You’d been introduced to a new side of life by Dean Winchester, and you were intoxicated by it. You were previously a model student and the perfect daughter to your idealistic parents, wearing blouses and skirts and perfect-girl stockings that reached your knees. That was until Dean swept into your life and got his hand up said skirt the first time he made out with you in the middle of your college lecture. He made you rebel, got you your first drink and you loved it, and god, it was the first time you’d felt so bad. Wasn’t great that you weren’t paying attention, you were doing a long law major, with a boyfriend who’s only got a GED.

Dean didn’t have your parent’s favour, to put it lightly— he had a leather jacket, he didn’t come from money, had a deadbeat dad, no high-paying job and didn’t go to college. Naturally, you didn’t care. Wow, you never thought you’d say that.

Fuck, was he hot.

“Sweetheart.” He whispered, tapping on your dorm window with a grin, a dream in human form, hard liquor in human form, and you were still looking like a hot teacher’s aid. Fucking hell, you were the sexiest thing, his sweet girl, the love of his life.

His becoming-bad girl.

Dean chuckled, winking, cheeks flushed from the cold— leather jackets don’t do much, ok? But god, he was so happy to see you — his little corruption project which he loved — and he was ready to see how else his good girl could become bad. “Wanna open up?”

Ugh, even the sight of him made you feel alive. He was your first kiss, your first date, your first extremely hot make out, though he was yet to be the owner of your v-card. He’d made you step off the path and now he made you feel dizzy just by a kiss on the cheek.

Shit, you couldn’t fight the feeling.