#but when i look at dean its like. overwhelming just :') love for him and the way that he is always giving'

[deangirldisease]

the notes on that poll are actually very interesting. to me

#sorry if ops feeling overwhelmed but i feel like. if it was a good premise even ppl who gave up mightve tuned in #so it is kinda relevant? #like id given up on tvd when the originals came out and i watched that #because i liked the original family and i thought the premise sounded fun #i was wrong but i did watch the first season #so i feel like ‘i gave up on spn and this didnt entice me to try again’ is a valid response #like its just so telling that nobody gave a shit abt the premise. he literally just made it whatever and fully relied on ppl tuning in #out of blind loyalty/deanbait/casbait/all of the above #im not gonna accuse him of straight up destielbaiting bc from what ive seen i dont think he did all that much of that but it was certainly #dont you wanna see dean again! my good friend misha collins is here constantly. for no reason :) #and he did deliver on the dean so like thanks i guess #im getting derailed the point is. his premise was bad. or badly promoted cos apparently the premise is actually AUs now #like im just getting this show through dash updates but. are johnmary even in love?? is that even actually the plot fjfjfj #prequelposting #in conclusion power to that person who said they didnt watch cos it looked ugly. they get it

[thebiggerbear]

CJ Braxton x Reader - Prompt Response - "I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Summary: You had only meant to call once, remaining anonymous while feeling out the whole helpline thing for yourself. Now, you talk to CJ every Friday night around the same time. When you don't call one Friday, CJ is worried and comes looking for you which presents its own host of problems.

Pairing: CJ Braxton x Female!Reader; CJ Braxton x College Student!Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting (#941). I initially wasn't going to write anything for CJ but this idea popped into my head for this prompt and I just had to write it. And I absolutely fell in love with the dynamic between CJ and the reader (and had so much fun with this). Please forgive any timeline tomfoolery or anything time wise that makes you go "huh?"; I was trying to make this work throughout the season from CJ's entry into the show (and his conversation with Jen about the helpline) to the end.

I wasn't much of a Dawson's Creek person back in the day (I still haven't seen seasons 2-5), so I hope this came out alright. I tried to keep it as 2000-ish as possible. I remember back in the day not everyone had a cell phone like Dawson, Audrey, and Pacey (though a lot of people were getting them moving into the beginning of the decade) so that rule kind of applied here so to speak.

This is meant to take place during s6 before Jen joins The Stand.

Warnings: implied sex; panic attacks; implied anxiety

Word Count: 15k+

CJ Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Soldier Boy version | Beau version | Dean version | Jenny version | Jason version | Tom version | Rachel version | Anael version | Alec version | SDV Leah version

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You glanced at the clock, seeing it was 6:59. One more minute and you’d pick up the phone as you did every Friday night and make the call you always did. Your nerves thrummed in anticipation as you stared down the clock, willing the numbers to turn.

Eventually, you got your wish and as soon as the 7 appeared on the clock face you picked up the phone, dialing the number you now knew by heart. After a few rings, the call finally connected. 

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. “Hey.”

“There she is.” You could hear his own smile in his tone as he recognized you. “How are you, Jo?”

You winced at the fake name you had given him. At the time, you had quickly scrambled and chose the first name that came to mind. Granted, Joey Potter was in the same school as you so you weren’t too worried about him finding out about either of you seeing as he was from Boston Bay. But as you had talked with him more and more, you really wished you hadn’t given him any name but your own. Even if you were beyond terrified; you felt bad for lying to him.

Why should it matter, right? He was a volunteer counselor for a teen helpline at another college. Why would you care what this one person thought out of you?

Well, unbeknownst to him, you had seen him once and you knew who he was. Thanks to Joey and Audrey’s friendship with Jen, you had come to hear quite a bit about the cute tall guy whose voice made your heart rate speed up way too fast. Jen had even invited him out to a house party and that was when you saw him for the first time. Your nerves got to you and you bounced before one of your friends could make an introduction. Partly because you were afraid he would recognize you from your voice and immediately put a face to the name and possibly be disappointed or worse: he’d know you lied to him. So you avoided him at all costs — well, in person.

It wasn’t like you had planned for this to happen, where you would call a helpline weekly just to speak to a certain boy. That’s not how this started at all.

When you got to Worthington, you were homesick, overwhelmed, and overall terrified. While you eventually eased into the college student lifestyle and Boston was now home, you never really got past the overwhelmed feeling, and terrified had dialed down to being anxious all the time: anxious that you would mess up, anxious that you would fail, anxious that your future wouldn’t turn out the way you planned — all of it. There were days you felt like you were just scraping by, barely making a passing grade (though your final grade usually proved you wrong), and you felt like you were some sort of imposter who was soon to be found out and didn’t really belong. Meeting Joey and her roommate, Audrey Liddell, who lived down the hall from you, helped some, and their introducing you to their group of friends helped even more. But there were still times that you just felt…tightly wound and about to snap. As if you had too many balls in the air and you were about to trip, and all the balls would fall to the ground.

So when Jen mentioned to the group about some guy wanting her to join a teen helpline for the college, you quietly paid attention. She laughed it off — his approach, not the helpline — and she didn’t think she would be right for it so that was that. While everyone else began to talk and laugh about another topic, the wheels in your head slowly started to turn inside your head. A helpline where you could remain anonymous and talk to someone who would listen and could possibly even help. You knew your school most likely had one of those but you wouldn’t even dream of risking it. But a helpline elsewhere where you could talk to someone who maybe understood how you were feeling most of the time, maybe experienced similar things, and you were able to stay anonymous? That you could look into.

After much back and forth in your mind over it, you took the leap and made the call one Friday night after a particularly rough week. You really didn’t think anyone would pick up, it was close to 7:00 and most college kids were either out or getting ready to go out…right?

Before you could answer your own question to yourself, the line connected.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

You did what any other person would do; you promptly hung up. You stared at your phone in terror. Someone had picked up. A guy. Just when you were convincing yourself that this was stupid and you needed to take a chill pill and deal.

You argued with yourself in your head for about another minute, hemming and hawing over it all. Wasn’t the whole point of you calling to try to do something about how you’d been feeling? You supposed you could always see a therapist here in town but that could be costly, even with insurance. You also had no desire to tell your parents because they would respond the same way they did the last time you tried to allude to how overwhelmed you were when you had returned home for the summer.

“You should be grateful you got into such a great school, Y/N. Most people would kill to be in your position, going after their degree. You don’t see your classmates moping about, do you? Just because they have classes and homework,” your mother had made sure to prick you with that pin of guilt. “Make the best of it.”

“You know what I think? I think you need to get yourself some friends and then you’ll stop focusing on this so much. If you have nothing to fill your time, of course your mind is going to obsess over what you’re viewing as negative. Try to join a club or a social group. They have keggers all the time. I remember back when I was in college. It was party city every weekend. Maybe let loose a little one of these Saturday nights and things will start to get better. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even make some friends.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you mumbled, tossing your overeasy egg onto its side with your fork, your eyes trained on your plate. You knew he was just trying to help — they both were — but their attitude seemed to imply that you could simply hit an off switch somewhere and you’d stop feeling so overwhelmed. If only.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to take their advice. You had gone to some frat party and it had been one of the worst experiences of your life. You weren’t a big drinker and you weren’t really a party person in general. You didn’t really recognize anyone from your classes or your dorm and the music was so loud, it seemed like a ridiculous notion to try to approach someone and start a conversation. Not something you were very good at anyway. You had no idea how to play the drinking games you saw, other than what you’d seen on TV, and you didn’t want to do something to mess up anyone’s scores if you didn’t do it right. Then some hulk of a guy accidentally knocked into you, deluging you in beer, and he was so drunk, he didn’t even apologize, just kept on going. After about an hour (and the unintended beer bath), you decided to call it quits.  

That night, you had gone back to your dorm room which was blissfully empty, taken a hot shower, and then sobbed into your pillow. So much so that when a drunken Audrey accidentally stumbled into your room, she saw your tear-stained face when your head snapped up and immediately asked what was wrong and why you were crying in her room of all things. Despite the back and forth over whose room it actually was and her drunken state along with the slurring of her words, you two actually kind of hit it off. Before long she had you laughing, something you felt like you hadn’t done in some time. She passed out in your roommate’s bed, much to your roommate’s chagrin, but when Audrey’s boyfriend and roommate came to get her the next morning, you figured that had been it. Your one social interaction with someone who didn’t look at you as an unwanted intruder every single day (like your roommate) or like you were some loner weirdo (like most of your classmates). You knew that Audrey would probably either ignore you the next time she ran into you or she wouldn’t remember you at all. 

Boy, had you been wrong. The day after her hangover, she had been knocking on your door, smiling and telling you that you were going out with her for the night. Just like that. She introduced you to her roommate, Joey, and their group of friends. You had been inducted into their group of friends, just like that.

Eventually, Jen mentioned the helpline that one night and now here you were, staring at the phone as if it was about to come to life and do a dance or something. You waited a few more minutes, deciding you’d try again and hopefully get someone else. There couldn’t be only one person answering phones at a helpline, could there? That would make for some backed up phone traffic and not a good look for a helpline at all. Maybe you’d be lucky and the guy would have already had another caller he was speaking to so another counselor would have to pick up.

When the clock turned to 7:11, you slowly picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed the number again. You began to jiggle your leg as you waited for the line to connect.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

Oh crap. You froze.

“Hello?”

What did you do? You wanted to hang the phone up again but you were unable to. 

“Hello?” He asked again.

No. You were going to be a mature adult about this and answer him. Just as soon as you could breathe. You covered the mouthpiece with your hand and exhaled a breath.

“Look, if you’re in trouble or can’t talk, just hit a button. Any button will work.” A minute passed while you were trying to breathe, getting ready to talk. “If you don’t have a crisis and you’re not calling to speak to someone here, then I think you should hang up and let other people who need us call in. No use in tying up the phone lines.”

Another minute passed. You really were trying your hardest to get words out but your chest was tight and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your heart was racing yet you were frozen. This happened sometimes but usually you were by yourself, not with someone waiting for you to speak on the other end of the phone line. It also happened a couple of times while you were out with your friends, but usually you hid out in a bathroom stall until it passed and then you left to go back to your dorm with the excuse of a test the next day or a project due, whatever you could come up with on the fly. You didn’t understand why it was happening to you right now, though.

“Alright, I’m going to hang up now.”

You smashed a key on your phone so fast that you heard a loud annoying sound in your ear. Immediately, the guy’s tone changed. 

“Okay, I’m here. If you’re in trouble, hit the key again. If you’re not but can’t talk at the moment, don’t hit it.”

You didn’t hit any more keys and gasped for air that just wasn’t coming.

“Good. I’m glad you’re okay. Is someone in the room with you and that’s why you can’t talk? If so, hit the key again.” 

You moved over to your bed and laid down. That was the fastest way to get your body to relax when you had the option you’d found out.

“Okay, so you’re alone but you can’t talk but you’re not in trouble. Can you just try to say one word or make a sound so I know you’re really okay?” 

You removed your hand from the mouthpiece. “T-Trying,” you rasped out. Holy crap, this was a bad episode you were having. You were completely mortified. Perhaps you really should hang up. You were worried, though, that now he might notify someone or think you really were prank calling the helpline. Either way, you were bound to get in trouble and even more embarrassed, and that just made your chest tighter.

“Okay. That’s good. I’ll take that. Do you have asthma or something similar?” 

Great. That’s how bad you’d sounded; he thought you might actually have some sort of breathing issue. Well, technically, you were struggling to breathe right now so it made sense that he would think that but if he only knew the actual answer was something that was beyond ridiculous and couldn’t be explained away as something as serious as asthma. 

“No,” you whispered, rubbing at the spot in your chest where a mix of discomfort and a heavy-rock-feeling sat. 

“And you’re sure you don’t need to go to the hospital to get checked out?” He sounded concerned now. 

“No,” you repeated, staring up at your ceiling, your vision blurring with building tears. All you wanted to do was give this helpline thing a shot since nothing else seemed to be working, and here you had gone and made it so much worse. On top of that, you were frustrated that you couldn’t even do something as simple as answer a person when they said hello on a phone call that you made to them. What was wrong with you? 

“Okay. That’s good. Why don’t I talk for a minute so you can relax?” A tear slipped down your cheek when you realized he must have heard your heavy exhales over the phone. “Like I said before, my name is CJ. I’ve been with the helpline for a while now. I’m here four days a week. I try to schedule shifts around my classes and pick up a few extra when I’m able. Before you called, I was doing some reading for my Philosophy class. It’s not my major but I had to take another humanities course. It was that or religion so…philosophy it was.”

You closed your eyes and focused on his voice. It was actually very soothing and it was helping.

“Between you and me, I’m not the best student.” Your eyes opened and you stared at the ceiling, listening intently. “I mean, I do okay in terms of grades, but I’m not exactly a frequent flier on the Dean’s list.” He chuckled and after a moment, he asked, “How about you?”

You swallowed, feeling the slightest bit of easing up on your chest, almost if it was allowing the words through. “I do okay.” You didn’t sound as raspy as before but you still had a faint wheeze at the end. You were coming out of this, slowly but surely.

“That’s good. College sure isn’t easy, by any means. When midterms roll around, I always get a little more stressed. I usually have to blow off some steam to keep it all balanced, you know? Or else I get easily overwhelmed. I have to remind myself to take it one class at a time, one day at a time. But easier said than done sometimes, right?”

“Right.” You knew what he was doing but since it seemed to be helping, you played along. He was getting to the heart of the issue while also giving you time to come back down. You’d only been on the phone with him for close to ten minutes and already you felt much better than you had when the call started. 

“How are you feeling? Any better?”

“A little.” 

“Good.” He sounded genuinely pleased. “Is my being the one to talk helping any?”

“Actually…yeah,” you breathed out. 

“Does this happen a lot?”

You bit at your lip, not really wanting to admit it, but you had called for this very reason, hadn’t you? “Yeah.”

“Around midterms or anytime?”

“Anytime.”

“Even when you’re not in school?”

“Sometimes,” you whispered. “But mostly when I’m here.”

“So school related then?”

“Kind of.”

He was quiet for a moment and you wondered if you had said something wrong or if he was looking instructions up in a pamphlet or something for this sort of thing. 

“Hey, did you see Phantom Menace when it came out last year?”

That caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected to switch gears so quickly. “Um, no?”

“You’re not a Star Wars fan, I take it?”

He didn’t sound disappointed so you chalked that up to being a good thing. Most guys you’d met either were completely into Star Wars or weren’t into it at all. “I don’t know if I’d call myself a fan but I’ve seen the original movies.” 

“Uh oh, you’re not one of those prequel snobs, are you?” He teased.

“No? I just saw the trailer and I wasn’t interested.”

“Well, a buddy of mine and I went to see it when it came out. The theater was packed. I’m talking bursting at the seams.” A small smile started to creep onto your face at his energy. “And when the lights went down and the opening credits started rolling and the music started up, everyone was cheering and clapping. It was pretty awesome. My buddy ended up loving it. He’s the biggest Star Wars fan you’ve ever met.” A moment later he asked, “So besides anything in a galaxy, far far away, have you seen any other movies that came out?”

“I went to see The Green Mile. My, uh, my dad is a big Tom Hanks fan and a Stephen King fan so he really wanted to go.”

“And you?”

“I liked it. Though it was sad.” 

“I didn’t see it yet but I got the feeling that it was going to be a bit of a heavy one.”

“It was, but it was worth it.” You noticed then that you were talking to him normally, you were breathing normally, your chest was still a little tight but that was to be expected, and you were sitting up with your back to the wall. You had gotten through your latest episode and this CJ had helped. Perhaps there was something to this helpline thing after all.

“I’m definitely going to check it out then. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.”

Almost as if he had heard your thoughts, he then said, “You sound a lot better than earlier. Hopefully, you’re feeling better, too?”

“Um, yeah.” You anxiously tucked your hair behind your ear. “Thanks for earlier, by the way. You know, being patient…”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Right.”

“So, you feel up to telling me what’s going on and why you called tonight or did you want to talk about something else?”

You bit at your thumbnail, unsure. “I feel bad. I’ve taken up so much of your time already.” You glanced at the clock and saw that you had been on the phone with him now for almost half an hour. 

“Don’t worry about the time and I don’t want you feeling badly.” He sounded completely genuine when he said it and it made you feel a little bit better about monopolizing his time like this. “This is why I’m here. So, if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

You still weren’t certain you should take him up on his offer. “Are you sure? What if there’s someone else who needs to call in who is having an actual crisis and you’re stuck on the phone with me? I would feel bad if they didn’t get to talk to you when they needed to because of me.”

“I’m not the only one here so if someone else does call in, they’ll speak to one of the other counselors who can help them. While we’re on the subject, what you’re experiencing is just as valid as what anyone else might be experiencing. I’m not stuck on the phone with you, I want to be talking with you and try to help you in any way I can. And yes, I’m sure.”

You contemplated it, turning it over and over in your brain. This was why you called. This was why you decided to give the helpline a try, to speak to a stranger who would listen and possibly be able to help you and if not, at least maybe understand where you were coming from. If he was willing (and he had been helpful so far), then why not?

“Would it help if I promise not to make any more Star Wars references?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Tremendously.” 

“Deal,” he laughed. You liked the sound of his laugh; it was warm, inviting, and put you instantly at ease. This CJ seemed to know what he was doing and you could now see why people called in to speak to him and other counselors like him. 

You nervously licked your lips and decided to take the plunge. You told him everything. You told him about how it started when you began college, how the classes and workload immediately overwhelmed you. How you struggled to keep from drowning in assignments and tests and projects and papers. How you started to develop these episodes and how badly you felt during them. How you had tried to talk to your parents but they just didn’t seem to hear you, dismissing it as an issue that would be resolved by you being more outgoing and feeling more grateful that you had such an educational opportunity when many didn’t. How you could be in a room full of a hundred people and still feel completely alone, especially when an episode kicked in. You’d even told him about your failed attempt at attending the frat party. He had rarely talked, giving you the floor, but he had interjected a couple of times to either support you or make some helpful suggestions. Other than that, he just listened. By the time you finished, you felt like you had told him your whole life story, but you had to admit that you felt a lot better once you got it all off your chest, which incidentally, was feeling lighter. And this time, someone listened and actually heard you. That made all the difference.

You glanced at the clock for the first time in a long time and noted it was 10:16. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, your cheeks immediately heating up. Had you really been talking nonstop for over three hours? “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. I should let you go so you can speak to other callers.”

“My shift ended fifteen minutes ago actually.”

Your heart stopped and however much better you’d been feeling, felt like it went right down the drain. How could you have been so self-absorbed and only concerned with your problems that you’d talked his ear off and used up his whole shift? Not one other person got to talk to him tonight and you didn’t even go to that school. Seriously, how selfish were you? “I-I’m so, so sorry. You should have stopped me or told me there was a time limit per call.” You were full on babbling now. “I didn’t mean to— I am so beyond sorry. I’m going to let you go. Thank you so much for your help and I hope you have a good rest of your night. Don’t worry. I promise I won’t call again. Good night.”

You went to hang up the phone when you heard loudly, “Please don’t hang up.”

You put it back to your ear, your brows drawing together in confusion. “But you said your shift was over.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “But that’s okay. If I wanted you to stop talking, I would have said something. And did I ask you to stop?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I didn’t want you to stop talking. It seems like there’s a lot on your plate at the moment or else you wouldn’t have called, right?”

“Okay, yeah. But—”

“So it’s good that you called and I’m glad I was able to help. And for the record, there’s no time limit on a call.” Someone said something to him in the background and he quietly responded though you couldn’t hear what he said. “I’m actually gonna get going because my replacement is here and they don’t have another place to sit.” 

“Right. Of course. Again, sorry.”

“But,” he continued. “I’m going to be here Monday afternoon around 2 so if you want to call back then we can talk again.”

“I have class then.” You truly did but even if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be calling him back. You had taken up enough of his time.

“I’m here until 6:00 that day.”

“I have a study session after that class.” Okay, maybe that was a lie. “But I appreciate the offer. Thank you and have a good—”

“I’m back on again next Friday. Same time. Why don’t you call me then if you’re free?”

“I appreciate it, CJ, but don’t worry. If I need the helpline again, I’ll call, but you helped me a lot tonight and I feel better so…I won’t need to call. Again, I’m sorry I monopolized your shift.”

“Do me a favor and call me again anyway, even if you are feeling better. I’d like to check in with you and the only way I can do that is if you call me back.”

“Right. Being anonymous and all,” you mumbled. Thank God for that. You didn’t think your embarrassment at talking his head off for over three hours while you complained about your life would ever go away.

“Yeah. So, please, if you can call me next week, same time, even if you just tell me you’re feeling better and hang up. That’s all I ask.”

You supposed you could do that, after he’d generously taken the time to hear you out, after he’d helped you through your episode. “Okay.”

“Friday, 7:00. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whispered.

And so had begun the tradition of you calling him every Friday night at 7:00. You hadn’t intended for that to happen, honestly. But each time you would talk to him, ranging in times from twenty minutes to an hour and a half (you refused to ever get near that three hour mark again, no matter what he said), he would always ask you to call him back the following week, making you promise that you would. Over time, you noticed that your overwhelmed feeling had lessened considerably (though not completely gone) and instead of having an episode (or panic attack as CJ called them) twice weekly, they had now diminished to one every couple of weeks. And even then they weren’t as bad as they had been, thanks to the techniques CJ suggested you try using. Things had gotten better for you and you had to admit, the helpline definitely was a useful service for students, though for your own personal experience, you attributed a lot of that to CJ.

Speaking of which, that was how you two began to get to know one another, moving from strictly counselor and caller into a tentative friendship. When initially speaking to him, he began to feel like a friend you were just catching up with on how your past week had been, and then it actually sort of became that. He started to tell you more details about himself and now you knew what type of music he liked, what he was majoring in, where he had grown up, and why he had joined The Stand. He had even shared his backstory with you and why he didn’t drink when you told him how uncomfortable college parties made you in general. The conversation was no longer one-sided and you’d come to like it that way.

Until the day came when he asked your name. 

“My name?”

“Well, yeah, so I know what to call you. It feels weird calling you “you” all the time,” he laughed.

“Um…” You were practically crapping bricks. You didn’t expect this.

“Just your first name. You’ll still be anonymous,” he reassured. “It could be a nickname if you want. Or your middle name. Just something.”

You ran over it in your mind. What if he still somehow managed to find out who you were if you gave him only your first name? Sure, you weren’t going to the same schools, but what if somehow someway…? Plus, your friends weren’t exactly fans of CJ right now. Apparently, Jen had a major crush on him but her hopes were dashed when he told her he didn’t date (something he had told you long before you heard it via your friends) and then hooked up with Audrey the same night. You hadn’t been there that night, opting to stay in and study for a huge test you had coming up in your Lit class, and after hearing that not only had CJ been present but also what happened, you were glad you had made that decision. Audrey and Joey were on the outs thanks to the events of that night and now so were Jen and Audrey once it was revealed that CJ and Audrey had slept together, right before Pacey punched his face in. 

When that Friday rolled around, you almost didn’t call him. You were angry and hurt yourself. Angry because his careless actions had hurt more than one of your friends, and hurt because truth be told, you had started to crush on him yourself from afar. You trusted him with the details of your life, very personal details (without giving specifics obviously), and he’d helped you. How could he be this helpful, compassionate guy working at a helpline but turn out to be this scummy, advantage-taking, selfish player? You couldn’t reconcile in your head the CJ you were getting to know with the CJ your friends saw.

“That’s just the thing, Y/N,” Jen told you when you wondered aloud how a helpline counselor could do something like he had with your friends. “Most people who go into those positions to help other people are usually a thousand times more screwed up than the people they’re helping. Audrey’s been hurting, as you know, and she’s been acting out and he saw an opportunity. Case closed.” But it wasn’t case closed for you. Not by a mile. You wanted answers, but how could you get them while remaining anonymous?

So that following Friday at 7:00, as you angrily punched in the helpline number, you had no idea how you would do it but you were determined to get them. And if you didn’t like what you heard, then this would be your last call and you would close the book on CJ and your budding friendship for good.

It caught you off guard, though, when you heard a different voice this time.

“Hello, Helpline. This is David.”

You nearly hung up. You knew David; he was starting to hang out with your group more and more, especially Jack. What if he recognized your voice?

“Hello?”

You forced yourself to ask the burning question on the tip of your tongue, albeit with a slightly higher pitch of voice. “Hi, is CJ there?”

“No, I’m sorry.” You covered the mouthpiece with your hand and let out a sigh of relief. Whether it was because David didn’t recognize you or you didn’t have to confront CJ right this second, you couldn’t be sure. Probably a bit of both. “He called out sick and asked me to fill in for him. He should be back next week, though.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll call then. Thank you.” You quickly hung up before he could ask you anything else.

The next Friday you called, you got CJ.

“Hey,” he greeted, sounding relieved when he heard your voice. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” You were standing in your dorm room, staring out the window and watching the rain, your arms crossed. You weren’t as angry as last week, the extra time allowing you to let a cooler head prevail, but you still wanted answers. “How are you?”

“Honestly? I’ve been better.”

“I’m sorry. I know you were sick last week. Has it not gotten any better?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m sorry about that. I was feeling lousy and just needed to take a day, you know?” And he didn’t need to be parading around a still-healing black eye that might prompt questions, you bet. 

“I get that.”

“God, I wish I had your number outside of this so I could call you.” Your jaw tightened. Perhaps your friends were right; there was a whole other side to him. A side you didn’t really want to get to know. “I really could’ve used a friend to talk to.”

You unclenched your jaw when you realized he wasn’t hitting on you and when you thought about it, he sounded genuinely miserable and he never had in any of your previous conversations, even when your friendship formed. It was unlike him, or at least the CJ you had gotten to know. Just like this behavior your friends had told you about sounded unlike him. “Well, I’m here now, if you want to talk.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make this about me. You called in to talk, not to hear about my problems,” he laughed, sounding nervous. That was a first.

“I’m sure. What are friends for?”

He told you everything while not naming anyone. He didn’t hold back anything and you realized that while he didn’t know who you were, he was giving you the side that had been missing from the story your friends told you: his side. Every side has a story after all. He admitted he had messed up big time. He had hurt Jen (or Blondie as he called her), he had been an ass to Pacey (or The Guy Who Punched My Face) when he had no right to be, and he should have never hooked up with Audrey (or The Girl That Came Out of Nowhere). Apparently, Jen had said to him the same thing she said to you and it got him thinking, along with some things Audrey had said. He felt like a huge jerk and all he wanted to do was keep his head down and move forward, get back on the right track that his life had been headed in. You stayed silent as he talked and before you knew it, the clock read 9:47. 

“Your shift is over soon,” you whispered once he was done.

“Yeah, but I still have a few minutes. So what do you think? Am I a complete jackass or what?” He let out another nervous chuckle.

You briefly pressed your lips together as you thought of how best to answer that. In the end, you were as honest as you could be without giving yourself away. “I think we all make mistakes sometimes. But as long as we recognize them, apologize to those we’ve hurt, and try to do better, then that’s all that matters. So no, not a complete jackass.” 

This time when he laughed, it sounded relieved. “Thanks.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for,” you repeated his words back to him, teasing him slightly.

A moment of silence passed between you before he asked, “Will you call again next week?”

That made you do a double take. He never asked you to call the following week like that. Usually he asked in the form of making you promise you would call or he’d tell you he’d talk to you the following week. But when he asked like this, he sounded uncertain, vulnerable. You knew then that more than just his face and ego had been hurt by recent events. Perhaps you were a fool but you believed his remorse to be genuine. 

“Yeah,” you assured him. “I’ll call next week.”

And when you did, he immediately hit you with the name question. 

“Earth to you…” He called, snapping you out of it and reclaiming your attention. “See? It doesn’t really work,” he laughed.

You had to be careful here. Not only because you didn’t want him to find out who you were but also because if your friends ever found out, especially Audrey…you were toast. 

You opened your mouth to give him the name of a classmate that couldn’t be traced back to you but “Jo” came tumbling out instead.

“Jo?”

Oh crap. You had Audrey and then Joey on your mind and it just slipped out. Crap, crap, crap. “Yeah,” you lied. “Jo.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jo.” You could practically hear him smiling, happy to have gotten a name out of you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, angry with yourself. “Nice to meet you, too,” you mumbled before you dropped your head into your hands.  

So now here you were, him thinking you were Jo from the college he was attending, and you were calling him every single week at the same time like clock work. You had long ago stopped questioning the morality of what you were doing and it seemed that he didn’t appear to question it at all. He was always happy to hear from you and your conversations were more personal now. You couldn’t deny the way your heart rate spiked every time you heard his voice when he picked up the call or how whenever his name was mentioned in passing by David or Jen (though rare these days), you would specifically tune in, listening for anything that had to do with him. You had it bad and you knew it, but it was also a safe crush from a distance and would be staying that way.

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your reverie and remembered CJ has asked you a question. “I’m good. Really good. How about you?”

“Really good, huh? I’m happy to hear it and happy to be hearing from you.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I got that paper back and you were so right, The Writing Center really helped. I can’t believe I never thought to try it before. Thank you so much for that idea.”

“I’m happy to be of service,” he chuckled. “I’m glad it helped. And the club thing? Did you give that a try as well?”

Your smile dropped. He had been trying to urge you to join a club or a group where you had shared interests with other students. His theory was that if you gave a small group of people a shot doing a social activity you might enjoy, that it might help decrease your nervousness in other social settings. Even though you told him you had a group of friends you regularly met up with, he didn’t think expanding your social circles would be a bad thing to consider. “No? I told you, CJ, that’s not really my thing.”

“I get that, I do. How about this? If you want, I could meet you at Student Activities and we could take a look around together, get some info. No pressure, of course, but you wouldn’t have to walk in there alone. I know it can be a bit much sometimes. I remember my first semester here and I didn’t know where to stick my head.”

You froze. That was the first time he’d ever mentioned the possibility of you meeting in person. Perhaps if you were really Jo from Boston Bay College, you could take him up on it or give him your number like he’d asked you for or call his room number like he’d offered up a few times now so you could talk outside of the helpline. But you weren’t and so you had to decline. “I appreciate the offer but it’s not my thing so I’m going to have to pass. Sorry, but thank you, though.” 

“If you’re sure.” He sounded slightly disappointed but maybe that was just you imagining it. 

“Yep, I’m sure. Uh, so listen, I can’t stay on long. My roommate and her boyfriend will be here in less than ten so I’m gonna go so I can get out of here before I get hit by the clothes hurricane that’s most likely to happen.” It was a complete lie. Your roommate, Stacey, had actually gone to visit her boyfriend for the weekend. You would have peace and quiet and the dorm to yourself for two whole days. 

He chuckled good-naturedly. “I don’t blame you. If you get bored later, I’m here at The Stand until 10:00, like you already know, and then I’ll be back in my room. You can call me then if you want to talk. I”ll be up for a while so don’t worry about calling too late.”

“Oh. Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that.” You weren’t going to and he knew you weren’t going to. You hadn’t the last two times he’d made the same offer and the last two times you’d given him the same response.

“Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“If I don’t hear from you… Call next week, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling, like always. You said your quick goodbyes and you hung up, letting out a heavy breath. While he had been urging you to contact him personally, he had never mentioned meeting him before. That was different. And it worried you at the same time. Why the offer now? Granted, he was just trying to be helpful to you, given the context, but what if he began to find other ways to work it in like he already had about your phone numbers? What if he continued to push to meet Jo? 

You shook your head, telling yourself that you were doing it again, worrying over things that might not happen. You would cross that bridge when you came to it, something CJ had once said to you that you kept for yourself as your own personal mantra. You would wait to see how next week would go.

But unfortunately, the call never happened.

You had been out with Jack and David on Thursday night at Hell’s Kitchen, when Jen waltzed in, smiling and taking a seat. Joey and Emma were working and Pacey was supposed to join you later.

“You worked late today,” Jack commented. 

“Training took a little bit longer than expected. We were supposed to be done at 6:00 but then our relief called and said they were going to be late. Of course, since CJ was going to stay, I wasn’t going to just leave him there.” Your ears perked up at the mention of CJ. You knew Jen was training as a counselor and he was the one training her. Jen had begrudgingly forgiven CJ but it was also obvious to you all that she still had a crush on him. While you couldn’t blame her, you also felt for her. CJ told you that he had to make it clear once more to Blondie that he wasn’t looking to date though he was happy she had finally started training at the helpline. He really believed she would make a great counselor once she settled into it. 

Talk about complicated. Jen was your friend and you didn’t want to see her get hurt, but you could also understand if CJ didn’t see her that way, he just didn’t. They were both your friends now and you just wanted them both to be happy, whatever that looked like.

“But then, listen to this,” she continued. “Our relief, this guy named Seth, sees me there with CJ and starts teasing him about how he’s racking up all of these beautiful girls through the helpline, not leaving any for him.”

“Jen,” Jack warned. 

“No, listen. This is good. You’re going to like this.” 

Jack sighed but let her finish.

“CJ laughs it off but then Seth mentions how he has this girl calling him every Friday night, around the same time, and she talks his ear off for hours.”

You were about to take a bite of your french fry when you froze. Your heart dropped down to your feet. 

“And so I ask if this is true and CJ says that we’re there to help everybody, time limits aren’t a thing, and it doesn’t matter how many times a caller calls back or they speak to the same counselor. As long as they get the help they need.”

“He’s right,” David chimed in.

“But then Seth starts teasing him again and asks if CJ can give him tips on how to get dates using the helpline. CJ laughs and says sure. I mention how he said he wasn’t looking to date and Seth says he tells every girl that so he doesn’t have to commit but can still get what he wants.” You dropped your fry back into your basket, trying to ignore the rolling nausea in your stomach. 

“I don’t know about that,” David chuckled nervously.

“He didn’t deny it, David. He just laughed and walked away. Can you believe it? He’s using the helpline to get girls. Talk about abusing the system, not to mention the absolute lack of morality.” You definitely felt like you were going to be sick. “I quit. If that’s what guys like him and Seth are using that helpline for then I don’t want any part of it. And CJ? Audrey was right. He’s a skeevy player. I can’t believe I didn’t see it this whole time.” Jen shook her head. You were getting that all-too familiar falling feeling again. 

“Wait, seriously? Guys are using the helpline to pick up girls?” Jack turned to David.

“No. Jen, I’m sure Seth was just kidding and CJ was just playing along. Nobody is using the helpline to pick anyone up. Everyone that works there knows the rules and they’re there to help callers. How could they pick anyone up, anyway? It’s all anonymous.”

“Yeah, but if they pushed for a date or something… It could happen.” You immediately felt your stomach jolt and like someone had punched you in the gut at the same time.

“It could,” David agreed. “But I doubt it does.”

“He has the same girl calling him every single week at the same time. What would keep her calling like that?” Jen interjected. You glanced away from the table for a moment, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer David would give.

“Is that true? Every week?” Jack asked in disbelief.

“It’s true,” David confirmed. “I actually got her once when CJ was out sick. She sounded nice.” If you could have, you would have given him a smile, thankful for David’s attempt to defend CJ and the helpline and unknowingly you. But right then, you were trying not to hyperventilate. “And CJ appears to be helping her. He said she’s made a lot of progress since they started talking.”

“He talked to you about her?” Jen looked shocked. Oh God. Your chest started to feel tight.

“Only because he was going to be out sick that one day and in case she called and then decided to talk to me, he wanted me to be up to speed in case she needed something. That’s all.”

“I feel badly for this girl. She probably thinks CJ is some great guy and she can trust him but based on what Seth said, he’s simply playing the long game with her. A girl whose trust he’s taking advantage of. I’m telling you, Audrey was right about him and I should’ve seen it.” Jen rubbed at her forehead. It was beyond hot in here and even though it wasn’t crowded, the room started to feel smaller.

“I don’t think that’s true, Jen,” David defended. “I don’t think he’s looking to take advantage of this girl at all. I think he truly wants to help her.”

“Yeah, that’s how it started with Audrey and look at how that turned out.” David dropped his gaze to his food, continuing to poke at it with his fork. There wasn’t much he could say to that though he wished he still would. “And if that’s true, he only wants to help her, then why was he laughing along when Seth talked about her and how she keeps him on the phone for hours? How is that helping her?”

You felt like your feet were locked in cement but your legs were wobbling to and fro. And yet you also felt like a large boulder was now sitting on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. How could any of this conversation be happening right now?

Jack glanced from David to Jen. “Perhaps David’s right, Jen. Maybe he was just playing along. That’s what guys do sometimes. You know that.”

“I don’t think that’s what that was. Either way, I quit.”

Jack and David started to urge her not to quit, but at that point you’d had enough. Your hands were clammy and you felt that feeling on your forehead, too. You needed cold, and air. “Excuse me,” you nearly rasped out and beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom. You could feel your dinner coming back up. Joey stopped you in your trek.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

You shook your head and dodged past her, hurrying to the bathroom. Once you reached it, you locked the door and pushed into a stall just in time. You emptied the contents of your stomach and once you were finished, you made your way towards the sink, splashing cold water on your face. You could feel the panic attack you were having and you tried your best to ward it off but to no avail.

You slid down the wall and struggled to breathe, trying the techniques CJ had taught you. You didn’t want to think about him right now but you also didn’t want to be having this happen while your friends sat right outside. Not to mention, you knew Joey was going to come check on you. You gasped for air and rubbed at your chest. Once it passed, you unlocked the door, made excuses to Joey and your friends, went home, showered, and cried yourself to sleep. For the first time in a while, you’d had a particularly bad episode and ended the night in tears: two things you hadn’t done since you’d started talking to CJ regularly. You felt as if all the progress you’d made was like a house of cards that fell to the ground after one card was pulled out from under you. And all because you’d trusted the wrong person. 

So you stopped calling and instead, spent your Friday nights at the library, studying, so you wouldn’t be tempted to pick up the phone and call to confront the guy who’d betrayed your trust.

<-->

A few weeks later, you were sitting on Joey’s bed, watching Audrey unload her closet onto her mattress. Apparently, she was going to rehab, for real this time. She was ready to confront the fact that her drinking was out of control. Joey was helping her sort through everything and handed you things to fold and place in her suitcase. Eddie had already taken one heavy suitcase down to the car, along with a very high Bob. 

You all looked up when there was a polite knock on their dorm room door. Joey got up to answer it, most likely thinking it was Eddie, but when she opened the door, it revealed another guy altogether.

There stood CJ, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a jacket covering his tall frame. Your heart skipped a beat before falling into your stomach but then leaping back into place and pounding faster than before for a whole other reason. You immediately grabbed a magazine from the nightstand and began sifting through it, your jaw clenched and you refusing to look in his direction.

Before anyone could say a word, Audrey groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw CJ hold up a placating hand in her direction. “I’m not here for you, okay? I’m actually looking for someone.”

You froze.

“I bet you are,” Audrey grumbled.

Joey crossed her arms. “Who?”

“A girl by the name of Jo who lives in this building.”

You mentally cursed yourself. You knew you had let the name of your dorm building slip once by accident but he hadn’t appeared to have heard you so you thought you were in the clear; apparently, he had heard you. Crap.

Joey tensed. Uh oh. You had a feeling this was going to come back to haunt you at some point. Here it was. “Why are you looking for me?”

CJ’s brow drew together. “You’re Jo?”

Audrey was suddenly at Joey’s side. “Yeah, why are you looking for her?”

“Jo is a girl who called the helpline. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks and I just wanted to check on her.”

Her distaste for CJ forgotten, Audrey turned in shock to her roommate. “Joey Potter, you called the helpline?”

“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous, Audrey.” Joey then looked at CJ. “I don’t know who this girl is but it’s not me. Good luck in your search.” She went to close the door but CJ stopped her.

“Wait, so you’ve never heard of a girl named Jo who lives in this building?”

“No,” Audrey snapped. “Now, go away.”

“Hold on a second. Because Joanna Martin who lives on the 2nd floor isn’t her and has never heard of her. Now you’re saying you’re not her and you’ve never heard of her either?”

Audrey gave him a nasty smirk. “Imagine that. A girl using a fake name calling an anonymous helpline. She probably knows what a sleazeball you are and didn’t want you stalking her. If she was calling the helpline, she’s probably got enough on her plate. Best of luck, Stalker Boy.”

Audrey went to shut the door in his face but again, he stopped it.

“I don’t really care what you think of me. You want to think I’m the bad guy in everything that happened with us? That’s fine. But I’m actually trying to find this girl to help her.”

“Help her into your bed, you mean.”

His jaw clenched. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, I bet it is but whatever.” Audrey rolled her eyes and turned back to you. “Y/N, have you ever heard of this girl he’s looking for?”

Your eyes snapped up to them and all three of them were now staring at you, waiting for your answer. Crap. CJ was looking right at you. Double crap. You shook your head and went back to your magazine. 

“There you go. No one here has heard of her. Buh-bye now.” 

Audrey was closing the door when Joey’s phone started to ring. Joey, who had gone back into the whirlwind of clothes, looked over at you. “Hey, can you get that? Eddie might be calling from his cell phone.”

You nodded and picked up the line. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. Can I talk to Joey? Audrey’s friend, Bob, is getting a little impatient down here.”

“Sure. One sec.” You handed the phone to Joey. “It’s Eddie.” She took it and began rolling her eyes when Eddie was most likely telling her the same thing he had just told you. She came over, zipped up the suitcase you had been working on after dumping more things into it. “Do you mind taking this to Eddie downstairs? He’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Sure thing.” You tossed the magazine back onto the night stand and grabbed the suitcase handle, picking it up and placing it on its wheels. You slipped your worn paperback copy of your book into the back pocket of your jeans, intent on returning it to your room when you came back up. Now that you knew CJ was trying to track you down and he was in the building, you didn’t feel comfortable having any clues pointing to your identity out in the open like that. 

You grabbed the tail of the suitcase and began to pull it along. “Oh my God, Aud. Do you really need this many outfits?” 

She looked up from her cell phone and gave you a smile. “Of course. Rehab is bound to be drab so I’m going to make it fab.” She shot you a wink and opened the door for you. 

You laughed and shook your head, crossing over the threshold. You made your way to the elevator and pushed the button. While you were waiting, you heard behind you, “Need some help with that?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. CJ was right there, behind you, talking directly to you. While a part of you wanted to tell him to take a hike, your desire for anonymity was greater. You turned and gave him a wan smile, shaking your head. His green eyes were intent on you and you didn’t care for that one bit. It was like he knew who you were without you even having to say it. Luckily, at that moment, the elevator dinged and the door opened. You went to roll the suitcase onto it when a hand picked it up out of nowhere.

“Let me give you a hand,” CJ offered, not waiting for you to reply and stepping into the elevator. You paused for a moment, considering not getting onto it with him but Eddie was expecting you and Joey and Audrey were waiting for you to come back. You let out a quiet sigh and stepped inside, hitting the button for the Lobby and waiting for the doors to close.

Once they did and you started descending, CJ glanced over at you. “So, Jo, were you planning on ever calling me again?”

Your heart started to pound but you forced yourself to remain cool as a cucumber, hoping he wouldn’t recognize your voice. You arched a questioning brow up at him. “I don’t know who you think I am but my name’s Y/N. Sorry to disappoint.” You turned back to the door.

“The Green Mile book in your back pocket says otherwise.”

Crap. You tried to think quickly. “That’s just a book I’m reading for class.” You decided to channel Audrey, the queen of mean when she wanted to be; perhaps that would get him to leave you alone. The doors were opening and you turned to give him a smirk. “NIce try, though, Sherlock. Better get back to Watson before he misses you.” You grabbed the tail of the suitcase and nearly stormed out of the elevator. 

CJ was suddenly at your side. “I know it’s you. Why are you trying so hard to act like it’s not?”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore him. Thankfully, Eddie came into sight, rushing to get the suitcase. 

“Thank you, thank you.” He picked it up and gave you a look. “About how many more of these are coming down, do you think?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. She has a lot of outfits. Joey’s got her work cut out for her.”

Eddie groaned and then noticed CJ standing next to you. “Good to see you again, man.”

“Likewise.”

Eddie glanced between you and CJ before walking away. Great. He was bound to mention that to Joey who would most likely question you about it later thanks to CJ’s impromptu appearance earlier. You spun on your heel and headed back to the elevator, punching the button.  

CJ was suddenly next to you. “What happened? Why did you stop calling?” He quietly asked you. 

You didn’t answer him, just kept staring straight ahead, your jaw clenched.

He leaned in slightly, his voice even quieter. “Did I make you nervous by offering to meet you? I was only trying to help. Nothing funny, I promise.”

When the doors opened, you stepped inside and of course, he followed you. The doors closed and your ride up began. 

“Are you going to talk to me or just keep ignoring me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know your voice. It’s you.” After another quiet moment, he begged, “Would you please just talk to me? What happened?”

You shook your head.

“Something obviously happened to make you stop calling. So, talk to me. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

You glared over at him. “Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please stop bothering me.” CJ looked as if you’d slapped him for a moment and you felt guilty but then you immediately remembered what Jen had said that night at the bar. 

He gave you a curt nod and turned to face the door. Once it opened, you went to step out when he lifted the book out of your back pocket. 

“Hey! Give that back!” He held it out of your reach, opening it to find the note from your dad on the inside page that he’d written after he bought it for you. Why did you have to mention that in your phone conversations? That was a dead giveaway that yes, Jo was indeed you. How could you have been so stupid?

CJ gestured to the note. “Tell me again how it’s not you.”

You snatched the book out of his hands and hurried down the hall to your room. You would’ve gone back to Audrey’s and Joey’s room, but you were afraid he’d out you to them. Even if they didn’t believe him, you still remembered Audrey’s reaction when she thought it might be Joey for a moment and the latter’s response. 

“Y/N, wait,” CJ begged behind you. “Please, can we just talk for a minute?” You were unlocking your door when he was right next to you. “Just one minute. Please. That’s all I’m asking. Then, if you want, you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

You mulled it over for a moment. You could do one minute, you supposed, and get this over with. You glanced up at him and nodded, pretending not to see the relief that filled his expression. You opened the door and then held it open wider for him to follow.

You saw your roommate sitting on her bed, talking on the phone to her boyfriend. “Stace,” you interrupted. “Can you give us a minute?”

She frowned. “I’m kind of in the middle of—”

“I need the room.” Your tone brooked no argument. You surprised her; usually, you kept to yourself and never really stood up to her if she got mean or demanding. But you were not in the mood for any of her crap right then. You were at your limit.

Stacey scoffed but got to her feet. “One second, babe.” She glared at you, which you were more than happy to return, and then turned it onto CJ as well. “Boys aren’t allowed to stay up here so make it quick. You know the rules.”

You huffed out a snort. “The rule you break almost every other night? Got it, Stace, thanks for looking out.” You practically shut the door in her scowling face. You turned to find CJ’s eyes trained on you.

“So that’s the roommate, huh?” You shrugged. “Exactly how I pictured her, scowl and everything.”

You didn’t laugh at his joke and instead, crossed your arms. “You wanted to talk?”

He pressed his lips together and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. “Why did you stop calling?”

You wanted to tell him the truth but it also seemed best to just get him out of there as soon as possible. He knew who you really were now and that was a problem. Especially if your friends found out you were the girl that had been calling him every week. Because sooner or later, they would want to know why and you weren’t ready to talk about that or have them look at you funny. You knew they’d be supportive, especially Joey and Audrey, but you also knew things would change. And you weren’t quite ready for that to happen. 

“I’ve been doing better so there was no need. You should know, you made me your pet project after all.” You didn’t mean to be harsh but you were still angry. 

His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“You know. I’m the girl who calls you every week to talk your ear off and keeps you on the phone for hours. The girl you’ve supposedly been trying to pick up through the helpline, though apparently I’m not the only one.”

His eyes widened. “Y/N, that’s not true at all. I don’t use the helpline to pick up girls or try to get dates. I don’t date, you know I don’t. I don’t know who told you that but it’s not true.”

“But the other part is?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Because that’s how your buddy Seth put it, the way Jen tells it.”

CJ huffed out a mirthless laugh, rubbing at his forehead and giving a nod. “Jen. That’s who you heard this from.”

“Don’t even,” you snapped. “David also mentioned how you told him all about me and my issues.” You used quotation marks on the last word.

His hand dropped. “Okay, first off, you don’t have issues, no more than anybody else around here, myself included. Second, I only told David because I was going to be out that one night. I wanted to make sure if you called in that you were taken care of. That’s it. David is one of our better counselors, he’s a friend, and I trust him completely.”

Your jaw tightened. “That still doesn’t explain why Seth would even say anything like that. And you laughed! You stood there and laughed as this guy, who I don’t know by the way, is turning me calling you for help into a joke! Is that what I am? The joke at the office? Does everyone there know how I’ve been calling you every week and boring you to death with my problems?”

“What? No! You’re not a joke. And you’re not—”

“Really? Because it sure sounded like it to me based on what Jen said.”

“Okay, let’s get something straight. You’re not boring me to death when you call, you’re not talking my ear off, or keeping me stuck on the phone with you, or anything else that someone else might have said. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to be there for you and try to help. Then when we started talking about more than that, I wanted to talk to you even more. If I didn’t want to talk to you at all, if you were such a nuisance, then why would I ask you to call back every week or give you my phone number even?”

“But you weren’t trying to pick me up.”

“No, I wasn’t. I wanted to be available to you if you needed to talk to me outside of the hours I had at The Stand.”

“Yeah, because I was your pet project.”

“No, you weren’t and why do you keep saying that?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.” 

“Isn’t that what you do, though? Isn’t that why you tracked me down? Isn’t that why you kept trying to get my number and even suggested we meet though the helpline’s supposed to be anonymous? You look for girls who are messed up and try to be their white knight. It gives you some sort of satisfaction, some twisted sense of purpose… That’s what happened with Audrey, right?” Again, he looked like you slapped him but this time, you didn’t feel guilty. You were only speaking the truth. He had told you how much he wanted to help Audrey and how somehow they ended up in bed together and before he knew it, he really liked her and wanted to see more of her. In the end, he’d admitted to you that it might have been him confusing his desire to help her with his interest in her. That maybe Audrey had been right in what she’d said.

You watched as his shoulders deflated slightly and he let out a heavy breath, hanging his head. You bit your lip and glanced away from him, not wanting to see him look so defeated. You had to be strong, you had to stand up for yourself and not let him or anyone else take advantage of you. That was the silent vow you’d made to yourself after you’d cried yourself to sleep that night you found out how you were being used and made a mockery of.

“I tracked you down because I was worried,” he spoke softly. You turned back to find him staring at you, remorse radiating from him. You felt slightly bad for hurting him but you had said nothing but the truth, from his own lips. “It wasn’t like you not to call so I thought maybe something happened or maybe I made you nervous with that last call. Like I said, I gave you my number because I wanted to be there for you anytime you needed me, even if I wasn’t working. So this way you always had a way to get a hold of me if you needed to. I only asked for yours because I did like talking to you and I thought we were becoming friends. I know that’s not the norm for the helpline and it’s never happened before, to me or to anyone else that I know of, but like I said, I enjoyed talking to you. I only offered to meet you at Student Activities that day because you seemed nervous to try it alone and I didn’t want you to feel like that. I would’ve made that offer to anyone that needed it.” He nervously licked his lips. “I do like you but it has nothing to do with my wanting to help you or make sure you’re okay. I made a mistake with Audrey but I learned from it. I told you that.” He sighed before continuing. “I like you, Y/N, because you’re funny and smart and kind. Even if we didn’t meet through the helpline, I still would have liked you once I got to talk to you, once I got to know you better. That’s the truth.”

He turned to leave when he stopped suddenly. “By the way, Seth is the guy who usually relieves me on Friday nights. That’s how he knew about you calling every week. He always liked to razz me about being on the phone with you since I made him fifteen minutes late for his shift that one time. I only laughed because it was obvious he was showing off for Jen, that he likes her, and I was trying not to embarrass him in front of her. I did end up talking to him later about it, though, and asked him not to mention it again in front of her or anyone else. He agreed; he’s not a bad guy.” He glanced back at you over his shoulder. “I’m sorry this happened. If you call the helpline again and want to talk to someone else, I understand. If you don’t want to call at all, I understand that, too. Just…take care of yourself, alright?”

You averted your eyes, not wanting him to see the tears building in them, and you gave him a curt nod. You only looked up again when the door snicked closed. You pretended a tear didn’t suddenly roll down your cheek and you told yourself that you had done the right thing. Though it certainly didn’t feel like it in the moment, deep within your chest. 

<-->

You stared at your phone, pacing back and forth as you chewed on your thumbnail. It had been almost a month since CJ walked out of your dorm room, leaving you more conflicted than you felt prior to his arrival. You had turned his explanation over and over in your mind so much that you had begun to dream about him every night. You had more panic attacks during that time, to the point where you’d finally taken the plunge and made an appointment to see a therapist. You’d told your parents everything you’d been experiencing, making sure they heard you this time, and told them you needed help. Your mother was still annoyed with you but your father was supportive, especially when you told him that you had a group of friends you met up with pretty regularly. He agreed to help with payments for your therapy. 

You were doing better, just like you had been while talking to CJ, and the therapist had even more techniques in her toolbox that she taught you how to use. You’d even opened up to her about CJ and everything that happened with him. She was the initial reason why you were considering making a call that you hadn’t made in quite a while. 

When you saw the clock hit 7:21, you made your decision. You huffed out a breath, picked up the phone, and dialed the all-too familiar number.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

You resumed your pacing, nervous, unsure of how to say what you wanted to.

“Hello?”

You’ve got this.

“Hello?”

Just do it already. Talk to him.

“Listen, if you’re—”

“What are your plans for tomorrow afternoon?” You rushed out before you lost your nerve.

 “Jo?” You appreciated him using your fake name. “Is that you?”

“Well?” You asked.

“Uh, tomorrow? I’m free...”

“Would you…want to get some coffee? Maybe?”

“Coffee, huh?” You could hear the smile in his voice. “Jo, you’re not calling the helpline to ask me out on a coffee date, are you? Because that would be a serious misuse of this valuable resource the college provides,” he teased.       

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll just wait until Seth is on shift then and call him up to ask him instead. Thanks, though. Bye.”

“Don’t you dare,” he laughed. You lifted the phone back up to your ear. “What time and what coffee shop?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Got a pen?”

<-->

You walked into the coffee shop ten minutes early, intent on getting a table and settling in before CJ arrived. To your surprise, he was already there, waving you over. You approached, feeling your heartbeat speed up with every step. “You’re early.”

“I wanted to make sure we got a good table.” You had a feeling that wasn’t the only reason. The worry shadowing his expression confirmed it. Did he really think you had called him up to ask him to meet you only for you not to show? Then again, you supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“Good thinking.” You gestured towards the line with your thumb. “I’m going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?”

He was immediately on his feet. “I’ll get it. You sit down. You still like lattes?”

You gave him a small smile and nodded; he remembered. 

He returned your smile. “Okay. Here, take a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.” You watched him walk over to the line as you did just that. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, but you were taking your therapist’s advice. You were moving your friendship with CJ away from the helpline and out into the real world. You were giving him another chance while also allowing both of you to start over. If CJ agreed to, that is.

A few minutes later, he returned and placed your cup in front of you. You gave him a smile of thanks and waited for him to join you.

“So,” he started once he was settled. “You called in.”

“Only to ask you to meet me,” you pointed out.

The corner of his lips tipped up in a genuine smile. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me, too.” And you meant it. You were happy he’d said yes. “I actually asked you to meet me because I wanted to thank you.”

His brows drew together. “Thank me?”

You nodded and began to tell him about all of the recent developments in your life, including therapy. You also apologized for how harsh you’d been the last time you saw each other but he waved it off, saying you didn’t need to and he understood. He listened intently and his smile grew when you mentioned how the therapy was helping and your panic attacks were starting to lessen. 

“I’m really happy to hear it, Y/N, and I’m glad you’re doing better.”

You bit at your lip, feeling nervous about speaking this next part. “It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t helped me the way you did, especially that first night. So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

Your heart began to pound against your rib cage but you bravely surged forward and kissed his cheek. When you sat back in your chair, his eyes were wide and you felt your face get hot. “Sorry. I just really wanted to do that for a long time. I hope that was okay.”

He grinned. “More than okay.” You felt relief sweep through you. “I was just thinking—”

“I know. You’re not dating, and we’re friends. Don’t worry, I understand.”

He studied you for a moment before speaking again. “I was going to say ‘I was just thinking what a coincidence because there’s something I’ve wanted to do for a really long time, too.’” His hand gently covered yours and he slowly leaned in, giving you time to pull away or tell him to stop. You weren’t going to do either. 

His lips brushed gently against yours and you felt a thrill rush through you at the contact. You had imagined kissing him so many times but the fantasy did absolutely no justice to the real thing. When you broke apart but he didn’t lean back right away, he murmured, “Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you whispered before pulling him back into you, both of you grinning like idiots before your lips connected again.

<-->

You stopped, seeing the front of the building you were about to go into. “Are you sure we should be doing this?” You asked nervously.

CJ turned back to you and gave you a reassuring smile before cupping your cheek and kissing you. “Yes. We should.”

“But—”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he assured you. “Trust me. I’m right here with you, okay?” He pecked your lips one more time, tightened his hold on your hand, and began pulling you forward. 

“Okay.” You didn’t sound so sure about this and truthfully, you weren’t.

CJ chuckled and led you inside. The Stand office was decorated with balloons and streamers and there was even confetti on the floor. One of the counselors was leaving since she was soon to graduate and a party was being thrown for her last day. You tried not to get overwhelmed at the amount of people filling the small space. It was overly warm in here and you could barely hear yourself think over the din of multiple conversations going on at once. Somewhere music was playing at a decent level. You noted a room in the back where through the window you could see two people sitting, talking on the phone, a closed door in between them and the noise. 

CJ intertwined your fingers and moved you both towards a group of a few people that he was intent on talking to, people greeting him as he passed. You remembered the techniques you had been taught and tried to put them into action while reminding yourself that you were with CJ and he wasn’t going to abandon you. 

He stopped and greeted the group before he turned to you smiling. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

One of the guys laughed. “Ah, so this is Y/N.” Your heart started hammering inside your chest. “CJ hasn’t shut up about you since you two started dating.” You nearly sighed in relief.

CJ shrugged, grinning down at you. “Seth’s not wrong.”

Your eyes widened before you turned back to the guy. “Oh, so you’re Seth.”

Seth beamed. “Aww, CJ, you told her about me? I just knew we had something special,” he joked.

You frowned. “Hey now. Go get your own CJ. This one’s mine.” You winked up at CJ who laughed. 

He let go of your hand to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into him. “Definitely yours,” he whispered huskily. 

Seth pretended to gag. “Ugh. Young love. Gross. You can have him, Y/N.”

“Damn right I do,” you laughed as CJ wrapped himself around you from behind and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

From that moment on, it wasn’t so bad. CJ circulated around the room to different groups, introducing you each time. With him by your side, you began to feel more comfortable and you opened up bit by bit. At one point, CJ took your hand and led you away. “I want to show you something.”

“Again?” You teased. “Didn’t you already show me something back in my dorm earlier? Twice?”

“Ha ha. No, this is something different. Though there will definitely be a third time when I get you out of here and back to my place.”

“Ooo. You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, Mr. Braxton.”

He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, and pulled you into a kiss that left you breathless. “Just a small preview for later.”

“A small preview?” You panted. You just loved teasing him and couldn’t resist.  

He rolled his eyes in amusement. “Come on.”

CJ led you over to a desk and with his free hand, he swiped confetti off of the seat. “This is it. My station,” he told you.

Your eyes roamed over the computer, the keyboard, the notepad and pens, stopping on the corded phone. So this was it. This was where CJ had sat on those Friday nights during your conversations. You smiled to yourself at the memory.

You let out a squeal when CJ quickly sat down in the chair and pulled you into his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep from falling, glaring at his laugh. You softened though when you looked back over the desk. “So this is where you sat on those nights we talked?”

“Uh huh. Though I much prefer you here on this end with me.” He gripped your chin between his fingers and turned you to him, kissing you sweetly. You snuck your fingers into his hair and tilted your head to deepen it, not caring right then about anyone or anything else around you. 

You and CJ had been dating for a while now and it was starting to become serious. He had met your parents when they came to visit. Your dad had liked him right away. Your mom, on the other hand, had given him a bit of a hard time but underneath the harsh exterior she was presenting, you could tell she liked him, too. He had initially planned to transfer to a school in New York, which you more than supported (though you were secretly heartbroken). You reminded him that you had done the phone thing once upon a time and you could do it again, if he wanted. After contemplating it, he decided to stay in Boston. 

“Please don’t tell me you chose to stay because of me. I’m not going anywhere. If it’s a great opportunity for you, you should go. I don’t want you to regret not going.”

He’d simply smiled. “I have a great opportunity right here and I would regret leaving.” He’d kissed your nose. “Besides, Boston’s home.”

“CJ, you should go. I’m almost done and I can come visit you. It’s only a few hours’ drive. You could show me things like the Empire State Building or take me to a museum or a play or show me Times Square.” You’d tried to make it sound enticing but inside it was killing you. Everyone knew long distance relationships had their problems and who knew? Maybe he might meet someone new in the Big Apple. But you also wanted him to do what was right for him, just like you’d spoken with your therapist about. You didn’t want him to resent you later on if he didn’t take this opportunity now and you certainly didn’t want him to have any regrets. “We could even visit Jen and Jack, see how her Grams is doing.”

Jen and Jack had transferred to New York. You had been worried to tell her that you and CJ were dating but while she was a little miffed in the beginning, she was more focused on the developing situation with her grandmother who had been diagnosed with cancer. Eventually, she forgave you before she left and gave you her blessing. You had been relieved; Jen was a good person, a good friend, and you didn’t want to lose her friendship. Jack had been worried about Jen’s reaction but for the most part, he had been fine with it. David was happy for you both. Audrey was doing better these days and though she had wanted to know what the hell you were thinking by shacking up with The Sleaze (as she referred to him), she had eventually told you she loved you and just wanted you to be happy. Joey asked you if you were sure when you told her and when you assured her that you were, she pretty much said the same thing as her former roommate and gave you a hug. She gave you a look when you pulled away and you knew that she had connected the dots on who you really were to CJ, but to her credit, she mercifully never said anything. Pacey and Emma had shrugged (CJ had apologized to Pacey at some point after what happened with Audrey and they had resolved things), wishing you well. Dawson…well, you never really got to know Dawson all that well during his brief visits so no conversation needed to be had there really. All in all, your friends were supportive, even if still a little wary of how things were going to work out. You were happy, though. It was strange but shifting from friends into romance proved to be an easier transition then you thought it would be.

CJ laid his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes, as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. “I’m not going without you.” You went to speak, to remind him you weren’t going anywhere, when he cut you off. “I know what I want. I’m okay with my decision. I need you to be, too.”

You tenderly stroked his arm. “Are you sure?” You whispered, worried he was making a mistake.

“More than sure.” He then pulled you to him for a kiss.

“Okay,” you whispered to his lips before kissing him again.

And now you had met all of his co-workers at The Stand and had seen where he worked a few days out of the week. He had offered to bring you several times before, but you had been hesitant to take him up on it, still worried someone might figure out who you really were. It’s not that you were embarrassed that you had called the helpline for help, but your business was your business and you didn’t want to be seen as that girl CJ got himself through the service. You both obviously knew that wasn’t the case but people talked, people judged, and you just wanted to steer clear of both as long as you possibly could. You knew you shouldn’t care what anyone thought or said, just like CJ didn’t; it was something you were currently working on in therapy. 

“So,” you teased when he finally broke away for air. “Is there a switchboard somewhere that you have somebody directing all the girls to you when they call? Is that how I got you every single time I called?” 

He grinned. “Not exactly. I told everybody that any calls that came in on Fridays at 7:00 were mine.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Well, how did you know I would call every single time?” You huffed out. “How do you know I might not have gotten held up? Or made plans at the last second? Or got fed up with you?”

He gave you a cocky smirk. “Because you liked talking to me. I could tell.”

You playfully swatted at his shoulder, making him laugh, and rolled your eyes. “It always amazes me that you’re able to make it through doorways with that massive ego of yours. That can’t be how you knew I would call you every time.”

His smirk grew and he nodded. 

“I hate you,” you mumbled. You didn’t really mean it and he knew you didn’t.

CJ pulled you closer up against him. “You have a weird way of showing that.” He inclined his head towards your embrace around his neck. 

“True,” you murmured and kissed him again.

“Plus,” CJ added when you pulled back. “You always said you would call back and I believed you.”

“Better,” you decided. “Though I will begrudgingly admit that I did like talking to you.”

“Like I said, I could—”

“Hush.” You covered his lips with yours and he chuckled into your mouth. When you pulled back this time, you laid your forehead against his, your eyes closed, smiling. “I love you,” you murmured.

“I love you, too” he whispered back to you, lifting up to press a kiss to your brow before you buried your head into his neck and he discreetly snuck his hands under your shirt to rub your back, just the way you liked. 

“Want to get out of here?” He asked you after a few minutes had passed.

“Mmm.” You lifted your head to look him in the eye. “No Fleetwood Mac this time, though.”

He laughed and helped you to your feet. “What have you got against one of the greatest bands of all time?”

“Nothing. It’s just weird to listen to that chorus when we’re about to…you know.” You could feel your cheeks starting to warm.

He grinned salaciously at you. “Oh, I know. Hey, at least it’s not the Star Wars theme.” He snickered at your glare and picked up your hand, kissing it. “No Fleetwood Mac tonight. Got it.” He intertwined your fingers and his grin softened into an affectionate smile before he led you out of there. You quickly made your goodbyes and hurried back to his place where he kept his promise of no rock group music track playing along to your own soundtrack. 

Later, as CJ slept, you repeatedly ran your fingers through his messy hair in soothing strokes as you studied him. Who knew calling the helpline that one Friday night would lead you here? Where you were happy, in love, and doing much better than you ever thought possible? You had gone from feeling overwhelmed by your education to feeling a different type of overwhelmed together. Overwhelming love and affection for the special person in your life; overwhelming gratitude for the progress you’d been able to make in managing your anxiety and panic attacks as best you could; and overwhelming contentment with every single moment, no matter the ups and downs that was best known as life. Regardless of whatever happened from here, you knew you’d be okay and you’d handle whatever was thrown your way. Like CJ had once said, one day at a time.

In his sleep, your boyfriend reached out for you and pulled you in closer to him, snuggling into your side and burrowing into your neck, making you smile.

And to think, you almost hadn’t made that call. You laid your head against CJ’s and closed your eyes. You were so glad you did.

#cj braxton x reader #cj braxton x female reader #cj braxton x you #cj braxton x y/n #cj braxton #dawson's creek fanfiction #dawson's creek #prompt response #dawson's creek fandom #cj braxton x female!collegestudent!reader #female!collegestudent!reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles character #cj braxton fanfiction #thebiggerbear

[castieldelamancha]

"No." It comes out quiet and full of grief.

Dean stares at him, from a distance, just a couple steps away, the war room table between them, but he could well be all the way up in the Moon, just by the cold look in his eyes as they meet Cas'.

Sam gives him a confused look, coming to a halt half-way to where Cas is standing at the end of the stairs.

"Dean, it's me, Castiel." He will let them run all the test they have to to prove he is himself. Holy water, silver, whatever it takes, he doesn't care as long as by the end of it Dean is staring at him as he usually does.

Maybe that's too much to ask for, taking into account the way he left on the first place.

They can talk it out, they can fix it.

Sam starts walking again and, as soon as he is close enough, he hugs Cas tightly, "give him some time," he whispers, patting his back, "it's been bad." The cold grip of guilt's hand around his neck is tight, but Castiel makes an effort to breathe through it. Sam steps back, "It's good to have you back."

He hears him, but Castiel doesn't reply, focused as he is on the man on the other side of the room, on his hurt expression, on the way his hands open and close in fist, on how he takes a step forward, unconsciously, and then takes two back when he notices he has gotten a bit closer.

"You don't get to do this, man."

"I can explain-"

"I can't, Castiel," and his name shouldn't sound like an insult but it does, because for that voice he hasn't been Castiel for a long time, he was always Cas, "I can't keep doing this, I let you in and then you are gone, over and over again." He has stepped closer to the table, keeping something between them, and he is leans towards it, forcefully resting his palms against its surface, he lets his head fall down, hiding his face, "you told me you loved and then you were gone." Sam, who clearly wasn't aware of what happened in those last moments, gasps loudly at that, eyes widening as he stares at them, first at Dean, then at Cas. 

"I don't want you to say anything back, we can forget it even happened, I am terribly sorry I keep hurting you like this."

"You told me you loved me," Dean keeps talking, ignoring Castiel or simply too overwhelmed to have heard him, "and you were gone," his voice breaks slightly at the last word, Sam eyes the door, knowing he should leave them, but also aware of how any distraction could ruin this moment, "and I couldn't even fucking say it back." He rises his voice, using his hand to push himself back and away from the table and turning around.

"What?" Castiel mutters. 

"You heard me."

"Okay, that's it, I am leaving you two to talk this out." Sam doesn't give a shit anymore about being a distraction, he needs to get out of here, now. So he does, aware neither his brother nor Cas are paying him any attention.

"Dean?" Castiel dares to take a step forwards, he dares to take another one, and he dares to circle the table to stand right behind Dean. He reaches out and touches Dean's left shoulder, a brief thing that stars and it's over in the blink of an eye,"I would have never left if I hadn't been forced to by the circumstances, I would have stayed."

"I never asked you to, anyway, because i was a coward." Castiel sighs.

"Would you turn around and look at me, please?" At that Dean takes a deep breath and he tilts his head up, staring at the ceiling but, after what feels as an eternity, he turns around, eyes red-rimmed and avoidant, mouth pressed in a thin, tense line. "You won't ever see me again if that's what you want, but I won't leave without telling you that, even if I apologize for what I put you through, I don't regret what I did that day. I had to do it, for the world, and for all of us, and for you. I wanted to give you another chance. And," he makes a pause and smiles, feeling a familiar wetness in his eyes, " I don't regret what I said either." Dean has every right to push him away, to never forgive him.

"You are back for good, then?" Castiel can't help but hold on tightly onto that timid spark of hope in Dean's eyes. He nods a couple times.

"I will tell you all about it later, right now I just want-" he doesn't finish because he doesn't quiet know what he wants, to be with you, yes, to make things right. That too. 

He doesn't finish because a pair of lips pressed against his own effectively cut him off mid-sentence, "I love you too." The words fall from them as soon as they part ways with Castiel's.

#destiel #post s15 #ficlet #forget about happy reunions i want drama #vanessa writes ✨

[wandering-winchesters]

Darkest night

Dean x reader.

Word count: 1,083

Trigger warning: grief, death

Synopsis: the reader finds out someone she loves passed away, Dean comforts her. Masterlist

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

I have always been able to tell when my walls are creeping up. I always know when I am starting to shut down and returning to the darkness that I’m all too comfortable to reside in when it overwhelms my senses.

I glance down at my phone, laying haphazardly on the floor, where I had dropped it after receiving the call that changed the course of my night. Hours had passed since that call ended. Yet, here I am, sitting on the cold tile floor. Pins and needles ran up my legs and all through my toes. Yet moving, was not a priority.

I was alone. Sam and Dean were gone on a hunt, not set to return any time soon. I had stayed behind this trip, in order to try to catch up on some sleep and recover from the nightmare of the last hunt.

Ping

I jump, snapped out of my thoughts as Deans name popped up on my phone, he had texted me. I try to gather the energy to just unlock my phone and read what he had sent, however, it did not come. I close my eyes, embracing the burning feeling that follows. Tears. So many tears have fallen in the last few hours. The sleeves of the shirt I’m wearing, soaked through with my tears, my cheeks raw, from wiping those tears away.

I’m almost grateful to be alone, not wanting anyone to see me in this place of utter weakness and sorrow. Dean would certainly poke fun, or think less of me. We have all lost people that we love, yet when it happens to Dean or Sam, I would not find them slumped on the floor of the bathroom. For hours at a time. Sobs rack my body, I don’t bother to try and keep them in. What’s the point?

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts I do not hear the impala pull up to the bunker. I miss the sounds of the boys making their way inside, dropping their gear and calling out my name. In fact, if it had been a demon or something less friendly, then it probably would’ve gotten the jump on me.

As it is, the door to the bedroom creaks open and I freeze. Unaware of who is making their way towards the bathroom.

“Y/N?”

Dean, it’s Dean. He knocks before calling my name again.

“I’ll be out in a bit, I’m okay.” I say, having to clear my throat a few times in order to get the words out. My voice raw and quiet.

“Y/N, let me in. I know you’re not really okay sweetheart. I could hear your sniffles from a mile away.” I can hear the concern in his voice, the way he calls me sweetheart. The name he saves for me when he’s worried about me.

“It’s unlocked, De.” I say, my voice barely a whisper. The door slowly creaks open and I hear him sigh as I keep my eyes trained on the floor. I can hear him move towards me shortly before his boots come into my line of sight.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” He questions as he squats down in front of me, placing a hand on my knee.

I shake my head, the words failing me as the tears continue to stream down my face. I shudder, biting my lip as his hand cups my face and pulls my chin up, making me look at him.

“I got a call, they’re gone De.” I whisper, communicating the message that had caused me to spiral hours before. All of these years, all of the things that I know how to stop. Yet death, still something out of my control.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here for you.” He sits down next to me now, tugging me into his embrace. He guides my head into the crook of his neck while his hand works its way into my hair.

My body ached when he moved me, my muscles cramping after sitting on the floor for as long as I did. Completely overwhelmed and shutting down to my surroundings.

“I don’t know what to do De.” I mutter, my tears finally slowing. I try to tune out every thought and emotion and just focus on the embrace of my best friend. The smell of his cologne, the way his hand gently works it’s way through my hair.

“Just breathe sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you. ‘M here.” His grip on me never loosening.

The next few hours are a blur. I’m not sure when he got me up off the floor of the bathroom. Or when he tucked me into bed.

But here I am, hours later staring at the ceiling, having awoken a little while ago from a nightmare.

I pull the covers back, snagging a blanket from the end of my bed and wrapping it around my shoulders before walking down the bunker hallway. I wander to Sam’s room, planning to ask him how the hunt went and to just talk for a bit to get my mind off of my thoughts. My plan changes once I see his lights are all off and I can hear quiet snores from the other side of his door. I silently tip toe my way back to my room, not wanting to disturb either of the boys rest.

“Y/N, you okay?”

I jump, almost losing my balance, caught off guard by Dean standing in the doorway to his room, sleep marks still covering his face as he gazes at me with tired eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good Dean. Just couldn’t sleep.”

He yawns, opening his door the rest of the way and extending his hand towards me.

“C‘mere, my beds too big for just me anyways.” I begin to protest but he shoots me a look. “You can either walk yourself to my bed or I can carry you there, your choice sweetheart.” He winks at me, gesturing for me to come towards him.

I oblige, and quickly cross the threshold into his room and climb under the warm sheets that I’ve come to love more than my own.

He climbs in next to me, quickly pulling me into his embrace. I allow my senses to be overwhelmed by his being once again.

“Thank you.” I whisper, almost too quiet for him to make out.

“Always, Y/N.” He yawns, his eyes fluttering shut as he cradles me against his chest.

#deanwinchesterxreader #supernatural dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #deanwinchesterblurb #sam winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean x you #dean winchester comfort

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance 🥰🐞 - Part 9

Dean x Fem/Reader

Part 9 🥰🐞

A/N: What!!!! The horror!!! Brace yourselves, this one is wild! - Also side note - I've made a Spotify playlist, with all the songs of this series, I'll add the link... Much love, my bugsies 🥰🐞

Warnings: violence, horror, cold, swearing, gore, blood,🙈

....

Well out with it, you say with irritation in your voice. His eyes cold, when he says well you know your dear Sheriff Winchester, He's dead, laughter filling your ears, I have you all to myself now!

Not fully registering, what he just told you, his words swimming in your mind, trying to make sense, out of it, you stare directly into his cold blue eyes!

What! Do you mean you, your voice stuttering. His smile looks something like a prized winner, his dead!.

Nooooooo, you scream your lying, you bastard! It literally feels like he just took the air out of your lungs, he smiles, tighthing the grip on your jaw, now why, would I lie? he was, a nuisance so I had to remove him out of the equation.

Tears burning in the back of your skull, before you really knew what you were doing, you grabbed ahold of his hand, and with all your strength, you pulled him forward, his head smashing against the steel cage.

You little piece of... before he could finish his sentence, you try grabbing ahold of him again, but he's to fast, and this time he got ahold of you, pulling you closer, to the bars, grabbing the back of your head smashing it against the steel, a couple of times. You can hear him say something but it sounds like his underwater, falling to the cold floor, you feel the wetness of the blood going down your face.

You must've blacked out, you thought while opening your eyes, you feel the stickiness of the dried blood tangled in with strands of hair, moving as still as you can, searching for this man, you don't see him anywhere, you make your way up to a sitting position, head pounding, barely seeing through your right eye, so swollen it is, thinking about what he said, Dean, Dean's dead, you whisper underneath your breath, how am I suppose to live without you babe, frantically sobbing now, the saltiness of the water burns the open gashes on your cheek, not really that you care, nothing can hurt as much as the fact that he's gone.

...

Darkness filling the skies, you've just been staring out of the the big factory like windows, replaying memories of the two of you together, night's spend all tangled in each others arms, talking, laughing, just being together. You just sit there, the feeling of numbness weighing heavily on you.

In the corner of your eye, you see the cruel bastard walking through the door, not turning your head to acknowledge him, just staring in front of you.

He shoves something through the bars, there you go, you hear him say, some food and water. Your voice sounded distant and unbothered when you said, not hungry!

Now, now, you have to eat to keep up your strength! I'm not done with you yet! Shifting to your knees, in almost a begging position, you look him straight in the eyes, why not just kill me and get it over and done with? He laughs a little, where's the fun in that!

Why drag this out you say, with irritation highly pitched in your voice!

Oh it's been a long time coming, he says with that stupid smirk on his face, but I can't tell you everything right away, it'll spoil the big grand finale! He says walking into the darkness laughing!

....

You counted the days, since that night, its been 7 , and you've tried everything, to get the will to fight, really, its like you lost your will to survive, since he told you about Dean, it might be wrong, you know your parents and brother, and friends are out there somewhere, maybe searching for you, but honestly its all been so overwhelming!

Every damn time, you think you can maybe find it in yourself, the images of his death, haunts you.

And well for the bastard, that's tormenting the hell out of you, comes early morning, to give you breakfast, and then leaves until the afternoon, when he comes dragging his choice of weapons, ranging from different sized knives to bone saw's, letting you know how he's going to enjoy carving you to pieces, but as for the reason why, you still haven't figured that out.

Looking into the distance, recalling everything, that's been happening these past few days! You feel something crawling up your arm, you look down, what? Little smile tugging at your lips, its a ladybug.

Admiring the little creature, so small yet so resilient, you remember the reason why you got the tattoo in the first place. Remembering the way you survived the ordeal, 10 years ago, the way you went and travelled the world afterwards, the way you learned so many new skills, from ASL to Krav Maga, to publishing your novels, making a career for yourself, creating art, opening a small art gallery, to teaching art to kids, navigating your way, through your psychology and profiling studies, having a loving family and found your one true love.

Your heart starts to beat faster, I didn't have Dean back then, nor did I have my parents. You stand to your feet, I'm a survivor not a victim remember you say, the words echoing off the walls.

Your eyes deepening in its colour, taking in every inch of the building, trying to piece together, how close you are to the town.

You need to figure out where you are so that, if you, no you curse yourself. Its when you get away, so that you can get to the quickest safe place. But first you need to get inside his head, that's the only chance you will get to escape, his a lot taller and stronger than you.

You get interrupted by the opening of the factory door, hello sunshine, you hear him say! You just look at him, not a trace of fear or sadness left on your face!

Oh well look at you! Accepting your fate I see, he laughs.

No, not really, sarcasm visible in your voice, just wondering how a coward like you got to this point, with such a low IQ level.

Anger flashes in his eyes as he, walks closer towards the cage. A coward! An idiot! You want to throw any more at me, he screams.

Not even flinching at the sight of his anger, just standing there with a taunting smile, saying yes your a coward you kidnap innocent woman and girls.

He bursts into anger, your not innocent, you've killed someone a long time ago.

What, I haven't killed anyone yet! The hardened look on your face, the coldness in your eyes, knowing if you get a chance the threat you made, wil come true.

He laughs, ooo, feisty, I now know, what Dean saw in you, but you see, I'm smarter than you think, before I got Jack to shoot Dean, his first little task, in order to safe his little sister ,was to get your file, see as a cab driver I hear all sorts of stories, so I had to see if they where true.

And low and behold, in your file, it stood victim of Mike Fisher. And how poor Mikey died, did you know that the family couldn't really fully identify the body, due to the fact that his guts was splatted on the ground!

Not my fault that guy was a creep you say, Interrupting him.

Shut the hell up, he shouts, his eyes getting darker.

Make me, you say with a smirk. He's hands framing the bars, shaking it.

You know what, you little shit! You ruined our lives, my brother weren't perfect, but he was the only one I cared for, the day I got the call, hearing my mom say, Luke your brother has been murdered, that day I , made a promise to avenge his death, after years of searching, and perfecting the art of disfiguring these damn women, hoping one day I'll find the one, who was responsible for me becoming a monster, I found you, that's why I let Jack's sister go, I didn't need her, see I'm not an animal. He laughs. And just in time I might add, see the anniversary of his death is a week away.

You just stand there, listening to him rambling on and on, about how its your fault. Anger boiling inside you, screaming now, why don't you come in and take your revenge.

While he was talking, you started to move your wrists, loosening the rope, it burned like hell, but you were ready for him.

He smiles, unlocking the steel door, he grabs your arm and pulls you out. You let him. His bare knuckles hits you square in the face, stuttering backwards. You smile at him, revealing the blood in your mouth.

You take your hands out of the bound rope, showing the rope burn and blood seeping through the open skin.

You make your hand flat, flexing it as strong as you can, hitting him against the chest, making him move backwards a little.

He grabs ahold of you, his hands tightly around your throat, you take your hands above, your head, binding them together and smashing down into his wrists, quickly moving to a different stance , you kick him in the face, which brings him to fall.

This is your chance, you turn around running towards the big steel doors, pushing it open, seeing trees, and the sun burning your eyes, your going to make it.

You smile and starts sprinting again, that's when you heard a loud sound, you felt something round and steel like flying through your upper leg! Falling to the ground, the pain pulsing through the blood streaming down your leg, you feel him grabbing you, dragging you back towards the steel cage, shouting I'm not done with you yet!

#Spotify #spotify #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #jared padalecki #jensen ackles x reader #sam and dean #benny lafitte #castiel spn #dean winchester imagine #eileen leahy #jensen ackles #dean x reader

[blessyourhondahurley]

Part 1: Morning

After the best (mostly) sleepless night of his life, Dean wakes up to the start of a very special day.

(Read on AO3)

Dean can't sleep.

He's had sleepless nights before, of course. Hundreds, honestly thousands of them. Nights when his blood screamed with adrenaline left over from a recent fight. Nights when the pain of fresh wounds throbbed with every heartbeat. Nights when his head spun from whiskey, and cigarettes cadged off of friendly strangers. He's lain awake in anger, in despair, in loneliness, in exhaustion so deep it drove away the very cure it craved. He's spent bleak hours watching the numbers change on a cheap motel's cheap clock, too overwhelmed with dread for the coming day to allow himself even the respite of a long blink.

Today, though, for the first time in his harrowed life, he is wide awake with joy.

It's a few ticks past 4 a.m. according to the pretty nice clock on his pretty nice dresser. He is curled on his side in his bed, wrapped in warmth, listening to the pre-dawn birdsong, and he's so full of joy he thinks he might cry with it. He'd turned in shortly after midnight, but sleep so far hasn't come to him. He's just been lying there all night, smiling into the dark like a crazy person.

It's the sweetest vigil he's ever kept.

~~~~~

To his own great surprise, he must actually manage to fall asleep at some point, despite the joy (and the birds), because when the alarm rings at quarter of six, it jolts him out of a gauzy dream. The blankets shift and the form beside him unfurls. Cas gives a low, rumbling groan that Dean can feel in his spine as he's spooned snugly from behind. An arm wraps around his waist, a broad hand flattens on his belly, possessive.

“Too early,” the love of his life grumbles. Dean can't help but grin.

“You're the one who set the alarm, baby,” he chuckles, nudging a gentle elbow back into his bed mate's ribs. “We've got a busy day ahead of us, remember, and you said it was important that we had, and I am quoting you here directly, 'enough time to eat a filling, nutritious breakfast'.”

Cas drops a dry kiss, sleepy and slantwise, onto the side of his neck. “I regret every word,” he rasps.

“Oh really?” Dean says. “Because I also remember you including a slot in the agenda for morning sex. You regret that part too?”

Another kiss, this one firmer and with a hint of teeth. Cas's hand slips down Dean's tummy and insinuates itself under the elastic of his boxers. “On second thought I stand by my earlier statement in its entirety.”

It never takes Dean long to get riled up in the mornings, not when it's Cas doing the riling. Twenty minutes later, they're giggling in the shower, bodies flushed and blushing with post-coital glow. The day already feels golden, and his body feels weightless, like decades of fatigue and wear have fallen away from him. He's starting to contemplate a soap-slicked round two, his dick plumping a little between their bellies, when Cas slaps his ass hard and shoves him out of the spray.

“Go make me pancakes. You promised.”

“Bossy,” Dean says as he reaches for a towel. “You're lucky I love you.”

Cas turns off the water and gives him a gummy grin. “Yes, I am. I want mine with chocolate chips, thanks.”

Grumbling good-naturedly about eons-old entities with palates like a toddler's, Dean pulls on a clean pair of boxers and heads to the kitchen.

~~~~~

“Are you sure we have everything we need?” Cas asks him again. It's ten or fifteen to 9:00, and they need to get on the road soon if they want to be on time. On cue, the last-minute jitters have shown up. Cas is standing in the middle of the kitchen, wringing his hands together and looking around like he's never seen the place before in his long, long life. “I just feel like we're forgetting something,” he says plaintively.

Dean slots the last of the breakfast dishes in the drainer and turns to wrap him up in a hug. He kisses the spot on his beloved's forehead where his eyebrows are drawn up with worry.

“We're good, babe,” he soothes. “I checked and triple-checked. The car's packed, the calls have been made, the paperwork is all filed, I even took the trash out already.”

He can feel Cas's body relax in his arms as he runs down the list. Once the worst of the tension has dissipated, he pulls away (because they really are on a schedule here) and pecks out one more quick forehead kiss. “Today is gonna go off without a hitch,” he promises.

Cas smirks, puts a little tease in his voice. “Not even one hitch?” he asks.

Dean laughs. He has to kiss him for real then. They let it go on a bit too long, but, well, fuck it. It's their day. “C'mon, sweetheart,” he says, grabbing his fiance's hand and tugging him towards the garage. “Let's go get married.”

Continues here

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fluff

[hebrokein30]

for @wincestwednesdays week 4 -- makeups & breakups/choices

It's late. The lights in the bunker are all turned down to a minimum, his room cast in shadows. There is a bit of light coming through the door Dean left open when he came into his room. When he carefully came over to him, as if afraid he'd wake Sam. When he stood beside Sam's bed and began undressing, his clothes hitting the floor piece by piece. When he pushed Sam's blanket aside and settled in Sam's lap and pushed down there, slowly circling his hips. When he leaned down and kissed Sam in the dark, his lips warm and soft and familiar. When Dean kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. As if Sam could ever sleep with Dean like this, open and warm and wanting him.

It's been so easy, these last few weeks, since they moved into this bunker. Dean is...different. It makes his head spin, the way Dean wants him now. It was always intense between them. But he thinks it's the isolation of this place, the otherworldliness in which they thread and live. Home, Dean had called it. "Nesting". It would be ridiculous if it weren't so...true. The way Dean build a home for them, when Sam spend half a year wondering if, maybe, Dean rather wanted to build a home for someone else.

"Earth to Sam". Sam opens his eyes. He cannot see much of Dean's face, the way he lies turned away from the sparse light. Only the fine shell of his ear and the swell of his cheekbone are cast in a faint gold. "What?" Dean is still for a moment, considering him. "You alright?", voice gruff but soft, a hint of concern at the edges. Sam rubs his thumb over the light on Dean's cheekbone and Dean leans into it, so Sam palms his face in one hand and marvels at how it is big enough to frame his whole face. "Yeah", he says. What else is he supposed to say? Dean hums, content with that. Easy. "We need to buy soap tomorrow. Keep using it up washing your stinky shirts." "Excuse me?", Sam says, indignantly, but he hears the smile in Dean's voice, feels it curl against his palm. He leans up and kisses Dean again, and again because he can. "Mmh. Stinky little brother." "This is the most ridiculous thing you ever said". But Dean just shrugs, unbothered, and so Sam wraps his arms around him and flips them. Dean melts into the mattress beneath him, framing Sam's hips with his thighs, the powerful clutch of them, his arms reaching up to pull Sam down to him, warm and welcoming. It is a marvel how he makes a home of himself. Sam thinks, helpless, for who else would he do this?

He can see it all too well. Castiel, as careful as he always is with Dean, the way he touches him, reverently, as if Dean was the angel and not the other way around. And Dean, giving himself over to that, being worshipped like he deserves. Or the way that vampire was looking at his brother...

"Sammy", Dean sighs when Sam leaves a trail of kisses along his collarbone, when he rolls his hips against Dean's. His brother. Its overwhelming, that simple word, sometimes. Just his. He pushes himself up to his knees, pulling Dean with him and into his lap. His dick settling between Dean's cheeks, comforting, a promise of what's to come. Dean clutches at his shoulders and hums, settling in. He's so warm. The smell of his skin makes Sam dizzy. No alcohol or...other substances ever made him feel the way this does. He noses at Dean's chin, up to his ear and down to the hollow of his throat, taking it all in--Dean, alive and here. With him. He stays this way for a while and Dean is patient, not pushing. Just holding him, waiting for whatever it is Sam wants to do. His throat feels thick and heavy. He breathes deep, audible in the stillness between them. "I love you", he whispers. He feels Dean's breath catch in his throat, where Sam is hiding. He kisses there, feels it being released over the top of his head. They don't say it. Not often, not for a long while. They always knew what they were to each other. But-- It feels right to say it now. It is important to say it. Because maybe someone else said it to him and didn't mean it half as much as Sam does now. Because someone might've said it, and Dean might've believed it.

#wincest #wincest wednesday #my writing #this ends kinda abruptly #maybe worth a part 2 #sam and dean

[huggybearsunshine]

Always Yours

[Saw a tweet prompt but didn’t save it 😭- might’ve been a Bob Wess- but it led to this short, little thing here.]

Cas just stood there, waiting for Dean to exhale before he dared make a move, but once he heard the shaky breath leave his lungs, the words that followed seemed to still him even more firmly in place.

“So,” Dean looked him up and down with a firm eye, “We doing this or not?”

“What?” Cas didn’t consciously choose the word but it fell free regardless.

“You and me,” Dean pinned the Angel with a heavy gaze, stepping forward just a bit more as if scared of going further, “We doing this or not?”

“Did I miss something?” Sam asked, closer to the door of the dungeon than the other two.

“A lot,” Dean threw over his shoulder, “Shut up.”

“You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying,” Cas tilted his head in disbelief.

“Why not?” Dean grunted back as his brows furrowed together.

“You don’t… feel that way” his eyes cut toward Sam before returning again.

“Wait…” Sam looked as though a puzzle piece had just fallen into place in his mind, eyes darting back and forth between the back of Dean’s head and the unmoving Angel ahead of him.

“Sammy, I swear to god,” Dean’s jaw pinched.

“Dean, you don’t… right?” Cas’ eyes practically begged for his returned attention.

He was met with a steadying breath before his wish was fulfilled and green eyes fell upon him again.

“Of course I do,” Dean looked almost impatient as he pushed forward and gripped harshly to the back of Cas’ neck, “You’re so stupid.”

He tugged him into an embrace and his hands shook on the Angel’s shoulder blades as they clung.

Cas’ eyes practically melted closed, while his hands slowly crawled up to hug him back, Sam just staring slack-jawed and speechless from the short distance away.

“Sammy,” Dean backed up again after a brief indulgence.

“Uh, y-yeah,” he answered awkwardly.

“Get lost for a bit,” he never even looked over his shoulder as his brother nodded and gratefully took his leave.

“I don’t understand,” Cas’ chin shivered minutely, “Did you just call me stupid?”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed under his breath, “Yeah, I did.”

“And you love me?” the other half of Cas’ revelation caused a rasp to overtake his voice.

“Yeah,” Dean’s hand shook at his side, “That okay?”

“Dean,” the word had a soft reverence, and once again, he was reaching for him again as if his limbs didn’t know how to stop.

Warm and calloused hands gripped Cas’ face on either side and a sob worked its way up from deep within the Angel’s chest as their lips met.

It felt like coming home more than coming home had, and Cas never wanted to feel anything else.

He didn’t even notice the tears running down his cheeks, too overwhelmed by every other sensation around him, but when Dean’s lips parted from his and their foreheads met, he noticed Dean’s.

He reached up and swiped a thumb across the hunter’s cheek, resting the hand atop his wrist after, and was met with a wet chuckle from the man holding him.

“Please stop trying to leave me,” Dean’s grip tightened, “Haven’t you realized by now that I’m not going to let you.”

“I won’t,” Cas found himself whispering as his free hand ran through the taller man’s hair, “I won’t, I promise. Never again.”

“Seriously, man,” Dean furthered, “I can’t do it again.”

“I know, I’m sorry…” he continued his whispered assurances, “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Dean couldn’t seem to get close enough, wrapping his arms firmly around Cas and pulling him flush against him.

His lips found his hair line and pressed there as the tears continued seemingly unnoticed.

“You’re here,” he buried his face further, “You’re here.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas’ own arms clung back.

“You‘re mine,” Dean’s fingers shook against his shoulders again, if they ever stopped, “You’re mine.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas nodded against him, “Always yours.”

——————

@destiel-wings @destieliscanon5nov

#short ficlet #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #sam is a third wheel #castiel x dean #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #spn #supernatural #castiel is saved

[bi-bard]

I Find Myself Running Home to Your Sweet Nothings - Dean Winchester Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: I Find Myself Running Home to Your Sweet Nothings

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Based On: Sweet Nothing

Word Count: 860 words

Warning(s): small mention of past trauma

Summary: Dean finds himself caught up in a soft moment with (Y/n).

Author's Note: He's soft. He deserves a little bit of fluff.

Also, the book quote is from Out of Love by Hazel Hayes. You should all read it if you haven't. I fucking adore it.

MIDNIGHTS - TAYLOR SWIFT WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

------------------------

It was early.

Earlier than Dean usually liked to wake up when there wasn't a hunt of some form.

But when he rolled over and saw that (Y/n) was gone, he had no choice other than pushing himself out of bed and searching the bunker.

He started in the library. Then went straight to the kitchen. Nothing living was in either room.

He was kind of blindly stumbling through the halls, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in between checking rooms with open doors.

Dean didn't find (Y/n) until his slow search made it to the Dean Cave.

(Y/n) was curled up on the little couch, covered by a blanket that they'd stolen from the foot of the bed they shared with Dean. The only part of (Y/n) that was still showing from under the blanket was their head and one arm so they could hold the book and flip pages.

Dean felt a grin form on his face as he looked at them.

They were completely absorbed in the book. Their eyebrows furrowed a bit as they focused on the page. They bit at their lip a little bit. Not enough to rip the skin, just enough to almost roll it between their teeth.

They were just so... precious.

Dean didn't quite understand how someone that could easily scare the crap out of him could so easily look like the gentlest being in the world. It simply wasn't fair.

"Morning."

Dean jumped a bit when (Y/n) spoke up. He didn't think they even knew he was there. They were a hunter, of course, they noticed when there was suddenly a new person in the room. It was part of the job.

"Morning," Dean grumbled.

He walked over to them.

(Y/n) looked up at him as he did, happily accepting as he leaned down to press his lips to theirs. Their bookmark slid between the pages as their other hand found its way from under the blanket to cup the side of Dean's face.

(Y/n) pulled away a few moments later, letting their thumb run over the scruff on his face.

The look in their eyes almost overwhelmed Dean. It was usually like that.

They always looked at him like there was nothing wrong with him. Like nothing about him was dented or bent or just plain broken. Around them, he wasn't a hunter or a soldier or a weapon or anything. He was just a person. He was just Dean.

He wished that he could know how they made it all seem so... simple.

He wished that he could find a way to explain that feeling to them without feeling like an idiot.

(Y/n) moved the blanket up, silently motioning for Dean to join them on the couch.

He was happy to do so.

He laid his head down on their chest and wrapped his arms around them.

(Y/n) let out a deep breath before picking up their book again. They were happy to quietly exist with him. Just being in each other's company was enough for them.

"Read to me," Dean poked (Y/n) side as the sentence came out.

"I don't think you'll like this book much," (Y/n) replied, chuckling at how his voice made him sound like a toddler asking for a snack. "Plus, I'm like 150 pages in, you might not know what's going on."

"I just want to listen to your voice," he explained, shifting like he was trying to get even closer to them than he already was. "Please?"

(Y/n) chuckled again before nodding. "Fine."

Dean hummed in appreciation, briefly lifting his head enough to press a kiss to (Y/n)'s torso. His lips brushed the spot just under (Y/n)'s ribcage. It made (Y/n)'s face heat up for a few moments. He had a way of making them nervous and flustered with small acts like that.

(Y/n) didn't find it fair that he could still do that after so long together.

They waited for Dean to get comfortable again before they started reading, "I woke up to a mammoth email from Ciara and spent the morning hunched over my laptop in a smoke-filled café trying to put together proposals for several different articles; she was meeting with her investors the next day and needed pitched from every department. I was now, I discovered, a department..."

(Y/n) continued reading paragraph after paragraph, page after page. And then, they noticed a shift in the quiet noise of the room.

They looked down to find Dean's breathing had slowed and snores were escaping him. They bit their lip for a moment and relaxed further into the couch.

Their hand found their way to his hair, quietly comforting him as they went back to reading silently.

Dean couldn't help falling asleep.

Not because he had woken up earlier than he wanted, but because (Y/n) made it so easy for him to fall back asleep. For just a few hours, he was able to feel safe. He didn't get that very often, so he was going to take full advantage of that feeling now that he had it.

And (Y/n) was more than happy to offer that to him.

------------------------

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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#dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader

[zuzajs14]

Writing in destiel (fic update)

"Come on, buddy. One last miracle,” he begged, again that day, enclosing a friend's smaller hand in his wasted ones. "For me, Cas. Come on." And so he waited. Knowing well, that he should long be on his way to help Sam. But leaving Cas was not an option. Not here. Not ever again. Not like this. "I need you," he whispered.

After long, long minutes, during which he cried silently, Cas's eyelids moved. Very slowly at first, then a bit faster. The fog in his gaze began to clear up, and finally, his eyes were filled with life again as he looked straight into the tear-stained green of Dean's irises. And that was enough. And so Dean finally kissed him. Intense, aggressive but short. With blood on both their faces, with sea salt all over them. He was drowning again. Drowning in Cas.

There was a familiar hand on his chest, but no strength in it when ever so slightly, it pushed him away. He obediently stopped, against his own will and body, both screaming for more, more, more. But it was Cas and Cas didn’t want him that way. It was probably completely stupid and selfish to do that. Overwhelm the angel even more, as he just got his consciousness back. Dean knew he would beat himself over this later. Right now he had to control his impulses, all drawing him closer to Cas.

"You're gonna suffocate me, Dean," Cas whispered resignedly, closing his eyes gently. His weakened hand was still in place on Dean's chest, just above his maddeningly pounding heart. And that was enough, even if he was not to receive more until the end of his life, Castiel was alive.

It was enough for Dean to laugh, and the tears, joyful this time, still tied to the recent weakness he had felt, ran down his cheeks. The unusual outburst caught the eye of Cas, still propped up behind his back by Dean's firm hand. The angel was in the arms of the elder Winchester and was just beginning to realize it.

His mouth still wet from a kiss, moved. Opened and closed. As if Cas wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

"You are hurt, Dean," was what he went with at the end, blushing a bit, as he tried to sit up on his own.

Yeah, Dean wasn’t going to let that bullshit pass. His arm stayed at Castiel's back, helping him, propping him into the right position. They would have to stand up and move soon, but for now, he was ready to take it slow. For Cas’s own good. They were both badly mauled. Patched only provisionally with pieces of torn clothes. Dean's shirt looked ridiculous right now, almost half torn, revealing an equally shabby t-shirt.

"We both are, genius," he shook his head, resting his forehead on his best friend's shoulder. He felt so relieved. "And you can’t use your mojo in this state, so don’t even try. Or I am going to strangle your moronic ass."

"That would be counterproductive," said dead-ass serious Cas.

A loud laughter escaped Dean's mouth. He squeezed Cas, hiding his face in the angel’s arm, as a few more tears found their way out of his eyes. Tiredness took over him again. So he shut up, took a deep breath, then another, and pushed himself off Castiel. They probably won't be so open and intimate till the next near-death experience, so he felt reluctant to let go. But life goes on and there were still things to do.

Blue eyes meet his green ones instantly. Looking soft and sad and sorry.

You don’t need to be sorry, he thought. I do.

Or maybe Cas was sorry for a whole other reason. Not about the situation, the fight, the monster, and all. Because there was no reason for that. They all fell pray of fucking horse-monster. But there was this other thing. Cas could be sorry for Dean, for his lovesick ass, aching to kiss, touch, hold, cry… Yeah. He wasn’t dumb. But he also didn’t want the pity of a being that could never love him back.

You don’t expect stars to look down at you and feel the same amazement. You don’t expect the sea to stare back and change so it could tell you all its secrets. And so you don’t expect an angel to love a human. Doesn’t mean you will love them any less.

And so Dean smiled, accepting the hurt in his heart. That one was going to be ever-present. Because now he knew. He was sure.

I love you.

The ever unsaid, I love you.

Whole fic on ao3

#my writing #destiel fic #destiel fanfiction #spn #supernatural #spn fic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #dean winchester #castiel #dean and cas #deancas #read on ao3 #ao3 update #case fic #idiots in love #fanfiction

[wellofdean]

Endversetober Prompt, Day 11 - Medicine

Cas hunts for mushrooms in the woods around Camp Chitaqua, and gives Dean something he sorely needs.

CW for magic mushrooms

I felt like I needed to write something sweeter after that last episode...

Cas hunts for mushrooms in the woods around Camp Chitaqua whenever conditions are right, and he can slip away unnoticed by their fearless leader. Dean wouldn't like it if he knew Cas was out there alone, beyond the perimeter. Cas figures that what Dean doesn't know won't hurt him, and honestly, Cas is starting to wonder whether Dean would even notice if he was gone.

Cas loves the forest. He loves the quiet concentration of looking for mushrooms. He loves being alone. If he's lucky and the season is right, he can usually find clusters of golden chanterelles, a few honeycombed morels, the odd brown-capped field mushroom, a parasol or two, tall and broad, and if he's lucky, a wild porcini. A meal of forest mushrooms makes Cas feel like even here, in the darkest timeline, there's still bounty in the earth, still something pure and free just waiting to be gathered.

He tried to tell Dean about the mushrooms once, and mother trees. The way mushrooms are the fruiting body of something so much larger, so old and deep. The way they carry messages between the trees on their subterranean networks. The way the trees look out for each other. Dean just looked at him like Cas had completely lost his mind.

Maybe he has.

Most of the mushrooms he gathers are just good eating, but sometimes Cas finds a few precious brown-nippled liberty caps rising out of the grass at the edges of the wood on their tall thin stalks, and those mushrooms are medicine. Cas takes them home, dries them, grinds them into a fine powder and makes them into a tea. A tea he's now offering to Dean, who's just back from a raid, covered in blood and filth, three of their number lost after another day of endless horror, pain and killing. His eyes are dull and flat, and his hands are shaking. He doesn't speak.

It's quiet now in the camp. The guards are on patrol and everyone else is trying to catch a few fitful hours of broken rest if the bone deep fear suffusing literally everything will let them. It's late, and if Dean's here, it's because he can't rest. Dean spends most of his time roostering about full of authority and purpose, acting like nothing touches him. He only comes to Cas now when the need to be seen overwhelms the need to be impervious. The Dean sitting silent at Cas's table is not.

"Drink this, Dean, it'll help," he says, "are you hurt?"

Dean takes it and grunts, holds out a bloodied arm, his jacket and shirt torn down to the skin. Cas carefully strips it off him and cleans the wound while Dean sips his bitter tea. It's superficial. Dean's had much worse. Cas binds it and sits at the corner of the table, puts a hand on Dean's forearm, takes a sip from his own cup.

"Drink it slow, Dean. Take your time," he warns. Dean looks up, wordlessly assents. Grimacing as he swallows it down, and closes his eyes, his face slack, exhaustion written in all its creases. They sit there for awhile, listening to the night sounds. You could almost imagine it's peaceful.

After awhile, the night starts to sound amplified and vivid somehow. Rhythmic and primeaval. Dean opens his eyes, leans towards Cas over the table, and peers into his face. Slowly, he lifts his hand and traces his fingers over the lines at the corners of Cas's eye. Cas smiles, and they deepen. Dean's lips part, his expression rapt.

"Cas," he says, "your eyes are so blue."

Cas laughs. It feels good.

"Dean," he replies, good-humored, "yours are so green."

They both laugh. It feels like levitating. Cas loves the way Dean's face crinkles and is transfixed by the texture of his warm, freckled skin. Loves his eyelashes, all the colours on his face. Thinks lines from a poem he read once: 'glory be to God for dappled things...whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)' He reaches across the table to trace Dean's lush pink lip with his thumb.

Dean looks dazed, poleaxed.

"Cas, Cas," he says, hushed and reverent, his eyes glittering and wet. He runs a hand through Cas's dark hair, watches Cas lean into his touch, wraps his hand around the back of Cas's neck, and pulls him closer, trailing his mouth along Cas's cheek to the soft skin behind Cas's ear, his other hand coming up to cup Cas's jaw, his thumb sweeping Cas's cheek. Dean's hands are rough, but he can be so gentle.

Cas takes Dean's head in his hands, feels the soft bristle of Dean's short hair under his fingertips, draws him in and kisses him long and deep. Dean tastes like nothing else, smells like nothing else. Tastes and smells like the best thing on earth. Cas could kiss him forever, lost in the warm slide of it, lost in the soft, wet sound of Dean's mouth on his, to the humming vibration when Dean makes the little sounds he makes when he can't help himself.

When they go to bed it's slow and warm. It feels indescribably right just to be close, skin sliding over skin, to be one creature for a time, moving in harmony, to lose themselves in it. Cas falls asleep on Dean's shoulder, feeling the forest thrumming around them, the buzzing life of the underground network, the branches of the trees brushing against each other, the rustle of small animals, the birds shifting in their nests. He feels the dark blue night above them, the stars he'd once known so intimately, remembers how they roar. Feels the infinite sweep of space, and feels how small they are, how fleeting, how miraculous.

In the morning, Dean's gone. Cas hears his voice a ways off, shouting orders. Another day in Camp Chitaqua.

___

Here to:

Endversetober 2022 (2742 words) by unreconstructedfangirl, wellofdean Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Endverse Dean Winchester, Endverse Castiel (Supernatural) Additional Tags: Endversetober | Endverse Inktober (Supernatural), cocks vs hands, Feelings, References to Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), suggested misuse of a gun, angst and sadness, magic mushrooms, Origin story for Endverse!Cas, Cas is a medicine man Summary: Short fics and drabbles in response to Endversetober prompts.

#endversetober #day 11 #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #endverse #magic mushrooms #Cas is a medicine man #of love #posting into The Empty

[girlonfilmmovies]

Wait a Minute: That Time When David Fincher Made the GAP Look Cool

Let me tell you about my favorite commercial ever.

This is a commercial for the GAP Fall 2014 "Dress Normal" campaign. It was a part of a suite of four total commercials directed by David Fincher, all similarly told sans dialogue or narration in gorgeously photographed black-and-white cinematography from his usual director of photography Jeff Cronenweth.

It focuses on a very attractive young couple at night at a golf driving range. He's knocking balls downrange, she's dancing to a tune bumping out of their vintage BMW. They're both wearing GAP clothing and looking damn good doing it.

It is vivid, stylish, and above all else, cool.

These are also words that anybody who has stepped into a GAP store would never associate with the brand.

But that's exactly what they know. See, they were well aware of their reputation at time as violently uncool clothing for uncool people. Nobody young wanted to wear clothes from them. As Ryan Gosling's character says in Crazy, Stupid Love, "be better than the GAP."

Sensing the need for a little brand rehabilitation, they hired David Fincher, then hot off of filming Gone Girl (which would eventually be his biggest hit and a cultural moment on its own) for a series of commercials. Similarly, they were aware of the growing popularity of "normcore" fashion -- that is, the then hot new fashion trend of dressing like a "normal" person (the eternal youthful desire to hide conformity behind ironic detachment was present even then). GAP made regular ass clothes, so advertisers thought they could use this to their advantage. All they needed was instead of having ads with families going to a barbeque in bright colors, maybe just have hot young people smoke cigarettes and look cool instead.

All the commercials roughly follow the same outline, but this one is the most fascinating for a few key reasons. First of all, note how purely voyeuristic it is: the background music is diegetic here, the only one in the series. It is very specifically mixed so you know the smooth tune is coming from the car, fading in and out depending on the location of the camera. Similarly, it ends on a shot from the grass of the driving range looking up towards their box. The music is distant at this point, with the sound of crickets overwhelming the audio instead. It's not trying to make us be the couple, it wants us to know that we aren't them.

Secondly, note how clearly they're trying to portray these two as "cool". He's wearing a leather jacket with what appears to be a golf teen in his mouth, a clear evocation of the era of James Dean and young Marlon Brando. She's introduced leaning out of their improbably expensive vintage car, wearing the era's preferred trousers: the skinny jean. The music is not modern either, but some 70s soul tune. They're doing this not at daytime like some suburban sad sack but at night in LA, as if this is the place to be.

Thirdly, it's the specific flirtatiousness of it too. Each of Fincher's ads here contain some semblance of sexuality to them. Whether it's the woman who keeps checking out the outfit hugging her body in the mirror during a makeout session or the soaking wet woman removing her jeans as the rest of the passengers try not to stare at her, these ads are horny. But this one retains a more fun flirty dynamic to it. She's dancing in his eyesight to distract him and get his attention; he's very much trying to focus but is aware of her increasing attempts to get him to look. Her shirt is cropped just enough that every time she raises her arms you see just a peek of belly too, a tease not only for him but the audience as well.

Finally, I think what this specific ad uniquely captures compared to the others is this sort of forlorn nostalgia for a nonexistent era. Despite being set in modern time, it calls attention to several vintage touchstones with the car and music (golfing is also decidedly not a thing that the average LA couple does either). All the aesthetic choices create this distant dreamlike haze over everything, as if this feels like a memory.

It's a bittersweet dream though in hindsight. Despite their best attempts, GAP did not become the sexy millennial store and while they made a somewhat more successful swing with the collabs with Yeezy, those never quite materialized into something greater. As they're currently midst fire sale on everything that Adolf's number one fan has touched, they've given up and gone back to making Labor Day barbeque clothes for soccer moms and the like. In a tragic note, the dancing woman in the commercial, Charlbi Dean Kriek, died tragically ten years later just after a major breakout role in the Palme d'Or winning film Triangle of Sadness, leaving behind an eternal question of "what if?" Even in just this ad alone, her screen presence is radiating, exuding such absolute coolness that it almost tricks you into wanting to wear clothes from GAP.

Perhaps the true tragedy is that they just don't really make commercials like this anymore. Increasingly, I get pushed ads that are presented as if they are regular social media posts. A lot of people holding the camera in their hand, speaking in that wannabe influencer tone of voice, always in the middle of saying "I never got a handle on my acne until I tried..." I always recall the Tim Rogers bit of him maniacally staring into the camera repeating, "guys, I *love* my new chair!" in increasingly menacing tones.

Advertisers have pivoted to this method for two reasons: either it's because it is so, so much cheaper to give a wannabe influencer a product and a thousand dollars and tell them to lie, or it's because this actually works and is seen as more natural and convincing. It's sad to see an artform, even one as nefarious as advertising, die on the vine because companies find it easier this way.

This post started as a rant about that specifically, modern advertising, but honestly I just love that commercial too damn much so I typed ten paragraphs about that instead. I apologize for trying to praise something that's designed to steal your money.

But you know what's also cool? GAP! That's right, click the referral link below and get 10% your next purchase!

[fairytaleriots]

Repressing emotions, being ironic...the family business - Chapter 2

Fic summary:

Dave wants to find his Bro, Rose wants to return to her normal live as a college student. Instead they get involved in some rituals, find themselves and a family and maybe save the world. The last part might pose a problem. or Dean Winchester wishes he had what Dave Strider has

ao3

Chapters: 1

Act 1 Chapter 2

“Dave has shown recent attachment to the school the kids are currently at. It’s getting bothersome to hear him complain. Note for the future: draw clearer lines.”

- /home/Folder69/livelaughlove, Bro Strider’s computer files

Your name is Dave Strider and your life is rapidly falling apart. You seem to have lost your brother. You got your sister back, but only for a limited time and with the uncomfortable side effect of her having weird visions from an unknown source. Once you get your brother back you’re gonna have to deal with that and, if he tries to kill Rose, you don’t know what you’ll do. And the traffic on the way to your motel in Chicago is really bad.

You sit in the car in silence. It’s not very in character for you, you know that.  Even when you’re on a job on your own car rides are rarely quiet, you‘re to busy singing along to your tapes, testing yourself on any hunter knowledge that you shouldn't forget by mumbling to yourself or just straight up thinking out loud.  With Rose especially you’re not used to it. Its never quiet with the two of you, you never had trouble finding pointless things to say. You remember hours spend in the backseat of the car making up stories and arguing about music or singing along to whatever was playing while Bro drove. Nights spend in motel rooms, whispering to each other while trying not to wake Bro up.

And yet, after Rose finishes her retelling and you search for the address of the motel she names, neither of you says a word. Once again you can see your family crumbling apart and you desperately want to find something to say that tapes it back together again, but that didn't work out last time either, did it. There’s a part of you that wants to give up and let Rose go back to her new home, without you and there’s a part that hopes this awful, awkward car ride never ends.  There’s a part of you that wants to find Bro as soon as possible, get all of you back together again and a part of you that thinks that if you don’t find him you at least will not have to deal with whatever happens after. 

It takes Rose too long to gather herself and start making fun of your music. The two of you used to  be better at ignoring your problems.

You don’t know what kind of car Bro rented (or stole), when he left the Silverado with you and Rose’ vision didn’t tell you his room number. So there’s no way to break into his room or to know if he’s even still here, without talking to the receptionist. Not that breaking into Bro’s room would ever be a good idea in the first place. Instead you give the receptionist everything you got.

“It’s just so horrible!”, Rose cries out dramatically.  You know she’s not a fan of this and would rather just threaten the receptionist into giving her the information you want, but you don’t know how long you’re staying in the area yet and this way is less likely to end in someone calling security or the police. Less likely, but not unlikely, because Rose loves drama.

“How could he just not show up? My own father! On my most important day! He’s here, isn't he? Can you call him down? Or give me his room number? I just want to talk to him one last time!”

Rose starts some spiel about how Bro was her father, who had not shown up to her wedding day, despite promising to walk her down the aisle alongside her mother. But, because their parents had some sort of fight, he had fled and ruined his daughters big day.  You do your best to look like an angry brother, but not to angry to be of concern, while holding back a grin at the panicked look on the overwhelmed receptionists face, as Rose tearfully unloads years of made up family drama on him.

“I know they have their problems. I know and I would never force them back together. But I thought just for this day I could have my whole family again. Is that so much to ask? Am I a bad daughter for asking them to do this?”, she sobs and looks at the receptionist like he surely has all the answers. 

The receptionist is looking at the door like he is considering just fleeing. You lay a supportive hand on her shoulder. When she starts up again you can practically see him give up.

“Ma'am, why don’t I give you the room number and you can see if you can clear this all up? I’m very sorry about your wedding.” He scribbles a number and a description of how to get there on a piece of paper and shoves it in your hands. Rose starts thanking him profusely, while you gently guide her away.

There’s no answer when they knock, which could mean anything really. So you might have to break  in after all. “You do it”, Rose says, sweeping her hand in a magnanimous ‘Lady’s first’ gesture. “I think you might need the practice after what you did to my window.” “Thanks, your concern for my breaking and entering skills is real touching. I feel so taken care of.”, you deadpan back and then you get to work.

It takes a bit, because Rose learned her security skills from Bro, but he was of course still better than her. This hotel room is more protected than her entire apartment. But, after a lot of fumbling and cursing under your breath, the door swings open to reveal the carefully created chaos, that Bro manages to create in every room he stays in for more than a day. You spend too much time learning the ins and outs of this special organization system, so you could put back anything you needed to borrow from Bro, without him noticing.

The reason nobody answered the door is, because nobody is in the room.  “Should we just wait for him? His stuff’s still here, so he has to come back.”, you suggest. Rose grimaces, before she answers: “ To be quiet honest I would prefer to finish with this sooner rather than later. And who knows when he’ll get back, he has never had sensible time management. Let’s just figure out what the job is, so we can look for him.”

With that she starts rooting through Bro’s stuff and using the opportunity to clean up, folding his clothes and putting stuff where it should typically belong instead of where Bro thinks it should go.  You know for a fact that Rose is not any tidier and constantly leaves her stuff just lying around, a habit she has not grown out of, judging from what you’ve seen of her apartment, but she always did this whenever she had the opportunity. A chance to piss of Bro by destroying his system, under the guise of just wanting to help him. You think Bro thinks it’s funny.

You go start going through stacks of paper, lying next to a chair. Your best bet of finding out what kind of job he’s on is probably his laptop, but there’s no way your getting in there. The stacks are a mix of research, comic sketches, texts written in Latin and, noticeably, the latest chapter of Rose’s wizard fanfiction, printed out and annotated. At some point you stop looking and start reading out the chapter and adding your own commentary, while Rose continues the search. Her face is carefully annoyed, but she doesn’t try to hit you over the head with a blunt object or rip the papers out of your hands, so you assume she’s having fun. 

“… okay, not that I don’t appreciate Zazzerpan and every scene he’s in, but it’s real convenient that he shows up right there. Also, what kind of word is ‘assiduous’ anyway.”

“A good one.”, she interrupts you. “Also shut up, I found some directions. It is possible that he went there today, so we might as well take a look.”

“Fair enough, but I’m taking this with us. I’ll need some entertainment on the way.”  You continue your commentary.

Bro gives a lot of lectures. They’re not really lectures, since they don’t usually include a lot of words, unless he really gets going on a metaphor.  They’re more singular sentences, that fall somewhere between advice and order and are often paired with a slight downward turn of the edge of his mouth or a thumbs down, to communicate disapproval of your actions. Equally often an ass-kicking follows. Sometimes the lecture includes no words at all and is instead an elaborate test of your abilities.

Part of you wonders if this is also a test. Maybe he’s testing how long you stay cool without losing your shit and looking for him. Or he’s testing if you know to come for back up, when he needs you. You don’t know which one or what’s the right course of action and it makes you feel uneasy, but you don’t have a better idea, than to keep doing what your already doing. And there’s a part of your mind that thinks that, if Bro is actually in danger, then coming to help him would surely be worth getting your ass kicked. You ignore that part, along with the uneasiness, because Bro’s to good to get in the sort of trouble he can’t get out of.

One of the lessons Bro keeps repeating is about blending in and staying unnoticed. Alibis, new identities, financial trails. Despite all that, Bro himself is not really subtle. It’s not his fault, he’s simply too cool to stay unnoticed. Also his shades don’t help.

Thanks to that it’s easy to follow his steps, once you picked up his trail, based on the information you and Rose found. Enough people saw him lounging around to give you a direction. Somehow you still end up going in circles three times, until you decide to look under the bridge you’ve been crossing over each turn.  You don’t really see the point in it, since you don’t exactly know what Bro would be doing under a bridge, but whatever. You slide down a muddy hill to get to a more hidden part and you start seeing the point.

Bro is lying in the mud under the bridge. His white polo shirt is stained brown everywhere and it would look like he just slipped and decided to not get up again if it wasn’t for Bro’s own sword impaling him through the sternum. If it wasn’t for the fact that the brown was not mud brown and instead the brown of dried blood.

You want to leave. You want to turn around and make this not be your problem. To just let him lie there and reject this from your mind. You’re not stupid enough to follow through on that instinct. Even if he weren’t your Bro, you’re a hunter and not taking care of a body is asking for trouble. It’d probably be easier, if it wasn’t your Bro. For a very selfish second you think about booking it anyway and letting Rose deal with it on her own. You can’t do that either. You’re her older brother. Her only one now. (Her only one maybe ever)

You look at her and see her squaring her shoulders, before stalking over to Bro. She raises her eyebrows at you and says: “Well, do you want to do the honors?” She waves her hand at the sword that’s still in Bro. In him. You come closer and raise your hand to pull it out and then let it flop down again. Nope. We are not making that happen. No way. Bro never let either of you touch his sword before and you can’t get yourself to now.   Its weird really. The three of you shared everything else, there’s not really another choice when you life in a truck with a family that doesn’t understand the concept of privacy.  You especially shared weapons and didn’t really get attached to any of them, given that they often had to be discarded or broke because of their shitty quality. Your family went through blades like other people went through 5 dollar headphones.  But that sword was always Bro’s sword. You just can’t. You won’t.

Rose doesn’t want to touch it either, so she just starts jostling Bro’s body until it falls out by itself. That should be worse but you can respect it.  More blood spills out once it’s free and you can’t really understand how there can be any more blood. What kind of bottomless mozzarella sticks bullshit is this. Nope, that’s a bad metaphor, retreat, retreat. 

You cant really bury him here and now. Digging an unauthorized grave in the middle of the day would be noticed and so would dragging a bloody corpse through town. In the end, you end up hiding him more out of sight, with the plan to come back once its dark. 

You find a jewish cemetery a reasonable distance away. At some point it feels almost normal breaking into a cemetery, something that only makes it more uncomfortable, not less. You work together to dig the grave without having to discuss it much and both of you are aware that you usually do this to dig someone up, not to bury them. Somehow doing it the right way around feels worse. Nothing about this fits right. It’s not quiet, because words are flowing out of your mouth, but to be honest you don’t even hear what your saying and by the looks of it Rose isn’t listening either. Her face is a mix of blank and furious, if you ignore the rapid blinking of her eyes, as if she's trying not to let the fury slip away. Bro’s burial is good enough to stop any supernatural bullshit, but otherwise wholly practical, impersonal and unsentimental.

You go back to his room after, gather all his things and then get a motel room at a different place under a different name. Rose dumps anything of Bro’s she doesn’t deem important in a corner of your room and curls up with the rest. “We still have to figure out what killed him. If it was that dangerous it might take out more people.”, she says.

“Sure. If we’re lucky Bro has already done most of the research for us and it won’t even be that much of the boring part. Best kind of job.”, you say.  You don’t say that, if this thing was strong enough to kill Bro, the two of you have very little chance against it. Fighting things that are naturally stronger, faster and better than you is what a hunter does. It’s what Bro does. You have no excuse. You get that urge to leave again.

You snatch the jacket you just threw over a chair back up and turn to Rose. “I’ll go ask around what even brought Bro here, while you go through his notes. Do your boring nerd shit or whatever.” You slam the door and maybe leave a little faster than would normally be appropriate of a dude as cool as you.

Asking around gets a lot of information and none of it especially useful. “Oh, are you the partner of that FBI guy? Agent Mathers, the one that asked after Mr. Powell? Did you ask his wife yet? I’m sure you did, you must be very good at your job. And it’s not like I think that she stabbed him! It’s just that I know they had some problems, I could always hear them yelling when I was tending the garden. Not that I was listening, of course. I was still taught manners, unlike whatever Mrs. Fisher two houses down is teaching her young one. He’s constantly prank buzzing here! Can you believe it? But no, I wasn’t listening, they were just always that loud. A disturbance really.”, an older women tells you, followed by every sin anyone in this street has ever committed, including someone leaving up Christmas decorations for too long, which seems to be equal to potentially stabbing your husband.

You convince a group of teens, that you find near the bridge where you found Bro, to tell you what they know and they tell you about more stabbings, which seem mostly unrelated to Mr. Powell. Nobody has any reliable details, but at first glance the victims don’t seem to have much in common.

And there’s no sign of anything supernatural going on either.  No weird circumstances of death, no impossible break ins or missing body parts or blood. Nobody seeing anything weird or the victims having a feeling of being followed before their deaths. Just good, old stabbings, some standard human murder. Why was Bro even following this trail?

When you get back Rose doesn’t look any happier either. “You find anything at all?”, you ask her.

“No.”, she frowns. “Nothing useful in the papers. Didn’t see anything about stabbings either. Anything relevant is probably on the Laptop, but I tried to crack it and didn’t manage.”

“So what now?”

Rose looks contemplative for a moment.  “I don’t think there's anything useful we can do here, for now. There’s really no point in doing all the work Bro did from the ground up again, when everything we need is most likely on the laptop already. I propose that, if we are not able to access the information ourselves, the next logical step would be to find someone who can help with that.”

There were very few people that Bro respected, but Jake Harley was probably one of them. You knew this because 1. Bro never said anything downright insulting about him and 2. most hunters respected Jake Harley. He was the shining paragon of what every hunter should be. Cared about hunting more than anything else in his life and the dude knew how to pretty much handle any type of gun, with an absurd amount of knowledge about the supernatural on top of that. Maybe that’s just the kind of knowledge you get when your in the business that long, but most hunters didn’t get to be that old.

Bro even worked on a few jobs with him and Bro hated working with other people. Even with you, most of the time you were sure that he only let you tag along, because he wasn’t sure you wouldn’t get yourself killed on your own and you’re family. But he worked with Harley voluntarily.

It was on one of these hunts that you and Rose met Jade for the first time. The three of you must have been like 12 years old and Bro and Jake Harley had left you in a relatively safe spot on standby, in case they needed back up, while they went deal with the Mandragora. The rifle Jade was holding seemed almost taller than her, but she didn’t seem to have any trouble handling it or like she was scared. You think that’s a perfectly valid reason to develop a bit of a crush on someone. At some point she had let out a sincere laugh at something you said and nudged you in the side like you had known each other forever and you think that’s an even better reason.

Jake Harley was dead now. It gets even the best ones eventually. But as far as you know Jade’s still active and still as competent as ever, both with her rifle and, more importantly right now, computers. She’s your best shot to crack that laptop.

Bro mostly keeps to himself, since he doesn’t need help often, but there are spots where hunters meet up and Jade visits them quite frequently. When she sees you and Rose walking through the door a big grin spreads across her face and she sprints towards you, trying to pull both of you into a hug at the same time. It’s awkward but warm, just like her. “Dave! Rose!! Your both here! Together.”, she says.

“Yes, my retirement was interrupted by a family emergency.”, Rose explains, trying her best to look dignified while still being hugged and failing miserably.

“Oh no! What happened? Is everything alright?”

“Bro’s dead.”, Rose states. You close your eyes behind your shades just for a moment.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, guys.”, Jade says and looks at you specifically. You just about manage not to turn away. How did you get stuck between two girls who seem to think you’re gonna break any minute. You’re fine. 

“There’s nothing to be done about it.”, Rose states brusquely. “But we would like to find out what happened and we could use your help with gaining access to Bro’s laptop.” Jade immediately smiles at Rose. “Yeah, of course! To be honest I’ve been kind of curious about Bro’s security anyway! Grandpa always says that he’s a real ‘crackerjack’ at computers and I could use a challenge!” At least someone is getting something out of this.

You try to make yourself train while Jade is busy. At first you try to keep her company, but it’s not really your kind of thing and Jade gets a bit frustrated when people can’t keep up.  There’s a few other hunters at this meeting point, but since it’s a bit out of the way, there aren’t that many and they mostly keep to themselves.  Rose took the opportunity to claim a couch in the corner and go through her uni notes. Makes sense, you guess, it would suck if she went back only to fail all her classes.  And she probably misses it. 

The smart thing for you to do with this bit of free time would be to train. It’s what Bro would want you to do. It’s what Bro would make you do.  You can’t bring yourself to, for some reason. So now your sitting on a small wall outside the back of the house, thinking about knife-forms and moves you haven’t quite internalized yet and your body just won’t move. You’re still stuck like that when Jade comes out and sits down next to you.

“All done! This one was tough. But fun! I didn’t look at anything yet, I thought you and Rose probably want to do that.”

As always your mouth is the first part of your body that reconnects to your brain. “What you didn’t take the opportunity to look at Bro’s porn folder?”

The rest of you catches up and you wince. Jade, bless her, just smiles at you indulgently. She definitely has to deal with too much of your shit. 

“The obvious one with the ironic kinks or the hidden one with the more sincere ones?.” Rose follows Jade through the door. Gross. You decide in this moment to get a new sister. Sure, you brought up the porn thing first, but everyone knows that you have don’t think before you speak! Rose is very much thinking and she’s doing it on purpose. Maybe you can trade her in for Jade.

“How the fuck would you even know about Bro’s porn folders? Wasn’t the whole thing here that we don’t know how to get to his files?” Rose smirks knowingly. It doesn’t explain anything. Ugh.

At some point you do accidentally click on porn. Curse Bro for not properly labeling any of his files. How does he find anything? It’s just tons of weirdly labeled files in unlabeled folders. You have to admire your Bro’s dedication to purposeful chaos.  Going through the most recent files you find screenshots from newspapers all over the country. Weird weather, people vanishing, the usual things a hunter looks out for. Eventually you find some police reports about stabbings in the town you found him in. 

There’s still nothing unusual about them as far as you can see. All of them got stabbed through the sternum but that doesn’t mean its anything supernatural. Could just be a dude.  You click through several more files, some of them not even hunting related. One of them is just an anime of the season list. Then you find what your looking for. At first you think Bro took a screenshot of some poor dudes tinder profile, but then you look at his age.

Jack, Demon, 346(?) years old. Hobbies: Stabbing.   You think you found it. Next to you Rose falls over.  Again.

#homestuck #dave strider #rose lalonde #spn au #fanfic #riot writes #strilonde twins

[jitter-bugss]

interpreting spn through cas or dean-coded lenses can actually be so personal like.

do you love dean winchester because you are dean or do you love him because you love him, heart and immortal soul?

do you love castiel because he is your hope and your faith in a previously faithless world, or do you love him because he finally found his happiness, regardless of the cost?

#bug speaks #spn #SO PERSONAL LIKE #i love dean differently than my dean-coded mutuals do #bc i empathize deeply with the eldest daughter syndrome (im an only child but due to trauma i recieved eldest daughter syndrome) #(its like downloading a picture of a happy family with one child but the photo has a trojan virus and oops now you cant see the pic anymore) #and i just. he is so tired and he keeps giving because. thats the job. #and he bareknuckle built a family tooth and nail #and its like. yeah. me. same. #(obviously a lot deeper psychoanalysis could be done of me and dean supernatural but im too tired rn) #but when i look at dean its like. overwhelming just :') love for him and the way that he is always giving' #up until the end he gives and gives and never takes but he WANTS #and he can HAVE what he wants he HAS IT #JUST SAY IT #i look at him and i Get It #it wasn't cas having a crack in his chassis it was dean fixing the crack. not pretty as if itd never been there. just. welding it #functionally a fix but. a mark. a story. a brand. #i get it. #tonights thought is: cas's love for dean is like buying a used book and finding annotations from a previous owner #and at first this thing is sacred you can't disturb it. its not even worth the time the prev person marked up the book for you #but slowly you start adding your own annotations #its not your book anymore its theirs. its not theirs its yours. ours. #cas looking at dean the way humans in churches look at cas #i Understand #tonight's shrimp emotions brought to you by intricate mutual rituals #are you the superman or the hairless ape in the bestiecule

[slasherscream]

not really a request since its basically ur idea lmao but could i please request crazy ass boys gang w reader who is sensitive during sex !!!

crazy ass boys gang + fem!reader who is sensitive during sex

billy loomis: He tortures you. Every reaction you give him he eats up. When you beg you're never sure if it's because you want him to stop or keep going. "C'mon you can take it," He coos. You reach for him, a whimper bubbling in your throat that he swallows down with his lips. His pace is merciless. He's never happy until you're a shaking mess beneath him.

josh washington: Thinks you're cute. He likes to wind you up before you two even get going. Foreplay is never lacking. "Yeah, is that it, honey? Right there?" Your back arches off the bed as he fucks his fingers into you, slow and deep. You never stop feeling full, no matter how many times you're together. "Josh, please just-" He shushes you, watching as your legs start to shake.

stu macher: Is relentless. Your leg is thrown over his shoulder and you have a hand on his hip, half trying to push him away and half trying to bring him closer. His pace makes you keen and your eyes roll back into your head. "Hey, hey look at me," he orders, grabbing your face and shaking you back to earth. "That's it. Look at me when you cum. How many you think you got left in you?" You sob as his fingers find their way back to your clit.

jd/jason dean: Loves to prolong every touch and moment. He takes his time when he takes you apart. He never looks away from your face when he fucks you. You’re so overwhelmed by every sensation or brush of his hands and it plays out on your face beautifully. “That’s it, I’ve got you.” There’s not an inch of him that isn’t touching you. You leave red crescent moons along his spine while he grinds his hips into yours. It will be hours before he’s had his fill.

kevin khatchadourian: Treats every time you’re together like it’s an experiment. He watches your every reaction. Catalogues every time you tremble or shake. He winds you up, hot mouth between your thighs and cool fingertips tracing over your skin. He let’s you fall back down from your high every time you think you’ll reach it. When he finally takes you all the way to the brink you’re sobbing, pinned to the bed hard enough to bruise.

nathan prescott: Is thrown off by the way your sensitivity shapes the interactions. He's never had anyone be comfortable enough with him to lose themselves in the moment. When he touches you it's like you can't help but melt for him. You sigh at the slightest brush of his teeth against your pulse. You moan when he works his way between your thighs, hands at your knees to hold you open and close when he slides inside you. He can only focus on the way you react to him so much before it throws him over the edge.

#billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jd x reader #kevin khatchadourian x reader #josh washington x reader #nathan prescott x reader #scream #life is strange #heathers #posted early :/ #so it is unedited and missing sebastian but im a sleepy little guy goodnight #nsfc