Flangst = Fluff & Angst

When your soulmate is eating something you can taste it on your lips, just slightly. And maybe feel it on your lips too, like the powder of a cinnamon donut, except you can’t lick it away, so you’re just stuck with it like ‘damn you asshole, lick your goddamn lips! This is annoying!’

If they’re having cravings you do too. Sometimes you’ll get cravings for what you’ve just eaten.

If you taste something like strawberry lip gloss you know their either getting ready for a night out or kissing someone. Or maybe they just like the taste.

You constantly lick your lips when they’re eating something you like because ‘oh gods this taste so good, what is it?’ or ‘I haven’t had that in ages!’

You get jealous of the fact that they have such nice food ALL THE DAMN TIME.

When they’re eating something you don’t like you try to not lick your lips for so long. It gets annoying and is hard to do for a while so you just put on lip gloss. Then you think ‘awe, man. What if they don’t like… And that’s why they put on lip gloss the other week?’

One day you try to send them a recipe. So you just, like, munch on a piece of toast, then lick some honey, then eat some banana so they’ll try your favourite meal and you’ll have that taste on your lips without actually eating it.

One day you think 'what kind of idiot eats peanut butter with jam - holy shit it’s an American! Or someone in America… Maybe they just like it? Oh god will I have to take 20-something hour flight to find them? Uuuhhhggghhh!’

You’re in the middle of a test but just can’t stop licking your lips because 'oh god glazed donuts…’

You can’t place a taste but you know you’ve tasted it before.

After going to Harry Potter world you realise 'it’s butterbeer!’ and then you try a butterbeer cappuccino or whatever and are just - 'goddamn it you jerk you ruined all my experiences!’

You start craving a signature dish from your town that is only served there. You go to the restaurant and see three people eating the meal, so you just walk up to the counter, order something that is nothing like the dish or something that you know that person hates because every time after you eat it you taste mouthwash.

You calmly sit down and just watch the people as you eat your meal. The person you least expected it to be - oh god it can’t be - looks up and is just like 'fuck’ and has that expression on their face.

They look around and see you. Their eyes widen at what you’re eating. You’re the only one eating it. You smirk and wave at them because 'haha sucker you laughed when I was teased about my soulmate and it’s you!’

Or one day you turn to your best friend like 'hey, can you see if anyone is eating -’ your eyes widened as you see they’re eating the EXACT MEAL you can taste.

Or a different ending where you follow a celebrity on Instagram and just see a picture of a steak with the caption being 'why the hell do I taste banana and honey… I’m eating a steak!’

And you just drop your toast. Your family stares at you as you squeal. Then you realise 'shit. That could be anyone.’ But you do taste steak… 'But anyone can be eating steak!’ You rush to the kitchen and pull out dark chocolate and go to the bathroom and start brushing your teeth.

Soon you see another picture of a steak and a caption of 'okay, now I’m tasting ANOTHER thing that clashes with my meal. Soulmate, please let me eat in peace… AND WHO HAS DARK CHOCOLATE AND TOOTHPASTE?!?! Will my future babies eat like this too? God save me…’

SamxReader

“I Like-Like You”

Two Wrongs Made a Right  –  SingleDad!Sam

Chance  -  Colab with @supernaturally-potter

Part 1: Chance

DeanxReader

“Superman”

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

You Too?

Rhapsody in Dean

CastielxReader

I know

“Help”

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Poem  Epilogue

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Part 1   Part 2

Doctor Who

Well, it’s that time again, where I get bored any I’m not tired enough to go to sleep. Pick a prompt, pick a pairing, and you’ll get a nice one shot!

1. “I’ll find her and bring her home, I promise.”

2. "Does he know about the baby?“

3. "I’m your daughter." 

4. "You’re too good for this world.”

5. "I want to turn back the clock to before…“

6. "What have you done with my pills? I need them!”

7. "I daren’t stay long. I just had to see you.“

8. "Do you think he crashed the car on purpose?”

9. "For some reason, I’m attracted to you.“

10. "I knew you wouldn’t be able to see it through." 

11. "Please don’t argue. You have to leave right now, you aren’t safe here.”

12. “You think I’m being paranoid but the truth is, I’m worth nothing to her alive.”

13. "I never meant to come between you and him.“

14. "You were meant to be watching him!”

15. “What do you mean, he’s escaped?" 

16. "This isn’t just about you. It’s about what’s best for all of us.”

17. “Are you taking his side against me?”

18. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

19. “The way you flirt is shameful." 

20. "What’s in that bag and why are you hiding it here?" 

21. "How, exactly, did you think having an affair would help our marriage?" 

22. "Could you be happy here, with me?”

23. “Do you ever think we should stop doing this?”

24. “Are you kidding me? We’re not ‘fine’!" 

25. "Well, this is where I live." 

26. "Why didn’t he come and talk to me himself?" 

27. "Give me one good reason why I should wear a dress.”

28. “You came back!”

29. “No! I’m tired of doing what you say.”

30. “If only I’d just gone over when she called.”

A/N: This could be a multi parter…what do you guys think? Gifs not mine

Pairings: John Winchester x Reader

John Forever Tags: @brooklyn-writes-flangst @the-waywarddaughter @supernaturalymarvel @crzcorgi @spnfanficpond

Warnings: Mentioned violence, blood, crying, hospitals? swearing

Word Count: 1415

Summary: Except this time felt different, John felt different; it was like he was trying to distance himself, wedge something between us instead of letting it go.

The sparse streetlights illuminated the truck cab every few metres, the rain glistening on the frosted glass; for once it was completely silent, no radio, no talking. I chanced a look towards him, noting the way that his jaw was set tight and his hands were gripping the steering wheel as though it was the only thing tethering him to reality; I decided against saying anything. Turning back to look out the window I rested my head against the door, my breath steaming from my lips; a soft sigh escaping; despite the fact that it was close to freezing outside I felt flushed, my blood racing through my veins with anxious anticipation.

SamxReader

“I Like-Like You”

Two Wrongs Made a Right  –  SingleDad!Sam

Chance  -  Colab with @supernaturally-potter

Part 1: Chance

DeanxReader

“Superman”

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

You Too?

Rhapsody in Dean

CastielxReader

I know

“Help”

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Poem  Epilogue

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Part 1   Part 2

Doctor Who

A/N: This was requested forever ago and basically its a musical thing.

Warnings: MUSIC! Self-Doubt?

Word Count: 690

“Sam, you don’t understand, it’s in F Sharp Major so there are like, six sharps at one point, then there’s this insane key change and suddenly I’m playing SEVEN FLATS in C Flat Major!!!!

“Y/N, I’m sorry but I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Sam whined, while doing so research on a possible case.

A rockstar!AU requested by the beautiful @jtblabfactory!  

Pairings:  Dean/Castiel

Dean stared at the magazine article in his hands, a puzzling amalgam of feelings brewing inside of him and getting stronger by the minute.

There was awe, for one thing, at the fact that this half-naked incubus was the shy, socially awkward man Dean had once called his friend, amusement at the idea of what it must have taken to get him to pose like that, dread at the old feelings the picture stirred up inside but predominantly, overwhelmingly, what Dean felt was a combination of longing and…“lust” was the only real word for it.  Stronger than anything Dean had ever felt for any girl he’d ever hooked up with, or the small handful of awkward, drunken encounters with men.  

Dean didn’t know he could feel anything this strongly towards anyone, let alone a man, and particularly not for Castiel.

“Dean,” came a voice, after what felt like an eternity of blank staring.  “Dean!”

“Whassat?”  Dean blurted, still in a daze as he finally tore his eyes away from the article (and the tantalizing picture that went with it) in an attempt to get a hold of himself.

Sheepishly, he looked around at the trio (consisting of Charlie, Sam, and Kevin), that still surrounded him, staring at him with expectant, bemused expressions on their faces that made Dean feel like he was stuck in one of those dreams in which he’d shown up to school in his underwear.

 “…What?” Dean demanded, clearing his throat to cover how much deeper his voice had just gotten. 

“You were staring for a pretty long time, Dean,” Sam pointed out. 

“Yeah, for like, five minutes,” Kevin agreed with a glance at his phone. 

“Yeah, it’s called reading the frickin’ article, asshats,” Dean scoffed defensively, though he couldn’t hide the flush he felt steadily blossoming across the bridge of his nose. 

“Dean, I’m pretty sure you were actually drooling,” Charlie chimed in, with a poorly-repressed giggle.

Dean, of course, could do nothing but roll his eyes and pretend that there was no truth to these accusations. 

He wasn’t sure how the subject of the Garrison had come up, but he did remember sitting quietly through the discussion with an ever-increasing amount of discomfort as the subject turned to its frontman.  Castiel – a name Dean wished he could forget, but knew he never would. 

“Ugh, he’s dreamy,” Charlie had said, theatrically fanning herself with one hand.

“I thought you were gay,” Kevin remarked questioningly.

“I am.  Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate an attractive man and a good smolder when I see one.”

“You know,” said Sam, ignoring the “Sammy-don’t-you-frickin’-dare” look that Dean was currently shooting him.  “Dean used to be tight with him.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean had growled, but kept his eyes downcast. 

But it was too late.  Charlie and Kevin were all over him, begging him for details about the reclusive star that Dean absolutely refused to provide.  He still respected Cas too much for that.

Dean knew where the conversation was going, but that didn’t make it any easier when Kevin said, “So Dean, I know you were tight, but were you, you know…TIGHT?”

Charlie rolled her eyes, and clarified, “He means, were you guys actually dating?”

“For Christ’s sake Charlie, NO!” Dean snapped, wishing the conversation would come to an end.  “Now will you PLEASE frickin’ drop it already?”

She did not.  

“Because if you were,” she said slyly, rummaging through her bag – an ungainly but large and very effective burlap thing she carried everywhere.  “I have something I think you might appreciate.”

And so, the magazine – and with it, that damned picture – had ended up in his hands.  

“Y’all suck,” Dean ultimately said, only half-serious, as he stood up and hoped they wouldn’t notice as he stuffed the magazine in his back pocket.  “I’m goin’ home.”

…

Dean thought his troubles were over when he finally reached his beloved impala still parked outside of the Harvelle’s roadhouse, but oh, he was wrong. 

“Dean,” came Sam’s voice.

“I’m not talkin’ to you, Sammy!”  Dean snapped.

Sam rolled his eyes, finally catching up with his brother as he started to unlock the front door.  “For the last time, Dean, it’s Sam,” he said.  “And don’t you think you’re being a bit immature?  All I said was that you were tight with the guy!”

Dean only grunted in response, refusing to look his brother in the eye.

“It’s not like I told them about all the time you spent stalking him on the internet, or making that scrapbook filled with all the pictures you took of him-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!  Stop!” 

“Dean, my point is,” Sam went on, giving him that sympathetic brotherly look that Dean simultaneously loved and absolutely despised.  “You obviously still care about him.”

“He doesn’t care about ME, Sammy,” Dean said, trying to appear as indifferent as possible.  “That’s the whole problem.”

Sam seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then said, “Dean, do you ever actually listen to his songs?”

“NO!” said Dean, more defensively than he meant to.

“Well, you should.”

 “…Why?”

“Take my word for it,” said Sam, with a knowing wink, before waltzing off back towards the roadhouse with no further explanation.

…

Dean sat at home, staring forlornly at the magazine in his hands.

He’d had this problem before, ever since Castiel and his band, the Garrison, had gotten more popular, popping up in magazines, Newspapers, and even billboards seemingly everywhere.  For Dean, it was torture.

It was torture to hear them talk about Cas, comment on his handsomeness, speculate on his relationship status, and discuss, as one reporter had described it, his “brooding, reclusive appeal.”  THAT, Dean knew, was utter bullshit – Cas wasn’t brooding or reclusive, and if he came off as such it was because he was shy.  Dean wasn’t fooled by the steely smolder he put on in all of his photos, sexy as it may have been – there was nothing Cas wanted to do more than stay home and cuddle with ten or twenty adopted cats, binge watch Netflix or the occasional puppy video, and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Dean sighed at the memories, and carefully began to snip out the photograph to be stored with the others, in the rapidly growing portfolio Dean had been accumulating over the past two years:  photos from magazines, mostly, and a few printed out online articles, all of them of Cas.  Though, of course, none were quite as risque as this one.

All were lacking the signature trench coat he’d worn during his time with Dean, though, in favor of clothing that was more fashionable and form-fitting.  Dean wondered if he still had it.  He wondered if anything else about Cas had changed since he’d seen him last.

Was this behavior just the slightest bit creepy or obsessive?  Probably.  But that certainly wasn’t something Dean would admit to himself as he pasted in his newest addition and promptly hid the binder back under his bed like a sixth grader.

… 

For the Winchester household,  the next few weeks passed as they usually did.  Dean worked two jobs:  he did construction work Monday through Friday, and helped out at Bobby’s garage on weekends.

It wasn’t easy, but someone had to put Sam through college, and Stamford certainly wasn’t paying for itself.

On Friday evenings, Dean and his small posse would meet up at the Harvelle Roadhouse to laugh and talk, and maybe see a movie or something afterwards.

And, for the most part, Dean was content.  

Or so he thought.

It was six PM at the Harvelle’s, where he, Sam, Charlie, and Kevin gathered like clockwork, listening to Jo rattle off all the difficult customers she’d dealt with the week before.

She was just getting through telling them about the twelfth obnoxious drunk man who’d gotten grabby with her (she ended up braking his wrist), when they heard Ellen’s familiar voice from the bar.

“Dean-o!  Get over here!”

“What is it, Elle?” Dean called. 

“Yer boyfriend’s on TV!”

It took Dean a moment to register exactly what Ellen meant.  And when he finally put the pieces together, he turned to Sam with a look of horror, rage, and sheer betrayal.

“You TOLD them!?  Who else did you tell!?”

“No one, I swear!”  Sam said, holding up his hands in surrender.

“It was me,” Charlie admitted.  When Dean turned to stare at her with shocked indignation, she protested, “Hey, it’s not the kind of news I could keep to myself!  And anyway, the only one I told was Jo.”

When Jo was fixed with Dean’s accusatory glare, she only shrugged, and said sheepishly, “I didn’t know it was a secret!”

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation.  “I can’t frickin’ believe you people!”

“You boys comin’ or not?” Ellen called. 

Everyone present turned to give Dean an expectant look.

“Ugh,” he scoffed, trying to sound as though he was staying neutral to the matter.  “Might as well.”

…

Dean stared at the TV screen the way he’d stared at the magazine article weeks before, completely transfixed, lost to world around him: on the Harvelle’s clunky, outdated television set, Cas looked just like he had when Dean had seen him last, disheveled mess of black hair, trench coat and all.  

From what he’d gathered, he was conversing with a sexually aggressive blond woman about his new album – not that Dean was paying too much attention to what they were actually saying:  he was far too busy staring at Castiel’s eyes, dazzlingly blue even over the screen, hearing the deep, rasping baritone of his voice without ever processing what he was saying. 

“Cool coat, by the way,” she purred, and Dean bristled as she ran polished fingernails lightly over his shoulder. 

“No, it’s actually quite warm,” Cas replied politely, completely deadpan, and the interviewer laughed (far harder than was necessary, in Dean’s opinion).

“So, Cas – I CAN call you Cas, can’t I?” the woman drawled. 

“Certainly.”

“Tell us a little about…where you get your inspiration from?  What INSPIRES you to write these songs?”

“Well, most of them I wrote in honor of someone who’s very important to me,” he replied, and Dean felt his heart sink.  It shouldn’t have surprised him that Cas had found someone else, but he didn’t have to like it.  After a brief pause, Castiel added, “And a few, of course, are for several of my cats.”

The woman cackled again, obviously convinced he was joking.  He was not. 

Dean was still processing the knowledge that Cas was with somebody else now, as the lady went on, “So, you’ve just finished up your latest tour.  Tell us, what are you doing now?”

His answer, however, caught Dean’s attention:  

“In the immediate future, I’ll be paying a brief visit to my hometown.  There are several friends and relatives there I would very much like to get reacquainted with, and perhaps find some inspiration for my latest album.”

If Dean had been zoned out before, now he was dead to the world, vaguely aware of the lady asking Cas about the charities heed been supporting – which included cancer research and, of course, prevention of animal cruelty – as he processed what he’d just heard.  For the first time in over two years, Castiel was coming home.

…

Dean lay in bed that night, AC/DC and Metallica on full blast, but was unable to shake Castiel from his mind.  It kept wandering back to the day he left, again and again. 

Contrary to popular belief, he and Cas hadn’t dated, as much as Dean wished they had.  So many times, he had tried (and failed) to plan out in his head what he would say.  

“Hey, Cas, you and I have been bros for a long time…” no, that wasn’t right.  “Hey, Cas, you can say no if you want to, but I was wondering if maybe…”  That wouldn’t do either.  

Dean simply couldn’t find the words or the courage to say what was on his mind, and in his experience, that was the most frustrating sensation in the world. 

They had been friends, though.  They would have died for each other, and there were times when they almost did.  They’d stayed with each other when they were at their lowest, Dean letting Cas crash on his sofa, cats and all, when his homophobic aunt Naomi kicked him out for being gay, and Cas eventually returning the favor for Dean.  Though, by then, the Garrison was just getting really successful, and Cas had a guest room to lend Dean when money was tight and he couldn’t make the rent on his apartment.

In retrospect, the thing that had torn them apart was the most ridiculous thing.  Dean knew, deep down, that Cas’s contract with Crowley – the investor that had taken Bobby’s business years ago – hadn’t been his idea.  It was his shady manager, Metatron, or maybe even his brother Gabriel.  

Castiel put on a mask of unflinching stoicism, but Dean knew that at his core, he was an innocent, easily coerced by those around him.  And he also knew he never would have done anything to hurt Dean on purpose.

That did little to take the sting away at the time, though, and they quickly devolved into the worst fight of their entire relationship  – admittedly, they both had said some pretty hurtful things that they probably didn’t mean, but what Dean remembered the most was how the argument reached its conclusion:

After the big fight, Cas had shown up at Dean’s door, clearly trying to apologize. 

“Dean,” he had rasped.  “You know we’re going on tour in two days.  But I really don’t want to leave until you and I-”

“You know what, Cas?” Dean had drawled, refusing to look him in the eye.  “When you leave, I don’t want you to bother coming back.”

It was childish, he knew.  But Cas apparently didn’t know that, and he’d never forget the look on his old friend’s face when he said, “…Do you really mean that, Dean?”

“Yes.” 

It was an answer Dean would regret for the rest of his life.

…

Six months had passed, and now Dean sat at a table, in front of the cafe where Cas had been working when they’d met. 

He’d been eighteen, Dean had been twenty, and Dean had tried to flirt with him, but Cas, of course, was oblivious. 

That didn’t stop Dean from stopping by every morning before work just to see him, though, suffering through all the jumbled drink orders just to talk to him and see his face, but always lacking the courage to tell him how he really felt.

Now, Dean nervously eyed his watch, sipping his caramel machiato (in spite of ruthlessly making fun of such fancy coffee drinks, Dean secretly adored them).  Ten minutes late. 

Of course, it was fully in his character to never be on time, but that didn’t stop Dean from worrying:  had he forgotten?  Had he changed his mind and decided not to come?  Was this all some sort of cruel joke?  Was-

Then, Dean’s heart dropped as his “date” came into view, coat billowing around him in the late summer breeze.

“Hello, Dean.”

…

Dean wouldn’t have made the called Cas to begin with if it hadn’t been for Sam (not that it had gone well – Dean had left a painfully awkward voice message asking that they meet, complete with stupid jokes he knew Cas probably wouldn’t get.  Cas, of course, had texted his reply:  he loved texting – and emoticons, for that matter – more than Dean thought any grown man should). 

But the fact remains that it had all been stupid Sam’s doing:  ever since the interview that day, he’d been begging Dean to do it, to which Dean always refused, saying things like, 

“He doesn’t want me, Sammy!” or, “He’s found someone else by now, he must’ve.”

Thankfully, Sam eventually seemed to give up, but then moved on to something debatably worse:  he became extremely insistent that Dean listen to his latest album.

Dean, of course, had fought tooth and nail against the idea, but never gave the real reason why:  he didn’t want to hear Castiel – HIS Castiel – singing about somebody else, somebody other than Dean. 

Sam practically had to hold him down to finally get him to listen to it.  The album itself was entitled “Angel of the Lord,” but in spite of the metal sounding name, the songs themselves sounded a little more…sappy, all named things like “When Angels Fly Away,” or “I Gripped You Tight.”  And they all had one thing in common, though:  they were all about love, lost or unrequited, that familiar, beautiful, baritone drawl singing about one person in particular over and over again.  

By the time it was over, Dean was fairly certain he knew who Cas was describing, but Sam, of course, felt the need to reiterate it to him anyway.

“Don’t you get it, Dean?”  he said.  “He’s talking about YOU.” 

…

“So, uh,” Dean swallowed, unable to find the words he’d so carefully rehearsed.  “How’s it going?”

*WHAT THE HELL, WINCHESTER?* Dean mentally chastised himself.  *YOU DON’T SEE THE GUY FOR TWO YEARS, AND THE FIRST THING YOU SAY IS ‘HOW’S IT GOING!?’*

Castiel sort of shrugged, shuffling a little where he stood.  He didn’t do well with vague questions like that, Dean knew, and it was clear he was just as uncomfortable with this situation as Dean was.

He clarified, “Um, how’s life on the road been treating you?”

“Life on the road…smells,” he replied, making a face. “And traveling in a car is slow and confining.”  

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle to himself – after all this time, Cas still couldn’t answer a question like a normal human being.  He talked as if he was something alien, wearing a human suit and experiencing the world around him for the very first time.

“How are you, Dean?” he asked after a moment, parroting Dean’s words, but with a note of such sincerity that it staggered him a little. 

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean started to say, but caught himself.  If he ever wanted to say what was on his mind, now might be his last chance.  “I’m not gonna lie, it hasn’t been the same without you around here,” he said, voice thick with unwanted emotion.  “I uh…” he swallowed again, forcing his pride down along with the lump in his throat.  “…I missed you, Cas.”

Castiel looked rather taken aback by the answer, brow furrowing and head tilting to one side.  “You…TOLD me to leave, Dean.”

“Dammit Cas!” Dean shouted, frustrated with himself as much as he was with his oblivious friend.  “Just ‘cause I said it doesn’t mean I actually wanted it!”

Castiel’s “confused puppy-look” intensified.  

“The point is,” Dean reiterated, getting a hold of himself.  “I want you here.  I want you with me.”  He was shaking now, unable to believe he was actually saying this allowed.  “We need you, Cas.  I need you.”

Castiel stared at him, expression unreadable – Cas had never been very good at expressing emotion – but his eyes said it all:  they were full of confusion and regret in equal measures, but overwhelmingly, of love.  Dean couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. 

“Do you…mean that, Dean?” he asked, slowly.

“Of course I mean it,” Dean scoffed, eyeing the ground.  “I…love you, Cas.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. 

“…What?” 

“I said I lo-” Dean didn’t have time time to finish.  The next thing he knew, Castiel’s lips were crashing into his own, full and chapped, and tasting like cherry lip balm.  It was better than Dean had ever imagined.

The kiss went on for what seemed like forever, yet all too short, rough and tender at the same time.

Finally, Cas pulled away, his pools of cerulean meeting Dean’s striking, emerald green.

“I love you, too.”

Epilogue:

Six months later, Castiel released his newest album, “the Righteous Man,” directly crediting Dean as his inspiration.  A year later, he went on tour again.

Summary: Reader accidentally flirts with Dean, and John is a jealous man.

Word Count: 2500

Warning: SMUT, jealousy, angry sex

A/N: Another character I’ve never written before! Let me know what you think! @spnashley @kittenofdoomage @abaddonwithyall @emmy-winchester (I don’t know all the John!girls, so tag them for me, please!)

A/N: This is for the Zodiac Writing challenge hosted by the lovely @supernatural-x-reader-oneshots

“Call me Daddy”

-Sam, probably

Prompt: Single parents who meet at Parent-Teacher night. 

Okay So I changed it a bit, but It’s pretty similar.

Summary: Life is hard when you’re a twentysomething. Life is even harder when you’re a single parent twentysomething. But sometimes, if the planets align, Two Wrongs Can Make a Right.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse and sadness. Also FLUFFFF

Pairing: SingleDad!Sam X SingleMom!Reader

Tags: @spnfanficpond   @supernaturally-potter  and the lovely  @kittenofdoomage  

Word Count: 2,244



2nd Person POV

“Camille, sweetie… it’s gonna be okay,” You started, trying to soothe your five-year-old. “Mommy will always come back. I promise.”

First day of kindergarten. You had never left her with a babysitter and she didn’t like the idea of not being with you. You were just about ready to pack up and take her home when a very handsome, and very tall, man caught your eye. He crouched down beside his little girl and whispered in her ear. You turned back to Camille and opened your mouth to speak when a sweet, small voice said, as if repeating a script,

“Hi! My name is Joanne… what’s yours?”