Summary: It’s the rare occasion where your friend drags you to a party, where you meet 21-year-old Dean Winchester.
Warnings: Many a’ swearing.
A/N: It’s 3:30 am where I live. This is my life now. I have learned to survive on a nocturnal body clock. I will be one with the raccoons - also because I often eat during the day between nap times.
You hesitated outside the door; not ready to knock, but definitely ready to go and search for something to numb you. Preferably alcohol.
And so, you stood outside of the house. The house that was flashing with different lights, yelling loud lyrics from speakers and contained young, drunk college students. God, this was stupid. However, your friend’s words rang through your mind like a broken record (“You have to come with me, who’s going to make sure I don’t look lonely? Who’s going to film the night?” Harley leant closer to you, a huge grin spreading on her face. “Who’s gonna do shots with me?”).Considering her questions once more, you raised your fist up to the door and knocked on the door.
Well, you would’ve, except it wasn’t the door that you brought your hand down on. Instead, you almost hit some random guy in the face if he hadn’t of 1. Opened the door right before you were about to knock and 2. Caught your fist midway. Ripping your hand out of his, you took a step back and avoided his gaze, mentally scolding yourself.
“Dude, what the hell?” he snapped at you as he walked past, but he was quickly gone as soon as you turned to say sorry. Although you knew he was well out of earshot, you still muttered an apology and made your way into the house.
The minute you stepped foot in there, you knew you were done for. The heat had shot up, creating a stuffy atmosphere and the volume had immediately gotten louder – you covered your ears for a few moments before heading over to the kitchen. It wasn’t an easy job; trying to get through a crowd of drunk, sweaty, hormonal teenagers was a task that could wear out an Olympian, but you soon found your way to the section of the house that contained the booze. And sure, maybe it was in a classic bowl with the classic red cups everywhere, but hell, you weren’t about to complain.
You snatched a cup from the table and impatiently scooped up the liquid into it, not caring about the way it slushed out of the bowl and slightly onto your clothes. Bringing the drink to your lips –
Okay, putting the drink back down, you turned with a scowl on your face. Harley stumbled over to you with that grin on her face again and all you wanted to do was smack it off. Actually, all you wanted to do was drain your cup, but when Harley was around she expected the attention to shine on her.
“Harley,” you said politely through gritted teeth. “can I have a moment?”
When she smiled and began to play with her hair, you span around and gulped down the alcohol. It burned your throat a little and scratched at your tongue, yet you didn’t give a damn. There would be a whole lot more of that tonight.
You’re not an alcoholic, though you may appear like one tonight. Truth was, parties weren’t your thing. They were loud, they were intrusive, they raided every single one of your senses at the same time and dear God, the people were annoying. In fact, you were certain that the punch bowl would be your only friend that night, given that Harley would end up screwing some older guy instead of hanging out with you.
Why did you even go in the first place?
Harley grabbed onto your shoulders drunkenly. “You came!” she slurred, giggling at the end. “I didn’t think you would. You never do.”
“I know I don’t,” you forced a smile whilst removing her hands.
Giggling again, Harley leant forwards and whispered excitedly in your ear. “Why don’t we find you someone tonight, huh?”
Your eyes widened, and you took a step back, hitting the table behind you. “What?!” you hissed, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Are you crazy?”
Standing back and puffing her chest out, the grin still plastered on her face, Harley nodded. “Definitely crazy. Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“You know, I’m starting to recall a couple hundred lectures from school about not giving into peer pressure…” you sighed, looking off into the distance dramatically.
Harley rolled her eyes and grasped your hand firmly.
“Oh, please. All the cool kids are doing it.”
“You come here often?”
“This is Travis’ house, why would I come here often?”
“M’be you guys are hooking up.”
You groaned, resting your head on the boxes behind you. The music had faded a little, mainly because you were currently in the smallest walk-in closet with some random guy called… actually, you didn’t remember. Harley, in her intoxicated state, had formed some sort of system where she would lock you in Travis’ mum’s closet with a guy she was friends with, and if you hadn’t hit it off within five minutes she’d find someone new.
It. Was. Tragic.
So far, a guy named Peter had used all of his cheesy pickup lines on you, Terrie from your English class was so stoned that he didn’t even recognise you at first and made a physical move (you kicked him straight in the balls) and this new guy decided to ask you if you came around some random guys house often.
Just as you opened your mouth to reply, the lock clicked, and Harley poked her head through.
“How’s it going…?” she wiggled her eyebrows and bit her lip, glancing between the both of you.
You gave her a bitter smile. “I hate you.”
Giving you a fleeting, sympathetic smile, Harley stepped into the closet and dragged whoever the guy was out, then locked you back in. The only source of light was the floor light, which would then only illuminate the bottom of the other person’s face. It kinda made them look like they were telling a ghost story, and you giggled at the thought.
To be honest, being in the room alone was a whole lot better than being with some drunk idiot.
It had been ten minutes now.
Ten goddamn-fucking-are-you-shitting-me-Harley minutes.
And being in the room alone was not fun.
So, you made the decision to leave. Not the closet, not the upstairs, not the house to get fresh air. To go home and sleep off the alcohol, and then spend the next day in bed binging.
You stood up off the floor, brushing away non-evident dirt and making your short way over to the door. Which was, of course, locked. Luckily for you, you were in a room full of blessed wire hangers that you could use to get out, which, surprisingly, worked.
Well, it would’ve, except it wasn’t thin air that the door slammed open into.
“Seriously, you again?” he groaned getting up off the floor and massaging his head. “What is it with you and doors?”
The same guy from earlier glared at you, but by God, was it the hottest glare you’d seen. Not to sound cheesy, of course, but you were certain that there were sparks flying between you, and thick, sexual tension –
“This is the girl you were talking about?” he snapped at Harley, who was laughing her ass off next to the bed.
Yeah, the mood was ruined. Went down in flames. You, too, turned on Harley.
“This is the guy you were gonna try and set me up with? Wait, no. Why the hell did you lock me in a tiny closet for ten minutes? I was ready to start talking to the wall!”
“Oh, great, she’s nuts as well as clumsy. You’re definitely a matchmaker, sweetheart,” he snapped again. However, Harley didn’t seem fazed by your scolding. Again, she wore that same grin, and simply watched you two.
“I know I am. Have fun!”
“Wait – Harley – no…” but your attempts were useless, and you slouched on the wall beside you as the click of the lock sounded through the room.
You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through.
You’re Insufferable - I Don’t Do Parties (Part Two)
Title: You’re Insufferable
Pairings: Teen!Dean x Reader
Word Count: 1260
Summary: Reader argues with a stubborn Dean Winchester whilst locked in a room with him by her friend, Harley.
Warnings: Swearing, angsty but not angsty at the same time?
A/N: Welp, here you go! Second part to I Don’t Do Parties, and there will be many more to come. Btw, Harley is Shay Mitchell and Brooke is Sarah Hyland. Quick Question: Does anyone actually read these notes? Just so I know in the future if people actually care if I write them or not. I probably will still write them.
Only two hours ago, you were sipping your drink and trying to be as unsociable as possible.
Now, though, you were sitting on the floor with your eyes closed and your head buried in your hands and knees. Oh, and not to mention Dean fucking Winchester was laying down opposite you, grumbling complaints and being annoying as hell.