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wearywinchester · 1 year

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Restless

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a nightmare of that days hunt plagues you over and over, it’s next to impossible to hide your distress from the older Winchester.

Warnings: angst, nightmares, blood, injury, swearing, fluff, kissing

Again. Again for what felt like the fiftieth time in the last half our did you wake up. Realistically, more time has passed than a mere thirty minutes but it didn’t matter, not when you woke up short of breath, the sound of your gasp in contrast to the silence of the room having added to your already persistent fear.

Your heart was racing a mile a minute as your whole body jerked, moving to prop yourself up on your elbows as the shirt you wore clung to your back from the same sheen of sweat that sat in your face. The breeze from the open window helped, it cooled you, but the heat still flooded in your cheeks temporarily from the burst of adrenaline you felt upon waking from another nightmare.

Maybe another wasn’t the right word, not quite, because that’d imply that the narrative changes every time and it doesn’t. It’s the same scenario, the same script, the same turn of events. It’s all the same and it comes to haunt you each and every time you close your eyes.

The bed was empty, the room was empty—it was just you and the gusts of wind drawing your eyes to the window in half fear that that damn monster was going to come in and grab you.

It was irrational, you were almost one hundred percent sure, because that thing was dead and gone but your mind refused to believe it to be true. That much was sure as you looked at the window, at the curtains pushing towards you from the breeze blowing in. As you looked at the trees beyond the window that were swaying just like the ones back at the place that was haunting you every time you closed your eyes for more than a second or two.

You sat there, unsure of yourself until you finally were. You pushed back the covers and pressed your bare feet to the cold hardwood floor, padding over to the window and shutting it, shutting out the potent threat you thought may have been lurking right on the other side.

Your heart rate picked up again, not that it ever really settled, but it wasn’t until you’d gotten up that you really realized how affected you were. You were standing there on wobbly legs as you shook the slightest bit, hands shaking to mirror it. Your lip wasn’t that far behind as the tears continued to press and burn behind your eyes. You were so tired, frustrated even and you couldn’t bring yourself to get an ounce of restful sleep. You knew you wouldn’t be able to.

The urge for a distraction became to great when you found yourself just standing there in the middle of that room, running your hands over your face in hopes of a refresher but finding yourself brushing over the cut on it from earlier today. You were quick to recoil, those tears trying desperately to make an appearance. But you wouldn’t let them.

You left the room empty behind you as you followed the glow of light coming from downstairs, the old floor creaking beneath your feet. Bobby was out with Rufus and Sam was doing who knows what research at this hour because that was Sam. But that’s not who you were looking for, you were looking for a green eyed hunter who’s whereabouts were something you had a good idea of.

He knew it was you, of course he did, he knew the pattern of your footfalls. He could pick it up distinctly even in a room full of a thousand different sets of them. Not only that, but he knew you were distressed, he knew there was something bothering you ever since that hunt was wrapped up and finished with. It wasn’t just that ever so slight frown, or the way you drug your feet from more than just fatigue. It wasn’t any of that that gave it away.

It was the fact that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye. You were quiet as ever, that pretty smile of yours never reaching your lips, hardly even mustering a fake one just to humor him. You weren’t yourself and he noticed before you did.

You tried to be quiet, light on your feet as you walked, hearing the tap of his boot on the floor before you rounded the corner to the little kitchen Bobby had.

He was sitting at the table by the wall, papers scattered amongst the old and scratched wood surface, his laptop propped open with the next article on another case on it.

You didn’t even want to think about another hunt, mainly because you couldn’t, not when you were so beyond stuck on this one without an option to sway your mind to think about something else. You were stuck there, stuck in a loop that terrified you each and every time you thought about that stupid monster and the way it taunted you. You were frozen in that moment and every time you tried to think of something else it pulled you right back to it.

“Y/n?”

You blinked, looking at green eyes when he spoke your name and saw the way his brows were knit together.

“What are you doin’ up?” He asks, curiosity in his tone with a hint of something you couldn’t place.

He knew.

You stood there for a moment, scrambling for the reason that wasn’t untrue, you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the full truth of why you’d wandered down there in search of the older Winchester. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him how safe he made you feel, at least couldn’t in that moment. But you couldn’t stand there all quiet and timid forever, that wasn’t like you.

“Just checking in on you, see what you’re doing,” you shrugged, voice quieter and you looked him in the eyes for the first time since early that afternoon.

He hums quietly after a moment passes, a moment of looking at you carefully, a nod following it as he bites the inside of his cheek softly. He didn’t believe it, not even for a second did he believe it. Yes, you might very well have been checking on him, but he knew that wasn’t it. He knew that wasn’t the only reason, the only thing that had you wandering down there in search of him. He knew you far better than to believe that’d been the sole purpose of why you were standing a mere few feet away from him in the middle of the night when you’d been tired the whole ride back there.

For a minute you thought your answer was solid, fool proof, for a good minute you thought you’d made a steady reason but you knew better. You knew he’d see right through you and it had you shifting on your feet. It had you growing more timid the more he looked at you with that look that spoke a thousand words.

You cleared your throat. “I uh, I should get—”

“You’re bleeding,” Dean interjects, the crease between his brows deepening.

“What?”

The cut on your cheek, that one from the hunt that you rubbed your hands over in your daze upon first waking up. That’s what he was talking about.

“Y/n, look at me,” he says.

You let out a huff, frustration from lack of quality sleep after having been plagued with the same recurring nightmare and the green eyed hunter standing in front of you having brought it out all the more. So you huff, you huff and turn to look at him for the briefest of seconds just to say you did for his sake before you turn away again.

“There, it’s nothing,” you say, a little too defensive for your own good.

“Bathroom. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Dean, I said it’s nothing,” you argue softly, but this insistence was very much there in your voice.

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart,” he says, he gaze just as unrelenting as yours as you stare at him with narrowed eyes in an attempt to show your displeasure as best you can.

He wasn’t swayed.

That huff of yours comes back, sounding once more in the older Winchester’s direction as you spun on your heel and you could’ve sworn you heard his chuckle behind you, that one he always does when he gets the most stubborn hunter there is to listen to him for just once. Stubborn second only to him.

You stomp back upstairs, quietly at that, seeing as there’s at least two people in Bobby’s house that are able to sleep soundly, and somehow Sam and Bobby always manage to be the ones who are.

You reach the landing, the old hardwood floor creaking under your feet as you round the railing and walk the few steps to the small bathroom on the right. You switched the light on and hopped up on the counter, legs dangling as you exhale a softer sigh, not quite a huff but the same intention sitting behind it as you purse your lips.

It wasn’t very long before you heard those boots thud against those same stairs, creaking along that same pattern and sure enough it’d been five minutes just as he said he’d be. Five minutes before Freckles appeared in the doorway with that look on his face that you hated, you hated it but you knew you loved it all the same.

“Surprised you listened. Thought I’d have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you here myself,” he says, his humor in his words.

“Don’t push it, Winchester,” you say, hearing his chuckle once more.

You watched as he ducked down, opening the old wooden door of the cabinet under the bathroom sink you sat near on the counter. Watched as he swiped that familiar old first aid kit from its rightful spot and set it down next to you.

You were quiet as you watch him open it, dragging his finger along the compartments until he found what he was looking for. You were quiet as you sat there feeling small, because you may have been giving him attitude, your usual playful banter. You may have been flashing him a pretty smile that truly was reserved just for him, but deep down that fear still sat heavy within you. Heavy as you sat before the one that’d give you the shirt off his back and protect you from anything even if it’d meant he’d go down swinging.

You knew that, you knew you were the safest you could possibly be so long as he was around. And you’ve got Sam, you’ve got Bobby, but you’ve got Dean. You knew it but the way that hunt plagued you the second you closed your eyes for more than a few moments, it had your stomach twisting with that fear that maybe, just maybe that monster would come back to get you. That maybe it wasn’t brought to its very last breath by an angry Winchester.

The worry settled down deep within you, worry that Dean never stopped noticing as he kept his eye on you ever since it’d happened. You might not have noticed, but he knows you far better than you’d ever think, and he could tell something was off with a simple half glance, but there’s not a chance he’d let his gaze linger for that short of time. That was impossible.

“Sweetheart, I can’t clean you up if you refuse to look at me,” he says, lighthearted yet concerned all the same.

“Am not,” you say, quiet and almost pitiful.

He knew.

He sighs, soft and borderline frustrated with your stubbornness as he looks at you with pursed lips. He meets your gaze until you watch his eyes flit over to your cheek, his brows creasing together a little deeper.

The crimson color was smudged on your cheek from where you’d swiped it away with the back of your hand in a haphazard attempt to wipe it away and act as if it wasn’t a big deal. Truthfully it wasn’t, not really. It was a scratch and you’ve had far worse, but that didn’t matter to Dean. What mattered was that you even got hurt in the first place.

“Dammit, Y/n,” he says quietly.

“Oh, stop it,” you grumble.

He looks at you with a less than pleased expression, though it was still soft with concern.

His hand is calloused and warm as he brings it up to settle gently on your other cheek, palm cradling your face as his thumb presses to your chin to keep you from turning away from him.

“Hold still,” he says, that familiar concentration on his face as he grabs a peroxide soaked stack of gauze.

“It’s not like you’re giving me stitches, Dean,” you say, moving only slightly just to be redirected by a soft nudge of Dean’s hand.

“Yeah, well, I’ve given you a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever cared to,” he says, “and don’t argue it because you know that’s true.”

Your shoulders slump a bit as you sigh, leaning into his palm a little. He notices, he notices the action right away even if you won’t admit your resignation to comfort or the fact that you’re letting him clean you up. It’s something you always fight him on, something you’re so stubborn in trying to do yourself because weakness is something you don’t like showcasing, and that’s something he knows very well.

You’re quiet for a little bit after that, wincing only slightly when he grazes over the cut along your cheek, the antiseptic stinging enough to make your cheeks flush warm.

You could feel his gaze on you, something you couldn’t meet for more than a brief second or two before you averted your own, feeling the way his thumb brushed along your chin by the hand that remained settled on your cheek. It was a simple act of comfort, gentle and small, sweet in contrast to the gruffness he portrayed for himself.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, not really. You’ve had far worse injuries that you’ve been on the receiving end of on hunts much worse than this one, so the amount of time he’s been taking on it simply proved that he was fussing over you far more than he needed to. If you’d have brought it to his attention he’d have denied it with a grumble or two and pursed lips. Maybe even an eye roll. But you knew just how much this bothered him, even if it didn’t bother you.

What bothered you was the repetitive nightmare that plagued your mind every single time you settled down for even just a minute of sleep. What bothered you was the way it made you tremble and startle from said sleep, only to met with the quiet night of the reality you were in. What bothered you was the way you continued to shake with a pounding heart as you lay awake until you’re tired enough, too tired to keep your eyes open.

He watched you like a hawk, looking for any sign of pain you fought so hard to hide. Watching for any bit of weakness you were determined to keep at bay. The look in your eyes, something on your mind he couldn’t quite figure out, but he knew it was more than just that cut on your cheek. The way your lip jutted out ever so slightly, the smallest of quivers making it tremble under the pressure of whatever was distressing you.

He found himself letting his gaze linger on you, antiseptic soaked gauze still brushing over your skin as his other hand remained cradling your face. It lingered and you didn’t even notice, not the way green eyes took in your every movement, no matter how small. Not the way his brows stayed furrowed in the utmost of concern as he analyzed every single bit of your expressions for even just the smallest hint of what’s bothering you. He knew better than to think you’d tell him if he asked.

All you could think about was the way that hunt had been haunting you, tormenting you, replaying in your mind of how much that damn monster would’ve put you six feet under in a heartbeat had it held you captive for just a minute longer. You were scared out of your mind, heart nearly bursting with fear when you’d found yourself to be quite alone, all by yourself in the middle of the woods with no idea how to even get yourself out of the restraints you found yourself in.

It was horrifying, terrifying, something that had you not so quick to jump on the next hunt Sam will surely stumble across the next morning. You didn’t scare too easily, used to the frights the world of being a hunter will throw at you. You were stronger than that, more fearless, but you couldn’t stop the way it ate away at you and you couldn’t help but let yourself be scared this time.

It made your mind swim with scenario’s that haven’t even happened, with over dramatic what if’s for the next hunt and the one after, and every single one after that until you finally do meet your fate who knows how far into the future. It had you spiraling into this, that, and the next thing until—

“Y/n, hey.”

You heard the concern in his tone, eyed flickering to his to see the way his gaze matched his words. You looked at him, looked with furrowed brows, a softer expression than his own. You felt that sting on your cheek again, now that you were brought back to reality and away from your thoughts.

“Hm?”

Your hum was simple and soft, sounding as though you didn’t just space how for an amount of time you weren’t even sure of at this point and you didn’t really want to know. All you do know is that you’re beyond distracted and a very concerned Dean is giving you those eyes that let you know he’s caught onto the fact that you’re not as fine as you say you are. But that doesn’t mean you won’t try and convince him anyway.

“You with me, sweetheart?” He asks, soft as his words hold a certain caring that was reserved for you.

They were paired with the brush of his fingers along your hairline, delicate and gentle as the run through your hair and down the side of your face until his hand cradles your cheek once more.

He waits for the words that sit on the tip of your tongue, waiting to see if you’d tell him the truth or tell him some half-assed lie that he’d never once believe. He knew it’d be the latter because that’s how you are and there’s no denying it. You’d rather let yourself suffer than look the slightest bit weak and he thinks it’s an absolute load of crap, even if he was the very same way. But he didn’t care about himself, he cared about you, and that was the difference.

“With you,” you say halfheartedly, soft as your tiredness began to coat your words.

But you were distracted, so tired yet so restless all the same and your brief moment of spacing out had given way to that very fact. It didn’t help your cause with the older Winchester and you could kick yourself for letting it show.

You nuzzle into his hand some despite it, the gentle affection something that you seek a little bit more than the desire to keep your distress at bay.

“Y/n.”

The single use of your name was firm and all knowing, something that draws a deep exhale from you and a deeper crease in his brows from him.

“Would you quit looking at me like that?” You say, tilting your head away from his hand and pursing your lips.

“Would you quit acting like there’s nothing wrong?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as your brows knit together all the more tightly, watching the way his gaze is relentless as he stares at you. He knew you weren’t yourself, and he knew it was more than just being sleepy, he knew you like the back of his hand. You’re his sweetheart after all, you can’t pull a fast one on him.

“De,” you say, soft and on the cusp of breaking your facade. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You knew better than to think he’d believe that. It was foolish to think he’d take that answer as any bit of being serious.

A short huff blows past his lips as the second round of lies you’d so boldly told him, one’s that don’t even remotely sound real because he knows better. He always knows better because he’s Dean Winchester and he’s known absolutely everything about you down to the very reason you so much as scrunch your nose. You do it when you’re trying not to cry, and when you’re lying.

So he exhales that huff, tossing the dirtied gauze in the small plastic trash can beside the bathroom counter. You knew what that meant, that heavy breath of exasperation and frustration woven around the simple action. When it was paired with that look he’s giving you, the one with the creased brows just ever so slightly, and the pursed lips as he looks at you with all the concern in the world yet anger all the same. Not with you, but your stubbornness.

“Y/n,” he says, stern but still soft.

“Dean,” you say, effectively quieting him. There was a few passing moments if quiet after that, of him giving you that look and you giving one right back. “‘S late, I’m gonna head to bed.”

You see the way his jaw clenched, tense as he looks down momentarily, attention pulled back to you when you hopped off the counter. He softens a bit when you lean up and kiss his cheek, softens just enough to let you pass by him to slip out the door. He always calms down when you do that even though he really shouldn’t because he knows you, he knows you’re not yourself right now.

But you left him to mope angrily in the bathroom as he cleaned up the small mess he made, tucking the first aid kit back where it belongs while you make your way back to that small bedroom sleepily.

You were tired, beyond tired after the day you had, after the night you had and it was only the beginning of it. You’ve got hours left to deal with more torment the second you close your eyes and you can only hope that it won’t be so bad the next time you do. You can only hope it’ll be a fraction more restful than the last few bouts otherwise you may just breakdown completely. You’d already gone and scratched that wound open on your face from your thrashing.

The moment you saw that bed again, disheveled and slept in just as you’d left it, it brought on a yawn. It made your eyes water, eyelids growing heavier now that the lighting of the bathroom wasn’t there to keep them open. It looked inviting, so inviting, especially with the cold of the hardwood seeping into your bare feet. It looked warm and everything you’d been longing for the moment that exhaustion kicked in on the drive back.

It looked like everything you wanted it to be, but it was bittersweet. You knew what waited for you once you gave into the desire for comfort, you knew how distraught you may be. You knew you’d be met with an unhappy Winchester the moment the lies he already knew were spoken were proven at the sight of your distress. You knew it, yet you craved the feeling of crawling back into that perfectly worn bed under those blankets, tucked away in that shirt of Dean’s.

You almost had to refrain from having an argument with yourself on whether or not you should cave and climb in or if you should wait it out, wait till you can’t stay awake anymore.

You caved.

You sat up with a jolt, whole body jerking as you propped yourself up on your elbows for the millionth time that night. You went about your routine, eyes scanning the room for the possibility of a threat waiting for your gaze before pouncing. They scanned and scanned until the tears kept you from doing so adequately, spilling down heated cheeks. Your heart had been pounding so damn hard again, slamming against your chest as if to break free.

When those watery eyes glanced at the clock it’d only been a half an hour, a small stretch of time that felt like your whole entire life wrapped around each minute. It almost felt agonizing.

Dean hadn’t come to bed quite yet. Dean. That feeling crept up on you, the one that’d been there ever since that hunt went south. You pushed it off, stuffed it down the way you always do. Because that denial of yours has you convinced that you don’t need comfort, that you’re too strong for that. You’re not weak, perhaps not the strongest person out there, but damn were you ever stubborn. Always when you didn’t need to be.

But it seems as though your body didn’t give you a fighting chance, not as you got out of that bed shaking like a damn leaf in a Kansas thunderstorm. You felt wobbly, unstable but you stifled it as you walked towards that familiar wooden door, twisting the old brass knob and swinging it open carefully. Careful as if there was some stupid supernatural monster that could hear every noise you made like it was in that house with you.

But the hall was empty. Sam’s door was closed, Bobby’s the same. Just a dimly lit hall from the nightlight plugged into the wall streaming in. It was empty until it wasn’t. It was empty though you didn’t get very far, not as that set of foot falls make their way up those creaky stairs. You knew who they belonged to, you knew the sound of those boots anywhere.

You stopped in your tracks in the hopes that maybe he wouldn’t see you, something proving to be beyond ridiculous the moment his gaze lifts to yours. You see that look on his face, the way his body language changes. He tenses up, stiffens in the way he gets when he senses any need to be protective of you. He tenses yet he’s so soft all the same.

You’re hoping he doesn’t see the way you swallow thickly, hoping that the less than poor lighting works in your favor because you can feel how wet your eyelashes still are. You don’t even have the nerve to even attempt to sniffle either, surely that would give everything away, not that you had much working in your favor.

“Everything okay?” He asks, that tone behind his words more than evident that he knew the real answer.

You shifted on your feet slightly, attempting to stand a little taller to save at least a little bit of your facade. “Just getting a drink.”

Your voice was soft, more fragile than you’d like it to be as that tremble in your body fights to make its way into your throat and shake your words. Doesn’t matter how good of a liar you were, nothing would ever get past him. He might lead you to believe it’d been working for a little while, just to leave you have your pride in times like this because that’s the only time you ever lied, but just like times like this, he’d never fully let it go because he always wanted to resolve whatever was going on.

He stepped closer to you, close enough to have you tensing up over the fact that it was very easy for him to see just how bothered you were in that moment. But your brows furrow, knit together as he peers around you for a reason you can’t pinpoint.

“I see that glass of water I left there for you doesn’t even have a lick out of it,” he says, looking down at you with raised eyebrows. He watches your expression change, even if you try and hide it. “Funny, ain’t it?”

You swallow once more, pursing your lips. “I didn’t know it was there.”

You did.

He chuckles then, humorless as he shakes his head before his gaze returns to you. “You’re lyin’ like a cheap rug right now, you know that?”

“No I’m not!”

You quiet down before you wake anyone, exhaling a frustrated breath as you stare up at him with a narrowed stare.

He looks a you, gets a good long look and you can’t even begin to figure out what he’s thinking, just that your stomach twists under his gaze because there’s no way he’s not seeing the smeared tears that glisten under the softer that soft lighting. There’s no way he can’t see the sheen of sweat that lays over your skin. There’s no way he doesn’t see how unsteady you are.

You’re almost to wrapped up in your thoughts to notice the way he’s lifted his hand, finger tips brushing lightly over the side of your neck. You didn’t understand why at first, couldn’t comprehend it. But it only took a few moments to realize.

“Your heart is pounding, Y/n. Don’t even try and tell me it didn’t happen again.”

“Dean, it’s—”

“It’s not nothing. You’ve been off the whole ride home and you were off when I patched you up thirty minutes ago. I know you better than to believe whatever you’re trying to fool me with,” he says, a quiet anger in the softness of his voice as his hand finally drops to his side.

You stand there, your own anger simmering away and trying it’s best to burn hot. Angry at the way he can figure you out, angry at the way he’s insistent on making sure you’re okay when that stubborn pride is screaming for you to stand your ground and act like nothing is wrong even when it’s the last thing you need to do. Angry because you’re so tired that it frustrates you, that everything frustrates you.

You’re so tired. So much so that that stubborn wall begins to crumble, steady crushed by the desire to be comforted and safe. Nearly demolished with every second that passes as your lip wobbles under the pressure of it you.

For the millionth time that night, you caved.

“I can’t sleep,” you whisper softly, weakly. “I can’t sleep and I can’t take it.”

His expression softens when you finally give it up, finally let that guard break away as you press your face into his chest, hiding the tears that ran hot down your cheeks. It was a quick bout of them, only a few falling before you wiped them away. Just as quick as your moment of vulnerability. He could tell by the way you tensed again, and the way you turned on your heel with a huff and walked back to the bedroom just a couple feet from where you both stood.

That wall you built up was still crumbled to pieces but a little bit still remained. But Dean followed behind you, those dimples by the corners of his mouth reappearing. This is the one habit of yours that he hated. It’s one he’s gotten well practiced over the years himself, but it’s the last thing he’d ever want you to do.

He’s quiet as he tugs on the rolled up sleeves of his flannel, watching as you sit down on the bed looking miserable as ever. You looked half asleep as you leaned against the headboard, tucked away against yourself as the breeze flowing through the nearby window blows your hair gently.

He shrugs his flannel off, slinging it over the back of the chair at the desk nearby. He pulls at the laces of his boots next, kicking them off near impatiently as he fumbles with his belt buckle. It’s only a few moments time before he’s stepping out of his jeans, tugging the blankets back.

You’re fighting the urge to doze off, something that briefly becomes just a little bit easier when he tugs you down further on the mattress in a gentle motion, promptly pulling you to tuck yourself against him. It’s an opportunity you take full advantage of as you press into him, the silent action of comfort something you needed more than anything and he knew that for hours. He knew it and he was relieved you’d gone and let him protect you.

He always would, whether you protest it or not, but it’s easier when you’re not letting that stubbornness get the better of you.

You push and tangle your legs with his, weaving into him to get as close as possible as if he’s this shield that’ll keep you safe from anything in this world. He would and he will. He wouldn’t want to do anything else.

His arm his wrapped around you as you all but melt into him and his embrace, his other hand smoothing over your head, fingers combing through the tangles in your hair. He was careful as his fingertips work through knots, varying in size and he can tell you’d been tossing and turning just from that alone. He’s careful as his fingers brush along the freshly taken care of wound on your cheek.

Dean Winchester is the gruffest, toughest man you know, rough around the edges and one hell of a threat to any monster and run of the mill douchebag that crosses his path. He’s rough, but the gentlest you’d ever known as he lays there wrapped up with you in a bed that’s borderline too small for two.

You feel the softness of the kisses that are pressed to your forehead, to your nose when you tip your head back some. His comfort is the only thing that makes anything any easier, his company is the only one that ever matters. He was solid ground amongst a sea of panic and worry, he was steady and always there. That green eyed, freckled hunter was the sweetest man you’d ever known despite the temper he’s got on him, but you wouldn’t want him any other way.

You could feel that frustration subside the more time that passed, those tears not so pressing behind your tired eyes. You were exhausted, drained. That trembling feeling in your body, that rattled feeling, it was still there, a reminder of how your night has been. The affects that wreaked havoc on your body still hit you like a ton of bricks. But you were safe now, safe from the threat of more terror because there’s something about Dean Winchester that makes everything feel okay.

Even if he finds it impossible to think anything remotely highly of himself, doesn’t know of any good quality he possesses. You see all the good in him so he doesn’t have to, you know he never will.

“Sweetheart?” He says, soft as ever as the nickname his spoken against your forehead.

You hum softly, too tired to do much else as a cool gust of air sweeps over you from that window. It’s all you could muster as you lay there wrapped up with him.

“Get some sleep, won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, “okay?”

You nod, you nod until you decide the action isn’t quite enough of an answer for him. You lift your head as much as your energy would allow, pressing your lips on his in a soft kiss.

“Okay.”

—

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imaginesforfandom · 5 months

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Heartbeat Symphony

AHHHH i love this man too much lmao. this is short and sweet so have fun my lovelies!

how have i not written for this man yet like-

Dean Winchester x Reader

No pronouns used

Summary: After a long day on the road, the couple finds solace in the comfort of the Impala. The story explores the quiet moments between hunts, emphasizing the deep connection and love they share. Back at the bunker, they unwind together, appreciating the simplicity of being a team both in and out of the field. The narrative highlights the strength of their bond and the sense of home they find in each other's company.

Heartbeat Symphony

Dean Winchester sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel as he glanced over at you. The rhythmic hum of the engine was the backdrop to the comfortable silence that filled the car. You had been on the road for hours, chasing down the latest lead on a case, and now the two of you were finally heading back to the bunker.

As Dean drove, he stole glances at you, appreciating the way the soft glow from the dashboard highlighted the contours of your face. The quiet moments between hunts were just as precious as the action-packed ones. He reached over, fingers brushing against yours, and a warm smile formed on his lips as he interlaced them.

"You doing okay, Y/N?" Dean asked, his voice a soothing melody that echoed through the Impala.

You nodded, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to get back and hit the hay."

Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through both of you. "Well, we make a damn good team, don't we?"

You smirked, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "The best. Team Winchester."

As the familiar sight of the bunker came into view, Dean couldn't help but feel a swell of contentment. The two of you had been through so much together, and yet, every moment felt like a new adventure with you by his side.

Once inside the bunker, you kicked off your boots and flopped down onto the worn-out couch in the library. Dean joined you, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed against each other. He reached for the TV remote, flicking through the channels until he found an old black-and-white movie.

"You know," Dean said, his arm finding its way around your shoulders, "we make a pretty good team in and out of the field."

You laughed, snuggling closer. "Yeah, we do. I wouldn't want to hunt monsters with anyone else."

Dean turned his head, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Me neither, Y/N."

The movie played in the background, but you found yourself more captivated by the steady cadence of Dean's heartbeat. It was a comforting symphony, a reminder that you were home, safe in the arms of the person you loved.

As the night wore on, you both drifted off to sleep on the couch, tangled together in a mess of limbs and blankets. The bunker echoed with the quiet sounds of the TV and the distant hum of the machinery that kept the place running.

In the darkness, Dean whispered words of love, promises, and gratitude, knowing that every day with you was a gift. And as you slept, you couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of his love surround you like a protective embrace. Together, you faced the challenges that came your way, hand in hand, heart in heart, a team bound by something stronger than any supernatural force – love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i loved writing this OMG!! i can't believe i haven't written for Dean yet. i absolutely adore him so so much lmao

#dean winchester #dean #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #dean winchester imagine #dean imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester oneshot #dean oneshot

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hpowellsmith · 2 months

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Recommendation request! books/stories/games with trans guy or transmasc love interests because I read a dark erotica anthology about queer masculinity* and although there were some trans guy protagonists, there weren't any trans men treated as objects of desire**, and it made me realise I've really not read many. And I would like to read more!

So I would love recommendations:

something at least a bit steamy

I'm less interested in positive rep (whatever that means) than in characters that draw you in and don't let go

I'm not very into a highly quippy/bantery sort of style of dialogue/narrative

I'm not super interested in adorable smol bean trans guy love interests currently, unless there's something weird going on with them underlying the adorableness

I don't mind bigotry being depicted, but a cis protagonist having weird feelings about the fact that they're into romancing a trans guy is not of interest to me (weird feelings about things other than the character being trans are great)

Trans protagonists are not a must but are a great bonus

Varied genres welcome especially horror and erotica, but I'm not in the mood for YA right now. I'm on the fence about contemporary romance - I loved Make You Mine This Christmas by Lizzie Huxley-Jones because it had such heart but I think it really needs to have solid, substantial foundations for me to keep focused

Some queer fiction I've enjoyed in the last year or so: The Companion by EE Ottoman, Wrath Goddess Sing by Maya Deane, Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo, Spear by Nicola Griffith, The Others of Edenwell by Verity Holloway, Real Life by Brandon Taylor, Dead Collections by Isaac Fellman, Make You Mine This Christmas by Lizzie Huxley-Jones, anything by May Peterson, anything by Rien Gray

*not to diss the anthology by any means: I liked a lot of the stories in it, and I'll be posting a bit about it at the end of the month, just that I noticed that all the guys the protagonists were interested in were cis

**in this case "love interest" wasn't really applicable because of the nature of the stories - I'm happy to read stories where the relationship isn't so much of a love thing, as well as romantic or aromantic stories but I would enjoy some spiciness and a depiction of trans men as highly desirable

#lgbt books #queer books #book recommendations

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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If this is how I go, it’s worth it.

Dean x injured reader

Word count: 1,926

Trigger Warnings: injury, blood, mention of a firearm.

Summary: reader gets hurt protecting Dean.

A/N: Requests are open! Please send them to me. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, please let me know! Masterlist

I’ve always had a hard time letting people into my life. Introducing them to the real me, the darker side of me that I hide behind a bubbly facade. The childhood that shaped me, something that very few people know about. When I was little there was no one to protect me from the things that I had to live through, the nightmarish situations that I still relive too often in my sleep. In adulthood, I’ve changed the narrative. I’ve become the protector, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help someone else. Save someone else. Especially those that I love and hold close to my heart.

Sam and Dean have always held a special place in my life. Ever since I met them, on a hunt many years ago. They’d taken me under their wing, Sam willingly, Dean reluctantly. I knew nothing of the supernatural until I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and become the next helpless victim of a nest of vampires. That was until Sam and Dean showed up, just in time.

They knew I didn’t have a great childhood, I’d clued them into that much. However, I would never let them in entirely. It was too much, I didn’t want them to think of me any differently. I’ve seen the way Dean already looks at me after hunts, the annoyance that comes over him when things don’t go the way he wanted. I see the concern that washes over Sam, when I come close to being injured, or when I walk away with cuts and bruises. I don’t need their pity, they don’t need that burden.

Through everything over the years, I began to love them more than I thought possible. Sam like a brother. Dean like an annoying asshole, but also my best friend that I loved with all of my heart, not that I would ever tell him. I couldn’t, he would never feel the same way I was sure of it.

So when I saw that demon smirk and point a gun directly towards Dean’s head, I never hesitated to throw myself onto him and shove him to the ground. My body blocking the path of the bullet, giving Sam enough time to finish the exorcism, the black cloud erupting from the helpless man and fleeing the room.

“What the hell, Y/N. You shouldn’t have done that!” Dean yells, anger etching its way across his face, the concern only evident from the tone of his voice. His eyes searching mine for any sign of pain.

“He was going to kill You Dean.” I grovel, pushing myself off of him, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. Dean scowls, his hand coming up to his face to wipe some sweat from his brow.

“So what? You were going to sacrifice yourself for me? How much of an idiot are you?”

I roll my eyes at him, pushing off my thighs to stand from the squatting position I had moved into. It wasn’t until I stood fully upright and began to stretch my limbs that the searing pain caught up to me. I press my hand to my abdomen instinctively, trying to dull the pain.

“I’m not an idiot De-“ I stop mid sentence as I bring my hand up to eye level. Red. Dripping , red blood, covers the entirety of my fingers. My eyes dart up from my hand, locking with Sam’s from across the room. He’s staring back at me, shock etched across his face, but beginning to walk towards me.

“That’s debatable- oh my god Y/N, fuck.” Dean starts, his tone changing halfway through his lecture. He takes the two steps necessary to get to me, taking his flannel off in the process. I feel his hands grip my body, one going to my back, the other balling his flannel up and pressing it tightly against the wound in my abdomen.

“Sam, you’ve gotta help me.” Dean pleads, his eyes never leaving my face.

My body starts to feel numb, the adrenaline wearing off and searing pain roaring through every nerve ending in my body. I feel my legs collapse beneath me, Dean quickly compensating for my lack of lower body strength, by pulling me into his embrace.

I laugh bitterly, coughing and choking on what I assume is blood making its way through my lungs and out of my throat.

“If this is how I go De, it’s worth it. I promise you.” I whisper, my eyes locking with his vivid green ones. His eyes. I’d never allowed myself to stare into his eyes for this long, the deep green is enchanting. Pulling me in, the longer I look. I barely even notice my tears beginning to fall, I’m too focused on the way his eyes are beginning to water as he stares back at me.

I can see his lips moving, feel the way he’s shaking me gently, his hand cupping my face. Sam is right next to me too, I feel the floor pressing into my body as they lower me to the ground, in an attempt to slow the bleeding and apply more pressure. None of that matters now. Nothing matters now, my vision is blurring. My eyelids are heavy, so heavy.

“Hey!” Dean’s firm voice breaks through my haze, his hand lightly slapping my face, “don’t do that, Y/N. Don’t close your eyes. You don’t get to die on me, you hear me sweetheart?” I blink rapidly, trying to clear my field of vision. I momentarily succeed, my eyes locking with his again. I can see the absolute panic engraved into every ounce of this man’s face, he’s moving me now. My head falls forward as he places an arm under my shoulders, the other under my knees. He tucks my head against his chest with his chin, pressing a kiss to my sweat soaked hairline. I continue to fight the wave of exhaustion sweeping over me, blinking my eyes trying to keep them open. The last thing I see is Dean, looking down at me pleading for me to stay with him. But slowly, ever so slowly, my eyes fall closed and the world around me goes black

Agony.

This must be hell, the amount of pain that I’m in, the only explanation is hell.

A low groan escapes my lips, every inch of my skin is on fire. Muscles and nerves that I didn’t know I had are screaming out in protest as I try to take a full breath. I manage to inhale, immediately turning into a coughing fit as I choke on the air entering my lungs.

“Easy. Slow breaths, sweetheart.” A hand comes to rest on the crown of my head, stroking my hair gently. The touch startling me, causing me to panic and try to brush away the touch.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” His voice rushes over my senses, calming me, reassuring me.

I force myself to open my eyes, unsure what to expect.

“Dean?” I whisper, finally realizing that he’s here in-front of me. “Am I dead?” My voice barely functioning, my throat dry and hoarse.

“It’s me sweetheart. You’re not dead. I told you I wasn’t going to let you go.” He smiles slightly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He holds a cup up to my lips, letting me take small sips, his fingers never leaving my skin.

“I must be dead, the Dean I know is never this nice to me.” I whisper, a small laugh escaping me, which I immediately regret. Relief floods over deans face, the crease in his brow lessens, a small smile reaches his eyes this time.

“That’s not true, idiot.” He says, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“That’s more like it, bitch.” I say, squeezing his hand back.

The next few weeks pass slowly, I’m never alone for more than five minutes. The boys take turns, keeping me company, changing my bandages, helping me shower, and just all around waiting on me hand and foot. Dean spends every night on the couch, that he had dragged into my room in the bunker. I don’t object, too weak and tired to even dare. I spend a lot of time sleeping, nightmares plaguing my every attempt at resting.

Tonight is one of those nights, I’ve already awoken from a nightmare. Now I lay on my side, gazing at Dean sitting on the couch. His fingers hovering over the keyboard on his laptop, researching some creature that he has refused to tell me about. Any time I have asked, it starts an argument about how the only thing I need to think about right now is recovering.

“I can feel you staring.” He smirks, bringing his eyes to meet my own, the corners of his mouth turning into a smile. He seems older, worry is etched deeper into his face, his eyes not nearly as bright as they used to be. The dark circles under his eyes, accentuated by the terrible late night lighting of my room.

“I can’t help it, you’re just so annoying I can’t not stare.” I mumble, gently pushing myself up on my elbow. Trying to conceal the wince that follows this slight movement.

Dean chuckles, closing his laptop and turning his body to face me.

“Y/N, we need to talk about what happened back there.” He stares, his brow furrowing again. So many emotions sweep across his face at once, I cant read him.

“You can’t do that again. You cant throw yourself into harms way to save me. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. What am I saying? Something did happen to you. I already have a hard time looking at you, knowing you almost died to save me. I love you too much, to let you die for me.” He wrings his hands as he speaks, his eyes moving away from mine and focusing on the wooden floor boards beneath his feet.

A silence falls between us for a few moments, his words hanging heavy in the air. My head spinning at his words, I love you too much. Dean Winchester loves me.

“Dean, I don’t think you understand me nearly as well as you think you do. There is nothing you can say or do that would stop me from taking a bullet for you again. I will always do everything in my power to protect you. Protect you in the way that I never had. You would do it for me De, you gotta let me do it for you too.” His eyes are trained on me again, red rimmed and watery. He swipes at them with his fingers, clearing his throat and maintaining eye contact with me once more.

I slide my feet towards the edge of the bed, intent upon going to sit near to him. He stops me with a look and a few mumbled words about how I better not move my ass from my spot or else.

I huff, patting the bed next to me.

“C’mere then, Winchester.” I say, watching his every move as he crosses the distance of the bedroom to sit by my side.

“De-“I rest my head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves. He reaches over and intertwines our fingers, his thumb tracing a pattern into the back of my hand. “I love you too, more than I thought possible. I’ll always do anything I can to save you. On this side of hell and the next.”

#deanwinchesterfluff #dean winchester fluff #deanwinchesterxreader #dean winchester fic #supernatural dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x injured reader #dean winchester #dean winchester comfort #dean x reader #supernatural #spn #wanderingwinchesters #sam and dean #dean x you #deanwinchesterblurb #sam winchester

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scoobydoodean · 5 months

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The thing is that when Cas first laid a hand on Dean in hell he was lost, and not actually because "For the first time, I feel". Cas had felt before he knew Dean. We know this because we know Cas had rebelled before. Naomi tells us Cas never did as he was told—that Cas had a "Crack in the chassis straight off the line" (something Chuck later echoes in a rage).

Cas's rebellion is far older than Dean and that rebellion is a function of what he feels. Cas just doesn't get to remember feeling. Each time he does, he's stripped of the memory of it... but subconsciously he starts to understand it as something he must keep secret.

Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?

Cas is in love with humanity, and we conflate this with Dean because Dean is the narrative heart, and the subject of Cas's greatest love, and because the concept of humanity and Dean are so deeply linked they're almost one in the same. We are not at all wrong to conflate the two, but make no mistake—Cas is in love humanity.

You misunderstand me, Dean, I’m not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town.

Cas calls humanity a work of art, and the camera pans to Dean sitting on the bench beside him. Dean represents humanity. Not just as precious works of art, but also because humans get to feel. Humans don't get lobotomized for feeling. Dean encourages Cas to feel. He encourages Cas to feel by asking him to—begging him to, and by feeling for others, and by existing and deserving to be loved himself.

Dean echoes free will to Cas like a call from the wild. He's the beauty of humanity. He's the liberation and beautiful terror of choice. The reason "You always have a choice" and "There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it" works is because Cas already feels, already hopes, already loves.

You were gonna help me once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to Bible camp. Help me -- now. Please.

The function by which Dean gets through to Cas is through Cas's own feelings and convictions. He gets through because Cas is "not a hammer, as you say". Cas has questions. Cas has doubts.

Cas is in love with humanity, and every time he remembers it, he gets packed off to Bible Camp and he forgets. But he can remember again. What it takes is a push. What it takes is a hand reached out in the darkness. The day Cas rescued Dean from hell, two people were saved. A hand clawed out toward Cas too, breaking through his own torturous prison and offering him escape. For the first time in a long time, he felt.

Dean's importance is that he touches Cas. He makes Cas remember. And he keeps making Cas remember. Through touch, through words, through the expression of his own affection for Cas and for others. Because Dean cares, Cas cares.

#and cas is my best friend #in love with humanity #pk rewatches spn number ?#4.07 #and also later episode thoughts I'm getting ahead of myself yeah what are you gonna do about it.#4.22 #the very touch of you corrupts #the one who cares #dean the narrative heart #season 4 #season 8 #multiseason #heaven as a cult #castiels motivations

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chokchokk · 8 months

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𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎-𝚊𝚗𝚍-𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 | jung wooyoung x fem!reader

a one-sided (best) friends one night!wooyoung one-shot

“Aw, are you gonna be my best friend in need, Woo?”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : At least the car didn’t fall and crash, right? That’s what Wooyoung wants to believe.

"Shut the fuck up and let me fuck you."

[ now playing : " bonnie & clyde " ▸ dean ]

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : angst, smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 3.2k

spotify link | series masterlist link

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜) : unreciprocated romantic feelings, sexual tension, best friends hooking up, one-night-stand, cabriolet-driving at night, open roof, illegal parking, making out, car sex; wooyoung masturbates to you, wooyoung’s present perspective/narrative, he's so horny and so in love, interactive?, at least quite confrontational

masterlist link | join my taglist

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : aight um... i wrote this? in one heart-breakingly missing my hubba bubba daddy dean hours session. i skipped over the second verse out of length and plot purposes + the translations provided are like 80% mine and if not then from genius <33

always grateful for for your likes, reblogs and feedback xoxo!!!

𝚝𝚊𝚐-𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 : @r1kitti : @sanniesbunnie : @northerngalxy @sanwhalvr : @revehosh : @fandems

He looked at you, even though Wooyoung knew he shouldn't.

Right now, right now Could I tell you right now?

His eyes should have been on the road, his hands should have been on the steering wheel, and haha, his thoughts should have definitely been about your safety and not about how he wanted to either drive off a cliff or tear the clothes off your amazing fucking body, but you picked the second choice yourself anyway, didn’t you? Just getting that shirt off like it’s nothing, revealing yourself like it’s nothing, but… God, Y/N, you are everything to him, he had no other choice.

아직까지 깨어있니? 오늘 너의 하루는 어땠니? 아무 일도 없긴 뭐가 없어

(Are you still awake? ; How was your day today? What do you mean, 'nothing happened'?)

Wooyoung wants it to be your fault. Wants it to be your fault that when you called him, his brain was filled with the image of you swimming in the ocean in that thing of a bikini that you wore to make your ex jealous even if he was not present on any day during the vacation except in your head, and he desperately wants it to be your fault that, after you had disappeared with some dumb-fucking rando from the beach-bar for the evening, Wooyoung scoffed in malicious glee that you let him know it hadn’t led to anything, grabbing his keys immediately to pick you up from the place you didn't find luck at.

What he’s trying to say is that you’re really in luck he didn’t grab that liquor that night.

가끔은 외면하려 해도 꽤 쉽지만은 않은 게 있어 I know 다 안다고

(I try to look away sometimes, but there are just some things that aren’t that easy, I know; I know it all)

But maybe being sober was the worst part.

He hid it well, Wooyoung thinks, or you were just too drunk to care, when you caught his curious gaze through the window, with your tits still sitting safely in the bra, your shirt already thrown out of the cabriolet.

“Woo!”, you laughed, and he can still hear the tenderness of your voice vividly, “eyes on the road~”

“Your tits looked bigger than I remember,” was his immediate answer, and your giggle was worth the cringe, “had to double-check.”

The last time he saw them was, what, middle-school truth or dare? Of course they grew since then, you were explaining in drunkenness and looked at your own set of boobs, while pushing them together, mumbling something about puberty, hormones and horny teenagers, but somehow finishing it off with, “Best friends bonding session!”

And Wooyoung is still puzzled about that.

내 앞에서 아닌 척 해도

(Even though in front of me, you pretend you don't)

Well, he grinned when you said it, but for no other reason that wasn’t just you looking so lovable under the moonlight, with your eyes sparkling with glee, and not because he found any sense in, god, whatever it means, “best friends bonding.”

“Bonding”? Sure. Seeing your tits had removed some boundaries— and in retrospect, mentioning that incident again must have been another little tease of yours, but be really honest for a second.

There are just some things “best friends” shouldn’t do.

… Shouldn’t have done, that is.

Bonnie and clyde, bonnie and clyde, one night

The nightly winds were hitting your open arms with you laughing full of life, when Wooyoung finally opened the roof for you. You’d been dying to do it, he had seen it by how you kept leaning outside the open window to feel the speed of the car hit your face, but he didn’t want to not see it. At least he still hates that he doesn’t know the expression you were wearing while you let out the most freeing, revivifying, crystal clear cheer.

He wants to believe that your cheeks were rosy, your eyes shiny, and that your lips were curled up into a smile, as you inhaled again and laughed all by yourself, watching the trees and mountains of the city pass by and draw long, ghostly trails from how fast the vehicle was moving.

It was extremely dangerous, all of it.

Who cares, who cares

The way Wooyoung drove without looking at the speed dial? God, so dangerous, but what’s way more dangerous is the way you became silent, and made him curious, made him believe that there were stars in the sky or something— and he thinks he’s still in the right for thinking that— and made him glance up to you.

Fuck, do you even know how hot you looked when you started to touch yourself down your bust? You probably don’t. You were feeling the textile of the lingerie scratch your fingers, warming your skin under the cold breezes, but when you cupped that perfect tit of yours, you threw your head back and fuck, he thinks if you had seen him you would think he was a pervert, and maybe he fucking is, because Wooyoung was definitely thinking the most perverted things he could do in that moment, all including his mouth, his fingers, his panging cock; Good fucking god, Y/N, you had his mind scorching, it only needed a little more spark and he would have exploded, right here and there.

친구 사이 친구 사이 alright

(Just friends, just friends alright)

So of course he tried to keep it cool as possible. Rested one hand relaxedly on the gear, the other on the steering wheel, and attempted to stare blankly to the front. Wooyoung ignored how you were arching your back to match the flow of how the air brushed against your ribs, tried to ignore how you let your fingertips disappear under the bra, and failed to not think about how delicious your nipple would taste between his lips.

친구 사이 친구 사이 alright

(Just friends, just friends alright)

He couldn’t take it anymore– not being on you, in you, with you– and that’s why he said something.

“What do you think you’re doing there, bestie?”, Wooyoung remembers jokingly scoffing, driving into the highway so he didn’t have to think about the road too much, to give himself more time to admire the sexy body that you were touching.

“Nuthin~”, you lulled and he realizes now that Wooyoung had forgotten how drunk you’d been. Such a dumbass to think you were doing it all on purpose, isn’t he? You make him so fucking stupid.

“The guy really left you on the hook, huh?”, he spat, fingers gripping the wheel.

“Fuckin’ asshole left me so needy~”, you whined and maybe you tugged your own nipple or something, but he couldn’t have overhead that whiny, melodic moan that left your mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm~”

Who cares, who cares

What would you have done in his position?

That’s the thing Wooyoung is most curious about. If it had been him drunk in your cabriolet, feeling down his, whatever, his cock, wouldn’t you have offered a helping hand, too? Because you’re a good friend like that?

He will never know the answer.

도망가 도망가 너와 난

(Escape, escape, you and I)

Wooyoung drove faster to make you come down, he won’t even try to deny that.

With a loud, brutal vroom, he drove the last mile with so many thoughts pinging inside his mind, with you continuing to give yourself goosebumps all over your skin, admiring how the hairs on your body went up over your own touch— knowing that it could be him doing that made Wooyoung grow desperate.

“Why did you stop? Where are we?”, you asked, and Wooyoung remains having no idea. Just somewhere in the middle of the highway, with cicadas chirping and filling out the silence that followed after he turned off the car motor, the roof above you closing down. A few miles away, there would have been a legal parking spot waiting for him, but Wooyoung immediately unbuckled his seatbelt, so it’s safe to say he didn’t give a fuck.

“Still needy, bestie?”

Who cares, who cares

God, you were so needy. It’s like you didn’t wait a second to question him or get any reassurance that this was what had been on his mind, because maybe you had already seen his bulge to know he was needy too, or maybe— and this is what Wooyoung would like to believe— you just wanted him that much.

Fuck, cut him some slack, okay? Wooyoung was just that surprised to find you crawling over to his driver’s seat, planting your ass immediately where he needed it the most. It was fucking magical, the friction of your body grinded over his erection was making him grunt and grope your ass cheeks.

“Aw, are you gonna be my best friend in need, Woo?”, you giggled, getting your hands behind his neck, driving yourself into his hard-on that he didn’t know could get even harder. It extended painfully under his belt, but fortunately, you were too much in heat to let him wait any longer.

Till we die, till we die

“Shut the fuck up and let me fuck you,” Wooyoung cackled, and he still grins recalling how your gasp whirrs in his hazy memories.

It all feels so washed out, your impatient fingers unbuckling his belt, as Wooyoung bent the seat to the back, letting his head fall to his neck, as you got your lips pressed against his– just a lot of movements, a lot of feelings mixing up together, slurred into a motion of two people trying to have a fulfilling night.

Oh 너와 나의 마지막 일지라도

(Oh, even if this means our end)

Was it fulfilling to finally get a taste of your sweet saliva, your honeyed whimpers, when he grabbed you by your tits to prepare for sucking them numb? He doesn’t know it yet, but Wooyoung definitely can’t ignore how hard his cock has become in his boxer shorts to the memory of you looking down at him in awe, caressing his cheek, as he enveloped your perky tit with his mouth, immediately running his tongue over your sensitive nipple.

그럴지라도

(Even if)

The sounds, Y/N, your fucking sounds. Sounds Wooyoung thought he would never hear in his entire life, but definitely wished to hear once at least— and of course he’d be a fool to say he got enough of them, but making you whimper “Woo, fuck, please,” as he got his hand into panties and made you grind on his finger, and then hearing how your cunt squelched when you lowered yourself on it, is enough to make him cum tonight.

His hand is wrapped around his cock, face planted into his pillow so he can somehow simulate how it felt like being suffocated by your tits, Wooyoung recalls how tightly you clenched around his fingers, how wet you were, wet for him, just so fucking needy for your best friend, rutting your hips so his fingertip could graze your sweetest spot over and over again, moaning out “Wooyoung, Wooyoung, Wooyoung,” over and over again.

Would you remember me?

“Y/N,” he growls, and it feels embarrassing to do so, but Wooyoung can’t help himself, he’s becoming delirious because of you, the seam of his shirt becoming absolutely soaked in his mouth, as he bites into it. “God, fuck, Y/N,” he lisps again, thrusting into his hand in the same way he thrusted into you, right after you were trembling around his fingers, whimpering out your first orgasm but not being satiated.

Nah, nah, I'm just…

“You’re so fucking big,” is what you’d moaned out to boost his ego, but maybe it’s true, because Wooyoung does indeed feel quite big in his grip right now, craving your tight cunt, craving how it clutched around his girth, how hot and wet it felt like, when he fucked your eyes to roll behind your head, your spit glistening on your tongue, as your mouth fell open to never be closed again.

Alright 틀린 선택일지라도

(Alright, even if this is the wrong choice)

“Feels so fucking good, huh? Better than your dumb fucking ex?”

“Yes, so so much fucking better than his dumb cock, Woo, please don’t stop!”

And maybe that was the moment. The moment his head snapped, when it all fractured, his feelings, his five years of pining, watching you be with some dumb fucking pricks, when he, Wooyoung, your “best friend”, could treat you so much better.

With your hands taking off his hoodie, as he pistoned his hips into you, your warm sweat dripped onto his torso, and it felt like all the tears he’d shed for you had been worth it.

Alright 결국 후회할지라도

(Alright, even if we regret it after)

It didn’t matter how many tears he’d shed after, because the tears that flowed down your soft cheeks that night, with you weeping “make me cum, Woo, please make me cum so hard,” like he was pulling you by a string to mewl out words for him that still make his cock twitch, were precious droplets of your pleasure. And he’d do anything for it.

“Yeah?”, Wooyoung snickered, breathing into your face with a grin, feeling like he was owning the world by making you dumb on his dick, “You love my fucking cock, Y/N? You love your best friend’s cock?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” you whined out, bouncing desperately over his hips that it was leaving your ass red, “I love your cock, Woo, I love it so, so, so fucking much!”

But somehow, you didn’t love it enough.

Oh baby Oh 널 울린 그 놈에게로 baby

(Oh baby Oh, even if you return to the guy who made you cry)

Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about it and just rut his pelvis into his hand so he can cum and unload in peace, but the thought of you being in his arms again, being used by your stupid fucking ex like a toy probably right fucking now, just makes him more aggressive, greedier, furious.

“Really? You love my cock, Y/N? You really love it?”

“Y-yes, W- Woo,” you moaned out, shakily, when he roughly pushed you over, your back landing on the steering wheel, a loud honk echoing through the empty streets. After Wooyoung’s eyes sunk in an angry, deep-seated red, it confused you, almost sobered you up, but of course you would turn sex-drunk in the matter of seconds, as he began to pound into you as if he was on a mission— a mission to make you remember.

Oh 이미 결과는 내 손을 떠났어 bang bang! (Oh, the result has been out of my hands anyways, bang bang!)

He could never cum like he did that night. It was raw, vulgar, dirty, filthy, absolutely pornographic how Wooyoung drove himself into you, moaning, grunting, breathing into your ear and sucking hickeys into your neck at every inch he got the chance to, so even if you’d wake up with the most hefty blackout, you could see what your best friend made of you in the mirror.

Just marks and signs of his infatuation all over your gorgeous body, and Wooyoung feels his jaw hurt, as he realizes how long he’s been biting down his shirt for imagining your love-bite bedecked breasts— Way too long, Y/N, way too fucking long.

Right now, right now Where you at right now

Five years, no, he counts a total of almost ten years of friendship with a sweet girl who remained fun and cheery, and then meeting her again as a woman who let herself be tossed around by some bastards because you don’t know what you’re worth, at least not worth to him.

Wooyoung felt rich with you. He felt like he had everything, when you wrapped your arms around him, once he’d unloaded his hot cum inside you with a moan that was lost immediately in the steamy, hot space of his car, and kissed him, kissed Wooyoung on the lips, just because you, well, felt like doing it? Everything.

“I love you, Woo…”

Where am I right now Girl

He’s so pathetic for thinking that you meant it.

I want, want you to know Babe I want you to know

“I love you too, Y/N.”

How much I love you How much I need you

But Wooyoung doesn’t stop.

I want, want you to know Babe, I want you to know

He doesn’t stop tensing his abdomen to his own touch, he’s given up on thrusting into his hand because it could never, ever feel like you, and Wooyoung spits into his hand again to somehow make him believe he’s being fucked by your wet cunt again.

How much I love you How much I need you

Wooyoung repeats it over and over again in his head, your voice, your words, “I love it,” “I love you, Woo,” and before he can feel his heart drop, his hand accelerates, running and speeding over his shaft and his eyes close down into a tight squeeze, cum spurting out his needy cock.

I want, want you to know Babe, I want you to know

The car still smelled of your sweet sweat, when he drove you to your place, lending you his hoodie because you, silly Y/N, had thrown your shirt out the window– and Wooyoung had sat there for a while, on his seat, staring into the the horn he had you pressed against, had you moaning his name his name against, had you cum, had you love him against.

How much I love you How much I need you

It’s sobering, yeah, that’s the word.

Wooyoung being the only one to see through your lies the second they leave your mouth, and while he knows that “I love you, Woo” had been the truth, “yeah, it’s better if we forget about it, I guess” was a ruthless fucking lie and he hopes you know that, when Wooyoung presses a bitter like on the beach-selfie you’d posted with him, presenting yourself in that bikini so you could finally catch a certain someone’s attention. “BFF4L” had been the caption. You little jokester.

Fucking heartbreaker.

I want, want you to know Babe, I want you to know

He doesn’t hate you, no, in fact, he hates that his cock immediately jumps back up once Wooyoung sees that picture again, with both of you smiling and grinning into the camera, holding each other arm in arm like two good friends are supposed to do, he hates that his hands remember how soft, sweaty and hot your skin felt under his touch, and Wooyoung hates himself that he was the one to have spoken out the question of, “we should probably forget yesterday, huh?”

He should have just shut the fuck up and fucked you again all his heart desired instead.

How much I love you

Maybe he’s really that slow, maybe he just didn’t catch how your face dropped a little bit when Wooyoung asked you to let go of the euphoric memories of feeling free, fiery and idolized in his car, return to the draining feeling of needing to be seen by other eyes.

It is a cruel task, but there’s a bond, a bond between you and him. A stupid bond which goes beyond the way you covered up your marks to meet up other men that summer– that stupid fucking bond which makes Wooyoung ready to grab his keys again, any time you call him out because he’s your best friend in need, your ride-or-die.

How much I need you

Wooyoung remembers you, even though he knows he shouldn't.

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