#Don't burn out paren.

[rubie-tmntluver]

Mikey: *in mind talking to his fellow personalities* hey guys... We got mail.

Grace: OH~ Gimme! *snatches it out of Mikey hand in the mind void*

Jake: *sighs* Grace, behave.

*snaps neck* tf you just say to me, Bitch?

*sweating* n-nothing!

Cooper: *sets head on Miley's shoulder* ... They fighting again?

Yeah... Help me stop them then you read the letter?

Sure!

*grabs the letter and tells them to quiet down so Cooper can read the letter*

"You have been accepted into @tmntbestsibscompetiton's Best siblings competition, Make sure to inform Leon, Dee, and Raph about this competition and then meet up at the following coordinates"

Ok, give me control and I'll tell them.

All but Mikey: Ok!

*gains control then tells Leon, Dee, and Raph*

The 4 teetlez: *meet up at the location when a portal appears*

So we just, walk through it?

Raph: I guess so?

Leon: COWABUNGA!! *runs and jumps through the portal*

LEONARDO HAMATO *jumps in after Leon*

Donnie: *looks at Mikey then walks through*

Oh well. *jumps through the portal*

@tmntbestsibscompetiton me and @auggie-arts gladly have joined. This is an au where I am doing the typing version and my lovely online paren is doing the comic version and will hopefully be able to help out on this au more once they have less on their plate.

*a lil bonus*

in the mind void after they arrive at the competition and everyone else is sleeping: *Grace, Cooper, and Mikey are T-posing over Jake saying sacrifice over and over again*

karai: *walks into the mind void seeing this happen while she's drinking her coffee then smacks her lips* ... This is normal. *walks off*

NO! GRAM GRAM! HELP ME!

*Mikey taught her some sayings* No can do Buckoru.

*Mikey, Grace, and Cooper continue saying sacrifice while T-posing over Jake*

*pitiful sobbing that won't stop the others*

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.20

Summary: Grief comes in many different forms and stages. You're stuck on anger, and Wednesday accompanies you to the funeral. But she says something wrong, with the best of intentions, and you end up doing something that will change your family dynamic for the worse.

Word Count: 7.7k Warnings: grief, child abuse, self neglect (not eating, recklessness, not taking care of self, excessive drinking), extreme anger, flashbacks (mentions of car accident, injuries, illusions to criminal activity), swearing, violence, smoking Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn @rockwyn @bigbadsofty07 @andsoigotabutterfly @captainbeat @smromanoff

Everyone says grief comes in five stages; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But you disagree. It’s not five stages, it’s one. Only one stage that washes over you like a wave and holds you under until you’re drowning. You’re drowning and watching everyone on the surface live their lives as if you aren’t just right underneath them, choking on the salty sea water as you scream for help.

It’s only one stage; agony.

The house was bigger than you remembered when you got home far too early in the morning. The barristers were cleaner, the kitchen was far more pristine, and it was quiet. It was far too quiet, and your hands started to go clammy at the revelation. There wasn’t even any comfort in the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. Tick-tocks burned themselves into your brain until it was stabbing into your head like a knife.

You started humming a tuneless song. It eased the pain slightly.

"Don't hum, dear," your mother said as she took her gloves off and handed them to your maid and previous nanny, Mabel. "It's childish."

Your humming died off and the silence came back.

"Mabel will show you to your room,” your father said, resting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. For a moment, things almost seemed okay. “We will mourn tomorrow, then start the preparations.”

And just like that everything came crashing down once again. Paired perfectly with the migraine that still refused to settle.

“Oh, Y/N,” your father called out before you managed to get more than three steps up.

You turned around slowly, each joint still aching from the fall earlier in the night. Was it that same night? It felt so long ago. Nothing felt like you had been on a carnival date earlier in the night, that you had been having fun with Wednesday and the gang less than eight hours ago. Or was it longer than that? Did it even matter anymore?

“Your principal wanted you to have your phone back,” he continued when you stayed silent. He smiled softly down at the phone in his hands before looking up and handing it back. “Your conversations are a bit concerning,” he said when your fingers brushed his to take it back. “I installed a program to track your activity.” You blinked once. “For your well-being.”

For my well-being. Right. Of course.

“You have a few unread messages,” your father called after you as you turned to walk back up the stairs. “You should let them know everything is alright.”

Be angry, a voice in the back of your head growled when Mabel continued to guide you through the now-unfamiliar corridors. It was a familiar voice, one that hadn’t reared its head in months, but you couldn’t quite place it. He went through your phone, so you need to get angry. No. No, you wouldn’t get angry. Why not? Your jaw clenched painfully. Nicky wouldn’t have gotten angry.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in the doorway of the room - your room - and looked sideways at Mabel. She looked older, more worn. Maybe it was just from working for your parents for so long. How was her son? Had he graduated college yet? He had wanted to be an engineer, if you remembered right. Why did she look so sad?

“I am truly sorry,” she said softly. “I cannot imagine your grief.”

No. No, she couldn’t imagine your grief. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to see him not even a week earlier, alive, and not knowing it would be the last time you saw him. She couldn’t fucking imagine what it was like and no one could fucking imagine what it was like.

The migraine throbbed again and you squeezed your eyes shut to try and ease it.

“The headaches will stop in time,” she said. Your eyes flew open. “They always have.”

“What?”

Mabel tilted her head and a crinkle formed between her eyes.

“Your headaches,” she said, her finger lifting to tap lightly against your left temple. “They always got worse when Nicky stopped suppressing.”

“Suppressing?”

Her sorrowful smile slipped into a frown.

"Yes," she said softly, "don't you remember?"

No.

"Well, I suppose that would defeat the point," she chuckled lightly. "He could suppress memories," she explained softly, gently, agonisingly. "He always chose the bad ones, of course." 

No. 

"I myself got a slight headache when he passed."

No.

"It's how I knew he was truly gone."

No!

"Y/N?"

You shoved past Mabel, forcing her back into the hall. The stairs passed under you four at a time until you were on the ground floor.

"Darling?-"

"-Where are you going?-"

"-It's 4 in the morning-"

"-Get back in the house."

Your parents' calls fell on deaf ears as you threw the front door open and stormed outside. Your feet picked up speed as you walked down the endless driveway. The moment they hit the pavement you broke out into a jog, then a sprint. Your shoes hit the pavement of the road in a steady rhythm.

"You really wanna know?" Nicky asked after taking another one of your chess pieces.

"You promised you would tell me," you said with a frown.

"How about I make it your graduation present," he teased. "Give you something to look forward to."

"Deal," you said with a smile. He knocked your king off the board.

The excessively large houses blurred as you ran down the street. Motion lights turned on and guard dogs barked when you passed by.

"That was the year they left us to fend for ourselves for the week," Nicky laughed with Yoko.

"I don't remember that," you said with a slight frown.

"You were, uh, too young," Nicky said with a smile and a pat on your back. "Not worth remembering anyway."

The houses thinned and were quickly replaced with trees. Your feet stumbled as pavement turned into dirt. Icy air froze your tired lungs, leaving a sensation of needles in your chest.

You pushed your feet faster.

"Nicky, I'm tired," you whined after tripping over your own feet again.

"Just a few more hours," he said. His shirt had finally dried and looked stiff. “Then we’ll be back at Nevermore.”

"You said that a few hours ago," you complained. "My skin is itchy."

"We'll wash it off later," he said. He wasn't even looking at you.

"Are they gonna find us?" You asked as you did a little jog to catch up to him and hold his hand.

"No," he said without hesitation. The dried blood was starting to flake off his forehead. The cut on his nose looked angry.

"Is this gonna give me bad dreams?" You asked in a small voice. He stopped in his tracks and picked you up, letting you crawl onto his back.

"Of course not," he said softly. "You won't even remember it."

The forest flew by. Each twig and branch that whipped across your face made you feel more and more alive. It was a feeling, and you needed a feeling. Anything, everything, whatever you could get.

Everything hurt. Oh god, it hurt so bad and you couldn’t scream.

“Hang on, kid, we’ve gotta get the door.”

“Where’s Nicky?” You asked. Your tongue felt heavy, like lead.

“Gotta get you first,” a man’s voice said. “Stay still.”

“Nicky?” You slurred; the words tasted of copper.

Your eyes fell to the top of the car that was now underneath you. It was covered in something shiny. Something red.

Your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. They couldn’t take the cold, couldn’t take the exertion, the stress, none of it. And it felt. You could feel them. The more you ran, the more it hurt and soon you could focus on the pain in your side instead of the pain in your head.

Memory suppression.

There was no thought about stopping, your feet just slowed their movements until you collapsed to your knees on the cold, damp forest floor. You felt the end of a stick dig into your hand, splitting the skin. The blood was warm; it was comforting. Each gasping breath felt like you were inhaling shards of glass, each one more painful than the last.

And it felt.

“I feel angry,” you said as you sat at the top of the wall and watched Nicky continue to climb.

“You always feel angry,” he grunted. He was stuck. As usual.

“I don’t know why,” you sighed. “I can’t think of anything that would make me angry.”

“It’ll go away,” he said as his face finally pulled up and you could look him in the eyes. “Good kids don’t stay angry.”

“Am I a good kid?” You asked softly. He smiled.

“The best.”

You let out the most feral, unhinged, excruciating scream you could possibly produce. It hurt your throat and left it feeling raw.

But it felt.

The sun had started to rise before you could get up from your position on the ground. Your knees were stiff and soaked to the bone and the stick in your hand had broken off. It would leave a splinter that would need to be dug out. There was a lingering ache in your throat and lungs and that migraine still wouldn’t go away. And when you started walking mindlessly back to the house, you could feel blisters on your feet and heels; a few of them even popped.

But at least it felt.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?-”

“-We were about to call the police-”

“-You look like a stray dog-”

“-We just cleaned the entry-”

“-Where do you think you’re going?”

You couldn’t recall getting home. But you continued walking through the house as your parents called after you, practically dragging yourself up the stairs until you made it into your room. The door fell shut and the lock clicked into place and all you could do was fall back to your knees.

The cold wooden floor didn’t feel so bad. At least it felt.

—---

You wished you were numb again.

The day of mourning came and went, each second testing your patience and wearing you thin. You hadn’t slept, hadn’t showered, hadn’t even gotten up from your spot on the floor. You could hear your phone vibrating on the wood, almost loud enough to wake the dead. Maybe it would wake Nicky, you thought before finally checking it to make it stop.

Not even noon and you had 17 missed calls, 72 texts, and a plethora of messages from the vast array of other social media outlets. A large number were from Yoko, then Ajax, the rest of the group, and your family back home. Two or three calls from Momma Weems and your family. But your eyes started to sting when you saw the name for two messages.

Nicky.

You clicked on them immediately, desperately hoping to see what he had said. Something in the back of your head was screaming at you not to open them, not to get your hopes up. Your eyes trailed over the messages, reading them once, twice, three times before it finally clicked.

It wasn’t Nicky.

You had given Wednesday his phone.

You hadn’t ever changed the name.

Nicky: Thing wishes to know if you’ve made it back safe.

Nicky: I wish to know as well.

Fuck. Now you were making Wednesday feel things too? Why would she even care anyway.  It wasn’t like she loved you anyway, wasn’t like she even really cared. You knew she didn’t do love, she had said it to her mother time and time again. Why would she care if you were safe.

Didn’t she know Nicky was the one who needed the attention?

You growled at nothing in particular before throwing your phone across the room, hearing the screen shatter when it hit the wall. The sound made you flinch and you instantly felt that guilty feeling deep in the pit of your stomach. It vibrated again.

You didn’t check it.

—---

“You need to eat something before you go,” Mabel urged you once again as you finished buttoning up your shirt.

“‘m not hungry,” you mumbled. Your fingers faltered on the buttons; it wasn’t fitting like it was supposed to.

“You haven’t eaten in five days,” she said in a far softer voice. It was humiliating.

“Too busy planning,” you said, finally deciding to give up and instead throwing a jacket over the crooked, too-big shirt. “I’ll eat when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

You moved past Mabel and went down the stairs to meet up with your parents. It was the day to finalise plans; something that you knew was going to cause argument after argument. There had already been too many screaming matches the past few days, none of which ever came to a definitive conclusion.

Maybe today would be different.

“That jacket is unprofessional,” your mother said with a slight frown.

“The shirt doesn’t fit,” you said without looking up at her. Your fingers toyed with the shattered phone in your pocket.

“We will have it tailored,” your mother sighed, “again.”

“We will discuss it later,” your father said as he ushered everyone to the car. “We need to get going so we won’t be late.”

You sat in the back with the both of them while Jenkins started the drive to the funeral home. With a thunk, your head hit the window and you looked out at the houses passing by. The harness was pulled painfully tight and your wings were already stiff, but you didn’t care. At least it felt, right?

The phone in your pocket vibrated, and you pulled it out slowly to look at the two new messages.

Yoko: You don’t have to answer me, but answer Wednesday. She’s losing her mind

Ash: just saw your pop in town. told me about nicky. im so sorry

You exhaled through your nose and slid the phone back into your pocket without answering. There was no time to answer anyone anyway, you had planning to do. Although you shouldn’t be, he was still the source of the migraine that refused to go away.

Memory suppression. Just the thought made you sick and your mouth feel like you had swallowed cotton. How could he do that? How could he just hide your memories from you? Your own memories. He had no fucking right, those were your memories, not his.

“We’re here.”

You pulled your head back from the window and blinked a few times, doing your best to hide the anger. As you uncurled your fists, you could feel your nails pulling out of the skin; you had left four perfect crescent shaped cuts on your palms. Thankfully your pants were black, and you wiped the slightest bit of blood off on the legs.

The next thing you remember is sitting in one of the chairs across from the funeral director. You couldn’t recall getting out of the car, or introducing yourself. Hopefully you had done well or you would get an earful once you left.

“Today you will select the casket and can order the headstone,” the funeral director said as he slid over a bunch of paper.

“Casket?” You asked, turning your head to look at your parents. “We never agreed on burial.”

“Your mother and I have made the executive decision,” your father said with a smile.

“Then make a different one,” you said with a slightly raised voice.

“I’ll give you three a moment,” the funeral director said with a professional smile. Everyone stayed silent as he grabbed a few things and left, shutting the door behind him.

“Do not question our decisions in front of strangers,” your father said, his polite smile falling immediately.

“He didn’t want to be buried,” you said. Your chest felt tight, like it was caught in vice grips.

“He shall be buried with the other Smiths,” your mother said while you chuckled humourlessly. You pushed your chair back and stood up, walking to the other side of the table and pacing.

“He said he didn’t want to be buried,” you argued; the migraine was back. “Said it creeped him out and he would rather be cremated.”

“We never heard him say such a thing,” your mother said with a sigh.

“Maybe because you were never there,” you scoffed before freezing in your tracks.

Instantly the atmosphere in the room changed from uneasiness to aggression. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck and arms stand up and your breath caught in your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I beg your pardon?”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry-”

“-We were never there?” Your father asked, louder this time. 

You could hear the chair scrape against the floor and you turned your body to face him. He looked furious and the migraine came back stronger than before. Almost like someone was pushing glass into each individual fold of your brain. You could feel your palms getting sweaty.

Fight back, the voice in your head said. He abandoned us. Fight. Back.

“You weren’t there,” you said with a shaky voice. Be confident. “You left us and didn’t come back.”

“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why we would even consider doing such a thing?” Your father asked.

“Let’s focus on the burial,” your mother cut in, “we can talk about this later.”

“It’s because you produced two freak kids,” you said, your voice stronger, more confident. Your father walked around the table to come closer. Keep fighting. “Could you imagine if that got out?” He looked furious. “If anyone discovered that the high and mighty Smith family had two Outcast kids that they hid away-”

-your head jerked to the right as the slap echoed in the otherwise silent room. Keep it together, you thought as your lower lip started to quiver. You held back the stinging in your eyes as you stood up taller and turned back around to face him. It was times like this where you wished you were smaller so you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You will never say such a thing again,” he said as he jabbed a finger into your chest. “Do I make myself clear?”

Hit him back.

“Crystal,” you whispered through clenched teeth.

“He will be buried,” your father said with another jab. “That’s final.”

You could feel the persistent stinging of your cheek as you all sat down and the funeral director came back in. He didn’t comment. You didn’t prompt him to.

—---

Mabel had worked for the Smith family for 23 years, she knew when to hold her tongue. But when you all came back from the funeral home and she saw the new blooming bruise on your cheek, she felt a mix of anger and pity. She wouldn’t pretend you were the best at holding your tongue; you never had been. But your father also allowed you to push his buttons until he snapped.

She didn’t have to ask to know that was exactly what happened.

The days leading up to the funeral reminded her an awful lot of when you were younger, with the obvious differences. You were still reckless, almost even careless. Accidentally breaking things, roaming around the house without direction, doing anything and everything your heart desired without seeking permission or forgiveness.

There were times when she would be cleaning and would hear the sound of the grand piano lingering in the air, and she would sneak around the corner to watch you. Back ramrod straight, slender fingers poised perfectly over the keys, face completely neutral as you read the music on the stand. It was beautiful to hear you play again, and the occasional jazz tune that would sound when you were certain your mother wasn’t around was all the more enjoyable because of the slightest smile on your face.

Other times Mabel would catch you leaving the house without warning, not coming back until late in the night with dazed eyes and dried tear tracks on your cheeks. Those were the nights she would gently take you by the shoulders and guide you back up to your room. You did nothing to assist her as she cleaned you up and dressed you in something comfortable so she could put you to bed.

She did her best to ignore each and every new bruise or scratch or scar.

It was impossible to get you to eat. You dropped weight faster than she could keep track of, and no matter how many meals she left in your room, they always went untouched. She tried to keep small snacks like protein bars in your room in the hopes that you would eat them, but she had no way to tell if you did or not.

On evenings where guests would come over and you would be “encouraged” to socialise, she took note of the amount of drinks you would have each evening. It was always far too many, and she and Jenkins would end up carrying you back up to your bed before everyone had left for the night. You would always accept your scolding with a grimace and two Tylenol the next morning and go about your day.

You would pick fights with your parents. Never over anything important, always little things and they were starting to pick up on that as well. At first they had fought back, getting into screaming matches with you and sending you off to your room. But then you tried to start fights over the silverware, or the way your shoes fit, or even how bright the lights were in the room. It didn’t take long for your parents to stop arguing back and just ignore you.

Mabel noticed that almost made you more angry.

Other times, your parents would nit pick at you as well. Over your hair, or the style of clothing you wore. If you had worn the same shirt twice or tracked mud into the house. Your speech quickly became more "professional" and you selected your words carefully in an effort to retaliate. It was far less outwardly destructive, but Mabel could still see the damage it inflicted reflect in your eyes.

But through all of your anger and self destruction and attempts to grab anyone’s attention, you always treated her and Jenkins with the utmost kindness and respect. That was what reminded her of when you were young. It was in the gentle “thank yous” or the soft smiles when she would hand you something. The questions about her son, or about Jenkins’ wife and cats, or any of the neighbours.

She knew you were a good kid. She knew, and Jenkins knew, and that was probably what hurt them the most through it all. You were a good kid with no one to truly lean on and no one to help guide you through this loss. And they knew it was just going to build and build and build inside you until it exploded.

The day before the funeral was the day you would see Nicky for the last time, and Mabel could see the fear and anger in your eyes. She and Jenkins had fully prepared themselves for your mental state when you got back, but even they couldn’t have prepared themselves fully.

You came into the house dazed, not hearing a single thing your parents were saying. But then it was like a switch had been flipped and you clenched your jaw before making a snide remark back to your mother. It didn’t take long to turn into a screaming match, and Mabel and Jenkins watched in horror as you balled up your fist and swung at your father.

The fear in his own eyes was evident even though your fist connected with the brick wall beside him; whether on purpose or not, you had missed him completely. Tears fell from your eyes and you screamed again as your father pulled you into a hug. Mabel watched helplessly as you tried to push him away before finally giving in and crying into his shoulder.

You held onto him like your life depended on it as your blood dripped down the pristine, white walls of the house.

“Your tie is crooked,” Mabel told you on the morning of the funeral. You had been struggling to get ready for over an hour, and no amount of makeup could hide the bags under your eyes or the lingering bruise on your cheek.

“So are these fucking buttons,” you mumbled as you ripped your dress shirt open to start over. She could feel you getting angry again. It was probably from the lack of sleep.

Or lack of food.

Or lack of help in general.

“Stay still,” Mabel huffed, setting the laundry basket down on your bed and standing in front of you.

You sighed, but remained still as she got to work on your shirt. It had been tailored only a few days before and still seemed a bit big again; it broke her heart. But she did her best to ignore it and focused on buttoning up your shirt properly. Your violent treatment had loosened two or three buttons, but she certainly wasn’t going to bring that up to you.

“How have your school ties survived this long if you can’t do them yourself?” She asked, her eyes darting up to meet yours. She almost thought you smiled.

“Wednesday always fixes them for me,” you said. You didn’t look down, but that was alright, she was focused on your tie anyway.

“You like this girl?” She asked softly. If your parents heard, they would have started screaming.

“A lot,” you answered just as softly. “I think I love her.”

“That’s a big emotion for you,” she said not unkindly.

“I hope I don’t fuck it up,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” she said with a smile as she patted your tie down. “You’re all set.”

You turned to look up at the mirror, eyes squinting and your jaw clenching before you relaxed. Mabel kept her smile to herself; she didn’t want to unintentionally encourage you to fight the reflection. You stood up straight and pressed your tie flat once again before slipping the suit jacket on.

“Thank you, Mabel,” you said softly, and you quickly leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Your lips were chapped, but it was expected.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” she said with a smile. You smiled back once, halfheartedly, before walking out of the room.

She really hoped your anger wouldn’t explode at the funeral.

—---

The whole car ride made Wednesday feel sick to her stomach. It had been a short flight down to D.C. and now she, Thing, Yoko, and Weems were finishing the trip with the short drive to the funeral. The rest of the gang had opted to stay at Nevermore for the time being; they didn't want to overwhelm you. The funeral was supposed to be outside, or so your mother had said, but it looked like rain. Usually perfect for such an occasion.

Just not this one.

She checked the phone again, hoping you had finally answered. It was a foolish hope, she knew that much, but it still resided in her chest. No one had heard anything from you since you had left the harvest festival, not even Yoko or your family. She shouldn’t have expected you to answer her of all people.

But she hoped you would have.

“We shall give her space,” Weems said once she pulled the car through the gates to the cemetery. It was connected to the reception hall, where everyone would go after the service.

It reminded Wednesday an awful lot of the cemetery back home.

“Except you, Addams,” Yoko said, drawing Wednesday out of her thoughts.

“Why me?” She asked.

“You give her peace,” Weems answered.

Well, that was comforting; surprising, Wednesday knew. To know that everyone else could see her effect on you; had they seen your effect on her? They probably had. Enid certainly had, and that was more than enough torture. But if they said she gave you peace, then who was she to argue.

Once the car was parked, everyone got out. Thing climbed onto her shoulder as she unfolded the umbrella. She waited patiently as Weems and Yoko got out as well, each holding their own umbrellas, before they started the short walk to the grave.

It seemed the rain had ruined the original funeral plans, seeing how no one was sitting anymore and the chairs were in the process of being removed. Wednesday and the small group stood off to the side and waited. They hadn’t exactly been invited, but who was going to stop them? Especially at a funeral.

You were one of the lead pallbearers, the one on the front left. Wednesday felt her heart drop into her stomach at the sight of you; dark eyes, clothes hanging off your smaller frame, your wings invisible beneath your suit jacket. But the worst part was you didn’t seem sad. No, you looked angry.

After lowering the casket back to the ground, you hesitated, your fingers running across the wood before you walked to stand near your parents. They tried to offer you an umbrella but you ignored them. You simply stood in the rain, looking down at Nicky’s casket as an old, unsteady man started talking.

Wednesday simply watched you the whole time. Watched the difference in your posture, your back straight and head up. She took note of the way you clasped your hands in front of you even though she could see the scabbed over skin pulled taut across your knuckles. She watched the muscles in your jaw tighten and relax, over and over and over as you blinked too many times to keep the tears at bay.

You were upset, rightfully so, but Wednesday couldn’t have found you more beautiful. Not because you were suffering, not because you were struggling, but because you were. You were handling everything so well, at least on the outside, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the rain fell down your face, caressing the skin in comfort.

Your family, you included, looked impeccable standing there together. Wednesday could only imagine how powerful all of you would have looked if the four of you had been together; you, Nicky, and your parents. Standing there in perfectly tailored suits, manicured to perfection, neutral expressions on your faces. Is that how you would have looked if you had stayed with them? Would she have had the same pull toward you?

She waited until the funeral itself was over before making her way to your side. Everyone else - including Thing - had gone inside to escape the rain and start the reception, but you didn’t move a muscle. Her shoulder brushed against your arm when she got close enough, and for a moment your shoulders fell and your jaw unclenched.

“I’m tired, Wends,” you said in such a quiet voice that Wednesday almost couldn’t hear you over the rain. “And I feel alone.”

Time to use the comfort teachings everyone had been helping her with for the past two weeks. They had drilled it into her head time and time again, through all hours of the day and night until she could recite it properly. It was robotic sounding, she knew that much, but it was a start. She hoped it would work.

“It’s okay to feel sad,” Wednesday said. You stiffened beside her. “But you are not alone.”

“Did Yoko teach you that?” You asked, immediately catching on. She should have known better.

“I-,” don’t lie, “-yes,” she admitted. “I’m not particularly adept at comfort.”

“I don’t want comfort,” you said, turning to look at her. The rain had finally started washing off the makeup from your face and she thought she could see something on your cheek. “I don’t want pity. I want you to be real with me.”

“Real?” Wednesday inquired with furrowed brows.

“Yes, Wednesday, real,” you huffed. “Be real with me and tell me what you’re thinking.”

Now that you had put her on the spot, she wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She was thinking of the now-obvious bruise on your cheek and where it had possibly come from. She was thinking of the bags under your eyes if you had been getting enough sleep, which clearly you hadn’t.

Part of her was thinking of her own parents, as unusual as it would be. How they had fallen in love at a funeral and had confessed their undying devotion to each other. Funerals had always been a romantic event for the Addams family, and she was aware this was for your brother, but she couldn’t deny she knew what her parents had meant every time they reminisced.

Oh. That’s what she was thinking.

“I am thinking…,” she paused, blinking at you twice, three times and looking away. You wanted real. She looked back up at you to meet your probing gaze. “I love you.”

Your brows knit together as you looked away from her for a moment.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“You asked what I was thinking,” Wednesday clarified slowly. “I was simply thinking that I-”

“-Don’t say it again,” you interrupted.

And right there, right then, Wednesday felt her cold dead heart break in her chest.

“You did not just say that,” you said with a huff. “Did you really just confess?”

“Yes,” Wednesday said indignantly. “It’s what I was thinking at the moment.”

“We’re at my brother’s funeral, Wednesday,” you said, far louder this time. “Do you really think this is the time?”

“You asked,” she said again. “Why would you ask if you didn’t want to know?”

“I can’t,” you said as you held your hands up and started backing up. “I just- I can’t do this right now.”

Wednesday let her umbrella fall as she watched you walk off toward the reception hall with hands on your head, covering your ears. She could feel the rain slowly seeping through her coat, but all she could really focus on was you. Only you, and how her father had been right.

Love was agony.

—---

You were going to be sick. You could feel it in your chest, your lungs, your stomach. Your mouth wouldn’t stop salivating and you were going to be sick. How could she say that? How could she tell you that now? Your palms were sweaty when you dragged them down your face, ignoring the makeup that you wiped off with it.

It should have been exciting to hear Wednesday say such a thing. She was capable of love, a genuine love, and had even felt so strongly as to verbally tell you as such. And it had been ruined because they had killed Nicky and now you couldn’t even enjoy the single fucking good thing in your life.

You felt sick.

Your parents were standing in the middle of the room, talking and laughing with some lawyer or congressman or senator or whoever the fuck else could put up with them long enough to talk. It was like they weren’t even upset, they weren’t even devastated that their son, their first born, was currently being buried six feet under. Didn’t they care?

You felt sick.

Weems, Yoko, and Thing were off to the side, talking with each other. They looked up, almost as if sensing your staring, and gave you sad smiles. They pity you, the voice in your head spat in disgust. You frowned at the thought and turned around, looking for someone, anyone to talk to. Hell, at that point you would’ve taken the old man off to the side that was giving you a look that made you rather uncomfortable.

Your eyes fell on a couple standing next to the fireplace, talking quietly with each other. Something about them seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place from where. But you stopped caring when you saw the subtle cloud of smoke fall from the taller one’s lips and you quickly made your way over.

“Mind if I steal a hit?” You asked when you got nearby. The taller one smiled sadly.

“Sure,” they said as they handed the vape over.

You grabbed it and brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply. It scalded your throat and stung your lungs as you held it in for far too long before slowly exhaling. You watched the smoke as it evaporated into the air, leaving nothing but a sickeningly sweet smell in its place.

“That’s disgusting,” you mumbled as you handed it back to them. The shorter one still hadn’t looked up from the hole they were staring into the ground.

“It’s marshmallow,” they chuckled.

“Like I said,” you said, “disgusting.”

“You’re Nicky’s sister,” they said with a half smile, avoiding your gaze by looking out at the crowd again.

“You’re a couple of strangers,” you said.

“I’m Casey,” they chuckled lightly, ���and this is Devon.”

Devon finally looked up and eyed you up and down before looking back to the crowd with the slightest hint of a sneer. If you hadn’t spent so much time with Wednesday, you would’ve missed it. What could they possibly be sneering at you for? It was your brother’s funeral. You felt the muscles in your jaw tighten.

“He talked about you a lot,” Casey said softly.

“How would you know?” You asked way more harshly than necessary. Part of you didn’t care. Okay, none of you cared. “He hasn’t exactly done much talking recently.”

“The three of us were… close,” they said with a distracted nod.

“He was in a coma for four years,” you scoffed, “how close could you be.” You reached over and took the vape from their hand and brought it to your mouth for another hit.

“We were his partners.”

You choked on the smoke, leaving your throat raw and scratchy. Your head spun to look at Casey and Devon, eying them to see any sort of discrepancies in their body language. If Wednesday had taught you one thing, it was how to tell if someone was lying. Avoiding eye contact, licking their lips, anything.

There wasn’t a single sign.

He hadn’t told you he was dating anyone. Why hadn’t he told you? Surely he would have, you two told each other everything. He was your big brother, for fuck sake, he would have told you. Right?

Right?

“We loved him too,” Casey said softly; they still weren’t looking at you.

He lied. He fucking lied.

You looked out at the crowd and took another hit of the vape. Then another. And another. And a fourth one for good measure. It felt like your lungs were going to burn themselves to embers, but you didn’t care. At least it felt. After a fifth hit, you slipped it back into Casey’s hand and continued looking out at the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice now hoarse and deeper than usual.

“We’ll get through it,” they said. “He’ll get his justice.”

They know he deserves justice too, the voice in the back of your head said. You couldn’t argue with it. But what else could you say? It was too much and you had too many questions. Where had they met? How long had they known Nicky? How long had it been going on?

You felt sick.

You didn’t bother saying anything else to them before walking off, walking through a haze until you ended up with the group your parents were talking to. A few of them tried talking to you, giving their most insincere condolences before going back to their conversations.

It was disgusting. Watching them laugh and talk as if you weren’t standing at a funeral reception. As if you hadn’t been standing at Nicky’s literal graveside less than an hour ago. Heartless, the voice said, they killed him and are using it as an excuse to socialise. 

“I can’t recall what caused his condition,” one of the men said when there was a lull in the conversation.

“A car wreck,” your father said with a few mindless nods of his head.

“That’s tragic,” a woman said. “Drunk driver?”

“An Outcast, actually,” your father answered.

Wait.

“What did you say?” You asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

You felt something tug on your pants, and your eyes darted down for just long enough to see Thing. He was wearing a little black bowtie around one of his fingers. But you weren’t focusing on him; you were too busy thinking about what your father had said.

“I said an Outcast caused the wreck that killed my son,” your father continued. His back straightened as he kept eye contact with you.

“Abominations, the lot of them,” a man huffed before taking another drink of the wine in his glass.

Thing pulled at your pants leg again. You kicked him away, listened to the subtle sound of him scuttling across the floor. Thankfully no one else had noticed him.

“An Outcast didn’t kill him,” you bit back. “You two were the ones that pulled his life support.”

The group around you fell silent, now beyond interested in the conversation. Any chance to get a good helping of gossip, of course. That was how all socialites worked, especially when another socialite was involved. In this case it was your parents; they were going to be the talk of the town for a year.

“No son of mine should have to exist as a vegetable simply because we couldn’t be merciful,” your mother said. “Especially because of some sinful abomination.”

“Stop calling them abominations,” you growled through clenched teeth.

Your fingers were starting to ache as they curled into fists at your side. Your pulse was rushing in your ear and for a moment, you felt your chest was going to explode. That your heart would beat faster and faster, harder and harder until it finally broke free.

You took a single step closer.

“If it were up to me, I’d have them all euthanised,” your father said as he smiled at you with his “show everyone we’re perfect” smile. You took another step forward until you were almost directly in front of him. “The world would be a much better place.”

The sounds of the world muffled in your ears, and all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing. Erratic, shallow, rushed. Something dripped down your neck and your jaw felt like it was going to crack under the pressure. That migraine came roaring back as you stared into your father’s eyes.

Do it.

Your fist connected with his nose before you could even comprehend what was happening. The people around you gasped and stepped back as your father fell to the ground. One of his hands attempted to stop the flow of blood while he held the other out in front of him.

But you saw red.

You knelt down on top of him, only one thing on your mind as you grabbed his shirt collar. He almost looked remorseful for a moment. But only for a moment. Again. You tightened your grip on his collar as you swung again. And again. And again.

Harder.

You could hear Nicky in the back of your head, screaming and pounding against the inside of your skull. Telling you to stop, begging you to let your father go. Each time Nicky pounded against your skull, you threw another punch. And another. Something wet slid down your cheeks and you couldn’t stop.

Something wrapped around your waist and yanked you back. Hard. The wind flew out of your lungs and you instantly grabbed onto the arms around you. You tried to pull them off but your hands were slick and you couldn’t get a good hold. You were stuck.

“Y/N, stop,” the voice said into your ear. Weems?

“Say it again,” you shouted at your father who was frozen on the ground, bruised eyes focused on you. “Say it again, you fucking coward.”

“Breathe,” another voice said before someone stepped in front of you. Yoko?

“You're defending the group that killed your brother,” your mother said as she knelt down to look at your father’s injuries. He was wheezing and covered in blood. "You should do this to them instead."

You tried to lunge forward again, and the arms around your waist almost gave out. You threw a leg out, hoping to kick him while he was down. Just one more. But the arms around your waist tightened again, and Yoko grabbed your flailing feet until you were being carried out of the room.

“Don’t you fucking touch them,” you shouted as you continued attempting to fight and Weems and Yoko struggled to carry you. “I’ll fucking kill you next time.”

You felt sick.

The cold air and rain hit you like a brick wall when you were finally outside. The arms and hands holding you back let go and you fell onto the ground as you stared at the now-closed doors of the reception hall. Your frantic breathing was the only thing you could hear.

“Breathe.”

Another face came into view, and almost instantly your breath caught in your throat. Wednesday’s eyes were wide and focused on your face. They were bloodshot; why were they bloodshot? Her hands were poised to touch you, to check you for injuries, but the moment you felt her hand on your arm you flinched.

You saw red. Only red. You wanted to hurt something. Someone. You didn’t give a fuck who it was, you just wanted to make someone else hurt the way you were hurting. To swing at whoever was closest.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you said as you crawled back across the ground. Wednesday immediately let go.

I don’t want to hurt you, you thought as you pushed yourself up to your feet until you could start stumbling away. Shaky fingers unbuttoned your jacket and ripped the buttons off your shirt until you could reach the harness. They were calling after you; you didn’t know what they were saying. The harness hit the ground and the moment your wings unfurled, you jumped into the air.

You had nearly hurt Wednesday.

You felt sick.

[i-cant-sing]

What would the whole situation be if President Kai adopted a baby/todler reader? Like, his PR team were like "You need to appeal more to the public". And the fact that he's a single parent appeals to the women because it's ✨ vulnerability ✨ but it also appeals to the men because he is still a ✨man✨.

Ps. Love your work, though take a break when you feel a little burned out 💕💕💕💕

Yandere President Kai Chisaki x baby reader

Okay, it doesn't matter what age the reader is, Kai is definitely getting proposals left and right, from both men and women, all because 1. they wanna be the other paren to reader. 2. Kai is kinda hot to them.

But lets talk about baby reader with President Kai okay?

President Kai walks around with reader in a baby carrier. Sure, initially it was to appeal the public, but now he's become too attached to you. Like he does not care where he's going, you're coming along with him. He even takes you to the meetings where he's discussing about nukes with military, all while you're dressed in a bear onesie, your hood up as you watch him with wide eyes, listening to him talk.

President Kai is like super protective and possessive of you, so he's very paranoid about who to let you be around. He does background checks on everyone, and after several tests, he finally had a team for baby reader. The Secret Service, the nanny/personal assistant is Miruko, and they are responsible for your health and raising you. If anything happens to you, Kai will have their heads.

Kai is almost always wearing his custom tailored suits, so you can imagine how he looks not only super dapper, but also quite adorable when he's carrying you around on his hip, all while he's talking to someone on the phone. He looks down at you and he sees you babbling on your toy phone, and when you noticed him looking at you, you'd push your own phone to him, wanting him to talk to your phone too. Obviously, Kai would play along.

Okay but like Kai never, and I mean, NEVER, baby talks to you. No, he talks to you like you're an adult. He knows you don't understand what he's saying, but he likes to pretend you do. Like he'd be feeding you the bottle and vent to you like. "You won't believe how stupid the senator is, thinking that he could hide his taxes from the IRS. Hari was being an idiot too, saying that its time for you to have another parent so that I could focus on work. I can perfectly balance the two."

The presidential photographer is constantly taking pictures of you and Kai, and they're all so adorable. Like Kai is playing with you in your room, or maybe he's rocking you to sleep, or simply making talking about his day when he's feeding you. Of course, the pictures are posted onto all the official socials of the President and people are just melting over how adorable he is.

Loves the way how you hide into his jacket or bury yourself into his chest when you're scared. He has to pet your hair for a couple of minutes, softly coaxing you tell him what's wrong.

Once you learn to walk, Kai still wants you close to him, so he holds your tiny hand with his as you waddle around the house, humming in disapproval when you try to skip down the stairs. He's quick to pick you up, not wanting to risk you falling down and cracking your skull open.

Kai loves it when he's working in his office, and then all of a sudden, he sees a little ponytails bobbing around his desk or the doorway. Sighing, he loudly wonders "Oh I wonder where Y/n is?" Smiling a little when he hears your mischievous giggle. He rolls his eyes and stands up, gasping when you jump in front of him with a little "Boo!" before running away. Only for you to return a couple of minutes later with twinkling eyes. "Did I scare you, dad? Did I scare you?" Kai always says yes.

When time comes for you to go to school, Kai is more anxious than you about your first day. The media had a field day when Kai and the whole president's motorcade came to drop you off to school. On one hand, you're super excited and looking around with curiosity and giddiness. And on the other hand, we have Kai, who's looking around with distress, trying to see who is a threat to you. He's holding you in his arms, and you're wriggling in his grip, wanting to be put that down so that you can explore and befriend all these strangers. He doesn't want to let go, but its been 15 minutes since your first class has started, and Kai has you sitting in his lap, asking for the tenth time if you're gonna be okay alone for the next couple of hours, to tell the teacher to call him immediately if you feel sick, to say the word and they'll go home right now, but no, you saw so many other kids and you're so eager to learn. Kai couldn't focus on his work the whole time you were at school, wondering how you're doing, but at least the Secret Service is there to keep you safe.

When you return from school, you continue to tell him about your day and how you made so many new friends there, and how you love it there. Kai feels a little defeated that you liked going there because he was honestly planning to homeschool you, and if it wasn't for the public viewing you and Kai like hawks, he would've homeschooled you.

President Kai who everyone thinks looks mean af and is mean af, but he has this unusual softness in his eyes when he looks at you, and only the people closest to him know how you've wrapped him around your finger.

I can see Kai definitely taking you out on daddy-daughter dates, and for some reason, I can see the reader being a girly-girl, like the kind who is obsessed with pink and princesses and all. He definitely has had his fair share of tea parties with you, but at least he showed you the proper way to make tea. And yes, he did wear a princess crown.

Tries to keep the fact that you're adopted for as long as he can. Strictly forbids anyone to not even let you doubt that you're not related to him by blood. Miruko and the Secret Service are pretty good at keeping the others in line.

I know President Kai has a picture of you and him from the first day he met you in his wallet. You were still a year old when he got you and you were smiling in the picture while Kai had a serious face. With time though, as you began to grow up, more pictures began to decorate the house. And each time, Kai's eyes were more affectionate, and his smile was more real. He really did love you, more than anything in the world.

[postwarlevi]

Surrogate 1.9k words || Fathers Day 2022 Masterlist

"What are you all doing in my kitchen?" Levi raises as eyebrow.

He's just come home early from work, expecting to find you, and instead finding Armin, Jean, Eren, Connie, Sasha and Mikasa covered in flour with stacks of used mixing bowls and spatulas everywhere.

"Captain!" They all talk over each other.

Levi looks to Armin for an explanation.

"Well, the lady of the house invited us over to teach us some baking skills, remembered she had to go pick something up, and left us to it. She'll only be gone a few minutes she said."

"And you'd made this much of a mess? Well, at least the place isn't burning down."

Levi sighs. Yep, sounds right. You are always inviting the cadets over for one reason or another, and they always to want to come. Whatever teens their age should want to be doing, your house is always more interesting it seems.

After putting his things down he inspects the kitchen.

"What are you making?" He asks Jean who's rolling dough.

"These? Classic chocolate chip cookies!"

"Yeah, she had to run out to get the chips." Connie comes over with cupcake tray, leaving Levi wondering how that goes with cookies.

"Oh, this is for the orange vanilla cupcakes." He nods over to Eren and Sasha, who are almost done adding ingredients and ready to mix.

"And what do you two have going on?" Levi asks Mikasa and Armin.

"Peanut butter brownies!" Mikasa can't wait for those to go in the oven. They're about to pour the mix onto the baking pan.

Levi gives a tiny smile. He's come to expect days like this. Last week you had them all helping with the garden out back. Small skills that will come in handy over time.

"Can I help with anything? Anyone want a water?" He asks, going to the fridge.

"No, that's okay. You've worked all day, go sit down." Eren says while helping Sasha pour the cupcake batter.

"I'm back!" You announce you're arrival. "Levi!" You're happy to see him home and bound up to him, throwing your arms around him like you haven't seen him all week.

The cadets all pause to watch the moment, sharing smiles with each other. They always give Levi a hard time, but it's only playfully, as they admire your relationship.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" You ask, handing off the chips to Connie.

"Good, thanks." He gives you a kiss on the cheek. He's less sheepish about showing off how he feels about you in front of others, though most of it is still private.

"Alright guys, almost ready to go on the oven?" You ask once everything is mixed, somehow getting it all to fit.

As things bake, everyone lounges around the living room, snacking on the variety tray of snacks that Levi quickly put together.

"Thanks love." He says in between bites, because you made sure to get him something a little more hearty.

Everyone talks about their upcoming weekend plans and Levi notices Jean is a bit quiet, not contributing to the conversation.

"And what are you up to?" Levi asks while everyone else is engaged.

"Huh? Oh uh, I'm having some car trouble again." The last time this happened the mechanic really took him for a ride and Jean, not knowing any better, was out a pretty penny, that he really didn't have to spare in the first place.

"That stinks. How about I take a look at it? We'll get Miche to help, he's pretty good with that stuff." Levi offers. He remembers how upset Jean was the last time, and rightfully so, and doesn't want him to go through that again.

Levi is usually pretty calm, but when it comes to you, or one of the kids, he can get absolutely livid when someone tries to take advantage.

"Really? Yes! I mean, if it's not a bother. I'm always so scared to ask Miche for anything." Jean is pretty intimidated by the big man.

Levi almost smirks. If only they knew what a softie Miche really is.

"Don't worry about it. And if we need a mechanic, I'll go with you." He'll do the talking this time.

"I appreciate it. Really. I tried to ask Mr Braus but uh, he doesn't know much about cars." Jean whispers the last part, making Levi chuckle.

A lot of the male parents are unavailable for one reason or another, and though Sashas dad is good at a lot of things, cars is not one of them.

Once everything bakes, you all spoil dinner and dive into the sweets, making baggies for a few leftovers. Levi snags an extra cupcake, and Jean is back to his normal banter within the group.

Everyone who does not live at your house finally leaves and you and Levi have a quiet evening.

"That's really sweet of you. He really appreciates it." You smile at how caring Levi is after he tells you about Jeans issue.

Your Saturday will be busy as well as you're helping Mikasa with a few things and afterwards taking her and Sasha out to lunch. Levi mentions maybe he can meet you.

"Okay but Sunday, just us, yeah?" Levi asks. He doesn't mind all that much, but does need some time alone with you.

Saturday consists of Miche figuring out what is wrong with Jeans car and within a few hours them, Levi and Connie -who has tagged along- have patched things up without needing to take it to a shop.

Miche is able to track a part down at a used car shop and Levi is there to make sure a fair price was agreed on.

Eren and Armin meet everyone out for lunch and Levi tells Jean to put his money away when he tries to pay for your lunch as a thank you.

It turns into a late evening as you and Levi run other errands and do chores around the house so you can relax tomorrow.

Which is exactly what you do. Sleep a little later, get in cuddle time, make brunch together, sit out by the garden. Levi even suggests the rarely heard of day time nap and just as you two get settled back in bed, both of your phones go off.

"No. NO!" Levi actually hits the pillow and growls. He knows that ring tone. It's them.

"Levi." You look at him in a startled manner, slowing reaching for your phone. "What's wrong with you?"

He doesn't even bother to look at his own phone while he pouts. "One day, just one day with you, alone." He is thinking out loud, not even directly speaking to you.

"Well, maybe tomorrow." You say after scanning your phone. You're going to have company soon.

You dress yourselves and calm Levi down who is now just mildly irritated before anyone shows up.

"When's our next day off together?" Levi asks you.

Just as the cadets are all piling out of cars and coming up the drive, you're in the kitchen looking at the calendar and you see what day it is.

"Levi!" You scare him this time.

"What?" He exhales, staring at you wide-eyed.

"Don't you say anything-" You try to get out in a hurry, but then there is banging on the door and Levi is letting all the cadets into the house.

"Ackermans!" Connie grins, carrying a tray.

Mikasa, Jean and Sasha follow with bags and envelopes, then Eren and Jean with more trays.

"Hey guys." Levi is not very enthusiastic but realizes something is going on so he should keep his mouth shut.

Everyone greets you and puts the trays and presents in the kitchen, the usual meeting place.

"Hope we aren't intruding." Sasha says, sounding apologetic.

Levi almost scoffs but feels your eyes on him, daring him to. "No, it's okay." Since when are they sorry about barging in?

"Why the sudden visit?" Levi asks, wondering why no one is speaking up.

Eren nudges Armin forward. He's best with this stuff.

"Uh so, we noticed, it was a certain day and um…" He didn't plan this very well.

Levi looks to you and gets a small smile. You've figured it out.

Armin continues to stumble along. "We just wanted to get something, do something, to show our thanks, and how much we appreciate you."

"It's what day?" Levi is confused.

A collective groan comes from most of you, and Mikasa tsks. "It's Fathers Day."

"You're like, a dad figure, in a way." Connie shrugs.

Levi doesn't say anything because he doesn't know what to say. But he feels moved and is happy you made him be quiet.

"Here, Mikasa and I got you a new vintage tea set." Sasha pulls away the wrapping paper to show off the green and white pattern. A lot of children were babysat for this.

"And Armin and I got the hotel on the water to give you guys a weekend stay next month, all inclusive." Eren pushes forward an envelope. They gave up a days wages for that.

"While you're gone, Connie and I are going to paint the porch like you keep mentioning. We can exchange the color if need be." The money Jean saved from not spending it on the car came in handy buying the paints.

"Guys, this is lovely!" You gush, moving to hug each of them. These are your presents too.

"What do you think Captain, like the color?" Armin asks of the soft blue. They're all going to deep clean the house for you, if you let them.

Levi swallows, clearing his throat. "Yeah, colors great. I….thank you."

They know he's touched, especially when he starts reading the card they all signed, and doesn't get very far. The all wrote a little something extra, and Levi knows he's going to need to finish reading it privately.

"What's in the trays?" You ask, breaking the heavy air.

"Well, we took what we learned in baking, and made some stuff!" Sasha is pretty proud.

There's apple muffins, a cherry crisp, and a lemon blueberry cake, reasonably decorated and iced.

While Levi looks forward to the small getaway with you next month, he's glad they interrupted today.

Sweets are passed around, and Levi isn't even annoyed when he gets paired with Sasha and Connie in a board game.

You share a look with each other from across the table, and both mouth 'I love you' when no one is paying attention.

You know the cadets look to you as sort of parental figures, and it warms your heart that without really meaning to, Levi has attached himself to them, just as much as they have him.

"You guys wanna cook out next weekend?" Levis idea gets a rowdy response.

Once by yourselves, back in bed for the night, Levi is sitting up reading his card.

"Happy Fathers Day." You say with a giggle.

Levi smirks. "You knew."

You shake your head. "Only guessed at the last minute. It's really sweet."

He nods in agreement, puts the card away and snuggles into you. "Apparently, they think we'd make great parents, and have offered to babysit all the time."

"Is that so?" You ask suspiciously, interested as to why he mentioned that part specifically.

"Yeah, just thought you should know." He leans in for a kiss.

After having a hand in raising teens, a baby should be a cinch.