrecked and boyish. “you’re gonna kill me— oh god, baby—”

you pull back a little, just enough to lick some seeped blood from his neck. your lips are stained crimson, eyes still half feral, and he's fighting to not completely sob at the sight.

you kiss his pulse point, slow and wet. “you're not gonna die, sweet boy.”

“i love you.” he blurts, like the words are punched out of him. he groans, squeezing the fabric of your shirt as he rolls his hips up. “oh, i love you. drain me, fuck me, take me— fuck, please!”

you moan loudly, right in his face as you grip it, holding him like he’s fragile. and he is. he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted so badly.

he can barely even think straight, his thoughts spinning with need and desire. he wants to be the only one you ever need. he groans, eyes rolling back and his hips bucking against yours mindlessly, seeking any sort of friction.

you let out a large exhale, practically shoving your hand to the front of his jeans, tugging down the zipper with little struggle and much need. his eyebrows are pinched tight, lips parted as he yanks his pants down, kicking them off his feet.

he snatches your tiny top into his large hands, pulling it up and over your head before leaning forward to kiss you again, tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth while you slide down your panties with quiet mewling sounds.

he immediately slips two fingers past your entrance, earning a moan from you while his other hand grips the side of your face, keeping your mouth on his. he skillfully slips his digits out before shoving them right back in, over and over again.

you bite his lips, more blood drawing from the stab of your fangs.

he groans, eyes rolling back before pounding his fingers harder into you, the spongy spot of your cunt massaging against them.

you cry out his name as you reach your high, his fingers dripping like water with arousal. he whines, staring down at them. he quickly takes them into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the skin like a man starved. you tug down his boxers, mindlessly throwing them across the room.

he smiles gently, pulling his fingers out with a small pop before flipping you to lay on your back. he bends down, leaving wet kisses along your neck and boobs as you whine with need. “i know, honey.” he coos a little shakily as he starts to drag his tip up and down your folds.

you gasp at the stretch as he slides further into you, eyes squeezing shut at the tight fit. you’re babbling like a fool in love, hands gripping his hair with a death grip. once his dick is fully inside, he pauses, waiting for the go as he murmurs words of praise into your neck.

“please, move, please..!” you plead, tugging his hair to pull him away from your skin, latching onto him as you suck on his bottom lip with a little buck of your hips.

dean moans, sticking his tongue out automatically as he starts to rock into you, thrusting at a steady pace filled with tender care despite the blood still dripping from his wounds.

a hand squeezes your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as your legs wrap around his waist. he shakes his head, using his free hand to pull under your thigh and lift a leg onto his shoulder. you cry out as he starts to hit deeper inside you at the angle, arching your chest into his.

your walls clench around him, girthy cock hitting all the right places. his balls slap against your ass as he slams into you, the lewd sound echoing throughout your apartment. his fingers slither down to your sensitive little clit, starting up small circles against it as you mewl.

it feels like he's staring into your soul as he rubs all over your clit, letting out soft whines at your wanton expression.

you’re frantically babbling, hand still tugging his hair. “g-good boy, dean, mmph..! it's so good, s-so s'good...”

your fingers swipe through the aching crimson mark on his throat, earning a mix of a grunt and moan from him as you kitten-lick your stained digits. he desperately thrusts into you, leaning forward with his tongue sticking out to copy your movement, tasting himself on your skin. it's almost creepy the way you both get off to it. your tongues brush against each other as you keep licking from your fingers, and it's enough to get you close to your release.

he notices, of course, and rapidly speeds up his fingers below, moaning your name as he pinches your puffy nub. you squeal, head tilting back as your hips jerk into his hand.

“shit, sweetheart.” he whines, releasing his grip on your nipple to spread kisses against your other tit, tongue lathering saliva as he spits down on the perky bud. “my sweet girl, fuck, i love you!”

your pussy squeezes around him like a vice as you finish. you both feel like you’ve been doused in a mind numbing drug as you cum at the same time. his jaw drops, red stained lips locked apart and eyes shut as he shoots his cum into you. he kisses your thigh on his sweaty shoulder, your cunt twitching as he lays your leg back down on the bed.

he lets out loud whimpers, cock still inside you as he feels your mix of releases seeping out of your pussy.

you open your eyes, cooing immediately at the sight of his dazed eyes, his head probably still fuzzy from the blood loss. he notices your glance and brings a hand to his neck, wincing as he touches the puncture marks left by your fangs.

he smiles sweetly. he can't help but be filled with joy from you taking his blood and seed.

god, he can barely string words together, barely even remember how to speak at all— but manages to let out one little word.

“more..” he whispers, voice barely even audible, as his hands grip your hips again.

you whine softly, shaking your head as your hands reach for his face. “no more, baby.” you exhale, still panting heavily. “mm, did so good, sweet boy..”

he sighs in defeat, but nods nonetheless. he's tired as fuck, and he did good, he pleased you. that’s all that matters.

you tiredly lean over to the nightstand, pulling out a tissue from the box before putting it against his neck. the pressure causes a slight sting, but he doesn’t mind. he loves the feeling.

his eyes flutter close as he listens to your sweet nothings, feeling a sense of delight washing over him. not wanting to lose contact with you, he grabs your hand, bringing it up to press a kiss on your knuckles. his grip's a little weak as he tugs you closer, laying down on your body.

both of you slightly wince at the aftershocks. you lean closer to give him a peck as you pull him onto you, hands threading through his hair.

he looks up at you with glassy eyes as you lazily suck on his lip, his body relaxing even more. his hand goes up to gently brush some hair away from your face before shutting his eyes. “we should clean up..” he murmurs lightly, tone all soft and sugary, and a little slurred from his fatigue.

“i'll do it.” you coo, pressing a final kiss against his mouth. he hums in content, turning his head sideways so his cheek squishes against your chest as sleep takes over him after one more declaration of love from his lips.

so, yeah. that sick, endless love dean winchester has always quietly craved is here in the grasp of a vampire. and good luck to any fucker who tried to separate them.

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

i kinda hate this tbh GULP i might go back and edit cuz i did this kinda sloppy 😭😭 sorry for any mistakes !!! this has been sitting in my drafts so i kinda just wanted to get it out 😓 lowk inspired by this bot !!

taglist: @multiversefanfics @misticsilver

also tagging spn moots cough …! (lmk if u dont wanna be!!! <3) @soldiersgirl @deanstubble @losers-clvb @jaredwnch @mostlymarvelgirl @manicpixievixen @sapphic-destiel @cherrygirlfriend

[crushmeeren]

oh this is a great beginning omg!!

the details are so immersive, it feels like high school all over again (tho I hated high school this story seems like a great do over)

also the name ponytail derek is so funny lmao

𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER ONE - the kind of thing people do

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 2.6k

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

the kitchen smells like toast and burnt coffee, it always does. the radio plays a song you half-remember from childhood, something your aunt helen used to hum in the car when the windows were down and the weather was just right. you don’t know the words, but you mouth along anyway, just because it feels good to try.

your mom’s already gone. she leaves early now, taking the long way to work even though she swears she doesn’t. there’s a note on the fridge, her messy handwriting squeezed into the corner of a grocery list.

“have a good day. be nice to yourself. love, mom :)”

you pick at the toast you made fifteen minutes ago, now cold and curling at the edges. the butter never really melted. you eat anyway, not because you're hungry, but because it’s the kind of thing a person does before school.

you glance back at the fridge. your sister left a photo of you two at the lake last summer, she must’ve just gotten the polaroid back from her friend. she’s the one with the huge sunglasses and obnoxious peace sign. you’re half-smiling, squinting against the sun like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to enjoy the moment.

the house is always too quiet in the mornings. you used to like it when you were younger, before everything started feeling too loud inside your head. now the quiet just feels like permission to disappear, and you’re trying not to do that anymore, it worries your family.

your bag sits by the door, already packed. a half-read novel, your spiral notebook with a bent corner, a pen that only works if you scribble on the margin first.

you exhale, not taking another bite of toast before pulling on your sweater and shoes. they’re the same shoes you wore last year, and the year before that. familiar and frayed at the edges, but you kind of like that about them.

this year will be different. different. better.

your ride honks outside. it’s not a friend, it’s derek, your sister’s boyfriend. he’s got a ponytail and an acoustic guitar in his trunk and calls everyone “brother” or “dude”, even your dad. you’re still not sure if he even knows your name, but he’s nice enough to give you rides.

you grab your bag, shout a half-hearted goodbye into the house for your dad, and head out to the beat-up sedan.

your sister spent the night at derek’s house, you can tell by the light circles under her eyes as you slide into the backseat. she liked to tell your parents she was at her best friend’s house or out at a party— even high school parties are better than sleeping over at derek’s, in their opinions.

“morning little dude.” derek lazily nods toward you in the rearview.

“hi.” you murmur quietly with a polite smile, pulling on your headphones. your sister doesn’t say anything.

you watch the trees blur by through the window, tapping your fingers to the music as you raise your volume to drown out derek’s smashing pumpkins tape. the high school comes into view too quickly, all brick and concrete and weirdly wide hallways.

you hop out of the car, adjust your sweater, and square your shoulders like someone pretending they’re used to this. the first day of school. you start walking next to your sister with a thudding heart as she talks to derek past the chain-link fence, past the kids clustered around the front steps, past all the noise.

she looks to you as you’re about to step inside the building. “high school’s not hard, okay?” she starts with a knowing glance. “just be yourself.”

you smile softly as you look back at her, even though you both know her advice is absolutely horrible.

shop. you make a mental note to change this class— you're not interested in using tools to make useless knick knacks. the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead is just loud enough to irritate you, and the smell of machinery and old wood clings to the air.

you sit by yourself, like always, watching some freshmen boys snort as a senior paints a cartoony goatee onto his chin with a grease pencil.

you swallow and avert your gaze, uninterested. your attention drifts to one of the many unfamiliar faces walking inside the room observantly.

he’s tall. too tall, like he’s been stretched out past what high school allows. maybe a junior, possibly a senior. but what sticks with you isn’t his height— it’s the mop of soft brown bangs that flop over his forehead, slightly curled at the ends to give him a gentle, almost boyish look. he also just has this sweet doe-like face, which makes you smile a bit.

then he grins wide and playfully, and the air in the room shifts. he walks straight to the front and without warning, launches into a dead-on impersonation of mr. callahan, the dull room perking up. you're thankful that he makes fun of the teacher instead of the freshmen, which you've been seeing and retrieving all day.

"the prick punch is not a toy." he mimics comedically, earning a few snickers from the students as his hand goes on his hip, his shoulders a bit hunched over. "i learned that in nam back in 68. callahan, the sergeant said. put down that prick punch and go kill some gooks."

the laughs die down a bit as the teacher steps into the class from the hallway, folding his arms as he walks up behind the boy, who continues obliviously. "but you know what happened? that prick punch killed my best friend in a saigon whorehouse."

mr. callahan sighs, a book in both hands as he stares, unamused. "i heard you were going to be in my class."

the boy turns around with an awkward, sheepish expression, but there's no trace of regret.

“are you proud being a junior taking freshman shop, sammy?"

sam huffs, scratching the back of his head, not even embarrassed at being called out. he's smart, not crafty, so what? "look, my name is sam." he notes flatly. "either you call me sam or you call me nothing... sir."

"okay, nothing." mr. callahan nods without missing a beat, pointing to an empty seat with the satisfaction of a man who thinks he’s just made the joke of the year.

sam resists the urge to roll his eyes as the class laughs. he ambles over and flops into the chair, unbothered, like he planned it that way.

"nothing, why don't you read first?" mr. callahan declares, opening the safety guide book as he leans against his desk.

you still have the faintest smile on your lips. sam's little act wasn’t about mocking mr. callahan, he was just trying to make the freshmen feel better, to make them feel like maybe this place didn’t suck quite as much as it did five minutes ago.

sam opens his manual with a furrowed brow, reading aloud in mock reverence. “chapter one,” he begins, eyes scanning the page with exaggerated curiosity. “surviving your fascist shop teacher who needs to put kids down to feel big.” he pauses to look up at the class with a nod, followed by some more chuckles. “wow, this is useful, guys! we should read on.”

your smile widens.

you weren't gonna go to friday football night originally. you have little knowledge on sports, let alone football. but your family insisted, saying you should go out and try to have a good time. it's not like you really had anything better to do anyway, and maybe you'd see sam.

you wanted to talk to him! you didn't know what you'd say, but he seemed like a friendly person, so maybe he wouldn't mind. he had that kind of presence— open, warm, like you wouldn’t regret trying.

with a lukewarm soda in one hand and nachos in the other, you make your way toward the bleachers. the chatter and cheers hit you like a wave as you settle near the edge of a row, hoping no one notices how stiff and out of place you look. you try to match the other students’ energy, clapping when they clap, shouting when they shout.

"come on devils!! whooo!"

you turn your head at the familiar voice, seeing sam towering over other students as he stands a few rows up, cheering for the school's team.

two girls pass by him with synchronized giggles. “hey, nothing!”

sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath that you can't make out over all the noise.

you want to go up to him so badly. he's intriguing, and you want this year to be different, to be better than all the horrible ones.

after driving yourself crazy, standing up and then back down twice, you shyly decide to approach him, your shoes echoing slightly on the metal.

"hey... sam." you murmur just loud enough so he can hear you over the roar of students.

his head turns with a bright smile, "hey!" he looks at you, pointing a finger like he's just recalled something before letting it drop. "you're in my shop class, right? how's your clock coming?"

you shake your head as your lips part. "my dad's building it."

"yeah, mine looks like a boat." sam chuckles with a small scoff. he looks back to the field, cheering and watching in enjoyment. you linger awkwardly, unsure what to do next. then he glances at you again. "you wanna sit over here, or are you waiting for your friends?"

"oh! no," you shake your head with a small, meek smile. "i'll sit here- if that's okay."

he nods and shifts, patting the spot beside him with an inviting grin as you sit down.

sam says, still facing forward, "thanks for not calling me nothing, by the way."

"it's an endless nightmare." he groans, shaking his head in annoyance, keeping his eyes on the game. "and these assholes actually think they're being original."

you nod nervously, your fingers wringing together in your lap. five seconds pass as your brain scrambles for conversation, something to say. literally anything.

"so, uh... you like football?" you offer gently, nodding as sam flashes you a beam.

"love it."

"oh, then maybe you know my broth-"

"hey dean." sam hums out of nowhere, his head turned to face someone beside you.

you look up from where you're sitting, your eyes almost widening as you glance at the prettiest boy you've ever seen. his dark jacket is half-zipped, hands shoved into the pockets, brows drawn together in disdain, but you swear your heart stops for a moment.

you take your gaze off him almost a second later, inhaling quickly as you look back at the crowd.

"could the bathrooms here be more disgusting?" the unknown boy grunts, sitting down next to you with no decorum, spreading his legs with a scoff.

you try to remain casual, scooting down a little as you keep your eyes fixed on the football field before you.

"well, i finally got hold of pete." he says, eyes on sam as he swipes a handful of popcorn from the bucket in his lap.

"party tonight?" sam asks along with a small, playful glare.

"nah, he's still trying to shag that waitress from the olive garden, that damn dog."

sam chuckles, shaking his head. "he's never tossing that salad."

now suddenly like he's just realized there was someone else sitting in between them, the boy looks to you curiously, giving you a once over before back at sam. "who's this?"

sam's lips part, blinking awkwardly. "uh, this is..."

you give them both your name, smiling politely. dean's eyes widen at your last name, stifling a laugh with his fist. "no shit! your sister dates ponytail derek, doesn't she?"

"is that what they call him?" you mutter, lips twitching into a reserved, lopsided grin.

"leave ponytail derek alone." sam scolds. "you put the ass in class, dean."

"i try, sam, i try." dean smirks, stealing more popcorn. he turns back to you, offering a charming smile. "hey, m dean."

you smile back, nodding your head as sam speaks up again.

"so, what's the plan, dean? you want to go to mary elizabeth's house?"

"can't. she got caught watering down her parents' brandy with iced tea. let's just go to kings." dean grunts, chewing his popcorn obnoxiously.

"hey, we're going to kings after the game if you want to come." sam bends down a little, smiling at you gently.

you nod your head for what feels like the hundredth time just as brad hays tosses a touchdown pass. the fans go crazy, especially sam, so you do too, clapping your hands loudly as you stand up.

you three headed to kings family restaurant after your team won, eating greasy diner food in a small booth with red cracked leather seats. you're sat across from sam, eyes flicking between both boys sitting side by side.

"so uh, you got a favorite band?” dean asks after shoving three curly cheese fries into his mouth.

you swallow, shaking your head with a small shrug. “well.. i... think the smiths are my favorite.”

“are you kidding?” dean grunts, freezing mid-chew, and for a second, you brace yourself for an insult or witty joke. but as he leans forward to take a sip from his soda, he grins, “i love the smiths.”

brad hays and his jock posse pass by behind you three to their table, some of them shouting “hey, nothing!” at sam, causing a huge grin to break from dean’s lips.

sam scoffs, spinning around in his seat. “let it go! jesus- it’s an antique joke. it’s over!”

“so, what’re you gonna do when you get outta this place?” dean asks you curiously, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“well, my aunt helen said i should be a writer.” you hum, looking down at the table. “but uh.. i dunno what i’d write about.”

“you can write about us.” dean hums with a small smirk, looking over beside him.

“yeah!” sam grins, turning his gaze back to you. “call it slut and the falcon..!”

ignoring the rolled eyes dean darts directly at him, sam adds, “make us solve crimes!”

"falcon? what are you, twelve?” dean grunts, munching loudly.

you smile, taking a piece of brownie into your mouth before asking, "how long have you guys been friends for?"

sam shakes his head, about to speak when dean beats him to it. "never."

you blink in confusion as sam grins, nudging dean's shoulder. "we're brothers."

you lips part a bit. of course they are, how did you not see that before?

dean leans back in the booth with his arms stretched along the top, chewing on a fry like it's a cigarette. sam hums something under his breath and drums his fingers on the edge of the table.

you’re full, but not just from the food. you’re full in a weird way, like something in your chest has opened, like the first breeze after a long, stale summer. you don’t say much more after that. you just listen, and watch, and sit between two people who don’t seem to mind that you’re quiet.

they talk about a party that might be happening saturday, and someone named craig who once shaved his eyebrows off on a dare, and they argue over whether or not rocky IV is a masterpiece or a cinematic war crime.

it’s not a big moment, it’s not even really a moment. it’s just a regular tuesday night. cheap fries, too much noise, and two people who haven’t asked you to be anything else.

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

literally so thankful my bsf proofread this bc she gave me such good writing tips im im im im thank yew for reading (!!) i know this looks kinda um.. cliche but i swear im gonna lock in!!!!! 😼