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thoughtfulfiction · 1 month ago

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The P Word

Author’s Note: Two fics in two days?

In 2013, Joe sent a dm to a recruiting analyst for scout.com, asking which camps he should attend because he was flying under the national radar.

Most four star recruits get about 20 college offers. He had 12.

At Ohio State he sat on the bench for three years, only gaining attention as a scout team player who would later have to graduate in three years just so he could transfer and get some playing time elsewhere.

That same scout team player would become the best player in college football and a Heisman trophy winner and the number one pick in the 2020 NFL Draft. A few years after that fateful private message to Dave Burk.

Robin Burrow had been there the entire time. Through every shining moment and the times that seemed rather dark. She drove two hours to do his laundry just to make sure he was physically and mentally healthy when he lived in Columbus, has attended every game since he began playing sports, made him snickers salad when he tore his ACL…and when he tore his scapholunate ligament in his wrist. All in all, she’s been a constant presence in the midst of all of the mayhem. To be frank, there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be than between him and anything that could possibly serve to harm him or cause him any pain, no matter how old he is.

That included protecting him from himself.

The last few months had been filled with joy. After the news of his engagement, the wedding planning process had been smooth. You and Robin along with your mom, had gone to several appointments together and Joe had even added his input in most of the details without you feeling like you had to twist his arm and force him to participate.

You were now in the home stretch of the most important day of your lives. Less than two months from now you’d be saying “I do” to the love of your life. And Robin had taken her role as future mother in-law very seriously. You knew that Joe was a mama’s boy, his brothers much older than him with their own mom, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was Robin’s pride and joy. But not in a creepy way that would get them to star in a TLC show. It was just very evident that she was proud of him and his achievements and that she didn’t mess around when it came down to business.

After one of your dress fittings, she pulled you aside. “There’s one quick thing I need to mention to you. You’ll be getting a formal document in the mail in the next few days. Nothing huge, just a formality that Peter and the team drafted up for you to sign. I hate the word prenup but that’s essentially what this is.” She said in a matter of fact way. “We just need to make sure to dot our i’s and cross our t’s if that makes sense. Get the boring stuff out of the way so that we can focus on showering you and Joey with our love on your special day.”

“No that makes complete sense, just send it over and I’ll sign whatever you need me to. Thank you Robin seriously, for everything. You’ve made planning this entire thing a breeze.”

She shakes her head with a genuine smile, giving you a warm hug. “This has been an honor, I’m so happy for the both of you sweetie. I’ll see you in a few days for brunch at your house? The kids are so excited they won’t stop talking about it.”

“Yes absolutely, I can’t wait either it’s been so long since we’ve gotten both families together it’ll be really fun.”

There weren’t many opportunities for your family to interact with Joe’s and vice versa, unless everyone met at a football game but that wasn’t exactly quality family bonding. That felt more like a collective screaming match where the adults pregamed with beer and the kids wore his jersey. Most of them didn’t really know what was going on in the actual game. So you and Joe were going to host both sets of parents, all of your siblings and their kids in order for everyone to really spend time together before the wedding.

A few days later, you were finalizing the menu with the catering company when Joe came home.

“It’s gonna be like Cheaper by the Dozen in here tomorrow,” he notes, grabbing a Body Armour from the fridge. “Are we sure we’re ready for this?”

“We kinda have to be. Should we do smoked salmon or shrimp crostinis?” You held up one of each and let him examine them. He snagged the salmon one first and took a bite then did the same with the shrimp.

“Definitely the salmon. What time is everyone getting here?” The catering people jot down their last notes and head out the door after you and Joe thanked them.

You could tell he was going to need time to mentally prepare in case he got overstimulated. “They’ll be here at 1pm, so you can probably get an early workout in and take a nap afterwards,” walking over to him on the other side of the counter, holding his face in your hands. “I know you get cranky when you’re tired and Uncle Joe needs to be at his best tomorrow because the kids will need a QB for their flag football game.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, sticking out his lips that are begging to be kissed. You happily grant his wish, pressing your lips against his, giving him a quick smooch. He asks for a few more, about to get lost in a full make out session when a stack of papers on the counter catch his eye. Joe pulls back so abruptly that your face smacks against his chest.

“Sorry baby,” he cradles your head, reaching around you to grab the piece of paper that’s on top. You take that as your cue to go after his second apology for nearly giving you a concussion. That chest is a brick wall.

The more he skims the words, the tighter his grip gets on the little sheet and the confused look on his face deepens. “Um…what is this?”

“What is what?” You give him a look that matches his energy.

He holds up the paper. “This. What is this? Where did you get it from?”

You look around the room to make sure you aren’t getting Punk’d. “Wait—are you being serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking,” it wasn’t a question. He’s legitimately starting to look upset. “Who gave this to you?”

“Joe,” you let out a dry chuckle, “your mom did. Said it was a formality and that I should sign it and give it to her so she can hand it off to Peter so your lawyers can process it.” When your fiancé continues to stand there motionless in the middle of the room, that’s when it hits you. “Did—did you not know about this?”

He usually has something to say about everything, so watching him silently shake his head is a little scary. Joe places the first page of the prenuptial agreement on the table with a heavy sigh, visibly trying to compose himself. The man had the patience of a saint, known to have blow ups on the field but that was Football Joe. Off the field Joe was calm and rarely ever let things get to him. You’d probably only heard him yell twice in the entire time you’ve been together. And now he was dead quiet. You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Joe, your mom is just trying to protect you. Get this out of the way so that we can—”

“Please don’t try to defend her right now,” his tone was laced with venom, a seething anger you hadn’t seen before and weren’t too keen on getting familiar with. “I don’t like that this was just drafted, printed and handed to you without my permission. She and Peter shouldn’t have done that. And my mom definitely shouldn’t have ambushed you with this.”

Now he was being dramatic. “Robin didn’t ambush me! She told me a couple days ago and I thought you knew so I didn’t mention it.”

“I would never do that to you,” he says with a pain in his voice that makes your chest clench. “WE, you and I should be talking about this. Not my mom and Peter. Jesus.” He rested his arms on the counter, running his hands through his hair.

You hated seeing him get worked up like this, crossing the room again to place a comforting hand on his back. “Why don’t you talk to her tomorrow, I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you. She most likely just thought she would do this for you so you didn’t need to worry about it.”

“That’s the thing, this isn’t something she should be doing for me. We’re getting married. You’re going to be my wife. There’s no reason she needs to be handing you documents on my behalf like you’re some fucking stranger. I don’t care how ‘busy’ I am. You come first.” You can feel the tension in his muscles even when he stands up to his normal height. He’s really trying to keep it together, giving you an empty kiss on the cheek before heading into his office to cool off. An hour later you head up to check on him, assuming he has his headphones on and can’t hear you, you find that the door is locked.

Tomorrow’s brunch is going to be very interesting to say the least.

Joe surprised you by being in bed by the time you came upstairs to get ready to go to sleep. You thought for sure he’d be on a run to clear his mind. As soon as you climbed in next to him he put his phone away, wrapping his arms around you and giving your body a squeeze.

Whatever private meeting he had with himself must have done the trick because he was actually letting you be the big spoon for once. His touch was soft and intentional, the previously icy aura was liquified and only warm and cuddly Joe remained. “Are you okay?” You asked him and he nodded without looking at you. He just interlocked your fingers in his before sitting up.

“Switch me.” You knew the little spoon wouldn’t last long. “That’s better,” he sighs kissing your head, feeling at home with your arm draped across his waist.

After a few seconds of silence he mutters, “I’m so sorry this is happening. Are you sure you want to sign up for a lifetime of this?”

You look up to meet Joe’s gaze to see if he’s trying to be funny. “A lifetime of you? I can’t think of anything I would want more. The rest of it is just extra, the good and the bad. As long as I have you I don’t care.”

His shoulders sag once again in relief, “good.” Joe peppers a few kisses on your neck, making his way up to your jaw, taking his sweet time until he got to your lips. A joyous hum leaves his mouth as the kiss grows deeper, each swipe of his tongue against yours makes you feel dizzy…love drunk. Nothing compares to the way that Joe kisses you, sensually careful but hungry at the same time, almost as if this is the last thing he’ll ever get to do. This kiss is different, it’s a promise to always protect you, to never let the outside noise sway what his heart knows is true. He’s found the one person in the world that consistently makes his heart sing and no one—not even his mom—will have the final say. And he was going to make that very clear.

When Joe sluggishly came down the stairs the next day rubbing his eyes after his nap wearing a hoodie and cargo pants, you were just thankful he wasn’t in sweats.

“Hi there Sleeping Beauty, I’ve already gotten a few texts that most of them are about five minutes out.”

“Great,” he grunts, parking himself on the couch, “I’m starving,” he scoots around trying to subtly adjust himself.

Joe stares at you , running his hand down your thigh. “Hungry…for food right?” You give him a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah for food. What did you think I meant?” He laughs as he catches the pillow you launch his way and scoot far enough away that he can’t grab you.

“Don’t. Today really needs to be a stress free day. Can you promise you will be nice and not yell at your mother?” And with that statement he is no longer in the mood.

“I will not yell at my mom,” he crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl only like a youngest child could. “Can’t promise I’ll be nice.”

Before you can negotiate any further the doorbell rings and your first guests arrive. Nieces and nephews come running in, suffocating you with hugs and the youngest one tugging at Joe’s legs demanding to be picked up. Less than 30 minutes later the entire backyard is filled with kids playing tag, drinking juice boxes while the adults enjoyed the appetizer spread.

Joe wasn’t making it blatantly obvious that he was mad but he wasn’t exactly hiding it either. He kept the greeting with his parents short, keeping his distance throughout the afternoon focused on entertaining the kids and playing the perfect host.

“I just realized I never asked,” Codie, one of Joe’s sister in laws speaks up. “Where are you two going for your honeymoon?”

“Bora Bora! I can’t wait,” you respond, topping off her wine glass.

His brother Dan’s ears perk up. “We were thinking about going there for an anniversary trip. Are you guys staying in a resort?”

Joe shakes his head, “I got us an underwater bungalow. The view is supposed to be insane.”

“Yeah I bet,” your dad notes.

“Take lots of pictures,” his dad adds in.

He waits for a second taking a mental note of his mom’s silence throughout the conversation, nudging you to make sure that you’re on the same page. By the time everyone was gone you needed something stronger than wine. Robin and your mom insisted on helping you clean up but you let them know that the caterers were coming back to grab everything. As you bid your family goodbye and thanked them for coming, your mom whispered in your ear, letting you know that the man inside was a keeper. You responded by telling her you intended on keeping him.

Once the door was fully closed you could breathe a sigh of relief…until you heard Robin ask Joe what was going on with him.

Here we go.

Joe didn’t respond. He just went up to his office and came right back down with the prenup in hand. “Care to explain?”

“Oh,” she looked rather unfazed, “Peter and I thought that—”

“And that’s where you went wrong,” Joe interrupts, voice surprisingly even. “You and Peter don’t get to ‘think.’ You don’t get to do whatever you ‘think’ I need. You have to ask me.”

You can tell she’s visibly taken aback at how this has gone. “It was not at all my intention to go behind your back. You’re just very busy and now with wedding planning and everything else, it just made sense to get it put into place so you’d have one less thing to worry about.”

“Mom, I get that. But you crossed the line here. I’m an adult who would’ve liked to have a mature conversation with the person I am going to marry about a topic that is extremely uncomfortable for everyone. It is not your job to play the middle man here. There is no middle man. This is between y/n and I.”

The tension in the air was getting a little too thick for your liking. You stood next to Joe, running your hand down his arm trying to diffuse the situation as much as possible. “Okay I think you’ve made your point. Robin, I am not at all upset with you, this can all be resolved rather—”

“I am upset with you mom. There was no reason to hand over that document without at least giving me a phone call,” Joe counters, starting to stand in front of you a bit like he’s physically shielding you from her.

“Now Joey I don’t think your mom meant any harm,” Joe’s dad speaks up seeing his wife almost in tears. “Why don’t we all just take a breather here.”

You nod in agreement.

“I’m so sorry, to both of you. In hindsight that wasn’t the best way to go about it but like you said this is uncomfortable. I thought keeping it casual would remove some of that awkwardness and I just made it worse. I really am sorry.”

Joe still seemed unmoved but you really didn’t think she needed to apologize this much. He just told her he appreciated the sentiments but that she needs to recognize that’s he’s an adult, telling them goodnight and immediately heading upstairs.

You’re left to walk them out alone, giving them both hugs goodbye. “Honey I’m so sorry,” Robin states again, “I never want you to think that I don’t love you or that I was intentionally going behind Joe’s back. I was just making sure we have all of our bases covered so we aren’t sweating the small stuff on your big day. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You’re totally fine, I understand. And I agree. I think he just got a little freaked out at the reminder that his life is abnormal. He wants things to be simple and sometimes they just aren’t. That probably stressed him out a little. Or a lot.”

It feels good to leave their tense interaction with her smiling. Even though it didn’t reach her eyes like usual, it was still a small step forward.

“How can you not be upset about this?” Joe asks after brushing his teeth.

You focused on what was going on at your sink, taking your time to complete your skincare routine. “Because I see where both of you are coming from. You have every right to be angry at her for doing this behind your back. But at the same time I understand why she feels like she should get a jump on protecting your assets.”

“Protect my assets…” he scoffs, “…from you? What’s mine is going to be yours.” He hands you a towel after you wash your face, having memorized the steps at this point.

“Yeah ok, legally. But your accomplishments and accolades are yours. That’s how you got here and your mom saw all the blood, sweat and tears that went into you being in the position you are today. She may have overstepped a little but you’re still her baby at then end of the day and sometimes it’s hard for them to recognize that they have adult children who are fully capable of making their own decisions.” He grabs the moisturizer off the counter and places it in your hand as you laugh, whispering thank you. “My mom has done the same to me, not to this extent obviously because we’re in completely different tax brackets but—they just want to make sure we’re okay no matter what.”

Joe leans against the counter, deep in thought. Growing up with his dad coaching it was usually just the two of them, she drove him to basketball and football practices and tournaments, took him to school and worked the entire day at school and came home still ready to dedicate all of her time to him if he asked. “I was too harsh wasn’t I?”

“A teeny bit? Maybe? I do thoroughly appreciate you looking out for me though. Going to bat for me against your mom of all people.”

He shrugs, giving you a hug from behind, resting his chin on your head. “She protects me so somebody’s gotta protect you. That’s what I’m signing up for and I promise to always take that job very seriously.” I should put that in my vows, he tells himself. He leans over a little more to press a kiss against your temple.

“Is that a promise?”

“That is a promise,” he holds out a pinky, making you gasp as you turn around.

“Isn’t a pinky shake you and Ja’Marr’s thing?”

Joe looks at you sheepishly, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

You lock your pinky in his, kissing the smile off of his face.

That night before he went to sleep, he texted his mom telling her that he loved her. You gave them privacy when she came over the next day, smiling and hugging it out so you assumed everything went well. You hoped to have open communication with your kids even as adults one day, but did not envy the journey that your parents were constantly navigating. This once tiny person you created and had to make sure to teach them everything was now not only getting married and had established their own life but in Joe’s case everything was heightened. She’s been there through her son being the overlooked player who Urban Meyer said threw like a girl to now if he so much as has a paper cut an entire city of people, a whole fanbase is worried and asking for minute by minute updates on his condition. You couldn’t imagine the whirlwind that must be.

So you were going to sign that prenup whether Joe liked it or not.

“We need to decide on bridal party gifts,” Joe suggests a week later. “I was thinking about getting the guys customized golf carts. They could be delivered straight to their houses after the wedding or I could have them dropped off the day we get and they can drive around the property whenever they need to get somewhere? What sounds better?”

“It sounds like you’ve had this very specific plan and just couldn’t wait to make your big announcement. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Joe laughs, grabbing his water. “You can give them all Cartier bracelets, have the wedding date engraved on the inside. That’d be pretty cool.”

Cool and expensive. “Don’t do that, I can actually hear what you’re thinking.” Curse him for knowing you so well. “We’re only gonna do this once, might as well do it right. Make it a great experience for everyone we love.”

“Fine. You’re right. But we are not doing an ice sculpture then.” He gives you a blank stare but says nothing, both of you know that it’ll be coming back up sooner rather than later. “There is something else we need to talk about though.”

He rolls his eyes, deciding this is the perfect time to get up and put his plate in the sink, like you can’t just follow him. “We really don’t have to do this.”

“Oh but we do. Joe seriously we’re gonna have to figure this out. It’s important.”

He lets out a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before putting his eyes back on you. “I’m just uncomfortable with any conversation that plans a breakup. I don’t ever want to breakup.”

“Then let’s not breakup and we won’t even have to worry about any of this. We’ll discuss the details, I’ll sign it and we’ll never talk about it ever again. Deal?”

You place a hand on his cheek and he kisses the inside of your hand before he speaks. “Deal. I can’t wait to marry you. Even got a countdown on my phone.”

“That’s probably the single most adorable thing you’ve ever said.” He pulls his phone out to show you a countdown app with a timer down to the hour the ceremony is supposed to start. A picture from your engagement shoot is set as the background. “I can’t wait either. I love you, so much.”

“I love you more.”

#Joe burrow #Joe burrow x reader #Joe burrow imagine #Joe burrow fic

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thyfleshc0nsumed · 13 days ago

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how do you find public spaces to fuck (re:the rooftop + dyke)?

sincerely, horny lez

Good question, I will answer it in this response eventually, but first, you have to sit through me intellectually jerking myself off for a moment because I think it may provide some useful perspective.

Public sex has been part of my life for as long as I've been having physical sex at all. As an adolescent it was mostly out of necessity, but these days it's mostly out of convenience. The vast majority of the sex I've had in the last year or two has been public.

I think it's important to clarify that for me at least, public sex is not an act of exhibitionism. If there's any sort of philosophy behind it besides sheer utility, I'd say it's something like not allowing our society's mores and hangups around sex and privacy dictate the terms on how and where we (especially as gay people) engage with our sexuality.

I think there's this gut impulse many people have--including many gay people--around public sex, and I think it speaks to the reactionary view of human sexuality that is unfortunately the stock standard in these times. For many, the idea of people having sex in public gives them some sort of 'ick' that they can't seem to articulate.

Often discussions around public sex are framed like this: "if I walked in on people having sex, it would make me uncomfortable, I didn't consent to that, so people should not be having sex in public." It would be fairly reasonable to experience discomfort in this imagined scenario--in fact, I think most people probably would--and that discomfort isn't a problem. The problem is that the premise assumes a few crucial points, notably that 1. Walking in on public sex is a common occurrence and/or the desired outcome for those engaging in it 2. Discomfort is a form of harm 3. Exposure to (non-hegemonic) human sexuality is capable of causing some kind of nebulous psychic damage to the witness.

To the first point: in my decade or so of regular public sex, I can only think of one instance where I was actually walked in on. It was an alley off of a major road and probably only at around 1030p. I mention this because we absolutely would have chosen a different, more secluded location/time if we were doing anything other than fully clothed kink and maybe some kissing, because again, the goal for most is not exhibitionism; no one really wants to be walked in on, so we choose locations where it is less likely that we will be.

To the second point, I have little to say besides that it simply isn't. Discomfort is an everyday part of life and is something all people experience regularly without calls to stop every potential source of it. So what is it about this topic that makes people react this way?

This leads us to the third point: non-hegemonic modes of sexuality are treated as degenerative and caustic and therefore must be hidden (or eradicated) entirely from the public sphere. It is the classic double standard; think of things like the "Don't Say Gay" or "DADT" laws or more broadly the attempt to remove even the mention of the existence of gays from curriculum. Most of the people who fight for such measures likely don't take the same issue or action with a 48 foot billboard for the local strip club or with a heterosexual couple kissing on screen.

And while the spot that people place the line may differ greatly, this ire against public sex still draws from the same well of reaction against perceived degeneracy that the fascist draws from. If this is not self evidently a negative thing to you, I have little I can say to convince you.

Some may be thinking 'okay, even if it is not harmful or degenerate, why do public sex?' To me, it is just as strange that so many keep their sex lives confined to the home and I could posit the same question. Neither way of doing things is any more natural or unnatural than the other, one is just the societal default. If it would bring you joy, why not engage in public sex?

The world is large, and if you know where to look, there are countless spaces you can carve out and stake the pervert's claim to. Alleyways, parks, bathrooms, rooftops, and beaches are the first to come to mind for me. To answer your question directly, you find them by making them and taking them.

Time is a large factor here as well. A given spot in a park at 9p may not be suitable, but might be more so by 11p, and even more so by 1a. My experience is that the later it gets, more spots become viable with less heavy precautions.

Another factor is coverage. An open field is riskier than behind a tree. The middle of an alley is riskier than behind a dumpster. You want to limit the amount of vectors through which you could be exposing yourself. I value coverage from sight lines over seclusion.

Something else you want to think about is whether or not you are on private property. If you are, it's possible that there are security personnel sitting in a car somewhere nearby or a resident who notices you. At that point, the issue is not even the sex, it's the fact you're there at all.

Finally, you always have to be ready to dip. Be aware of your surroundings as best you can, listen for cars and people, don't get too caught up in the moment that you're blinded. You gotta be ready to pull your pants up and walk quickly away. I'd rather be safe than sorry. If something's not right, get outta there. If you can't, well, don't have your dick out at least.

Anyway, all that to say go out and have fun. Good luck and enjoy yourself. The world has room for you to fit yourself into.

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beneathsilverstars · 1 month ago

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A lot of people headcanon that Siffrin was something around 12-14 when the island disappeared, which does make sense. But it’s common enough fanon that I wanted to go back and figure out what’s actually canon!

Lots of evidence and math under the cut, including various things to consider when creating your own hc timeline, but tl;dr:

If we stick to only textual canon, then Siffrin only needs to have been old enough to row a boat, which I would guess to be 6-8. If we take into account the ranges id5 gave for everyone’s ages during canon, he theoretically could’ve been anywhere from 6-25 when the island disappeared. Or if we adhere to everything id5 has said, then he was a “teen” when it happened, so, 13-19.

Siffrin: I ran away from home once! I just didn't want to eat my veggies. And so I took our boat! Got to the beach, rowed away from the shore a bit. I was going to come back right away, I just wanted to scare my parents a bit! I started to row back towards the shore... And then, I...

People often assumes this means Siffrin was fairly young when they left. However, that relies on two assumptions, which are fairly reasonable, sure, but assumptions nonetheless: that they were young when this happened, and that this is when the island disappeared.

While throwing tantrums over vegetables is a stereotypically childish activity, chafing at strict or even well-meaning rules doesn’t belong exclusively to children. There are parents who continue treating their kids the same way even as they grow into teens and even full adults, before they move out or even just while they visit. Which is very frustrating for the kid! So imo it would make perfect sense for a teenager or even a young adult to go, “I can’t believe my parent is still trying to control what I eat like I’m a blinding 10 year old. If they won’t treat me like an adult at home, maybe I’ll prove my independence by leaving for a bit!”

It’s also possible that the event this dialogue refers to ended with Siffrin returning safely home! It’s fun to say that his story trailed off at the moment that the island was forgotten, but it’s possible he only stopped the retelling there because the curse kicked in, just like it would for any childhood memory. Maybe he didn’t get cut off from the island till he ran away for a second time. Maybe he was just on a regular, fully-sanctioned outing when it happened. Maybe he was even with other people. Who knows! Siffrin sure doesn’t!

(Edit: It’s word of god canon that the veggie event was the island’s disappearance, but it doesn’t necessarily affect our timeline anyway.)

I think the only thing this story proves is that Siffrin didn’t leave the island until after they were old enough to row the family boat. Unfortunately I don’t know for sure how old that would be. I did some research and found a couple posts about 6-7 year olds learning how to row, but one of them was using an inflatable raft, and the other was on a rowing team, so I don’t know how the difficulty compares. Young children really are quite good at picking up their parents’ hobbies, so I think even a 4-5 year old could learn how, but they may not be physically capable of handling an adult-size boat. It really comes down to a question of core strength / endurance. Found some posts saying the weight of the boat doesn’t matter as much as the weight of the oars, though, so maybe old fashioned boat vs modern inflatable raft doesn’t matter that much…? So maybe it would be possible for a child to row a small wooden skiff at around age 6-8. Probably not for long, but that just makes it all the more realistic for them to drift farther than they meant to and then struggle to return to shore.

So: Siffrin was at least 6-8 when they left!

Bonnie: I think my village was really close to it!!! My sister said it was all everyone could talk about for weeks!!!

If we assume “my village” means Bambouche, the island disappearance would have to be after Nille ran away with Bonnie, but still long enough ago that Bonnie doesn’t remember it directly. If we define “preteen” as age 10-12, then the longest ago this could possibly be would be 12 years. On the other side, I think it’s reasonable for a 10 year old to not remember a major (but personally irrelevant) event that happened when they were 6, meaning the closest it could be is 4 years ago.

If we follow WoG (word of god) age ranges, then Siffrin is in their “mid to late 20s”, which I’ll define as 24-29. Subtracting our 4-12 years ago range for the island’s disappearance, Siffrin could’ve been at youngest 12-17 and at oldest 20-25. If we stick to only TC (textual canon), I think one could interpret Siffrin as anywhere from 18-35, which would mean they were at youngest 6-23 and at oldest 14-31.

Of course, “my village” could also mean wherever Bonnie and Nille lived before running away. I think the youngest age at which it’s likely for an adult to remember a personally-irrelevant event from their childhood is maybe 5. Nille’s WoG age range is “late teens to early 20s”, which I would define as 16-23, which means the disappearance could be 11-18 years ago. Combining this with our 4-12 range gives us 4-18, meaning WoG Siffrin could have been at youngest 6-11 and at oldest 20-25.

But if we’re only going off of TC, we can say Nille’s as old as we want, so the disappearance just has to be at least 4 years ago for Bonnie to not directly remember.

Isabeau: This article says there's no record of him anywhere... Up until he appeared out of thin air sometime in his adulthood. Looks like he lived in the city of Corbeaux for a few years before he became the King...

According to the change god statue exposition cutscene, the King started his rampage “almost a year ago now”. The way Isabeau says the bit about Corbeaux kind of implies that the King lived other places before that, but not to the point that it’s unreasonable to say he didn’t. So if we define “a few” as 2-4, then the soonest the king could’ve appeared is 3-5 years ago, meaning the island disappeared at least 3 years ago. We already said it has to be at least 4 years ago, so this doesn’t change our math.

How old were Nille and Bonnie when they ran away? How old was Sif when their home got zapped?

id5: Both were teens.

Womp womp, there it is. WoG says 13-19!

But while we’re here, here’s a summary of everything you might want to consider while creating your timeline:

Siffrin must have been at least old enough to row a boat. I’m not an expert in boats but I think it’s reasonable for a kid to be capable of rowing at age 6+, but a 6-8 year old may struggle to maneuver the oars of an adult-sized boat, and wouldn’t be able to row very hard or for very long. Doesn’t necessarily take much effort to get far enough for waves and currents to take you farther, though.

It’s WoG that the veggie event is the island’s disappearance, but if you’re going off of TC, the disappearance could have happened later instead. And a dramatic disagreement over veggies could theoretically happen at any age! Its causes could also range from rather practical (Siffrin is extremely picky and his parents are worried about his health) to pure power struggle (Siffrin just wants more choice in what he eats but his parents just want him to follow the rules they’ve set).

Since the King lived in Corbeaux for “a few” years before his nearly-a-year-long rampage, the island must have disappeared at least 3 years ago.

Since Bonnie remembers Nille telling them about the gossip surrounding the island’s disappearance, I doubt they would’ve forgotten the gossip itself if it had happened somewhat recently. (I think it must have been at least 4 years ago.)

If Bonnie’s reference to “my village” means Bambouche, the disappearance must have occurred after Nille ran away with them.

If Bonnie’s reference to “my village” means wherever they lived with Nille before running away, then the disappearance could be before Bonnie was born. But it would still have to be when Nille was old enough to pay attention to the gossip and remember it for a while. (I think she must have been at least 5 years old when it happened.)

According to id5, Siffrin is in their mid-to-late twenties during the game, and Nille is in their late teens to early twenties.

According to id5, Siffrin was a teen when the island disappeared, and Nille was a teen when she ran away from home.

You can do whatever you want forever, including contradicting textual canon. ^^

#fuck i shouldn’t have spent five hours on this right now. oh well ^^#isat #isat spoilers #siffrin #isat siffrin #thoughts #thoughts about siffrin

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 8 days ago

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what if a yeerk didn't know/realize it was a yeerk? What if it thought it was a human kid?

I'm trying to figure out how this would happen, and imagination is failing me. There is some evidence we've successfully convinced nonhumans that they're humans — Nim Chimpsky would sort photos of himself among photos of humans, putting photos of chimps in a different pile. But Nim was a chimpanzee, sharing 99% of humans' genes. And he was taken from his mother when he was 10 days old to be raised exclusively by humans: sleeping in a bed, wearing clothes, eating with utensils, peeing in a toilet. He'd never met another chimp at the time of that study.

By our best guess, dogs don't think they're human, nor do most pets. Dogs easily learn to prefer humans (or sheep, cows, etc.) over other dogs, but the way they act around fellow dogs is completely different from how they act around other mammals of similar size/shape. This is both because dogs mostly spend their first weeks among their parents and siblings (if not they tend to die, so even shitty breeders rarely take bottle babies), and because dogs have obvious physical differences from humans. Being dogs, they probably care less that we lack fur or use language than that we smell like omnivores who rub themselves with soap, and that we move very differently from quadrupeds. Cats are harder to pin down, but they famously don't meow at each other, only at the dumb apes whose affection or tuna sandwiches they want to demand. I don't think anyone's investigated hamsters or goldfish, but I'm guessing the odds are against one mistaking a giant hand that comes from the sky to dispense pellets for being one's sibling.

So the issue with this hypothetical yeerk is threefold: 1) yeerks don't resemble humans, 2) yeerks need to see each other to feed, and 3) yeerks can't interact with humans without using a human host. Let's suppose that the yeerk is taken into a human home immediately after spawning, that the yeerk shows infantile amnesia (who knows), and that the yeerk grows up only feeding from a private pool that contains no other yeerks. Let's even suppose that we give the yeerk a Stephenie Meyer—style human host who is completely brain dead. Even under those circumstances, would the yeerk think "I'm human"? or would the yeerk think "all so-called humans are greenish slugs operating ape bodies like mech suits; we just don't mention this fact out loud"? And is that the same thing as thinking oneself human?

For that matter, did Nim Chimpsky really think he was human, or do his two piles of pictures simply mean "apes who wear clothes" and "apes who don't"? If he assumed all apes have a life stage of being hairy and good at climbing before metamorphosing into a hairless form good at running, is that the same thing as thinking himself human? Was there a different categorization in his head, and if so was it comparable to the boundaries that humans draw around the concept "human" — e.g. "like-mes" and "beasts"? He never actually learned a human language, because evidence would suggests apes cannot, so we'll never know his exact thought process.

#animorphs #primates #self-concept #psychology #nim chimpsky #apes #cruelty to animals mention #yeerks #linguistics #anthropology #xenobiology

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edenesth · 11 months ago

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The Way to His Heart [19]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 18 | Fic Masterlist | Part 20

"What do you mean it will take weeks for me to fully recover? I don't have that kind of time, Yunho. This war isn't over yet." Your husband frowned, his gaze fixed on the physician from his position on the bed.

You sighed, stepping closer to the doctor, your concern evident, "Seonghwa, Physician Jung is doing his best. How can you return to battle if you're not physically strong enough? What good will that do, hm? And remember, you've acknowledged Officer Song's strategic prowess. Perhaps it's time to have a little faith in him for now."

Like magic, your words softened the general's hardened expression as he nodded in defeat, "Fine, I suppose you're right," He offered you a smile before turning back to Yunho, "I trust you've at least written back to Mingi to assure him I'm fine, right?"

"It's done, my lord."

"That's good; things should be stable for now. We dealt a significant blow to the Ruhon forces in our last battle. It's unlikely they'll launch any new attacks soon, considering their diminished numbers. If things continue to go well, this war might conclude sooner than expected." Seonghwa remarked, feeling optimistic.

"I certainly hope so, for everyone's sake. I made sure to inform Officer Song that you'll need a few weeks to recover. If they need you urgently, I'm sure he'll write back promptly," The physician assured, relieved to see your husband immediately agree with him, calming down so quickly with your presence, "Yes, I'm sure he will." Yunho knew for certain that without you there, he would have had a much harder time attempting to soothe the older man's frustration.

Sensing the general's longing gaze toward you, the doctor suppressed a knowing grin. Understanding that he was interrupting your much-needed private moment, he decided it was time to leave you both alone. With a final bow, he excused himself, "Well, that's all from me for now. I'll return tomorrow for your bandage change and medication. Good day, General Park and Lady Park."

After the physician left the room, you approached Seonghwa to ensure his comfort, tucking the comforters snugly around him and adjusting the pillow behind his back. His eyes remained fixed on your face, which he had missed dearly, as you fussed over him, "Is the temperature alright? Let me know if it's too hot or cold," You inquired. He nodded, and you continued, "Are you hungry? You must be. I'll ask the kitchen staff to prepare something for you—"

Before you could step away from his bedside, he grasped your wrist, his expression displaying a small pout, "Stop, my love. I just want you to stay with me, please."

You softened, placing your hand over his and giving it a reassuring squeeze before brushing some of his hair away from his face, "I'm sorry, I was just worried about you. You've been away at war for so long. I wanted to make sure you have everything you need now that you're home before you eventually return to the battlefield."

He smiled, his hold on your wrist tightening slightly, "All I need is you." He murmured, gently pulling you closer into his arms.

Feeling your heart melt at his words, you relaxed into his embrace on the bed as he pulled the comforter over both of you. Nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, you sighed contentedly as he kissed your temple. He felt complete with you so close again, "God, I missed you so much," He confessed, "Out of all the wars I've fought, this has to be the most dreadful one. Not because it was tough, but because I couldn't stop thinking about you throughout it all."

"I missed you too, Seonghwa," You confessed, drawing in a deep breath to savour his familiar scent, "I never thought I could yearn to be near someone this badly."

His eyes instinctively fluttered shut as you nestled closer to him, pressing his nose against your hair, wishing for this moment to last forever. After a moment of comfortable silence, he couldn't resist asking, "I've heard a lot has happened while I was gone. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you through it. Tell me everything, my wife."

Taking a deep breath, you started from the beginning, recounting the events that unfolded after the general had departed for war. You described encountering Jinjoo during your visit to the fabric factory with Hongjoong, the surprise visit from the prince to the estate, and his unexpected invitation to the birthday banquet. You explained how he lied about you representing Seonghwa at the event and your gratitude for Wooyoung and San's help in preparing for it.

As you narrated every little detail that occurred at the supposed royal birthday celebration, your husband's heart swelled with pride and admiration. He listened intently, feeling his love for you grow with each word. Your courage in standing up for yourself and defending him in front of Prince Yeosang filled him with immense gratitude. He realised how fortunate he was to have you by his side.

"I'm so proud of you, my darling Lady Park."

With a light scoff, you teasingly pushed him in the chest, "Are you now, my dearest General Park? I still can't believe the first thing you chose to do after coming back was hurt me and push me away."

Guilt immediately clouded his expression as he drew closer to you, emitting a small whine, "I'm sorry, my love. Truly, I am. Speaking those cruel words hurt me more than this damn wound. I promise I didn't mean any of it. You're not troublesome at all, and I do want you with me for the rest of my days. If anything, you're all I need from now until the end of time."

At that, you could no longer bear to continue making him feel bad. Turning serious, you gently caressed the bandaged area on his abdomen before speaking, "I understand, Hwa. I really do. But I swear, if you ever pull something like that again, I won't hesitate to let Hongjoong loose on you."

His heart skipped a beat at the nickname you used for him, one you had never used before, "What did you just call me? Say it again."

Embarrassed, you blinked rapidly and cleared your throat before repeating softly, "I called you Hwa. It's your name, isn't it?"

He nodded with a cheeky grin, covering your hand with his, "Indeed it is. I love how bold you've become, my love. Now, along with that nickname, tell me you love me again."

You blushed at his request, feeling he deserved to hear it as many times as he wanted now that he'd returned to your side safely. Relenting, you bit your lip and murmured, "I love you, Hwa."

"Again." He demanded, resting his forehead gently against yours.

"I love you, Hwa."

"Again, my love." He whispered, leaning in closer with hooded eyes.

"I love you, Hwa."

"Say it for me just one more time."

"I love you so much, Park Seonghwa."

Intoxicated by your presence, he could no longer resist cupping your face and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You kissed him back fervently, eyes fluttering shut as you relished the sensation of his lips on yours. Both your hearts raced as you made up for lost time, pressing close to one another under the sheets. Your cheeks burned up, realising this was the most intimate moment you'd shared with your husband so far.

Gently pushing him away by the chest, you looked up at him, worry evident in your eyes, "That's enough, Hwa. You're still injured—"

But before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another loving kiss. You gasped in surprise, but your resistance crumbled quickly as he deepened the kiss. Maybe just for a little longer, you thought to yourself, giving in to the moment.

As he savoured the feeling of having you so close, Seonghwa's emotions swirled within him like a tempest. He needed this closeness desperately, especially after the fear he'd felt earlier, thinking he might be close to death. The regret for hurting you with his words gnawed endlessly at him, and he despised the idea of being separated from you again. How could he have ever entertained the thought of you being with another man? The mere thought of Prince Yeosang in his place, holding you, touching you, kissing you, filled him with an uncontrollable jealousy that bordered on madness.

These thoughts fueled a surge of aggression within him as he flipped you around on the bed, trapping you beneath him. He loomed over you, his gaze intense as he whispered, "Mine. You're all mine."

As much as the sudden action flustered you and caused your heart to skip a beat, you frowned at his stubbornness, realising he wouldn't know when to stop unless sternly told off, "Are you out of your mind, Park Seonghwa? Such big movements could affect the wound, you idiot." You scolded, disrupting the intimate moment.

He blinked, momentarily speechless at the abrupt change in tone, protesting, "I'm fine, my wife—"

Before he could continue, the dressmaker barged in with raised brows, "Oh, we're all fine now, aren't we? I guess you're well enough to take a beating then."

The general panicked, hastily laying back in his spot, "Hongjoong, please, it's rude to enter without knocking." He chided.

You snickered when his friend rolled his eyes, "Well, it's also rude to disrespect your wife, but here we are."

"Oh my god, stop reminding me—"

"I'll stop when you learn to grow the hell up."

"Says you?!"

With a deep sigh, you stood up from your husband's bed, "You two fight to your heart's content; I'm going to prepare something to eat for this one." You said, gesturing to Seonghwa, ignoring his silent pleas not to leave him alone with his friend.

Hongjoong grinned at you, "Don't you worry, I'll take good care of him in the meantime."

Oh, I know you will.

"Have we heard from Physician Jung yet?" Mingi inquired as he was being suited up in preparation for the impending attack by the approaching Ruhon men.

"No, sir. It appears we're facing this battle on our own. But with your exceptional strategies, we should manage well even without General Park." One of the soldiers replied, striving to maintain optimism despite the military commander's absence.

"Let us hope so." The strategist muttered, unable to bring himself to reveal that his strategies had been devised with the assumption of having the best warrior in all of Joseon leading the army. Officer Song hadn't seen battlefield action since his promotion, and his combat skills were far from polished. Just why did this have to happen in the general's absence? Mingi feared the responsibility; if they failed in this battle, it would fall on him. The prospect of leading these men to their deaths was enough to make him feel nauseous.

He still couldn't grasp how Ruhon had made such a swift comeback. It seemed implausible given the significant losses they had suffered in the last battle. After all, the enemy nation wasn't known for its strategic prowess; they were often predictable in their actions. Unless... they were intentionally misleading Joseon into underestimating them? If so, the strategist might have played right into their hands as part of their plan.

Oh god, what do I do?

As General Officer Song meticulously went through his preparations for the impending battle, a sense of unease settled over him like a heavy cloak. Even with his efforts to focus solely on the task at hand, his thoughts kept drifting back to Seonghwa. The absence of their commander, his superior, and one of his closest friends weighed heavily on his mind.

With each passing moment, his worry for the general intensified. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that enveloped him, wondering if his friend was safe and well. Had the older man managed to make it home? Had Yunho received his letter, informing him of General Park's condition?

These questions nagged endlessly at him, gnawing at his insides as he grappled with the uncertainty of the situation. Despite his attempts to maintain a facade of confidence for the sake of his fellow soldiers, Mingi couldn't shake the underlying fear that something terrible might have happened to Seonghwa. All he could do now was hope and pray for his friend's safety, even as the spectre of war loomed ever closer.

A sudden wave of fear washed over him, unlike anything he had experienced in a long time. The general's absence felt more profound and impactful than ever before. It was as if the very foundation of his confidence had been shaken, revealing the stark reality that his sense of assurance had always been rooted in the presence and trust of his commanding officer.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the strategist found himself questioning his own abilities and worthiness. Without General Park by his side, his confidence wavered, leaving him feeling unsteady and uncertain. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such panic in war.

With a heavy heart, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. Doing his best to ignore the doubts that plagued him, he knew he had a duty to fulfil. With trembling hands, he reviewed his strategies once more, desperately seeking reassurance in the plans he had meticulously crafted.

As he waited for the cue to head out and face the enemy, Officer Song resolved to push aside his fears and doubts. He may not have Seonghwa's guidance and leadership at this moment, but he knew he had to stand firm and lead the troops to the best of his abilities. With determination set in his heart, Mingi braced himself, ready to face whatever may come in the battle that awaited him.

Just as he was hoping to receive any updates about the general or word from Physician Jung, a soldier burst into the main tent, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The strategist's heart skipped a beat, looking forward to some semblance of reassurance amid his mounting anxiety. However, instead of providing the updates he had been desperately seeking, the soldier stammered out his words.

"S-sir, I'm afraid it's time we head out and be on standby," The soldier managed to say between breaths, "The Ruhon army should be arriving anytime soon."

Mingi's hands clenched involuntarily, his mind racing with a mix of apprehension and determination. Despite the lack of information about Seonghwa's condition, he knew that duty called and he had to lead his troops into battle. With a firm nod, he suppressed the trembling in his hands and resolved to face the conflict head-on.

"Let's go out and make General Park proud." He declared, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. With resolve burning in his eyes, he led his men out of the tent.

Moments later, Officer Song found himself mounted on a horse, the weight of his armour pressing against his shoulders as he surveyed the Joseon army lined up behind him. They stood at attention, ready for his orders, their anticipation palpable in the air.

As he gazed out at the empty land ahead, where the enemy forces would soon emerge, Mingi could hear nothing but the thundering of his own heart in his ears. His hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, a familiar weight that offered some measure of comfort in the face of uncertainty.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the uncertainties that threatened to overwhelm him. He may not be Park Seonghwa, but he had undergone rigorous training and was a capable fighter in his own right. Reminding himself of his own combat skills, he squared his shoulders and steeled his resolve.

"We stand ready." He declared, his voice carrying across the ranks of soldiers behind him. Despite the nerves gnawing at his insides, he projected an air of confidence, determined to lead his troops with strength and determination.

I hope you're proud of me, hyung-nim.

His breath hitched in his throat as he finally spotted a tiny speck on the horizon, growing larger and more distinct with each passing moment. His heart raced as he realised that these were the enemy soldiers they had been waiting for. With a loud voice, he yelled the order for all soldiers to get into position.

Tensions were high as everyone readied themselves, their nerves stretched taut with fear at the absence of their strongest warrior to lead them. But as the figures drew closer, Officer Song's brow furrowed in confusion.

Something was not right.

Instead of a formidable army, only a few Ruhon soldiers were riding toward them, their arms raised in what appeared to be a gesture of surrender. Mingi's eyes widened in disbelief as he heard their cries.

"Soldiers of Joseon! Please don't attack! We have come to surrender!"

A sense of astonishment rippled through the ranks of the Joseon army as they processed the unexpected turn of events. One of the Ruhon men even went so far as to pull out a white flag, waving it frantically to signal their willingness to concede defeat.

The strategist's grip tightened on his sword as he studied the Ruhon soldiers before him, their faces worn with exhaustion and defeat. Despite their assurances, he couldn't afford to let his guard down yet, not after the treacherous tactics they had previously employed against Seonghwa.

"Hold it right there! How can we believe you're telling the truth?" He demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

The Ruhon soldiers let out heavy sighs, their arms still raised in a gesture of surrender, "Please, we're telling the truth. Most of our troops have been depleted from the last battle," One of them explained, his voice tinged with desperation, "Our ruler has sent word just this morning to put this war to an immediate stop. A messenger is on the way to your royal palace to convey the message to your King as we speak. We come in peace to relay this message, and that is all. All remaining Ruhon troops will be retreating from our camp after this."

Mingi remained silent for a moment, weighing their words carefully. Finally, he lowered his sword, signalling for his own troops to stand down, "Very well," He said, his voice tinged with caution, "But know that we will be watching closely. Any sign of treachery from you, and we will not hesitate to defend ourselves."

The Ruhon soldiers visibly relaxed at his words, nodding quickly, "You have my word." One of them assured before they turned around and began riding away. The tension dissolved as they disappeared from sight, leaving Officer Song and his men standing in disbelief. Relief washed over them, dispelling the earlier fears. The strategist's expression mirrored the collective sentiment of his troops—a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Well, I guess we should head back to camp and await confirmation then," Mingi said, his voice filled with a hint of exhaustion. His soldiers nodded eagerly, grateful that the tense situation had been resolved peacefully. They began to disperse, their spirits lifted by the unexpected turn of events.

Now, everything fell into place, and the pieces of the puzzle aligned once again. His earlier suspicions about Ruhon's swift recruitment of soldiers now made perfect sense. It was clear that they no longer possessed enough manpower to continue fighting this war.

Returning to the main tent, Mingi was relieved to find a messenger waiting for him, "Officer Song, there you are! You have a letter from Physician Jung Yunho," The messenger announced eagerly. He hurried over to receive the paper, unfolding it with urgency. His eyes scanned the neatly written words at lightning speed, absorbing the contents. Once finished, he released the breath he had been holding, sinking into the seat behind him, "Oh, thank heavens the general is alright." He breathed out, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

The messenger's face immediately brightened at his words, and he quickly left to share the good news with the others. Mingi couldn't help but smile; everything was finally falling into place.

Peace, at last.

But his moment of relief was short-lived as a commotion erupted outside. The strategist frowned and left the tent to see what was happening. He found his soldiers blocking the entry of a woman, which puzzled him. Women weren't allowed in this area.

"Forgive us, ma'am. Women are not permitted here," One of the soldiers explained. Mingi pushed through to hear her response, "Yes, I know that, but you don't understand. I'm here on His Majesty's orders. We received word that General Park has been poisoned, and I've been sent specifically to treat him."

As he caught sight of her petite figure, his eyes widened in recognition. Not because of her uniform, which indicated she was a female royal physician, renowned for their medical expertise, but because she was the one he had been searching for all this time.

I finally found you, my one.

« Preview of Part 20 »

"The audacity of those Ruhon bastards, attempting to poison my strongest warrior. That's nothing short of treachery, isn't it, my Queen?" The King grumbled, his concern for Seonghwa evident in his furrowed brow. He had even dispatched their most skilled female royal physician to the war zone, trusting her to heal him.

Anxiety filled his being as his wife sighed beside him, offering a comforting hand on his back. She had yet to muster any courage to mention the trouble caused by their fourth son during the general's absence, not wanting to add to her husband's worries, "I wish I had an answer for that, Your Majesty." She murmured sympathetically.

Before the royal couple could further drown in their pool of misery, the royal secretary rushed in with a few letters. He hastily performed the formal bow, only to have the King wave it away.

"Forget the formalities, Secretary Choi! Tell us what updates you have this instant!" His Majesty's voice was urgent.

San nodded, swiftly unfolding the papers and reading each one aloud. With each letter, a weight seemed to lift from the room.

"The first letter is from General Park," He began, "He reports he's safely home and receiving treatment from his own doctor."

Relief washed over the King's face.

"And the second?" Her Majesty pressed, her tone hopeful.

San's voice steadied as he continued, "The second is from the ruler of Ruhon. He acknowledges defeat and officially surrenders. He is also requesting an audience to discuss a peace treaty. It would seem the war is over, Your Majesties."

"Oh, thank goodness it's over."

After a moment of everyone digesting the news, His Majesty furrowed his brows in slight confusion, "Wait, General Park is home already, you say?" His voice carried a note of incredulity, "How odd. That would mean he began travelling back before there was even news of the enemy's surrender. Why would he return home all of a sudden? Did something else happen?"

The Queen's heart sank at that. For weeks, she had harboured the hope of shielding Yeosang from his father's potential wrath, but now it seemed fate had other plans.

I'm sorry, my son.

Woohoo, only the final part is left, and we're done with the main story! Psst, try going over to the Spinoff Masterlist to see if you can spot anything new HEHE🙈

As always, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/2): @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified @scuzmunkie @http-gyu @mentoslol @atinyreads @angel-hyuckie @anxiousskylar @onedumbho3 @narashii @ddaeing @sansaurora9904 @sohnfile @scarfac3 @dreamingofyeo @puppyminnnie @tinyteezer @vantediary @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @aliona124754 @bts-army380 @lilactangerine @atinyniki @pay13 @1117promises @xoxkii @st4rhwa @hikarii02 @nescaffei @xdolls-crownx @ashrocker123 @skzline @minkiflwr @starssongs98 @baeksofty @skz1-4-3 @kawaiikels @madnpan @en-happiness @cheolliehugs @persnyako @startinystay @chngbnwf @fatspecimen @christinerose380 @stfu-rina @kyukyustar @taytayy178 @appleschre @brielle-in-the-galaxy @laurenwidjaja @yangwonielvrs @n1k1mura @idkwgoh @loveateez @linosllvr

#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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momo-minomo · 21 days ago

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Batfam Cooking/Eating Habits

I know that the fandom has, for some reason, settled on the idea that Alfred and Jason are the only Waynes that can cook and the rest are health disasters but honestly the comics doesn't really support that (with the exception of Bruce and maybe Cass lol) and I have serious doubts that Alfred would let ANY of his kids go through life without basic life skills. So based on comics and my own thoughts and feelings, here's how I figure everyone's kitchen skills would be.

Bruce: He follows a VERY strict diet to maintain his peak physical condition but will break it for special occasions or feeding his kids takeout on patrol. As for cooking, for the most part Bruce is an utter disaster in the kitchen. He's had Alfred by his side his entire life so most of the time his attempts at cooking went extremely badly, even if it was something as simple as a damn sandwich as Tim can attest to here:

After Alfred's death he does eventually learns to make a few specific, simple things really well like the omelette he made for Clark here. As you can see, though, he's still pretty helpless in the kitchen with anything beyond the very basics, even dishwashers lol

Dick: Our flippiest boy is not the hopeless cereal-addicted kitchen disaster that fandom assumes he is. In fact, Tim was surprised at how good Dick is with all the "domestic skills" like cleaning, laundry, and cooking. Dick has cooked multiple times in the comics, especially for dates or Tim. He is constantly trying to feed his baby brother in general so he's cooked him pasta and soup for sure and just showed up with takeout or donuts a bunch.

Jason: I love the headcanon that Jason is a foodie and a really good cook even though I admit there's not much evidence for it in the comics. No evidence against it, either. Jason definitely loves to eat good food and doesn't bother with a strict diet like Batman and he loves a good burger. Considering his past, though, I think it's very in character that he'd learn to cook really well from Alfred so he's always self-sufficient. Since I don't have any comic snapshots of him cooking, here's Jason's eternal love for burgers instead!

Tim: His relationship with food seems kind of complicated to me. Tim on his own will eat super healthy so he remains in top shape for the job. What we see him eating, though, are things like plain salads, kale chips, and scrambled egg whites. Considering his extremely active life he should be eating more protein and larger portions but he often leaves them unfinished. As a young Robin it didn't seem like he got fed much at home, either, since you see Dick trying to feed him at every opportunity and he was always hungry if Alfred or Dick offered to cook or buy food for him.

When Tim is with other people, the YJ crew, his friends, Dick, Spoiler, etc he's far more willing to eat. Dick pulls out donuts and Tim is rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Dick brought a thermos of soup on patrol for himself but immediately hands it to Tim when he shows up and Tim downs it. So my HC is that Tim will eat as a necessity but doesn't really like to do it by himself. He's a social eater. He'll spend an entire afternoon eating a boring but healthy meal because he has to but if a friend or sibling show up he'll happily eat a full meal with them and even junk food.

As for Tim and cooking, we actually know he can and is pretty good at it! In comics he's cooked with Dick, learned to make chicken soup with his stepmom Dana when Steph was sick. We also see in the comics that Tim has prepared a full breakfast spread for when Jason shows up to a pre-arranged meeting to ask for information. Jason asks if the waffles are Alfred's recipe (apparently Alfred's one culinary sin is paste-like waffles lol) and is happy to sit down and munch when Tim assures him they aren't. He's also made pancakes for Steph and the family after patrol, a father's day dinner for Bruce, and a cake for Bernard! So Tim is a really good cook that doesn't really bother for just himself much. He prefers to go all out cooking for other people.

Cass: I don't know as much about Cass as I do the others (I need to read her stuff soon!) but I know she has terrible table manners and likes to sneak into her siblings and close friends apartments to eat their food, use their showers, and sleep. She has her own place, but she much prefers the homes and food of her loved ones. She also apparently didn't even blink at Alfred breaking into her home to stock her shelves with food, do laundry, and clean lol. With this I figure Cass doesn't really cook at all and just does take out, easy to eat meals that can be eaten cold or microwaved, and mooching off her loved ones' cooking and pantries!

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sunboki · 6 months ago

Text

⎯ SUMMER SOLACE. a StrayKids fiction

Stray Kids x implied! fem. reader (no poly)

TROPE. friends to lovers (not really lovers, more just strangers to friends), summerschool! au, reader is in student council as class prez

WORD COUNT. 12.6k words

PLAYLIST.

WARNINGS. cursing, very troubled childhoods, han lacks parental figures, minho’s mother passed, bullies, evidence of physical violence, mentions of depression & anxiety, just overall very angsty themes, healing, sadness, comfort comfort comfort — ALL OF THE ISSUES/TROUBLES OF CHARACTERS ARE 100% FICTION

AUG'S NOTES. i hope whatever you’re going through works out in the end, and that reading this very indulgent fic can help heal a part of you and get you through summertime sadness — inspiration for the fic came from this!

SYNOPSIS. It was never your intention to be the one in charge of a summer school class—a troubled summer school class, but here you were. Eight boys in this classroom, all with their individual stories and silenced opinions. And somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to give up on them.

or alternatively :

Eight kids, one purpose. Get them to be okay with one another — with themselves — by the end of the summer.

Eight kids, one purpose.

Get them to be okay with one another.

Although, you didn’t realize that yet. That your Class President position would throw you right into such a mess (or what you referred to it as the first time you got word).

We all have the things we hate. The things we say we “heavily dislike”. But in reality, we hate it. It incessantly grates our nerves, has our patience forming into a ticking pipe bomb, enough that sometimes, we explode. Say things we don’t mean, get angry, get mad.

The thing that sets these boys apart, according to the acknowledgements paper you were given, is that they don’t even try to be sweet, they don’t ask for forgiveness. Not towards one another, and most certainly not towards anything else.

Your job is just as you said. Get them to be okay with one another.

Catch? There’s a time limit.

Twelve weeks of summer school.

Twelve weeks for eight boys to, no, not be nice to each other, not be best friends (not even friends), but just to be okay with being in the same room, be within six feet of each other without tearing someone’s throat — or their own — out.

Is it simple? Absolutely not.

You want to try though, because up till now, everyone has given up on these boys. People that the school district have deemed always successful have pushed them aside, called them impossible.

You won’t be the next to give up.

Twenty chairs in the classroom, yet not two sit next to each other, spaced out by at least three chairs per person.

Your roster sits upon your desk, listing their names by alphabetical order.

(Sitting on the furthest end of the classroom) Bahng, Christopher - nickname: Chan

He’s a football player (god knows how), who, despite hardly showing up to practices and arriving to random games—is always responsible for their wins. In some way you’re sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t been kicked off.

Christopher’s an interesting case.

He’s got amazing grades and passes school without fail, but no one has any clue about his home situation or whether he even has a home or not. You’re told he’s extremely distant and closed off, sort of void to life. He was sent due to excessive absences.

2. (Planted dead front of the class) Han, Jisung

His record states he’s been sent to the counselor eleven times in the first two weeks of school for disruptions and inappropriate behavior. Jisung has an older brother who’s valedictorian, but they never speak to one another and don’t seem to have the best relationship. He’s said to be obnoxiously straight-forward and senseless, you wonder if it’s true.

3. (Nearest to the window on your right) Hwang, Hyunjin

Despite his popular facade, Hyunjin is regarded as the “troublesome face-card” by many deans and counselors alike. Students adore his looks, but he couldn’t butt heads more with Jisung, and they’re often sent out together. Hyunjin is believed to have a worrisome superiority complex according to the last counselor he’s been seen by.

4. (Opposite of Hyunjin across the classroom) Kim, Seungmin

Not much has been recorded as far as Seungmin goes. He’s apparently a huge instigator in lots of illegal activity surrounding campus, but no one’s certain. His last counselor claimed he stayed silent throughout his consultation and answered suspiciously vague for almost every question.

5. (A few seats behind Jisung) Lee, Felix

Both him and Christopher have been reported for vandalizing parts of the school in odd, incomprehensible words like “Miroh” and “Maze of Memories”. Some gossip that they’re secretly a part of an underground gang. But upon first glance, Felix looks harmle—

A hand raising grabs your attention. It’s Jisung, wearing a grin when you nod for him to speak.

“How much for a tit-pic, Teach?”

Everyone is silent, and you hear Hyunjin stifle a snicker in the distance.

So this is what they meant by inappropriate behavior.

The corner of your lips twitch slightly, but you successfully maintain an unnerved expression, instead, smiling back at him.

“Let’s not ask questions like that, alright?”

Jisung amusedly huffs, still eyeing you incredulously. Although, he doesn’t say any more, and you continue down the roster’s descriptions.

Lee Minho whose info is conspicuously sparse , Seo Changbin who lashes out randomly without clear conscience (some claim he’s bipolar, you think different), and Yang Jeongin remain, bio’s dotted in unspecified theft attempts, assumed messy family situations and brief mentions of mental illness that seems to a follow a similar pattern to the rest.

Stacking the papers upon your desk, you card eight sheets of notebook paper from the drawer, walking through rows of desks to pass each boy a slip.

All eyes are on you now, and your breathing feels excessively loud in the stifling quietness.

Lightly clapping your hands together in hopes of stirring some sort of sound in this stale air, you speak as fluidly and audibly as your voice will let you.

“Today’s assignment is simple. I want you to write everything about yourself.”

Confused brows lift, primarily from Minho.

“Whether it’s what you like to do, what you don’t like to do, your favorite things, your favorite places, books, movies.”

Another hand raises. Changbin, you remember his name.

“Yes?”

“We’re not in fifth fuckin’ grade.” He growls, words booming. That was another complaint: Changbin’s explosively unprovoked opinions.

Biting back the urge to snap back, you place both hands on the podium at the front of the class, essentially grounding yourself.

“Yes, well this is—“

Somebody grumbles an incoherent sentence, and Changbin is immediately on his feet, chair squealing, eyes wild with fury.

Second complaint: his flaming temper.

Grabbing a fistful of Chan’s shirt (presumably the one who muttered), he sizes up the taller boy, spitting wild curses.

Inhaling deeply, you approach them, withholding the instinct to wince at Changbin’s yelling.

“Changbin, please go back to your seat,” You usher, watching them never take their eyes off one another. Chan is eerily unmoved, though effortlessly intimidating nevertheless.

The former spins around, shoving the other boy off to the side and resorting to sizing you up now, chin lifted, gaze belittling.

One press and you’ll have assistance come in and help. You remind yourself, referring to the small red button residing in your pocket that sends a direct call to the other counselors.

What good will that do? Your first step is getting them to be okay with you, not to mention each other.

No. You can do this, you’ll be fine.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He spits, glaring as you back up the more he steps forward. That is till you stop and cause him to stop as well, leaving only a few centimeters separating your faces.

“Because,” You ease, shoving a finger into the center of his chest sternly. “I’m your teacher now, and you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.”

Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, hooded behind a veil of black hair.

“I’m sure a fifth grader could understand that, right?”

And with that, you point to his seat and spin on your heel, taking a seat and watching the boys, one by one, lower their heads and begin writing. Well, excluding Changbin, who’s hands stick by his sides, staring at you.

He chews his lip then turns around, shuffling back to his desk.

By the time the dismissal bell echoes, you would like to say you see light in the distance, but the endless tunnel ahead tells you you’re far from even beginning.

Glasses propped on the bridge of your nose, you sort through the papers, carefully observing each one.

It’s a Friday evening, meaning you’re given a meager two days to inhale as much information as possible for the approaching week.

There’s a variety of answers on the papers, from some stating only a song they like or others more of a list-type structure. Felix apparently bakes in his free time and has two sisters while Jeongin plays piano. Although, a certain paper in particular stands out to you.

Han’s.

Only his name is written, nothing else. You’re not sure if it’s a matter of his laziness or carelessness toward the assignment, but clear as day, dead center of his paper, is simply his name.

You at least anticipated some kind of response, like an offensive joke or something, but no. Just: Han Jisung.

Interesting.

A sudden buzzing redirects your attention. It’s from Chaeryoung, cheerily asking about how the first day went along with spilling details about her own day as well.

So far, things are going well. So far.

Not permanent. Just like how you haven’t permanently tamed the beast named Changbin.

And, although you hate such a mindset, realistically, it’s only a matter of time until something goes wrong.

“Chae,” You echo, the faint rustling of your papers sounding on your side of the line. She hums.

“What do you think about this one.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is heard.

You sidle to another sheet; Han’s will have to wait for another occasion.

“Hwang Hyunjin. Said to be trouble-some, argues a lot, apparent superiority complex.”

Although your senior, Chaeryoung has always been a helping hand—a soul to rely on through the rocky periods, your rocky periods.

“Hmm..” She considers, seeming to weigh the matter for a moment. “Have you seen his grades?”

Odd question.

“Straight A student according to his records.”

Impressive. Each quarter, top-scores.

Well, it makes sense for the superiority portion in the case he uses his grades to hang over others heads, but the rest is strange, making it unusual for him to behave so brashly.

Or, maybe it wasn’t unusual, but overlooked.

As if reading your mind, she utters the same words you’d planned to.

“Anxiety?”

Said in unison, you both burst into laughter. Her blindingly bright laugh sends warmth throughout your stomach, easing the droning headache building between your temples.

Hours you’ve spent glaring at the same papers, determined to locate something, anything as a way to help them. A problem to find a solution.

Yet, each case was different—personal to each boy in a sense you couldn’t assign an overall solution.

Instead, you pinpointed one case at a time.

Starting with Hwang Hyunjin.

However, his wasn’t an easy fix. As a high school student, it was virtually impossible to “fix” anxiety (if that was even the issue at hand at all).

Everyone had it in their system. Upcoming tests, pressure.

It was also impossible to really “fix” anybody generally, meaning, more or less, you had to find a way to help them want to help themselves.

With Hwang Hyunjin though, his, stated in the page’s description saying: Cares little to nothing about grades, wasn’t a testing anxiety of a sort, but maybe a tad bit deeper, barely visible without a sharper, clearer lense.

“Send me a pic of the sheet, can you?” She begins, startling the hypothesizing from your mind.

Again, an odd question, but you oblige, swiping off the calling tab to snap a quick picture.

A long silence situates itself between you, presumably Chaeryoung investigating his information.

Strangely, you feel like a detective. Climbing skyscrapers to find a solution to a problem nobody addressed until it became horridly powerful—possessing, now fallen in your hands to solve.

You refused to let their problems ruin them. And although becoming a illegitimate teacher wasn’t the plan for your senior year, you doubt you could back away at this point, not when you had already unearthed the treasure chest.

Last step was finding the key.

Well, detectives are equipped with a magnifying glass for a reason, right?

…

“… His drawings are pretty good?”

Then do you notice the doodles in the far corner of his introductory paper, a flower, a few butterflies, and a dog.. of a sort. Chihuahua-looking.

“C’mon Chaeryoung, take this seriously,” Lightly scolding, you sigh, wetting your lips whilst flipping to the back of the page.

It’s a quick script of things he enjoys, accounts from students he knows or that know him, overall containing an overview of his person.

Hyunjin gets in lots of arguments with Han Jisung.

You know that much.

Your finger slips down the page, scouring each sentence.

XXXX: Hyunjin likes drawing. I’ve seen him drawing at his desk before.

Baseless information, the doodles prove that—

Hold on.

“Chae, when you’re anxious, do you have a reliever? Like doing something, listening to something?”

She chuckles, clattering of dishes in the background causing you to cringe slightly.

“Dancing, you know this. I’m not going to Hanlim Art School for nothing.” Teasingly voiced, you frown, deciding not to egg on her sarcasm.

“Then do you think, where it says he gets in arguments a lot, he’s projecting that anxiety when arguing because he doesn’t have a reliever?”

She clicks her tongue.

“Could be. But we don’t really know Hyunjin, yeah? It could be something deeper Y/nnie. You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys.”

You sigh, rolling back your shoulders.

“You’re right, but I’m still gonna try it. I need to get through to him that I want to help him somehow, so I might as well exhaust all my options.”

You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys. A phrase truthful to its fullest extent.

“…Try what?”

Ah, you forgot to mention that part.

“Drawing. I’m gonna try convincing him to give it a chance.”

The stunned silence tells you she’s likely thinking you’re crazy, her only response a breath of disbelief.

You smile.

“I’m insane, I know.”

“No wonder we’re best friends.”

Staring daggers at the papers in front of you, you prop your feet on the desk, sorting through option after option on what you plan next for class.

In the midst of learning more about each boy’s papers though, you overhear something, a few key words.

Friday. Fair.

Aha.

The school’s annual summer fair, held as a congratulatory sort of event to celebrate moving onto a new year of school.

It’s decided. Friday, you’re taking them to the fair.

Mentally thanking whoever had brought it up outside the classroom, you’re quick in crumpling the additional papers, watching as one by one, the boys enter.

Hey, at least none of them are late.

…Not like they had a choice in that anyway.

And, through a rather painfully awkward second time teaching, the ice seems to be breaking little by little.

Any progress is good progress, you’ve deemed.

“Alright, before you’re dismissed, I wanna let you know we’re going to the fair Friday. Be there.” You hum, tapping the podium.

You swear there hasn’t been a more stifling pause in your life.

Though you’d been anticipating something adverse, this is a downright oddity.

“Uh.. what?” Han speaks up as you near the door. Morbidly quiet.

“All of you, meet me at the grounds at 7pm.”

Added into the deplorable silence, you glance over your shoulder whilst stepping into the hallway, face donning a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “Okay, class dismissed.”

Beginning out the sliding door, the eruption of voices behind you cascade into a multitude of conversation, your clarification they had in fact heard and you weren’t discussing plans with a brick wall.

All you can do is hope they show up.

Class continues through the week, trying to get them to grow more comfortable with the atmosphere—their classmates, more specifically.

Of course, you earn your fair share of close calls and near incidents in those four days leading to Friday, but seeing the whole group turn up that fateful evening seems to make the ordeal worthwhile.

Quick to move your separate ways, you’re hasty in tagging along with Hyunjin, the boy unusually quiet as you fall into step to his right.

“So.. you draw?” You start, scorning the nervousness evident in your tone.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t interject, nor bite back something as his infograph had led you to believe.

“Yeah,” He sharply replies, eyes trained ahead, taking swift, motivated steps through heavily trodden grass.

It confuses you, in all honesty. Everything about this so-called ‘superiority complex’. From these few days you’ve seen him or interacted (though fleeting), not once has the man exhibited any form of arrogance nor shed of his assumed traits.

He’s shy, actually. Maybe you’re simply gracing surface level like Chaeryoung advised, but certain aspects could be seen in the black of night.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good.”

Despite his lack of response, you can feel his eyes dance to your face for a split second.

“‘Think you should try it. You’ve got potential, just saying,” You shrug, merely talking without reason nor inhibition.

“You think?”

It’s his voice breaking through your barrier of unrequited cordiality that stirs the air. A final, conversational pair of words after watching him play countless fairground games in quietness.

“I do,” You hum, nodding avidly while watching Hyunjin’s eyes flicker down to the ground below before back to yours, holding eye-contact.

In those moments, you decipher two things.

Hyunjin rivals the prettiest of paintings, and whatever earlier assumptions had been stuck to his tanned skin couldn’t be more wrong.

“Yo! If you’re just gonna stand there, move it!”

Changbin’s interjection successfully scares the living soul out of you and simultaneously wrecks your intense staring session.

Nevertheless, it’s hard even for you to explain how you ended up competing against the boisterous boy in ball toss, only that you find yourself wanting to tattoo the sight of Hyunjin laughing and Changbin shouting with defeat beneath your eyelids forever.

Granted a gift upon winning, you snag a snorlax plush amongst the scattered options hanging at the top of the booth, presenting it to the him with a smile.

“Huh?” Changbin grunts, head tilted, gazing at you as if you’ve spawned two heads.

“Take it, ‘s for you,” You urge, surveying the boy’s tentative touch against the plush’s soft fur with evident glee.

Still pouty, yes, but you take the sight of the stuffie held in his arms while the three of you walk back as a victory.

After a quick stop by a corn dog stand, you lean against the food truck’s side, wordless as Changbin and Hyunjin head off their own ways — the only trace of familiarity near you being someone clearing their throat.

Off to the side stands Chan, quietly sparing you not-so-sneaky glances, his hands stuffed in his black jogger’s pockets.

You cock your brows, head tipped as if silently asking: “What?”

“Waiting for you,” Is his reply, and it catches you off guard at the consideration in those syllables.

Not that you envisioned Chan as someone cold, but you certainly weren’t expecting him to wait for you while you ate.

Granting the boy a tiny smile of gratitude, you find yourself unconsciously gravitating his way, stuck in an orbital pattern of continuous voyage, indifferent to moving away.

“Chris is an interesting name,” You offer, aimlessly walking past endless booths, people.

“From Australia,” He speaks. Short and straight to the point, yet lacking any hostility.

“Yeah? Why’d you move?”

Ushering him on carefully, you manage to tiptoe a bit into foreign territory, navigating rows of traps and ambushes ahead.

“There’s nothing for me back there apart from my family.” His shoes, caked in mud, shuffle to a halt, gaze trained upward toward the constantly reeling Ferris Wheel.

Almost instantly, you can sense a shift in demeanor. It nearly makes your hair stand up on end, specifically upon seeing the hint of vulnerability shed across his face.

Maybe you’re seeing things.

“I’m just.. here. Like I work so hard for a something I’ll never have.”

His nose scrunches, beautifully glossy brown irises reflecting the blinking lights. Red, blue, green, yellow, all encompassed in those eyes.

No, this is all real.

The sight steels you a bit.

After a moment, you nudge his shoulder, his head finally turning to look at you.

“I don’t think I’m really the greatest to talk to when it comes to this but, Chan, you have to live without a purpose.”

You inhale deeply.

“Because if you keep trying to find a reason for everything-“

The shouting of an oh-so skillful interruption known as Changbin calling your name in the distance temporarily cuts you off.

“You’ll never be satisfied with a reality that won’t change unless you do, with this life.”

For Chan, no place like home only applied when he had a place to call home. As for now, he was a wanderer.

That, or inches from deluding himself into a comfortable, insufficient reality instead.

Making believe until something becomes real.

“Do you think it’ll be okay?”

His words catch you off guard, and you sort of stare for a moment, holding his gaze as if looking away means your demise.

For a second, you wonder if every boy’s eyes are this captivating.

Hyunjin, now Chan.

“I do,” You whisper, voice hardly audible amidst the bustling fairground.

His lips quirking into a smile serve as your indication he heard, and he reaches a hand up to gently sweep a strand of hair from your face behind your ear.

Again, unexpected, not disliked.

“Live on, yeah?” Chan hums, lifting his pinky for you to take with a mirrored grin, emotion buried within his dark chocolate pools for eyes you fear to unearth.

Maybe that’s something irrevocably agreed upon.

Live on.

It seems so, even when you regroup with an avidly boastful Changbin barking over who won at a rifle booth against him and Han. Agreed in the pinkies still intertwined behind your backs, in the shared smiles he gives you here and there as the night continues.

“Say, what is it with the both of you?”

Sidled between Han and Hyunjin on the walk back to campus, you find the question slipping from your lips before thinking.

Hyunjin grunts, and Han shrugs.

Children, you swear.

“Constantly biting at each other’s throats, yeah?” You huff, arms crossing.

Glancing over at Hyunjin after neither boy decides to respond, you raise a brow.

“As your teacher, I’m gonna assign something,” You begin, glaring at the tiny scoff Han resounds when you try using an authoritative tone.

“Next time you see each other, try to be nice.”

Another silence.

“I’m dead serious.”

“Y/N-“ Han starts, quickly silenced by your lifted hand.

“No buts. Do it, got it?” Firmly commanding, you leave no room for argument, the two responding as if it were the worst of punishments, wallowing in self pity.

Despite an onslaught of beginnings and continuations to newly opened books, you think the chapter where Hyunjin and Han sulk all the way back to campus takes the cake.

For now it does.

“I want someone to play me,” Han says, bringing the popsicle up to his lips.

The sun beats onto their skin, warm rays causing a scrunch to appear between his brows.

In an attempt at following your “get-along” suggestion, the two found themselves coincidentally running into each other at the nearby Supermarket after school, sparing cautious glances back and forth till someone broke the silence.

Like fate, drawn together in the ugliest of ways.

Han went first, a hesitant “hey” somehow leading to the two hunkering down on bamboo flooring with a conversation in tow.

It’s a start.

“Play you?” Hyunjin parrots, confused.

“Yeah,” He responds, fiddling with the name tag attached to his uniform. “They say nobody knows you better than yourself, but I dunno.. I feel like I don’t know anything about me. I’m an alien to myself.”

Jisung bunches up the wrapper, the crinkling sound rivaling screeching cicadas clinging to the trees overhead.

“I bet if I had an actor play me, I’d make a lot more sense.”

Somehow, out of all the things Han Jisung has said to him, this is the one thing Hyunjin can fully understand.

Understand that, despite living with yourself all your life, you’re still a novice even in your own body, in need of someone to tell you about yourself, an opposing point of view to help round out the sharp corners.

That’s it. The word to describe it, how Hyunjin found himself bound to art.

Your words replay in his mind on loop.

“Think you should try it. You’ve got potential.”

Understanding.

Art, in its most frustrating, brutally painful form, allows Hyunjin to understand. Himself, his wishes, life, despair. It’s his actor. An ideal perspective responsible for clearing his conscious, a contact lense to the eyes he hadn’t realized were blurry, half-open.

“What did you write on that paper about yourself?” Hyunjin ventured, beaming sunlight cast upon long fingers that peer from the balcony’s shade, highlighting cool toned veins in an almost transparent ray.

Coins cash into the vending machine, the dull cry of birds soaring to the sky in a flurry of wings echoing in his eardrums.

“The one Y/N handed out?”

Hyunjin hums.

“My name.”

The latter’s lips quirk into a clumsy smile.

Han Jisung, that’s all he wrote. How original of him.

Hyunjin watches an ant crawl atop a leaf, simultaneously swiping a droplet of water from the popsicle’s wrapper with his thumb.

He tests his words.

“I want,”

A pause.

“To add art now. To the paper, as my friend.”

Jisung purses his lips curiously, brows lifted.

However, he doesn’t pester.

“Art is your friend?”

Meeting the other boys gaze, Hyunjin finds himself, for the first time when looking at Han Jisung, smiling.

“Yeah, it is.”

. . .

“Heh. What a weirdo— YAH!”

Next Wednesday’s evening consists of a plethora of instances, some more notable to mention than others.

One, getting slammed to a wall by Changbin, and two, getting screamed at right after.

Though you weren’t aware of that yet, not when you looked up from your phone after school to see the boy storming toward you, and certainly not when you smiled, an action seeming to have provoked his hand to your collar, cornered against a wall without so much as a greeting.

“Changbin..?” You manage, slightly breathless at the impact, brows furrowed.

And instantly, listening to the words he spews, it feels as if all the progress you’d made at class—nevertheless the fair—dissolved into nothing.

Back to square one.

“Who do you think you are?” He spits, looking you up and down with a wrinkled nose. “What? You think you own the world ‘cause you’re doing something good? Helping ‘troubled’ kids?”

Before you can interject, his grip tightens on your shirt, shaking you angrily before stopping again, darks eyes burning with nothing but rage.

“We aren’t your confidence boost, Teach, so get out of your stupid headspace. We don’t need your help and never asked for it in the first place, so get lost.”

Changbin dips dangerously close to your face, venom dripping in his tone.

“Got it?”

Using as much force as you can muster, you ram your palm against his chest, effectively pushing him off of you before slamming against his shoulder and walking away.

Halfway down the street do you stop, not daring to look back at him.

“I don’t know what makes you think I’m doing this for a confidence boost, and I’m not going to try understanding. But that gives you no right to pick me apart like you know me!” You shout, continuing to head as far as you can from him, glaring ahead.

It’s fair he got that idea. Some random student infiltrating your summer all for the sake of what? Their future? Yours? What was this for anyway? Your position as Class President using this “summer school” to make you feel better about yourself, add more to a resume?

Plopping down at a bus stop a mile or so later, you pull your legs to your chest, rehearsing just what drove you into the mess anyway.

You want to help them. That’s it.

Repeating the phrase like a sacred oath, it isn’t until the burning sun’s waning scorch that you’re reminded of evening’s approach, begrudgingly lifting yourself off the now-sweaty seat.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan stood as a witness, watching either of you quarrel prior to parting, you disappearing elsewhere while Changbin remained in place, burning holes into the ground with a furious glower.

Hurriedly assessing what his first move should be (or if he should even move at all), he decides upon following you when the dark-haired boy stalks off.

“Y/n!”

The oddly familiar voice graces your senses when you look up, pausing just outside the bus stop, earbuds dangling from your pocket.

It’s Chan, still wearing his school uniform.

“Oh, hey Chan.” Slapping a hopefully convincing smile on, you allow him to occupy the space to your left as you head home, entertaining his occasional questions, sentences.

You’re glad it’s Chan though.

“Um, Chan?” You pique upon reaching your door, looking back at him, question inches from slipping off your tongue.

Has anything happened with Changbin lately?

“Yes?”

No, you can’t.

“Never mind, um, bye!” Brushing off the thought, you give him another tight smile, waving the boy off and slipping into your home with a loud sigh.

Outside, Chan tugs his lip between his teeth, watching you debate on your words. He knows what you wanted to ask, what so obviously sat heavy on your shoulders the entire way home.

Perhaps it’s his perception that’s gotten him this far.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he decides the next course of action would be locating the other half of this division.

Unfortunately for him, Chan has no idea where he could be. The likelihood he’s home is minuscule if his hunch is right, and so, the man wracks his head for any clues.

Abruptly, a past conversation hits him.

“Have you been there? The old train station below the tunnel?”

Chan, lips pursed as he tries recalling, shakes his head.

“I like that place, ‘helps me think.”

That’s it.

Racing off despite the darkness creeping across star-splattered sky, his legs carry him as fast as possible.

Dipping below the bridge, his skin prickles at the cold air. Minimal lighting apart from a few white beams paves a clear path to his desired individual, planted in the dead center of the platform.

“Binnie,” Chan calls.

Only he can get away with calling Changbin “Binnie”, a nickname grown into second nature as the two grew more accustomed these past two weeks.

The boy doesn’t budge, doesn’t reply. He stands there, chin down, hands firmly bunching his pants in a tight hold.

Yet, when he looks up after a lengthy pause, Chan watches his lip quiver, watches his shoulders shake senselessly as he gradually reaches his outstretched arms.

“I.. I keep hurting so many people and.. and…it’s so lonely, why is it so lonely?”

Without an utterance, he pushes Changbin’s head against his shoulder.

And they hug. They hug for a long, long time. Basking there, healing there.

Changbin cries.

There’s a lot to cry about, a lot of things he’s needed to cry about, things he couldn’t cry about before. But he does. Tonight, in this empty train station, Changbin cries in Chan’s arms, his friends arms.

Changbin’s first friend—who smoothes messy curls down in delicate strokes, holding him dearly close.

Chan isn’t oblivious, because in those particularly tender moments, one in specific taking place right after the fair, Changbin speaks words Chan had never heard before.

Problems. They told each other it all. Their secrets, struggles.

Changbin’s issues with his parents, Chan’s with his home-situation, his internal displacement.

“I know things are hard right now, but we’re going to get someplace better together, okay? We’re brothers.” Chan whispers, and his friend sniffles, nodding wordlessly.

Brothers.

Changbin is his brother now, and no blood needs to prove that. Because in times you don’t have that family, that connection, you make it yourself.

Seungmin: Y/n, can you meet me at Gokseong Hill?

You groan picking up your phone, granted a mere thirty minutes of peace after your painful run-in with Changbin and an equally painful attempt at a conversation with Chan before your phone lights up.

Y/n: Do you plan to murder me or something?

Seungmin: I’m not as creative as Jisung, so no

You crack a smile.

Y/n: I’ll be there

Fastening a jacket over your shoulders, you lock the door behind yourself, stuffing jingling keys into your pocket.

Hey, a bit of fresh air sounds tempting.

At the peak of the hill he sits, and it’s not until you follow his upward stare that you take in the stars overhead.

The slight altitude paves way to a more than incredible view. Countless galaxies right above your head, twinkling so brightly in the sky. Far from streetlights, from civilization.

Your staggered breathing hiking up here proves worthwhile now.

Wordlessly plopping down beside him, you lay back, admiring.

“Do you ever wanna scream?” Seungmin reaches his hand to the sky, allowing the dark blue and black hues to waltz in his grasp.

The twinkling wonder dappled above prohibit a full view of his facial expressions, but you have an idea of how wistfully he gazes into that atmospheric abyss. Aching.

You humorlessly chuckle.

Do I ever.

“When I first met Changbin, I wanted to scream every twenty seconds.”

Seungmin laughs. Pretty.

“Guys like that do that to you.”

He curls his fingers into a fist, arm remaining outstretched.

“Do it.”

“Hm?”

“Scream.”

He looks at you like you’re insane for a moment, then pauses, fingernails digging into the earthy soul beneath you before he screams.

Screams, louder and louder, so loud you’re surprised his lungs haven’t given up yet, surprised you haven’t laughed at how comical the entire thing is. His body practically lifts off the ground, eyes screwed shut.

Then he stops, catching his breath.

No comments nor laughter. Quiet.

Reaching out, you give his hand, dirty fingernails and all, an assuring squeeze.

I don’t know, but I care.

A silent utterance.

“Better?”

He nods.

You’re next, and this time, you’re first to laugh.

As the two week mark of class is pinned, you want to give yourself a pat on the back for managing - no less surviving till now.

So, it really makes you wonder how you ended up in such a predicament.

Han Jisung, someone you never anticipated to be beside you on your Saturday, resides in the drivers seat of your parent’s car, hands sweating up nothing short of an ocean without even starting the vehicle.

Well, you are aware of how this all began, but then again, your pride wants to be salvaged, if barely.

A bit of pleading on Han’s side about his parents nagging him and a pinch of your groggy mumbling at 9am to end up here, to be exact.

“Look… About what I said the first day.. I’m really sorry about that. I shouldn’t have asked that, it was rude and- ow!”

A hard flick delivered to the boy’s forehead has his face wrinkling up, an offended expression worn on chubby cheeks.

“Yes, it was rude, and I’ll ostracize you if you ever do it again. But I forgive you, you’re welcome,” You state, arms crossed.

Han’s sheepish nod seems to be the best reply you’ll get.

“Alright, now, shift the gear to drive.”

“…That’s ‘D’, right…?”

“You’re kidding.”

No, he wasn’t kidding, and a lesson that could’ve been an hour long turns into two and a half hours in no time.

Finally, by some miracle, you end up on the road, holding on the seat like a vice, the boy mirroring your panic with nervous jittering and random comments.

“Oh wait! Isn’t the Film Festival coming up-“

“FOCUS ON THE ROAD!”

Ah, he has the attention span of a squirrel, that too.

And if you aren’t doused in gray hairs after that you’d be surprised, Han looking just as frazzled, exiting the car with wobbly legs and wide, frazzled eyes.

From then on out, you decide teaching the boy how to drive would have to wait.

With July days away (a miracle, you’d like to say), you bury your nose into new assignments and exercises for the class, desperately gripping onto the bits and pieces of progress you’re making.

It’s meager, and certainly not sturdy, but you’ll take what you can get.

..Even if those hard silences are crippling.

A knock ushers you away from the barstool you perch on, cautiously peering from your front door’s tiny peephole.

Felix.

Upon opening in the door, you first notice his raw cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

He’d been crying, unmistakably.

You don’t move away when he walks forward and presses his face against your shoulder.

“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home tonight.” The boy whispers, and you reach a tentative hand to pat his head.

“Of course.”

Clambering the teary boy inside, you spend a decent ten minutes helping him catch his breath and calm down a bit, not wanting to stress the poor thing out with questions.

Standing in your foyer, it’s his shaky voice piercing the air responsible for your head snapping up.

“Do you.. have brownie mix?”

“He was always the fearless kid,” Felix mutters, occupying himself with folding the batter in a bowl.

Interestingly enough, Felix is a stress baker, something of which you hadn’t realized until getting schooled on the correct ingredients to use for brownies.

The topic is Minho. Or, what Felix knew of him.

“I could never read him. I still can’t. I remember he saved this cat once and it bit him. I cried the whole way to the doctor’s office and he was the one who calmed me down instead.”

All you can do is laugh in reply, the blond sheepishly grinning.

Licking off some brownie mix, he hands you the other whisk where you lean against the counter.

Leaning forward to smear some of the sugary goodness on his cheek with a giggle, you adore the way his eyes light up, causing his freckles to almost glow.

If past-lives were real, you think Felix would’ve been a fairy.

“You knew Minho when you were younger?”

Felix nods.

“We met in seventh grade. Our mom’s were friends through work. Although, I don’t think he liked me very much.”

He shakes the bubbles from the cooking sheet, ensuring the edges of the pan were even. You slip past him to pre-heat the oven.

There’s a soft chuckle on his end, and it’s not until you turn around do you see the pikachu mitten he’s quite literally critiquing with his eyeballs.

Such expressive eyes, though they’re different than Minho and Seungmin.

While Minho has something like the atlantic ocean hidden deep behind those pupils, Seungmin is more of an open field.

Though Felix, he has stars.

So many stars, in fact, that they couldn’t possibly all fit, spreading to his face instead. Down his arms, his chest. Till all of a sudden the entire galaxy found its home in the boy standing in front of you.

“Hey, no judging,” You grin, scrutinizing his innocent shrug.

Snatching your precious oven-mit from his fingertips to load the pan in yourself, a gasp stirs when a pair of arms winds around your middle, his chin resting upon your shoulder as you close the door and set your timer.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? What for?” Stopping your movements, you allow the boy to snuggle closer.

“For reminding me of myself. I seem to get lost in other people sometimes and forget I’m here too.” At the last part of his sentence he laughs, rocking back and forth on his heels and causing you to rock with him.

Ten minutes or so you rock. Easy, comfortable.

Felix gives nice hugs. His clothes are sprinkled with a strange mixture of both brownies and chocolate chip remnants he’d snuck in without your knowledge.

Comfortable.

He’s a kid who never really got the chance to grow up. The one who was constantly told he’s so mature for his age, a phrase that eventually melded so far into his brain it became second nature, gum stuck to his shoe.

Because the kid that was so mature for his age was never asked if he needed help or if he was okay, everyone simply assumed. Even when the world came crashing down, Felix was fine. Just fine.

Until he wasn’t, and suddenly, Felix came crashing down with the world.

“..Do you like face-masks?”

You may not be able to fix his crumbling world, but you could give him some good memories to remember it by.

Which is how you found yourself roped in your bathroom, carefully applying the charcoal face mask onto his perfect skin, unblemished and definitely not deserving of the treatment. But, like you said, memories.

You should be off to bed, already prepping for the next morning, school. June 17th, officially seventeen days into summer school. Yet here you are, greedily shoving down brownies with a new companion, Lee Felix, on the couch while looking like utter idiots in face masks.

After seven episodes of Gilmore Girls does he wearily rise up, beckoning you with him to wash off your skincare madness only to make an equally weary trip straight back to the living room.

“Do you think Minho likes me?” Your baking partner whispers, his head resting upon your lap. Those unfairly long lashes begin to dust closed, the subtle flash of light emitted from your scented candle sending a golden gleam across the room.

“Mm.. I’m sure he does. I’m sure he likes you very much,” You assure, not needing a response from his fallen-asleep form, not expecting one anyway.

What occurred in the first place nor why he asked such questions wasn’t your business, but somewhere, a part of a you wanted to know. The cause of his pain, of all of their pain.

Hardest part of your evening was definitely attempting to slip him off your lap, luckily a success after four or five minutes.

Carefully propping a pillow behind his head and layering a blanket across his jacket-clad body, you sneakily turn off the TV, bidding the exhausted boy a hushed “good night” and placing a gentle peck to his forehead before turning off the porch light.

Laying in bed whilst your eyes resist closing, you find yourself hoping he’ll sleep well, hope this night is something he can look back on with a smile on his face.

Felix deserves that.

That morning, upon forgetting your alarm, either of you are scrambling from bed or, in Felix’s case, flopping from your couch with a loud thud!

“Minho lives pretty close,” Felix winds the straps of his backpack over his shoulders, glancing from side to side while observing the area. You follow suit, both clambering to rush out the door, jogging down the street hurriedly.

Seems the Minho kick is still here then, huh.

“But he might not be at school off and on because of his Grandma.”

The awaiting tip of your head calls for an explanation, and a light bulb seemed to bloom above him — obviously having realized something.

Either of you pause at a crosswalk.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

You shake your head, brows pinched.

Felix pokes his tongue into his cheek.

“Well, Minho’s mom died a bit back. He takes care of his Grandma now. After she passed he got really distant and we…” His tone dissolves, and you don’t interrupt, allowing the boy to speak his mind. “Haven’t talked since.”

Apparently, there’s a corner to this billion-piece jigsaw.

One, horrifically fateful paper lay taped down onto one desk far too many boys are trying to look at.

Levanter High Film Festival. Participants will make a 25 minute short film with cinematography and soundtrack themes made entirely by themselves.

“..And you want us to do this?” Jeongin mutters, skeptically scratching the bottom of his chin.

“Yep! We are!” You proudly announce, given quite a few confused glances in return.

As Jisung had taken the time to so kindly mention while nearly crashing the car, July, the month in which you’ve somehow made it to with this group, means the arrival of creative festivals — or, the school boards way of enhancing student participation.

“Uh.. I’ve gotta DAW at home..?” Chan speaks up, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“…A dawg?” Han snorts, Felix smacking his back in an attempt to quell his own laughter.

“A music birth giving machine,” Changbin offers.

“Ew, weird way to put it.”

“Shut it, Jisung.”

“Alright. Now, we’re gonna break off into departments, okay? We need director, maybe script writers? An idea of where we’re gonna film, song producers, and someone with a camera.” Murmuring with your lip tugging between your teeth, you tap your foot, the group cumulating into frenzied discourse, seemingly arranging themselves.

And, almost as fast as you blink, you’re pleasantly surprised to find no blood had been shed over positions.

Accordingly — with obvious inclusion in every position at some point — Chan, Changbin, and Han are working music, Seungmin is working on the script, Jeongin and Hyunjin are doubling as directors and camera-providing members, and Felix and Minho have been elected as the main characters.

You can’t help but find it rather interesting considering your prior knowledge of the situation. Their situation.

Felix’s longing, Minho’s loss.

The imperfect, perfect pair.

“What’s the name gonna be?” Jeongin piques, the eight of you squinting at his frame leant against the windowsill.

The boy hesitates.

“Like, our label?”

Equally confused stares.

In honorary mention of the esteemed ‘Film Festival’ introduced this summer, you decided, along with Han’s incredibly distracting tendencies, that you guys would be participating.

Then again, everyone is still getting used to being within six feet of each other, so being stuck in the old photography club room on a school night remains effortlessly uncomfortable.

And with the slow eye contact each of you exchange, a gradual cacophony of “Ohhh”’s.

“How about Boy’s Generation!” Jisung jumps in, earning a smack across the head from Hyunjin followed by loud whining whilst burying his head in Minho’s chest (of whom looks unbearably awkward) who tries to console.

Emphasis on the “tries” part.

“Maybe.. Lost Men?” Changbin suggests, quiet hums of agreement sounding from the remainder.

You choke back a laugh, which, doesn’t turn out to be as choked as you’d prefer by the glare you get in response.

“Lost Men? Are we sailors?” Stammering down your giggles the best you could manage, Seungmin clears his throat, attention quickly directing his way.

Seungmin has a habit, if that’s what you want to call it. He’s never outspoken, no, but he speaks, a lot. Minho is the same in that sense. Whether quiet mumbling or the illustrious expressions he makes, you’re confident the both of them could maintain a perfectly understandable conversation using just their eyes.

Sort of scary.

“Stray Kids?”

Five seconds later and Felix grumbles, interrupting everyone’s inner contemplation.

“Kind of fitting if you think about it.”

Minho grunts, voicing a question that extinguished the conversation beforehand.

“Well what happens when we aren’t astray anymore?”

And, although the foreboding tension sat heavy in the air, it was easy to tell he held no weight to his words.

Because regardless of what kind of conclusion they reached at some point, it was irrevocably known they’d always be stray. Searching, looking for something they weren’t sure existed.

No reply came. No one complained.

Chan typed up the label in the lower left corner of the doc, the laptop he’d taken from his bag propped on his lap.

You gave Minho a half-smile he sheepishly returned.

The more you thought about it, the more it matched. Not only searching, but paving. One way or another, the assumed nobodies were growing, developing into something unforgettable, if only to a few people.

You had no doubt more would remember their names in the future, but as for now, you stay as Chan, Minho, Changbin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Y/n, lodged in the school’s vacant club room, arranging ideas for the Film Festival.

Stray Kids.

You liked it.

The quiet rolling of his bike gears sits between you, familiarly nostalgic chirping of crickets heightening the darker the sky becomes, dusk plowing a runway through orange clouds.

Headed back from school, you happened to run into Minho, jogging to catch up with him in the midst of his departure.

“I like my life.”

Mid-chew on a sour gummy worm, you cease your gluttonous rampage in order to catch Minho’s hushed breath.

“Being alive is nice.”

And when he says that, he turns his head toward you, expression piquing a “don’t you think so?” type of question you struggle to answer.

Zoning in on the repetitive motion of his wheel, you wrack your brain.

“Yeah? It’s hard, but I would say it’s worth it.”

His brows raise, a barely visible, lopsided smile winding itself around his lips — chapped but still such a captivating pink hue.

All he has to do is hum, doing that habitual blinking thing he always does to know he agrees.

Minho is the small things, you configure.

He’s fixing the bulletin when a paper fell off and picking up Changbin’s Snorlax plushie when he almost forgets it. He’s reminding you to text him when you get home “just because”. He’s the little things nobodies notices, little things that show he cares.

Lee Minho is the small things, but he’s also so much too — so many stories, people, places. He’s heartbroken but he tries, pained but still swimming in a whirlpool of an ocean that flushes him from its tides.

Perhaps somebody could be his buoy, somebody who’d keep him afloat.

You have a hunch as to who that person might be.

Bike squealing to a stop, you clamber to catch pace, backing up a bit to notice what Minho points at.

A field.

“This would be a good place to film if it weren’t off limits.” He observes, either of you acknowledging the “No Trespassing” sign latched loosely onto a chain link fence.

Biting your lip, a small smirk finds itself upon your face.

“It’s not off limits if we can get in, right?”

Minho gives you an uncertain stare, quickly tampering into downright exasperation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a good influence?”

You laugh at this, laying your bike down to hitch each hand into diamond-shaped openings and climb, sending your suspicious audience an expectant look.

“I’m meant to be a good learning experience, think of this as part of a the process. Now c’mon, climb. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Half-heartedly, you’re joined in your risky pursuit, scaling up to the top before thumping down on the other side.

Minho, on the other hand, is a tad bit more skeptical, remaining at the fence’s peak, glaring down nervously.

Although, with lots of patience and encouragement, the anxious boy takes a leap of faith onto uncut grasses and stalking weeds.

Halfway into your adventure do clouds begin festering, setting the atmosphere in a gray haze the longer you brainstorm filming spots, whether that’s pointing out certain locations or deciding on specific scene placement.

“We could have Felix here, then I run in and find him?”

“Okay— what if we make it like a huge confrontation. You run in, confront him-“

Jutting of metal against another surface redirects your mid-sentence focus, gaze averting toward the sound.

Shit. Security.

“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing!?”

Momentary silence and either of you go bolting as fast as your legs will go.

“Quick!” You shriek, the sky dotted in strikes of lightning, alighting into a sudden electrified cauldron of clouds and rain.

Minho is right on your heels, jackets strung over your heads in a feeble attempt to divert some watery droplets from their rapid descent.

Not only the useless fear of getting soaked, but the lingering outline of an approaching flashlight in the distance and the thumping of footsteps from behind urge you onward, scaling the looming fence using slippery fingers and wild adrenaline.

Except, just as you edge over the top of the fence does your shirt get caught in the twisted wire, effectively preventing your movement (much to your panic) while Minho shouts below.

Luckily, in the nick of time do you manage to free yourself, having to lurch forward and simultaneously earn a stinging cut before racing to your bikes and speeding off.

Learning experience was certainly a word for it.

“So..” You start, lingering by Chan’s doorway.

According to a fretful, rain drenched Minho speaking to your equally drenched self, his place was the closest.

“What’s our excuse?” You mumble, Minho scoffing before shrugging off his jacket to hand to you, earning a curious tip of your head.

Wordlessly does he point to your now dampened white shirt, and you can’t help but smile at the realization.

Hm. What a gentleman.

Easing the fabric over your soaked shirt, you just finish buttoning to the bottom when Chan opens the door, cocking a brow.

“Who knew it actually rained cats and dogs?”

“You’re not funny.”

Stepping inside, you’re greeted with the chilling temperature, skin erupting into goosebumps as either of you awkwardly stand in the doorway, Chan disappearing into the other room only to return with two t-shirts.

“Bathrooms are on either side of the hall, you’ll find them,” He hums, and you give him a grateful smile before padding off to change, the sound of your squeaking steps making you cringe.

Chan’s old swim-team tee hangs loosely from your body upon stepping out, plopping down onto his couch with an exaggerated groan.

Behind you, Minho sits on an unoccupied chair, taking sips of water here and there.

“So…” The eldest of the group steps in the room, hesitant. “Care to tell me how-“

“No.” Minho bluntly speaks, and you cock a bemused brow at his forwardness.

“Got it,” Chan nods quickly, eyes zeroing in on you for a moment, honing a stare you can’t discern.

“Y/N?” He quietly asks where you lift from your spot.

“Wanna come with me for a minute?” He hums, and you curiously follow him into the kitchen, plopping on the counter he motions for you to sit on.

“Lift up your shirt,” He softly instructs, and you do a double take to make sure you heard him right.

“Huh?”

Nonplussed, he repeats himself, appearing completely unaffected despite such a request.

So slowly, nervously, you lift your shirt as he nonchalantly maneuvers antiseptic from a medical container, your brain registering the predicament as he dabs right below your chest, bottom lip held in his teeth while he works.

Your scratch from earlier on the fence.

Leave it to him to be the ever perceptive one.

Chan doesn’t budge, shy away, nor show any reaction to the newfound vulnerability. Your heart warms a bit at the sight.

He cares, and you’ve known that, but it’s just, it’s sweet. Really, truly sweet.

Immediately upon applying the antiseptic, you wince, your grip (which you noticed) on his arm tightening while he calmly hushed you, carefully placing a bandaid on top of the wound.

“If you don’t dress it properly you could get an infection.” Chan explains. “Tell me next time, okay?”

You nod as he rearranged his materials below the cabinet and ensured you’ve hopped off the countertop.

“Lix told me you used to be a restaurant’s chef in Hongdae, eh?”

At this, he looked up in surprise, chuckling lowly, lips situating themselves into a sheepish straight line.

“Lix?” He echoes, and you tilt your head, evidently confused as to what he’s asking.

“Mm nothin’, just not many people can call him Lix,” He explains, padding into the living room.

“Really? Am I just the lucky one?” Snickering to yourself, the man nudges your side with his own squeaky laugh as you enter into the living room.

“That’s.. a word for it.”

It’s hard to recall when the gears really began turning. Breaking from rusty shackles to rotate seamlessly.

Chan opening up and giving you a glimpse of the heartthrob of a personality beneath his once cold facade. Han and Hyunjin able to have a normal conversation, talking to Jeongin more and more about anything and everything.

Maybe it’s the familiarity, the routine that naturally mends. Like a new fridge you hadn’t realized you were so accustomed to until gone, until you look back at what was.

A part of you wants to give yourself a pat on the back as if you were the person responsible for this summer school’s progress. Though, you’re sure just about four hundred other things also left an imprint.

Late nights spent in the old club room. Arranging meetups for filming spots. Headaches from the sound of a power drill where props are put together. Endless repeats of the same scene everyone keeps messing up.

And all of a sudden, it hurts. Because this is one of those moments. Fleeting. Fleeting in the sense that—as you watch Chan and Seungmin burst out laughing when Changbin fails a prop test—never again in this entire world will there ever be another night like this.

Felix won’t accidentally spill his drink. Minho won’t throw a childish fit after he gets his twenty-fifth take wrong.

There won’t ever be another summer like this. A summer in your senior year of high school you really don’t want to forget right now, not if it costs it all to stay engrained in your mind.

“Alright. So..” Chan begins, the nine of you clambering to get a glance of his screen as he finishes the final touches.

“We’re finally done!”

It takes a whopping three weeks to finish filming and editing, the clamorous chorus of relief sounding in unison as your group’s unofficial (though wordlessly voted) leader, Chan, taps the save button one last time.

Your film covers the tale of two. Fated, yet, unable to ever meet. A constant tug of war of souls infinitely bound.

One steps north, the other makes five steps south. Pulled together like magnets even when worlds apart in all aspects, even when it seems they’re only given more reasons to avoid each other.

..Yes, you certainly thought of what Felix told you that bit ago.

No, you have been thinking about it.

When they filmed; those certain scenes where you’d watch them make eye contact. Oh to listen to the thoughts behind those eyes.

So leaden with emotion.

Longing.

A longing for what was, for what could’ve been.

To watch two people like that makes your ears ring. So much said in the hurried lines, the occasional eye-contact.

Listen, listen. You’ll miss it if you blink.

How gut-wrenching to be a witness to such tragedy you never were involved in. Perhaps that’s human empathy.

You inhale and exhale, but don’t count for how long. Watching the film on the that old projector sheet makes you wish you narrowed things down to the tee, scribbled them down in a notebook to recall for eternity.

Too fast, too fast. You’ll miss it if you breathe.

No, stay forever.

If only.

And perhaps that’s the best part.

Stray Kids places fourth place in the festival, and to be honest, you might as well have taken home first.

It sure felt like it.

Smiles and laughter. Congratulations and many thank you’s amidst a densely packed theatre room.

Though, something is missing. No, someone is missing. Because in the midst of a celebration intended for everyone, it suddenly comes to your attention a presence has gone awry.

Meeting Chan’s eyes, it appears he just realized as well.

Han.

“Jisung where the hell were yo—“

Having stormed through the oddly unlocked door like a madman, Chan stops, noticing how positively bruised the boy is, sharp cut veering across his nose, lip busted and bloody.

Hurriedly forcing his face between either of Chan’s hands, Han winces.

“Tell me everything.” The older of the two demands, eyes racing.

Quick to pull away, his mouth pulls taut. It’s quiet before Han kicks the cabinet, voice watery, breaking.

“Fuck!” He clutches his head, biting back the prospect of crying.

Dropping down to bury his head in his knees, he stifles a shaky exhale.

“..These guys from Class 3-B broke my bike, that’s why I couldn’t go.”

Ah.

There’s a stillness.

Then, quietly, Chan shuffles down beside Jisung, mirroring the way his knees sit close to his chest, back flush against the wooden cabinets below the sink.

“I just.. wish I was stronger,” Jisung hardly manages, words barely audible through a trembling bottom lip.

Sparing moments of silence, Chan’s jaw tightens, attention directed onto the tile floor.

“I’m quitting the football team.”

Jisung’s head snaps to the adjacent boy.

“But why? Football’s your forte. Plus, you kick ass every time your name gets called out onto the field.”

Chan ruffles the boys hair, giving him a tight smile.

“I have.. other priorities right now.” His voice shrinks, hand resting atop Jisung’s head, staring into those bottomless brown eyes.

He’s grateful no other questions were asked.

“Say,” He begins, his counterpart experimentally prodding his swollen eye, cringing back with a hiss.

“I can help you get stronger.”

Slowly, the younger’s head turns, brows raised as if asking: “really?”, to which Chan nods, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

‘Reach for me’, and Chan reaches.

Jisung oftentimes thought the boy foolish to trust so blindly, to pour so much into someone who could easily let you down.

Yet, seeing the fist his friend held out, he returns the fist bump with a feeble grin, head slumping onto the older boy’s shoulder.

This time, an exception has been made.

There were many weird circumstances in Minho’s life, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated this one.

“..What are you doing?” Minho inquires flatly, slowing his bike down whilst Han, dripping in sweat, jogs past, avidly motivated for a reason the bystander can’t quite understand on a Tuesday morning.

He planned to bike into town and buy extra soil for his grandmother’s garden, now finding himself unable to ignore this strange appearance.

“Conditioning! New year new me!”

Minho sends the boy a mildly disgusted, mildly annoyed expression in reply.

“It’s June.”

“Leave me be.”

His sarcastic brow returned with Han’s entertained giggle, the older boy finding it irritably hard to resist an approaching smile, pedaling to catch up to him.

How burdensome, Minho thinks.

“Is this about the Film Festival?”

Gliding past, Han’s eyes widen into saucers.

“Please don’t tell me Y/n’s mad I couldn’t show up, I’m scared she’ll beat me up or something on Monday.”

He grins at the sheepish plea.

“She’s not, trust me.”

“And why should I trust you?”

Minho shrugs. “Why not?”

“Fair,” Han deflates, stopping to catch his breath, balancing his hands on his knees.

The other boy, observing his exhaustion as he pushes on his brakes, grants him a side-eye, patting the back of his bike.

“Want a ride?”

Han, looking up with sweat wrecking his hair to stick up in wild directions, gradually nods, uttering a quiet “Feels like I’m cheating” as he climbs behind Minho, legs dangling off the side.

The ride is peaceful, rice fields flourishing, fields dappled with flowers of all sorts of hues on the way to town, breeze cooling down Han’s heated face, whipping his linen shirt in each gust.

Neither talk, simply enjoying the weather, the smells, the sounds.

Though, the enjoyment is quelled as soon as it began, Minho lugging a bag of soil atop where the younger boy had sat on the back of his bike—said boy lingering outside the gardening shop.

Door bells clanging overhead when he exits, Han gives him a questioning look as he works on tying the soil down.

“..Where am I gonna sit?” He questions aloud, and the devilish boy can’t help but wear an evil smile.

“You’re not,” He says matter-of-a-fact, swinging a leg over the seat, watching despair cross his friend’s face.

“New year new you, right? Good luck!”

Quickly racing off on his bike, Minho laughs at Han’s shouting while he disappears in the distance, knowing full well the silent-treatment he’ll receive later at school.

Oh the throes (and woes) of summer.

Meanwhile, you’re helping Chan hang laundry in his backyard, having reviewed more of an album him, Han, and Changbin have been working on after the festival.

The longer you listen, the more you find Chan has a knack for curating incredible music, enough that you find yourself leaning infinitely close to the old monitor of his, craning into each note the speaker procures.

“So I was thinking,” Chan clicks his tongue, hanging a t-shirt to the close pins. “What if we had a unit name? Han, Binnie and I?”

Processing his question in your mind, you purse your lips, wiping beading moisture from your forehead.

“What’d you have in mind?” You pique, giving the boy a sidelong glance, mischief evident on your face.

Mirroring your grin, he steps down from the stool, giving you a hand as you step from yours.

“3RACHA? Cause like.. we’re three and we’re hot like Sriracha?”

Instantly, you both burst out into giggles, smacking his shoulder at the sly phrasing.

“No no I’m kidding—“

“I like it!” You loudly interject, bringing the water bottle up to your lips.

Chan’s eyes bulge out of his skull, tilt in his head, a hint of surprise etched on sun kissed skin.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like it! 3RACHA fits,” Elaborating with exaggerated hand gestures, the spectator has to bite back his smile, dimples nudging at his cheeks.

“I’ll let them know,” He raises his brows, giving you a small high five before officially collapsing on the grass, you following suit.

By the time your eyes open again, you can’t even recall what happened in the first place, trying to figure out why the sky is already pitch black, not to mention why you’re still lying in the grass.

Leave it to falling asleep to waste your day away.

Leaning over where you stretch your arms, Chan grins, extending a hand to help you up that you gratefully accept—granted an explanation as to how you ultimately fell asleep while he was mid conversation.

Waving him off upon noticing nighttime’s introduction, you begin back past school, crossing by the playing fields in the process.

And of course, lo and behold, Minho sits on the bleachers, watching an ongoing football practice while glancing down at his lap here and there, apparently writing something.

Seems today you’re running into everyone, huh?

Perks (and curses) of a small town.

Curiosity driving your feet toward him, you carefully jump up the steps, sitting beside him without word.

He obviously senses your presence but fails to speak up, simply letting you peek over his shoulder at his notes (to which you learned were for a class), occasionally striking conversation only to engulf in comfortable quietness once more.

“Hey Minho?” You inhale slowly, heel tapping again the metal bleacher plank below.

He grunts in acknowledgment.

“Do you think I’m doing a good job?”

The football coaches whistle blows alarmingly loud, causing either of you to involuntarily flinch.

Minho, lifting his head from his notebook, studies your face for a moment, from the way your nose perches to your parted lips, he analyzes.

Returning to your eyes, he blinks.

“I do. I mean, we all like you whether we admit it or not.”

The statement causes a smile to stretch your cheeks, turning to face him.

“Why?”

“Hm.. You actually treated us like human..? It’s like,” He scoffs, one brow twitching upward the longer he thinks. It’s the first time you noticed the small freckle seated atop his right nostril.

Charming.

“Everybody else seemed to think we were animals.”

Hearing him say that, it’s almost.. cruel. To think these boys simply needed a friend, a person to count on for a bit.

But they didn’t. They were deprived.

Yet, in a twisted way, it worked out. Because it led them to you.

“Well you’re doing it right.. I think.”

You shift your weight back onto your hands, humid air finally cooling into an even breeze.

“Thanks Min.”

“Mhm.”

You’ve grown accustomed to accepting good things never last. It’s one of the many things keeping your grip tight on anything you get ahold of.

Though, it strikes you nearly dizzy how quickly something so good turned sour.

As in, what was once near-conversation between Minho and Felix has now diminished into distanced glares and horrifically heavy silence like before.

Asking the more openly emotional of the two leads to nothing. No explanation, no reasoning. Just a shrug when you ask: “Hey, what’s up with you and Minho?”

More than ever with this group had you learned assumptions lead nowhere. But when assumptions are the sole thing to be made, you feel quite like you’re chasing your own tail in this predicament.

“Minho, you have to come to school. I’m responsible for your attendance.”

Amongst the week and a half the boy had been absent, you don’t plan to waste the opportunity for confrontation.

No, it isn’t your usual approach, but any softer and he’ll slip right through your fingertips like warmed butter.

Back facing you where he’d been routinely walking his bike behind his house, you stand firm, eyes trained to the cowlick embedded in his hair.

He doesn’t move, nor budge a single centimeter—voice cut and concise upon speaking.

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been avoiding Felix.”

You can hear him inhale sharply, not daring to turn around.

“I know it isn’t my business, but there was this.. time Felix and I spoke. You two had a falling out again.. right?”

Prodding deeper into the wound, you can feel your heart constricting tighter and tighter in your chest.

“You’re right.” He whispers, tone low enough you crane to hear. “It isn’t your business.”

It’s your turn to suck in a quick breath.

“And.. it isn’t your place pretending like you know what my life is like. I… I’ll come back to school just-“

Ah. That hiccup. The shudder of his shoulders, the ache in his vocal cords.

“Let me deal with this by myself, alright?”

Who are you to disagree? Spoken seconds earlier, it isn’t your business nor your place shoving your nose into his life.

Synonymously, you don’t blame him. Blame his irritation, his evasiveness.

Whatever this is with Felix runs deeper. It takes but a single glance to dictate that conclusion. Minho’s loss, his hurt. Bottled up feelings bubbling over in their soda can.

When so much of you is battered, you hide, hide in fear that everything will be ripped from your fingertips — that horrid feeling of helplessness; forging grief continuing to wrack you numb.

Minho distanced himself to protect himself, but most importantly to protect them. To protect his friends, to protect Felix.

And yet, he forgot to install a safety net around his own perimeter.

Jittering hands frantically reaching for his bike’s handlebars, and you spectate wordlessly as abundant tears streak down his cheeks the moment a glimpse of his face is seen, fingernails furiously digging into the aged rubber.

“Minho.”

The boy shakes his head, sniffling senselessly before you step forward and grab his collar, lightly yanking him up, redirecting once castaway focus staring down to the cracked pavement below.

“Minho.”

Just then you notice his watery eyes and the heartbreaking, trembling frown adorning his features. Stifling tears.

Thumb carefully tracing his waterline to rid of those beading tears, he leans into your hand, face breaking a bit.

“Just.. please don’t deal with this alone, okay?”

Looking into someone’s eyes had never made you feel like you were dying until now. How can a soul carry such heavy heartache? Grieve so tirelessly even the eyes form as a window?

So broken, so beautiful.

We’re all the same, are we not?

Ten minutes later, seated upon the playing field’s bleachers familiar to the last time you encountered Minho, a comfortable silence answers any of the unspoken questions lingering in afternoon skies.

The boy beside you, puffy eyes and swollen skin, quietly delights in an ice cream bar, your own held between your lips in contemplation before utilizing your thumb and index to speak for a moment.

“I mean, I may dance around in my room to music, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry in the shower at night. I’m still human, y’know?”

Curious feline eyes hang onto your words, enough of a beckon to go on.

“My days can be bright, my nights could be dark, there’s no limit to how you’re supposed to feel.”

Leaning forward, you tap his chest with your unoccupied hand.

“And there’s no need to try and reject something you want to feel. Otherwise, you suffocate.”

He tilts his head.

“It’s like.. hmm… if I hated the way I breathed—“

“You hate the way you breathe?” Minho interrupted, giving you an “are you stupid?” look you quickly shake your head at.

“No no, it’s an example,” You defend with a feigned scowl. “So if I hated the way I breathed, I can’t just hold my breath for too long or a pass out, right? You can’t let yourself get to a blackout point for the sake of others.”

The boy across from you sucks on the skin of his cheek, observing your extended pinkie before taking it in his own.

“Promise me you won’t get to that blackout point.”

Another promise.

Chan, now Minho.

Expression knit thoughtfully, Minho gradually nods, pressing your thumbs together before cracking an amused grin.

“Y’know, that was well-said.”

You chuckle, smacking his shoulder playfully. “I know right? I’m proud of that one.”

Of course he rolls his eyes in return, but you can see the remnant of a smile in the lifted corners of his mouth, the soft, flushed skin of his under eyes crinkling when he grins.

Ah. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?

On July 31th, your summer school class officially makes a close, and you and eight other boys graduate.

A miracle, maybe a fluke or some sort you made it out in one piece. A task proved possible after all—intentionally or unintentionally.

In the end, perhaps there wasn’t reason to stare at each sheet and pinpoint flaws.

No, Chris isn’t void of life. Hyunjin doesn’t have a superiority complex, and Jisung certainly isn’t senseless. Seungmin gets nervous ordering coffee and hasn’t participated in illegal activities a day in his life. Felix isn’t in an underground gang, and no one has stolen before.

There’s too many sides to a cube, so most stick to 2D squares. The complexity is shrunk so it’s easier to digest.

In the end, perhaps you forget it’s all so wondrous in a way, so intricate and raw. 3D.

Right before you graduated, Hyunjin gave you a painting he made. ‘A thank you for motivating me to add art as my friend’ he had told you.

Changbin still sleeps with his Snorlax plushie, and 3RACHA released their first album just yesterday.

Han finally got his license, Seungmin and Jeongin attend Sejong University as freshman, and Felix sells baked goods on Sundays while interning at a local bakery.

Minho volunteers at an animal shelter on the far side of town, he also took up dancing again.

He and Felix began talking again too.

In the end, perhaps it wasn’t a matter of you helping them, but for the all of you to understand that, in the grand scheme of things, you live on, just as you and Chan had promised.

There is no choice, no point, no break to the cycle.

It hurts, it burns, it breaks. You glue yourself together, even when the pieces shatter over and over. Shards draw blood, but a glued glass can still be useful, can still be worthy.

Bruised and battered, scraped and scorned, a connection lies within Stray Kids that sinks deeper than the anchor you planted in a sea of possibilty, a sea of what you thought was something one-sided, a sea you once believed you’d swim alone.

Maybe it’s discovery after discovery that keeps you close, or maybe it’s something deeper.

Nonetheless, your summer—a summer of hellish heartbreak and love reaping all bounds of repercussion—was one to remember.

A summer solace, for what it’s worth.

FIC TAGLIST. @kayleefriedchicken, @chaotic-world-of-the-j, @minhosbitterriver, @reignessance, @thatonexcgirl, @panbish-1209, @jeonginplsholdmyhand, @neviestayy, @stayinlimbo, @tenmii, @sunoosmainchick, @hannamoon143, @juliettacandy, @c0smicstxrs

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 months ago

Text

A Place To Call Home: Redux

Summary: In this special part of APTCH, we're going way back. What if things went differently? What if the reader was removed from the Ackles home after only a few months? What if she blamed them for letting her go? What if she found out the truth about her birth parents from the start? What exactly would that do to this father/daughter duo's bond and would it be able to be salvaged? Find out in this special AU from the main APTCH timeline!

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x foster daughter!reader

Word Count: 16,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of prior abuse (not descriptive), family drama, all the tears

A/N: When I wanted to return to the APTCH world, I've always had this idea of what if the reader hadn't known the full truth about her parents accident? What if she'd been forced to leave? This is strictly a one-off AU part where I got to explore the answers to those questions and see new sides to everyone.

This part takes place during Part 4 of APTCH. This part starts with some text from that italicized before divulging into the story. I can't wait to hear your thoughts! Please enjoy!

__________

Two Months Later

“Y/N?” asked Zeppelin. You lifted your head up from where you were laying in the grass in the backyard, staring up at the sky. “Cole’s here.”

You looked past him, seeing Cole walk down the slope of the yard with Jensen, Danneel playing with the girls, a nervous look on her face.

“Go back to mommy, Zepp,” you said, Zepp running past Cole and Jensen, Jensen’s face hard. You saw another set of people walk down the yard, a police officer and a woman from Cole’s office you recognized. You instantly stood up, Jensen staring at the ground when he and Cole stopped in front of you. “Cole, why are you here? With them?”

“You know why,” he said.

“Look at me,” you barked at Jensen, his head whipping up. “Did you-”

“No. Kiddo, no. We got a call this morning that said we failed our last check in,” said Jensen. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, Cole sighing. “You’re going to have to drag me out of here.”

“I don’t agree with the failed check in. They’ve done nothing wrong and you’re like a different person, Y/N. I petitioned for you to stay. But their foster parent privileges are going to be revoked,” said Cole.

“I want to see the failed check in. I can request to see my file. I know I can,” you said.

“Inappropriate relationship with a foster child was cited as a cause,” said Cole.

“Who had final sign off?” you said. “I sure as shit know you know neither one of them are inappropriate with me.”

“I signed off,” said the woman as she walked over, Jensen shooting her a quick glare. “This publicity stunt for the Ackles is over. It was tolerated but there is evidence of Jensen becoming too physically close.”

“Excuse me?” you said.

“His recent postings on Instagram show you two in a suggestive position,” she said. “When you were seated on his lap.”

“Excuse me?” you said again. “I was holding Zepp in my lap too. It wasn’t inappropriate. Cole, do something.”

He took your arm and pulled you aside, letting out a sigh. “Y/N. I know it wasn’t. Anyone with half a brain can see that but Mrs. Keller has the power to move any foster and she wants you moved. I promise I’ll do what I can to get you back here as soon as I can. I-”

You stared over at where Danneel sat with the kids, eyes on you, gaze shifting to where Jensen was arguing with Mrs. Keller.

“Did they give me up Cole?” you asked quietly. “Did the Ackles-”

“No. At least not that I know of. But Mrs. Keller is saying they failed a check-in.”

“They’re going to lose their license to foster,” you said. He nodded. “But they have money. They can fight it if they want-”

“Sweetie, you’ll turn eighteen before it was settled legally. The state will fight back and it’ll get drawn out. I can’t believe I’m saying this but you’re probably better off…sticking it out in whatever home you get placed in and when you’re eighteen, you could come back here-”

“Assuming they actually wanted me. They have so much money, Cole. If they really wanted me…they wouldn’t let me go,” you whispered. “How do you know they didn’t turn me in behind your back? How do you know?”

Cole was quiet, closing his eyes.

“See? You don’t know for sure. I bet they didn’t fail a check-in. It’s just their way of getting rid of me and saving face.” You glared at Jensen when he turned his head in your direction. “If you didn’t want me, at least have the balls to say it to my face!”

Cole sighed as you stormed inside the house. Fuck those people. Fuck Jensen especially. He was so full of shit. You knew, you knew, this whole thing was a sham from the start. All he ever wanted was to show what a wonderful person he was to the world and once that was done, he was dumping your ass.

You slammed your bedroom door shut, locking it behind you. He was going to come in there and try to bullshit you some more. Him or Dee. But you weren’t falling for it again. No, you were packing up your shit and getting the fuck out of there for good.

Jensen was standing there when you ripped open the door five minutes later but you simply shoved past him for the bathroom. “Y/N-”

“Don’t say a fucking word to me,” you snapped. You swept the few products you had into a small bag, hoping it would hold you over for awhile. Quickly, you got it inside your duffel bag, Jensen reaching out for you when you stepped into the hallway. He was smart enough to pull his hand back though before he could touch you. “Move.”

“We didn’t do this,” he said, a harsh edge to his voice. “Y/N, I swear to god we want you to stay. This is killing me.”

“I never should have trusted you,” you said, pushing on his shoulder, Jensen closing his eyes. “I-I trusted you. I thought you cared about me. I thought you might have actually wanted to be my…I knew you were just acting. I fucking knew I was a pawn for you in your fancy little life. I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“That is not true and deep down you know it,” he said. You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Y/N, Y/N stop-”

“You’re not my foster dad anymore. I don’t have to do a thing you say,” you called back.

“You are my daughter.” You stopped in your tracks, looking over your shoulder. His jaw was clenched, eyes full of worry. “And I’m your dad. I will bring you back home, understand me? We will find a way to get you back home to your family, no matter how long it takes.”

“I’m eighteen in nine months, Jensen. I’m getting the fuck out of this shitty system the moment I can and when I do? You come near me again and I’ll call the cops on you myself. Am I clear?” He shook his head, getting closer.

“We’ll earn it back,” he said, lifting his chin. “I’ll earn it back. Your trust. Your love because I know you loved us and just couldn’t say it. So we’ll start from scratch, less than scratch if we have to. Hate me and hate Dee. Do what you need to these next nine months to survive because I know you can do it. I fucking know you can. The second you are out of this system that keeps hurting you, I will be there and I will bring you home, understand? I will call you, text you, facetime you everyday. We are not through, okay? We-”

You ripped your phone from your pocket, tossing it on the ground, watching the screen shatter. You shook your head, adjusting the strap on your shoulder.

“No more lies, Jensen. Stay the hell away from me.”

“At least say goodbye to the kids,” he said when you started to walk for the front door. “Y/N!”

“They’ll be fine. Better to learn young how much the world sucks.”

“Y/N-”

You flipped him the bird as you left, finding Cole leaning against the hood of his car. “So where the hell am I staying tonight?”

“They deserve a proper goodbye,” he said, nodding around to the backyard.

“The twins will forget I exist in six months and JJ will too in a few years. Let’s go,” you said, opening his backseat and tossing your duffel inside. Cole gave you that look, his disappointed one you so rarely saw from him, before you got in the passenger seat.

“The Ackles are good people. I’ll find out-”

“Cole. Please just stop,” you said, leaning your head against the glass. You jerked it upright when you saw Jensen and Danneel step outside the front door, looking like deer caught in headlights. “Take me to house fifteen.”

“Y/N-”

“Get me away from here. Now.”

The Next Day

“Hey,” said Cole as you leaned against the post of the car port at the new foster home. “How’s it going so far?”

You gave him your best bitch face, Cole nodding. “It’s fine.”

“Be careful of this guy. I’ve heard rumors of physical abuse but no proof and no kid would ever say anything. Lock the door at night or better yet, push the dresser in front of it.” You looked past him to the crappy house across the street. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious about getting emancipated.”

“This shit again? You do not have a job, Y/N-”

“I got my working papers from my new high school earlier. There’s no other kids here for me to look out for so when i’m not in school, I’ll be working.” He sighed. “Cole-”

“You can’t access your parents assets until you’re older. If…if you could, maybe we could make it work but-”

“Then get me access,” you growled. He narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger in your face.

“I fucking tried,” he said. “Do not treat me like the bad guy, Y/N. I have always tried to get you into good homes with good people and I really, really looked into emancipation for you. But you are a ward of the state and the state won’t admit they’re a shitty parent no matter how true it is.”

You crossed your arms, lips pursed. “Then line up the paperwork so that the day I turn eighteen, I’m out of the system.”

“This guy will kick you out of the house the second you age out. You’ll be homeless if you choose to leave.”

“Well that’s my problem, isn’t it? I’ll spend from now until then working my ass off and saving up. I’ll only have five months of high school left after that. I can bounce around shelters until I graduate-”

“Are you listening to yourself?” scoffed Cole. “I am not letting you be homeless.”

You rolled your eyes, Cole stepping closer.

“Your stubbornness made you a survivor and some days I am grateful for it because I know there’s shit that happened to you that you won’t even admit to me. I know you could do it all on your own if you had to. But I haven’t worked my ass off since you were ten fucking years old for you to give up.”

“I am not giving up. I’m growing up. I’m turning eighteen and getting the fuck out of this fucked up town and maybe I’ll find some people with a shred of decency. You never fucking did,” you balked. You walked away, putting your back to him. You heard him behind you, felt him stop close by as you scrunched up your face.

“That family loves you. I have had fosters get adopted by families before and see those connections. Well, I have some news for you. Jensen and Danneel? Kid, they are the best kind of person for you. You are not their foster daughter to them. You are not the potential adoptee. You are not the girl with different parents. You were not made by them but you are theirs and they love you as if you were their blood.”

“It’s a fucking act, Cole. Don’t you fall for it-” you said, spinning around, cutting yourself off when he handed you a dark green iphone.

“I could lose my job for this,” he said, shoving it into your hands. “You don’t have to speak to them but they want…they need you to know that you can always call on them and they will come. When you turn eighteen, they’ll be here if that’s what you decide.”

“Cole.” He shook his head. “They threw me away!”

“I don’t know what happened but I’d bet my fucking life they had nothing to do with this. When I checked on them this morning, they begged me to get their daughter back. Begged, Y/N. You want to grow up? Then trust your heart for once. They will come back for you if you let them. Give them a chance to.”

You frowned, Cole giving you one.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. You shook your head, kicking your foot against the ground. “Stay safe, kiddo. Put in one of those anonymous calls you like to do if this guy tries anything.”

“Anyone ever tell you how annoying you are?” you called as he headed for the inside of the house.

“Give them a chance, kiddo.”

You laid in bed that night, your new phone vibrating from where you hid it under your pillow from your new foster dad, aka Mac, aka the asshole. You’d been at two other homes before with a single dad and neither had been good. They’d done it just for the extra money and you’d never felt comfortable at either. But back then you were much younger, only a kid and a pre-teen and there’d been other kids around.

Now it was a seventeen year old you alone with a sketchy at best guy in his late forties. You glanced at the chair you’d propped under the door handle, sighing. You’d gotten too used to not being cautious with the Ackles. You were going to need to make sure you spent as little time as possible in this house.

You grabbed the phone, pouting at the text that came up.

Jensen: I know you hate me and Dee. We’re fighting this failed check in bullshit but the lawyer was honest with us. There’s no guarantee we win the appeal. But no matter what, we’ll be there when you need us, whether we’re your foster parents or not. We’re not supposed to contact you but we need you to know you’re not alone. We are here for you everyday. We are going to do everything we can to bring you home as soon as we can. No matter what happens, the second you’re eighteen, I’ll be there to get you. I understand if you don’t want to answer me. Be safe. We love you, tall munchkin.

“No you fucking don’t,” you mumbled, turning the phone off before hiding it again. “Please just leave me alone.”

Three Months Later

“Hey Andrea?” you asked on a late Friday afternoon. Your boss from the restaurant and bar you worked at grunted from her back office. “I finish up with school next Tuesday and was wondering if I could get more hours for the summer?”

“More hours?” she asked, lifting her head up. “Don’t you have another job?”

“Yeah but I like this job better,” you said, giving her a friendly smile.

“You like this job better because I pay you under the table.”

“It works for me, it works for you…come on, you know I’m a good server,” you said. She frowned but sighed.

“I can bump you up to twenty five hours but that’s it.” You grinned, Andrea rolling her eyes. “Go grab some lunch and get out of here.”

“You’re the best,” you said on your way out. After bringing out a bag of trash to the dumpster, you washed up and got the chef to whip you up an extra large chicken wrap with a side of mac and cheese. You got a free meal for each shift and it’d helped immensely considering how Mac hardly ever kept any food in the house. Almost all his meals came from take out or going out with his friends. Between your two restaurant jobs thankfully you were able to not be hungry most days.

You packed up the food in a container and walked a few blocks down to a park, finding your usual bench before digging in.

“Y/N!” You jumped in your seat, spilling your late lunch on the ground. You growled as a figure appeared before you. You glared up at a sweaty Jensen, his face red as he put his hands on his hips. “I missed you at work and tried to catch up but I couldn’t find parking and never mind but I-”

“You made me drop my food,” you snapped. He looked down at your feet, a wince on his face.

“I’m sorry. We can go get something-”

“You give me twenty bucks and then get the fuck away from me or I swear I’ll start screaming.” He blinked at you, his breathing slowing down. “Jensen, I am serious.”

“I…Y/N we won the appeal. You can come home,” he said. You narrowed your eyes, his head cocking. “I know you blocked our numbers but Y/N a lot has happened. Cole’s on his way over to pick you up and take you to a private session with the district attorney and some people from the state’s office. I can’t be in the room but-”

“You just don’t stop, do you?” you scoffed, standing. You pushed on his chest, Jensen taking a step back. “News flash, I don’t want to go anywhere with you ever again.”

“Y/N, we didn’t get rid of you,” he breathed out. “We’ve been working on getting you back home every single day.”

“Stop lying to me!” you shouted, your face scrunching up. ��I’m just something for you to prop yourself up with. Look how amazing we are, taking in a poor little orphan girl. If you gave a shit about me, you wouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.”

A part of you knew you were being unreasonable but you’d been on your own for three months and you knew the only person you could rely on was yourself. Jensen hid the hurt on his face quickly, replacing it with a neutral expression.

“You can hate me. You can hate me for as long as you like. But you are coming home to us after you sort things out with Cole. We are your foster family again and someday you’ll be able to admit that you know you’re just lashing out because you’re angry. Because we will be there for you after the fact. Because we love you and care about you and deep down in places you don’t like to admit exist, you might even care about us too.”

“I will never care about you again,” you whispered. “And I will never, ever, trust you.”

Jensen stepped closer, staring you down, his jaw clenched. “I guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong again.”

“Good fucking luck with that.” You sat down, crossing your arms. “You can go.”

“Once Cole gets here.” You flipped him off, Jensen taking a seat on the bench across the path, sighing as he went. “Please try to remember that I love you.”

You didn’t respond. Maybe he really did love you. Maybe you really were just angry after he let you get taken. But there was nothing he could say you wanted to hear.

You still hurt too much.

Four Hours Later

You knew people were talking around you. Lawyers. People from the state department. The head of foster care for the state. FBI agents. District attorneys and half of the local foster care office.

Cole sat by your side at the far end of the table, arguing with someone on the other side. The voices were loud, blame being passed around. Threats of lawsuits were in every other word. So many people, so many strangers shouting about your life like you weren’t even there.

You stood up, catching Cole’s attention first but slowly the others took notice, so many pairs of eyes on your numb face.

“What is it, Y/N?” Cole asked, rising to his feet beside you. You blinked slowly, scanning the room once.

“I don’t care about Mrs. Keller and that she blamed my parents for her son’s death in the car accident. I don’t care that my parents didn’t die in the accident and went into witness protection and then didn’t or whatever the fuck they did. I don’t care that they gave me up and that state, you people, are my guardian. I don’t give a shit that none of you realized or that those who did cared more about your fucking case than a ten year old girl. I don’t care that my parents never wanted me and they don’t a shit about me. I don’t care, I don’t fucking care so stop fucking yelling. Please.”

Thirty different sets of eyes stared at you, a heavy guilt settling in the air.

“I’m not a pawn in your blame games. I’m a person who’s life you fucked up. I won’t sue you. I don’t care about that shit. All I want is to go home to the Ackles. I want to stay with them and if they ever decide they want to adopt me, you’re going to approve it on the spot. No dragging it out for months or years. They get it that day. Understand?”

You saw the head of foster care nod, your eyes closing.

“If you people have nothing else to say to me, can I please go home?” There was a quiet murmur and then you felt Cole’s arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day. Let’s get you home, Y/N.”

Cole grabbed you some fast food on the way to the Ackles house, your house, but you had no appetite. You’d felt a lot of things in life but this…dejection, was something entirely new. You were so numb you couldn’t even cry.

No one in your life had ever wanted you. Not a single soul. Except for the family you’d pushed away, yelled at, been cruel to.

There was no way they’d want you after all that. Why would they? You were so fucked up, no one ever would.

“Y/N. Y/N!” shouted Cole. You blinked, his car parked in the Ackles driveway. “Jesus, are you with me?”

“I’m just tired, Cole,” you whispered. You slid out of the car, Cole grabbing your duffel from the backseat. You barely made it to the cover of the front porch before the door opened and you saw Jensen and Danneel come out.

“Hey guys,” said Cole quietly, setting your duffel on the table, your gaze drifting past them, looking out to the dark water of the river beyond. “She’s…had a long day.”

“Hey, kiddo,” said Jensen but you didn’t look at him, a cold creeping feeling settling through your bones. You knew they were exchanging looks with Cole, a heavy sigh coming from him.

“Be gentle,” you heard him murmur. “Get her back in therapy asap.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you something,” said Danneel as you stared outside. “Y/N?”

“No thank you,” you said, voice flat, picking up your duffel and taking the bag of food. “All I want to do is eat this, take a shower and go to bed.”

“Your room’s all set, honey,” said Jensen, letting you slip past him. You slowed your steps when you felt their stares on your back. But it wasn’t them that made you come to stop. No, it was the picture on the wall next to the hallway to your room that caught your attention. It’d been some professional picture before, one from when the twins were newborns and the rest of them.

Now it housed a photo you remember not feeling like you should have been part of. Jenen’s arm was around your shoulders, the other holding up Arrow. Zep was in Dee’s arms while JJ stood in front of you with a big grin. You remembered taking it at Jensen’s birthday party a few days before you’d left, trying your hardest to stay out of the family photos but he kept finding you every time you tried to run away.

And you’d thought they’d betrayed you.

You took off down the hall, closing your bedroom door quickly behind you. The room didn’t smell like cleaner yet it was which meant they were in the habit of regularly dusting it. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in there except for Dee’s blanket you’d stolen a long time ago and a hoodie of Jensen’s you’d worn a few times when it’d gotten a tad too cold out at night for you.

You sighed when you picked up the framed drawing on your desk of the family, JJ’s judging by the quality but you could see where the twins had gotten their hands on it. You had to put it down and flip it over when you saw she’d put you in it.

You pushed away the rising bile in your throat and forced yourself to eat part of the burger so there was at least something in your stomach. After chucking the leftovers in the garage, you took a long shower, a basket full of new products waiting for you on the counter.

Fucking considerate assholes. Why did you have to be such a bitch to them? They never gave you up and…

“It’ll never go back to how it was,” you whispered to yourself. You ducked your head under the water and turned it cold, trying to figure out what the hell you were supposed to do.

You were finally back home with people that wanted you. Had wanted you at least. But now? Who knew if they’d let you in all the way again?

Who knew if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting them. Maybe you’d been the asshole all along. Maybe you were never a good kid and everyone saw it but you.

You slammed the water off and dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized shirt, throwing Jensen’s hoodie on when you were back in your room to help with the chill you’d self-inflicted. It warmed you some but a faint whiff of his cologne came off the fabric, your gut churning once more. With a sigh, you sat down on the edge of the bed, staring out your dark window. To your surprise, and you were grateful for it, no one came to talk to you. It seemed like a long time but eventually you heard Cole’s car drive off and saw the front lights dim. The house was quiet. Still.

It was after ten and you had the sense that Jensen and Danneel had retreated to the confines of their bedroom to talk about you in hushed whispers.

You tried to lay down but no matter how exhausted you were, sleep wouldn’t come. Your brain couldn’t turn off, couldn’t relax. For hours and hours the same questions kept running through your mind.

Why hadn’t your birth parents given you up for adoption when you were young? Why hadn’t they planned it better with their FBI handler? Why’d the FBI just let them go when they ran off? Why had no one put it together about Mrs. Keller’s son being killed in the accident? What was so wrong with you no one wanted you?

Were you even capable of knowing what love felt like?

You bolted out of bed, storming out of your room and down the hall. Fuck, you needed air. You went out on the back porch, standing in the dark and watching the dark waves in the distance, the scattered lights along the houses on the opposite side of the river.

“I can’t sleep either.” You didn’t turn but felt Jensen come to stand beside you, a glass of water in hand. “You get any at all tonight?”

You shook your head, Jensen offering the water to you. You slowly took it, drinking the cold liquid down in big gulps. When you handed him the glass, he set it down on the outdoor table before returning to lean his forearms against the railing.

God, he looked fucking…sad.

“S’funny.” You glanced up at his dark face, his focus on the backyard, eyes glancing up at the few bright stars poking through overhead.

“What is?” you said, a strange lack of emotion in your voice that should have concerned you but you were too tired to care. Jensen heard it though, looking you up and down.

“How cruel the world can be to a perfectly innocent kid.”

“Plenty worse could have happened to me,” you said, a frown forming on his face. His brow furrowed, eyes searching yours.

“And what exactly does that mean?” he asked, his jaw clenching. You shrugged, gaze back on a few waves that peaked up and sloshed back down. “Y/N.”

“It means in retrospect for what did happen to me, much worse things could have. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Your birth parents abandoned you in the forest during fucking bear season. They admitted-”

“Nothing happened.” He audibly growled, clenching his fists on the railing. “It’s fine.”

“No,” he said, taking you by both your arms and leaning down, face hard. “No, none of it was fine. You were hurt and abused and you will not brush this under the rug. You are not alright. My Y/N is fighter. She’s a ball of spitfire and doesn’t back down from a fight. Even on her worst days, she’s got a spark in her. Don’t lose that, tall munchkin. Don’t.”

“I’m done fighting, Jensen. I give up. I don’t care anymore. I just don’t care.”

“Care about what?” he asked quietly.

“Anything. Just get me through high school and then I’ll move to the middle of nowhere where no one will have to remember I ever exist.” He dropped his head, breathing deeply. “Jensen, it’s fine-”

“Don’t…” he trailed off, his fingertips digging into your biceps ever so slightly. He slowly raised his head, his face somber. “Honey…you may never trust me again or believe me again and I shouldn’t say this but I get it. I fucking get why you might never trust anyone to be a parent to you ever again. But Y/N, I can never forget your exist. You’re one of my reasons for living and when you talk like that you scare me. Shit, you have no idea how much it scares me to know you hurt so much and I can’t fix it. You don’t know what I’d give for that version of you at the park who hated my guts right now. She was fighting. I need you to keep fighting. Don’t give up on me yet because I sure as shit will never give up on you, even when you do.”

You glanced down, nodding a few times. You felt him straighten and clear his throat, his hands rubbing gently up and down your arms.

“You know what’s sad? You’re the first person in my life that ever loved me,” you said, gaze fixated on the tile floor beneath you. “I treat you like shit and now I don’t even know how to feel anything anymore. I don’t understand at all how someone like you could love someone like me.”

“It is sad,” he said quietly, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “You deserved better. You deserved love long before now. But I will gladly be the first person to love you. Dads are like that.”

“Jensen,” you sighed, his hand dropping to under your jaw. You glanced up, a sad smile on his face.

“I know. Like I said, Dee and I will be whatever you need us to be. Parents. Friends. We can simply be a safe place for you. But whatever you decide, you don’t get to decide what you are to me, understand?” He rubbed your arms when you just stared at him. “Okay?”

“W-What am I to you?” you whispered. He tilted his head, sighing softly.

“Oh, you know, baby girl.” He pulled you into a hug, a tight embrace where you found yourself burrowing into his chest, clinging to his t-shirt. “I know it hurts and it’s so much easier not to feel it. I know. But I’m here. Mom’s here. You don’t have to face it alone. You’ll never be alone again.”

“I can’t…” you mumbled, breathing deeply, large hands holding you close. “You don’t understand how this feels. No one wants me. No one. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it, I just…I can’t believe you Jensen. It’ll kill me when you hurt me too.”

“What’s my job?” he whispered before kissing the top of your head. “What’d I tell you on that freezing cold road back in December in the rain? What’d I tell you my job is?”

You squeezed his shirt so hard you felt it straining, his hand running up and down your back. “Come on, kiddo. What’s my job?”

“Protect,” you whispered.

“That’s right,” he said, letting out a heavy sigh. “I haven’t done a very good job of that so far but it is my job. That’s what dads do. So let me do my job and you…you be as brave and strong as I know you are and give me a chance. Give me a chance to prove I love you, to know you are loved by this whole family and that…that…”

You glanced up, his face scrunched up, eyes opening as he sensed your gaze. He tucked your hair behind your ear, shoulders sagging.

“That what, Jensen?” you asked. He looked over your head, a sad little smile growing on his face.

“That I didn’t betray you. That every day you have been gone has been the darkest moment of my life. I need my daughter back.”

“I don’t know if I can do that. I’m sorry,” you said. You slipped past him, feeling his gaze on your back. You swallowed, looking down. “I just don’t know if I can ever care about you again. Please don’t hate me for that.”

“I could never hate you, tall munchkin.” You felt a hand on your back, your head lifting but you didn’t turn. “All I’m asking for is one more chance. I’m asking you to try one more time for me. Try to give us a chance.”

“I’m sorry, Jensen. I don’t think I can.”

You went inside before he could say a word but you felt his response when he dropped his hand.

You were breaking his heart. And the worst part, the scary part, was you felt nothing about doing so.

Twelve Hours Later

“I’m sorry, what was that word?” asked Danneel. You picked at a stray thread on a pillow in the family room. You didn’t completely understand why you were having this “emergency” session or whatever it was at home but you guessed it had something to do with that it was Sunday and just about every adult in your life was staring at you like you had three heads.

“It’s called Alexithymia. It’s a condition that can happen for a variety of reasons. In Y/N’s case, PTSD is causing it,” said your therapist. You’d spent the better part of the morning getting reacquainted with him on your own, with Dee, Jensen, all three of you together. You’d barely gotten more than two hours of sleep and honestly couldn’t give a crap about anything this guy said.

“But Y/N was diagnosed with PTSD before and didn't have this condition,” said Jensen. That peaked your attention, your finger raising. Jensen and Danneel shared a look from the far end of the couch, your therapist sighing.

“I don’t have PTSD, thank you very much.” Jensen scoffed. “If I had it, you would have had to tell me, dumbass.”

“It was not an official diagnosis previously but that’s irrelevant,” said the therapist. “The trauma Y/N endured last night and during the period she was removed from your home, even the removal from your home triggered-“

“It wasn’t fucking trauma and I wasn’t fucking triggered,” you snapped. “I am tired. I am just fucking tired from working so much and dealing with so much bullshit. I had two hours of sleep last night so of course I’m having a bad day. On a normal day, I’m fine.”

“What is this condition?” asked Dee, ignoring you. You rolled your eyes and would have simply left the room if not for Cole standing near the exit like a damn security guard. Apparently you weren’t being reasonable enough for them when you told them to take their therapist visit and shove it up their asses.

“It’s when someone has a hard time understanding the emotions they’re feeling or rather feeling or displaying an emotion at all. In Y/N’s case, based on what I’ve seen this morning, she’s primarily having a difficult time feeling her emotions.”

You flipped him off. “Does it feel like I’m having a hard time understanding my emotions?”

“Do I look like a fucking idiot?” His comment was strange for him. He never swore and was always level headed. “That’s a perfect example. Y/N knows I don’t swear yet there was zero emotion on her face whereas the rest of you were hiding your reactions. Y/N is a very smart girl who is very afraid of getting labeled with something because deep down she fears it makes her unlovable. And that we know for a fact from our previous sessions.”

You crossed your arms and sat back, glancing out the window, trying to calm down. Jensen cleared his throat. “So, uh, what does all this mean exactly?”

“It means you could put a puppy in front of her and she will react the same way as if you set the house on fire. She’s in pain, pain at a very fundamental level of her core. Her head right now is saying it can’t take more pain. It can’t deal with the pain,” said the therapist. “So her brain tells her I can keep you safe from the pain if you just don’t feel. You don’t have to feel those awful feelings if you don’t feel anything at all.”

“Yeah, cause that sounds like a normal reaction to have,” you mumbled. You turned towards Jensen and Danneel, their gaze shooting to you. “Do you seriously believe this crap? Jesus, I feel shit. Do I look like someone that doesn’t? This guy is so full of shit. He’s a fucking family doctor way out of his league and making crap up.”

Danneel bit her bottom lip, working it between her teeth worriedly. Jensen looked away.

“How do we help Y/N feel like herself again?” Jensen asked, ignoring your scoff.

“We work through the pain. She’s going to hate it. She’s going to hate all of us for a good while. We address the trauma endured and, eventually, her head will accept the emotions back. Most likely after something happens like a minor scare or a holiday or something where heightened emotion occurs. She protected herself in that conference room by retreating inward when she felt alone. We’ll make sure she knows she’s not.”

“Or…” you said, standing up. “Maybe this is a waste of time. Honestly? I couldn’t give a shit about what you think. People suck. That’s life. Just get my through the next six months until I’m eighteen and then it doesn’t matter what any of you want.”

You left and retreated to your room, quiet murmurs coming from down the hall. What was their problem? Just because you wanted to keep your distance you suddenly had a problem they were going to try and fix?

“Fuck this.” You went to the closet and grabbed your duffel, throwing it over your shoulder.

But for some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You tensed when a hand lifted it off your shoulder and set it back in the closet. You swallowed when Jensen sighed, looking down at you.

“Listen. I don’t agree with what he said.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You don’t?”

“No. Because you’re pissed and I know my daughter. You don’t have whatever the thing is he said. Trauma? Sure. But you always have had that.” He put a hand on your head, ruffling your hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You aren’t going to make me like, see him extra or some crap?” He shook his head. “Really?”

“Really. We go back to once a week but nothing else. I know this isn’t something therapy will help with.” You frowned. Jensen shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “No, I realized last night the only way we fix this is with time. So we put in the effort and eventually, that wall will come down. I can wait.”

“Uh, thanks,” you said, rubbing your arm. “I’m really surprised you’re not siding with the doctor.”

“Tall munchkin.” You hated how those two words made your heart squeeze. You bit the inside of your cheek as he sighed. “He is an excellent family doctor but you had a point. He doesn’t know trauma. We’ll find someone better suited to help you. He’s going off a text book definition right now. I damn well know you feel things, you just don’t want to care about us right now. You’re still in shock, just like the rest of us. Let me and Dee figure out the therapist and you just…”

“Just what?” you mumbled. He titled his head, smiling sadly.

“Just be a fucking kid. Go play with the little kids. Spend the summer hanging out with your old friends because news flash, those girls miss you. Trust me, they text us at least once a week asking if we’ve heard from you cause apparently you’re radio silent when they reach out.”

You glanced down before taking a seat at the end of the bed. “I don’t want to be the girl they pity so they let me hang out with them.”

“Y/N,” he chided, sitting next to you. “I know you didn’t know them for very long but I thought those girls were your friends. I didn’t realize they treated you-”

“They didn’t,” you interjected. You rubbed your palm with your thumb, closing your eyes. “I just worried…I worried they didn’t actually like me and felt sorry for me. I’ve always been scared of getting close to anyone so it didn’t hurt when they fucked me over.”

You pressed your thumb in harder when you felt your skin prickle. Your face scrunched up, Jensen shifting beside you.

“I realize now that my birth parents weren’t all that much better than some of my fosters. I just always thought they were strict. Firm but it came from a good place. I was a good kid, after all. Even after I thought they were gone I was still good like they taught me to be.” You grabbed your thighs, gripping them both hard. “They taught me to be obedient and afraid of messing up. I needed to be perfect. Always fucking perfect even when I thought they were dead. I had to be perfect for them. Perfect grades. Well-behaved. I was perfect and they still didn’t want me.”

You turned to Jensen, green guarded eyes carefully looking back. “Jensen, I think you’re a good person and Dee too. But I don’t know how to be a kid. I don’t know how to not think everyone hates me because everyone always has. I’m seventeen years old. I’m too broken to be fixed. We’re better off just saving everyone the trouble and-”

“Can we stop with the bullshit?” You stopped mid sentence, jaw hung open. Meanwhile Jensen shook his head in annoyance. “You ain’t perfect and you never have been. You’ve got a mouth and a stubborn streak and you have never in your life been afraid to give it right back to me. You know what that is? It’s called being a teenager. Broken? Here’s something for you perfect child, you’re grounded for letting those assholes keep winning.”

“What? I have work-”

“You can go to work but I’m having a serious discussion with your managers about the hours you’re keeping which is super illegal for a minor by the way,” he said as he stood, crossing his arms when you glared back. “Be pissed off all you want. I can work with pissed off.”

“I didn’t do anything!” you said, getting up when he started to leave. “Jensen!”

He turned around, his eyes narrowed. “You do not get to let these people have control over you anymore. Fuck every single one of them. You have no idea how amazing you are. How full of love and care you are. In places you don’t want to admit, you know this family loves you. You know your friends care about you, miss you. You aren’t going to sit in this room and wallow about how much life sucks.”

“Jensen, that’s not fair-”

“You promised me you’d try for me,” he said, your jaw snapping shut. “You do not need to succeed but you will always try your best and this girl? Miss I’m too broken? My daughter is better than that. You fail after you try? Fine. But you aren’t trying so you don’t get to quit on this family yet. Understand?”

“But…” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. You looked around the room, your pulse quickening. “You can’t make me. Last night you said I didn’t have to…you said-”

“I know what I said.” He raised his chin, dread curling in your gut. “But you will try.”

“I don’t want any of you!” you shouted, clenching your hands into fists by your sides. “Why won’t you leave me the fuck alone!”

He looked you up and down, a steadiness to him that unnerved you, some of your anger fading. “You can give up on yourself if that’s what you want to do. But I never will.”

“Why do you even-”

“Because that is what dads do, Y/N. I know you don’t understand everything a dad is supposed to do. I get it. I will show you. Dee will show you what a mom does. We will show you.” He put his hands on his hips, your heart caught in your throat. “If you try for us, you don’t have to feel like this every second of every day. We can show you good days, just like we did before. You can have so many good days they’ll outnumber ones like this. But kid, I need you to give it a chance. Now go outside to where the kids are playing so they can welcome you home.”

You grumbled as you went past him, Jensen clearing his throat behind you. “What now?”

“I’d appreciate it if you spent the day with them. They were devastated when you left and-”

“I wouldn’t hurt them,” you snapped back at him.

“Never said you would. You were always amazing with them. I just hope when you go out there you might finally understand that there are people in this world that love you unconditionally. Kids can’t lie about that crap and those three have begged for their big sister to come back every day. So go make their fucking year and maybe they’ll help you not feel so damn shitty for a little while.”

You swallowed when he went past you and turned the corner.

“I’ll try to try,” you whispered.

You heard him hum and part of you hoped it’d really be that simple.

Late Evening

You winced when you sat down on a counter stool after a late shower. You weren’t old but damn, you had more than a few bruises and scrapes after playing outside with the kids all day.

And it’d been the best day you’d had in a long time.

“Don’t pick at that,” said Dee, coming up from the small basement area with a bottle of wine in hand. You moved your hand away from your knee cap, Dee setting the bottle down. “You put some medicine on your scrapes?”

“Yes,” you said, getting up and going to the cabinet with the first aid kit. She hummed behind you, popping open the bottle as you put a few dabs of antiseptic and bandaids on. “Where’s Jensen?”

“A friend from when he was a kid is in town. They’re getting a quick drink. He should be home in an hour or so,” she said.

“I didn’t say I cared.” She inhaled sharply, pouring her drink with a clenched jaw. “I just think it’s funny. You wanted me back so bad and he’s gone after I’ve been here a day? Yeah, I’m feeling all the love over here.”

“Y/N.” She set the bottle down. Hard. She leaned back, gripping the edge of the counter. With a shake of her head, she sighed. “He hasn’t seen this friend in person in nearly a decade and it’ll probably be another before he sees him again. You want to be pissed at someone? Be pissed at me. I’m the one that told him to go.”

“Of course you did.” She looked up, narrowing her eyes. “Oh come on, Danneel. We both know you never loved me. The kids, yeah. Jensen, maybe. But you? You didn’t want me here. He’s the one always reaching out. It’s never you. He’s not home so we don’t have to pretend right now, alright?”

She stood up straight, taking a long sip from her glass with closed eyes.

“Yeah, drink away the problem. That always worked for so many of my other foster moms.” She set the glass down, slowly peeling open her eyes to reveal something…off. It was a look you didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry I didn’t love you instantly like he did. I’m sorry Jensen was smitten the second you walked in that door and it took me a few days to fall in love with you. I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you and that we failed you. But you don’t have the right to be mean-”

“I have every right to be whatever the fuck I want,” you snapped. Her bottom lip wobbled, a sharp pang ripping through your gut you tried to ignore. “You’re sad? Boo hoo. Get over it. I told him more than once already. I don’t want this. I don’t want you. You will never be my parent and when I’m eighteen, I really am gone. So suck it up and stop crying because I really do not care.”

She wrinkled her nose and looked away, tears filling her eyes. After a beat, she took a step back and quietly made her way to her room, closing the door behind her. You sighed, sliding off the counter stool to head towards your room when you froze.

Jensen was standing by the hallway, staring at you, every feature of his face etched with anger.

“I-”

“Don’t.” He walked past you, headed straight for his bedroom.

“She-” Jensen spun on his heels, eyes dark as he bounded across the room in four quick steps to stare you down.

“Go to your room. We are going to have a very serious discussion about what I just heard.”

“I-”

“Room. Now,” he growled. You shrunk away and went quickly to your bedroom, heart in your throat.

Why had you said that? Why the fuck had you said that shit to Dee? Your hands shook as you rushed to your closet. You’d been right all along. Something was wrong with you. No wonder no one wanted you. You were nasty and cruel and god, you had to get out of here and let these people live in peace.

You grabbed your duffel and quietly slipped on a pair of sneakers before you were out the garage door without a sound.

One Hour Later

You weren’t far outside of the neighborhood when you heard a car horn blare. You spun around, swallowing when a black SUV sped up close to you, coming to a hard stop in the road. Jensen got out of the car, storming around the front with a fury you’d only seen once before.

Oh god, he was going to fucking kill you.

“Get in the fucking car!” he shouted. You were frozen where you stood, Jensen ripping the duffel away and taking your arm with his other hand. He tossed the bag in the backseat before giving you a look to do what he said or else. Silently you got inside, Jensen slamming the door shut.

You swallowed when you tried the door and realized he had the childproofing on. Fuck, he never did that before when it was only you in the car. He didn’t want you to run away. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He was behind the wheel fast, putting the car in drive. He didn’t head home though. No, he got on the highway and drove out west, out towards the brewery. Out where it was quiet this time of night. The brewery would be closed, no one around.

You were shaking like a leaf when he pulled up in front of the old house on the property. He was quiet, much slower to walk around the car this time. You wouldn’t look at him when he opened the door, taking your arm again. He didn’t say anything as he walked you up the steps into the dark house. He flipped a switch on the wall, a dim hall light and a few others turning on. At the back of the house was an old kitchen, a few wooden chairs sat at a nearby table.

“Sit.” He let go of you, walking to the far side of the room. This was your one and only chance. You bolted out of the room, ripping open the back door. “Y/N!”

You yelped when arms caught you before you could even get off the back porch. Fuck, you thought he wouldn’t be that fast. But you still tried to get free, aware of someone shouting your name over and over.

“Y/N!” Jensen shouted, shaking you once. You blinked away wet tears as you stared up at him, pulse racing as you kept trying to get your wrists out of his steel grip. “Kiddo, stop. What is going on with you?”

“Just fucking do it already,” you breathed out with as much defiance as you could muster which wasn’t a whole lot. Your heart hurt, your body was coming off an adrenaline high and he was too fucking strong. It was all too fucking much.

“Tall munchkin, what are you talking about?” he asked. You jerked on your hands and fresh tears spilled over.

“Just hurt me already. That’s why you brought me out here, isn’t it? So get it over with.”

His face fell so fast you’d have sworn you told him someone had died. He closed his eyes as his grip on you eased, hands moving to your cheeks. He closed his eyes for a long beat, opening them slowly, wiping away your tears. “Oh, baby girl. Do you really think I could ever do that to you?”

You glanced away, body trembling as you fought back the wracking sobs your lungs that were desperate to escape. He kissed the top of your head, murmuring something you couldn’t make out over the pounding in your ears.

“What?” you whispered, eyes fixated on a tree a ways off in the darkness.

“I said it’s okay. I got you.” You glanced up at him, all the rage from before gone, a deep sadness replacing it. He smiled, thumbing away more tears that silently fell. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d keep you safe and I didn’t. You can hate me if that makes you feel better. God knows I hate myself.”

A single crackling heap of air that sounded like a pained cry left your lips, your hands so tight on his wrists you’d leave marks. “Y/N. I’m sorry for making you come back. We should have realized how much we hurt you. We understand if you can’t forgive us…can’t stand us.”

He closed his eyes, breathing hard a few beats. “I will not force you to stay with people you can’t stand. If you want…we can find you a new family…”

Finally he opened his eyes, wet green eyes meeting your own. “I need you to be okay and you’re not with us. I understand. It’s okay. We’ll find you somewhere you can be okay.”

“You’re getting rid of me?” you breathed out, his head shaking. “Yes, you are.”

“Look at yourself,” he said, dropping his hands, your own releasing him when he stepped back. He shrugged, shaking his head. “I was supposed to make your life better. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to take away the pain, not give you more. You deserve a better father than me.”

“Jensen-”

“You’re still scared of me!” He shouted, waving his hand up and down, wiping off his face with the back of his hand. “You thought I’d hit you? After all this time you still don’t trust me and I don’t blame you. I’m a fuck up that will keep fucking this up. I know you want a family but it doesn’t have to be us. I will find you better, somewhere you can forget about all of the bad homes. You can forget about us. You don’t have to hurt anymore.”

You shook your head, Jensen scoffing, looking over your head. “You ran away again. You keep telling Dee and I how much you don’t want this. We can’t keep doing this every day, Y/N. I won’t force you to be part of a family you don’t want. I shouldn’t have told you that you have to try. I’m sorry.”

You clenched your fists by your sides, blinking through tears that wouldn’t stop, trying to breath through your stuffed up nose and failing. “Y/N, I’m sorry-”

“Stop saying that!” You flung your arms out and pushed him back a step, hands hitting a solid wall of his chest.

“Y/N, you don’t want us-” You pushed him again, Jensen not moving this time. “Y/N! Stop-”

You turned and walked away, hands on your head as you bounded down the back steps.

“Y/N!” You spun around, Jensen a few feet behind you in the grassy yard, your heart breathing hard. “Y/N-”

“I LOVE YOU, YOU FUCKING MORON!” you screamed. He froze, face blank a moment as you looked up to the dark night sky. “I told the DA and the state I wouldn’t sue for all their fuck ups if when you decided to adopt me, the process would happen same day, no waiting. I picked you. I want you.”

“W-why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t Cole?” he asked. You put your back to him, eyes watching the stars above.

“Because I feel like I got stabbed in the heart yesterday and I’ll be bleeding out for the rest of my life. I don’t want adoption unless you want me.” You shuddered when fresh tears started, your throat feeling raw from the choked back sobs.

“But…you know we want you. You know that.” You nodded, feeling him behind you. “If you want us and we want you, what the fuck are we doing out here?”

“This might surprise you but I’m pretty fucked up,” you joked. You lowered your head, wrapping your arms around yourself in the cool night air. “No one’s ever loved me before. I’m so goddamn scared of being loved.”

“Why?” he asked quietly.

“Because what if you change your mind like all the others. There’s no more room inside of me for that and especially not from you.”

“What makes me so special?” he breathed out, resting his hands on your shoulders, tucking your head under his chin.

“I don’t know. I just know that it hurt a hell of a lot more to think you gave me back than to know my birth parents gave me up and I don’t fucking understand why. I’m so mean to you and Dee because if you hurt me like that for real, it’ll kill me. I want you but I’m so scared of that pain coming back. You are the ones that deserve better, not me.”

“And we screwed up so you don’t trust us the way you need to in order to get rid of that fear,” he said. You shook your head, shrugging away from him.

“Jensen,” you said, facing him, the breeze in the air drying your salty tear streaks against your cheeks. “I don’t blame you for not knowing the impossible. That case worker woman was vile. She fucked with me my whole time in foster care. I do not blame you and I hate that you hate yourself for what she did.”

“It doesn’t matter. My job is to protect you and I didn’t. It’s that simple.” You tilted your head, frowning at him. “If we’d stopped her that day we could have been there for you when you found out about her and your birth parents. You wouldn’t feel so alone right now.”

“Yes I would and you know it. Finding out about my birth parents was always going to make me question you and Dee and everything. That kind of pain…” Your gaze went down to your feet for a moment, trailing up to his face eventually. “I was never going to outrun it. It’s something I have to go through alone. You can help but that pain is mine and mine alone to fight through.”

“You shouldn’t ever know that level of pain. No one should,” he said softly. You nodded, the air quiet and still. “I need to let you be in pain I think is what you’re telling me.”

“I’m not looking forward to it either,” you said, closing your eyes. “I got so good at bottling crap up and it’s festering in there. I’ve been trying so hard to stay numb to it all.”

“That’s clearly been working out,” he teased, his foot steps crunching against the dry grass. Heavy arms wrapped around your back, your head dropping to his chest. “Last night you were in shock.”

“I know.”

“I think you have to let yourself feel it all, kiddo. You have to take it and mourn and let the pain in.” You shook your head, his hand dipping under your chin. You swallowed and met his gaze, his green eyes gentle. “You’re scared of being loved? Then let me love you through this. Let me prove that I love all those dark, ugly corners inside of you that you can’t stand. Let me show you I love the worst parts of you as much as the best. You can’t live with this fear and pain forever. So you fight through it and I’ll be by your side while you do. Can we try that?”

“Okay,” you whispered. You shuddered, his hand rubbing up and down your back. “We have a problem.”

“What?” he asked, pressure forming behind your eyes. You screwed your eyes shut to try and stop the wetness but it was coming, your skin prickled up, nerves tingling as the pit your stomach opened up.

“You said nice things and I don’t think I can wait until we get home to have a breakdown,” you whispered, a pang of hurt rippling across your chest. You grimaced, Jensen bending down and picking you up, arms and legs wrapping around him as you clung tight. You trembled, panic crawling through your veins.

They don’t love you. They don’t love you. They don’t love you. No one’s ever loved you.

“Hey, hey,” he said as you sat down inside on the floor of the kitchen against one of the walls. “Breathe for me, tall munchkin. Breathe.”

“W-why didn’t they want me?” you croaked. A large hand tucked you into the crook of his neck, his arms tight across your back and holding you to him. “Why’d they do that to me?”

“I don’t know, baby girl,” he said. You started babbling questions you knew he couldn’t answer, all the while he kept a lock tight grip to keep you close. It was hours later when the tears were long gone and your body exhausted when you finally stopped.

“Jensen,” you mumbled, wearily opening your eyes and met with the mess of his neck and shirt you’d made.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he whispered, head tilted against yours.

“Why do you love me?” you barely got out, throat like sandpaper. He was quiet, chest rising and falling slowly underneath you.

“Those people may have made you but you’re my daughter and I need no reason to love my daughter. All I know is I love her and I will for the rest of eternity so she better get fucking used to it.”

You turned your head up, Jensen lifting his with a tired smile. “How we doing, kiddo?”

“You kept your promise,” you whispered. “About protecting me. Trust me.”

“Okay, kiddo,” he said, your head falling back to his shoulder. “You want to go home?”

You nodded, Jensen grunting as he got his legs underneath himself and managed to stand with you still around him. You hummed your impressment, Jensen chuckling as he walked through the house and hit the switch on the way out.

“We’ll do this as many times as we need to, okay?” You closed your eyes and hummed again. “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier. I just didn’t want you to run off on me before we could talk.”

“S’okay,” you murmured. “Probably a good call.”

“Let’s get you home, sweetie.”

Thirty minutes later Jensen was carrying you inside, kicking off his shoes and pulling yours off your feet before turning the alarm on and turning off the downstairs lights. He didn’t veer left towards your room though. Instead he carried you into his room where Danneel sat in bed with a book and her phone. You wearily raised your head. It was two in the morning. Why wasn’t she asleep?

“M’sorry,” you got out, throat burning again, a wince crossing your face.

“I forgive you,” she said softly as she stood up, tucking your hair behind your ear as Jensen brought you to the bed. She kissed your forehead, sighing gently. “We can talk in the morning.”

“I love you,” you said when Jensen started to move. She smiled, running her hand over your head.

“I love you too,” she said, nodding towards the bed. Jensen set you down in the middle, Danneel pulling the covers over top of you.

Your head had barely hit the pillow before you were out like a light.

You woke up to the sound of a pan clattering somewhere. You looked around the unfamiliar space, quickly registering where exactly you were. The sun was up and a quick glance at the clock showed it was just after seven.

You slowly got out of bed and used the bathroom before leaving their bedroom. Danneel was washing a pan in the sink while Jensen sipped on a cup of coffee and tried to get the twins to eat their breakfast.

“Morning,” you squeaked out, hand going to your throat. You rubbed it, Danneel frowning at you.

“What are you doing up?”

“I have school in thirty minutes,” you said, Jensen shoving a glass of water in front of you that you happily chugged.

“We called school. You finished your exams last week they said and Cole already got you excused these last two days,” said Danneel. “You’re on summer vacation.”

You sat down at the counter and closed your eyes, the sound of a plate set in front of you. You opened them again, Jensen’s plate now yours. He eyed for you to eat and you were honestly still too tired to argue. It hurt a bit to swallow but you got your eggs down by the time Jensen was rushing the kids off to school and daycare.

“Go take a shower and change,” said Danneel, taking your mostly empty plate away.

“Dee.” You paused at the hallway to your room, hearing her stop working in the kitchen.

“Jensen told me about last night. We don’t have to rehash it.” You nodded, putting a hand on the wall. “We’d like to take you on a day trip today if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Where?” you asked.

“Galveston? Have you ever been?” You shook your head. “You’ve never seen the ocean?”

“We only went on one trip when I was a kid and that’s when my birth parents tried to abandon me in the woods.” You shrugged. “Maybe we should go in a few days after JJ graduates kindergarten.”

She smiled and shook her head. “We take lots of trips. We were supposed to go to Canada on your spring break, do you remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’ll go on that one in July when Jensen goes back to work. But today is a trip for us three, okay? The little ones can come another time.”

“Don’t they need-”

“They are taken care of. Now go wash up and pack a bag. We won’t be home until late.”

“What do I bring to the beach?” you asked. She smiled.

“Just go wash up. I’ll pack your things. Don’t worry.”

That Evening

You tilted your head back with a smile, enjoying the warm setting sun on your face as you leaned against the railing of the pier. The cool ocean breeze was a nice contrast to the last traces of heat in the day.

“I didn’t know teenagers were capable of spending the day with their parents for a day without combusting, let alone do it with a smile,” said Jensen beside you. You stuck out your tongue at him, Jensen throwing an arm over your cold shoulders. “Warm enough?”

“I’m a little chilly but I don’t want to leave yet,” you said.

“I will be right back then. Five minutes.” He left your side and headed towards a stand nearby, Danneel looping her arm through yours as she watched the waves with you.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked.

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “But this isn’t real life. It’s a vacation. I can’t have your attention all the time.”

“Sweetie, you’re seventeen. I seriously doubt you want our attention all the time.”

“Good point,” you said. “But you and Jensen can’t focus on me. It’s not fair to the little guys.”

“Y/N. Jensen and I are the parents, not you. You will never be a parent to your siblings, understand? You just…be a big sister and you leave the making sure the kids are alright to me and Jay.”

“I’m not used to this. Being cared for. Getting a whole day for me,” you said, smiling when you saw a dolphin far out jump over the water.

“You’ll get used to it. This is just the start.” You nodded when she rested her head on your shoulder. “Someday you’ll struggle to remember what it was like not feeling loved. Just give us time to make it feel normal.”

“I just…feel like it’s a lot for just me. I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“Love isn’t a barter system. You just do things for the people you love because you love them. Like Jensen buying you an overpriced sweatshirt so you won’t be cold.” You smirked, her hand rubbing up and down your bare arm. “Trust me?”

“Okay,” you whispered, head turning when Jensen approached with a bright royal blue hoodie.

“Alright so I went with blue since I don’t think our daughter is a highlighter pink kind of girl.” You raised your eyebrows, Jensen chuckling as he tugged it on over your head. “Are you about to tell me I misread that?”

“Uh no, I want the blue over the pink for sure,” you said, tugging it down as he fixed the strings. “I just…you said our daughter.”

“I did. Daughter, daughter, daughter, daughter, daughter,” he said, kissing your forehead when you blushed. “I don’t know what to do with her, Dee. She clearly hates being called daughter.”

“Maybe we just keep saying it so our daughter gets used to it?” she asked, wrapping her arm around your waist.

“I think we definitely should for our daughter. What does our daughter think about that, daughter?” said Jensen with a big stupid smile.

“Jesus christ,” you said, rolling your eyes as you bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes lit up though, finger pointing at your face. “What?”

“Daughter smiled,” he grinned.

“I did not-”

“Don’t lie, daughter,” said Dee, Jensen putting you in a headlock when you groaned. “Aw, she’s annoyed with us.”

“Just like a normal family,” he said. You groaned again. “Come on, let’s go find some ice cream around here.”

“There’s a place back that way with a red and white awning,” said a voice in passing. You turned your head to find a guy about your age standing there, a couple guys that looked like his friends walking on ahead of him.

“Well thank you,” said Jensen, trying to walk away with you but you were still looking at this guy with short, fluffy black hair and a UT Austin hoodie.

“Hi,” he said with a smile as you realized he’d been talking to you the whole time.

“Hi,” you said, pushing Jensen’s arm off of you, taking a step closer to him. “Do you go to Austin?”

He glanced down and laughed. “Oh no. I’m going into my senior year of high school. I did a college tour over there last month. They’re my first choice.”

“Same. I want to do their architecture program if I can get in,” you said, the guys eyes lighting up even more.

“Small world. I’m applying for architecture too,” he said, the guys friends coming back, someone whispering something in his ear that had him trying to wave them off.

“Well hopefully we both get in,” you said, stepping closer and holding out your hand. “Can I have your phone?”

He fumbled with it in his pocket for a second before pulling it out. You texted yourself from his phone and handed it back, his shy smile growing by the second. “Text me sometime. We can vent about the application process.”

“S-sure,” he said, taking the phone back. You clasped your hands behind your back, not even a little upset about the weird little flip flops your stomach was doing. “I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so,” you said. “I’m Y/N.”

“TJ,” he said, walking backwards with that stupid grin.

“See you around campus, TJ.”

“You too, Y/N,” he said as you spun around, giving him a little wave behind your back. You walked past Jensen and Dee, humming to yourself.

“Did you see the way they were looking at each other?” whispered Dee.

“Yes,” mumbled Jensen.

“The way she lit up-”

“Yes.”

“Did that remind you of anyone in particular, Jensen?” she said, a smile in her voice.

“Yes,” he sighed. You glanced over your shoulder, raising your eyebrow at them. “She thinks you just met your soulmate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, right. Sure I did.”

“Jesus christ, she’s going to marry that fucking kid,” said Jensen. You rolled your eyes. “If you saw your face, you’d think so to.”

“He was hot, doesn’t mean anything,” you said, Dee smirking up at Jensen. “Guys.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s go find some ice cream.”

It was after midnight when you got home and into bed. The bridge of your nose was sunburnt and you were pretty sure you still smelled like the ocean despite a shower. But it was a good day.

“Hey,” said Jensen, knocking on the doorframe to your room as you climbed under the covers. “Need anything?”

“I’m good,” you said, Jensen setting a glass of water down on your nightstand. “Thanks.”

“You were in the sun a lot today. Drink that before you sleep,” he said, ruffling your hair. You closed your eyes and nodded, flashing them open when he moved away.

“Why’d you and Dee tease me about that guy today?” you asked. He looked worried and you shook your head. “It’s okay. I know I’ve never talked about boys before with you guys but like, I’ve had a boyfriend before. For like a month but still.”

He smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, taking your hand in his, thumbing over the sleeve of your new hoodie. “Because for a solid minute there, honey, you weren’t just happy. You were…lighter. We’ve never seen you like that before. You were so forward with him and flirting and that is what I want you to feel with your partner everyday when you are ready for that. It’s very hard to explain that it seemed different than you just thinking a guy was hot. Does that make sense?”

You nodded, putting your free hand on your stomach. “I had butterflies but I’ve had those before. I just…it’s really hard to believe in the idea of soulmates. I want to, you know? The idea that there’s someone out there that’s yours and will love you forever is nice but…I find it hard to believe some guy could ever love me. I mean, you know me. What boy will put up with me questioning them if they love me? I’ll be one of those weird clingy girls and guys don’t like that.”

“Your other half will be your safe place and will love to be that for you. He will love to tell you how much he loves you and he will be so good at it, you won’t doubt him. That is the man you will marry. You will never settle for any other man than one that loves you and you will know, tall munchkin. You’ll know who he is when you meet him.”

“How do you know, though?” You asked. Jensen chuckled.

“I’m going to let you figure that one out for yourself when you’re older,” he said, leaning in. “But do text that boy first when you’re ready. If he’s anything like me, he’ls going to need you to make the first move.”

“You think I’m that brave?” you scoffed. “Me?”

“Kid, you literally pushed me away to go talk to some random boy. I don’t know what that was but that boy is meant to be somebody in your life,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze. “Do me a favor though. Focus on you first for awhile, not boyfriends. Deal?”

��Deal.” He got up, pausing when he watched you part your lips.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Thanks, for today. I’ve never built a sandcastle or been on a jet ski or eaten seafood or just…had a day like that.”

“You’ll have more like it, promise. Get some sleep now.”

“I…” you said before he could leave, Jensen cocking his head down. “There’s a part of me that’s still scared, that I don’t fit here. I know I shouldn’t but I might…I might still…I don’t want to be a brat again. I don’t. But I’m scared I’ll wake up tomorrow and you'll change your mind.”

“Y/N.” He looked down, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Dee and I called Cole this morning to start the process for you to be adopted. By the end of the week we should be in front of a judge and make it official.”

“You want to…” He nodded. “Why now?”

“We always wanted you. The paperwork has been filled out since the first day we met you.” Your eyes went wide, Jensen sighing. “We wanted adoption to be the last step after you knew we loved you and we knew you loved us. It wasn’t supposed to be a bandaid to get you there. We know you’re shaky still because of your birth parents and there’s fresh scars there we have to work through. But I know you. I know you want us and we want you. So let’s make you ours and we’ll work on healing those new scars.”

“I-I’m getting adopted this week?” you asked, Jensen smiling.

“JJ graduates on Wednesday and we’re having a party for her afterwards. Is Friday too far away?” You shook your head. “We’ll go to the store tomorrow, find you a dress or whatever you want to wear for it.”

“Okay,” you whispered. He ran his hand over your head, leaning down to kiss the top of it. You pressed your hands to your eyes, trying to stop the pressure behind them trying to build.

“You do want this, don’t you?” he asked. You nodded, feeling the air shift. Your hands were gently pulled away, Jensen kneeling before you. “Hey. You never have to hide your tears from me.”

“It just doesn’t feel real. Good things don’t happen to me.” He held your hands, trying to hide his worry. “Are you really sure?”

“We lost you once. We’re not losing you again. End of story.” You closed your eyes, smiling as he pulled you into a hug. “And to be clear, you keep calling me and Dee whatever you want to. You do not have to call us mom and dad. Ever. Okay?”

“You worry too much,” you whispered, hugging him hard. He let out a huff, chuckling through it. “I wish I was born here.”

“Me too. I would have loved to teach you so much.” You laughed, leaning back to catch his curious eyes.

“There’s still things you can…like maybe tomorrow you can show me how to ride a bike?” you asked. His eyes lit up at that information. “I know I should know by now but no one…I realized the assholes didn’t teach me a lot-”

“We will teach you everything you want to know,” he said, getting to his feet and kissing your forehead. “Starting with the bike tomorrow. Now drink your water and I want you to sleep in tomorrow. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months.”

“Jensen,” you said as you scooted back against the pillows and he grabbed your blanket from the chair in the corner to toss over you. “I swear I’ll never run away again. I’m sorry. You and Dee need to have a good night’s sleep too.”

“I trust you, tall munchkin.” He pointed at the glass and you took a big chug, Jensen humming. “Come get us if you need anything.”

“Goodnight,” you said, setting the glass aside and laying down.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Friday Night

Jensen stood up from his seat around the table on the back porch where most of the family was congregated. “Alright. I’m going to go get the firepit started. Y/N, come watch and learn.”

You shoveled down the rest of your cake and wiped off your hands as you trotted down the stairs after him. “Are you sure this is about the firepit and not giving me some kind of present? Cause you’ve been trying to get me alone for like, an hour.”

“We already got you presents. The new bike for my incredible prodigy-”

“Am I prodigy if we spent thirty minutes watching youtube videos first?” He ignored you, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you walked across the grass towards the back patio deck in the corner.

“You already got your presents for the day,” he said.

“Yeah, stuff I didn’t ask for in the first place. Having…this is more than enough,” you said, gesturing towards him and back at the house.

“I know. It actually makes it incredibly difficult to find gifts for you,” he teased, letting you go when you got to the pit. He flicked the pocket of your galveston hoodie you wore, your head darting down at the thwacking sound. “Hm. Sound like something’s in there.”

“Did you just reverse pick-pocket me?” you said, reaching inside and pulling out an envelope.

“Why don’t you go take a seat and read that while I get the fire going?” he said, pointing to a far off chair. You raised and eyebrow but left him, instead choosing to hop up on top of the railing. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?” you asked, tearing it open.

“There’s some things in there that are different now but the message is the same. Remember that.”

“Okay…” you said, taking out the sheets, pausing when you saw the date in the top corner. “This is from the first day I was ever here, last December.”

“I might have written that awhile ago.” You stared at him, Jensen tilting his head. “You read that and we never have to talk about it again and when you’re ready, we’ll invite everybody down here, alright?”

“What is this?” you asked, spotting an 18 on the envelope.

“I…write letters to my children…for their big life events…some I’ve already written, some I haven’t yet. That was supposed to be your letter for your eighteenth birthday. I always thought with how long adoption takes…it’d be around that time when we had been able to do that for you. Today felt fitting for it.” He put his back to you and started to fiddle with a switch on the stone wall, flames coming up from the gas fire pit. He simply stood there, watching it, ignoring your stares.

After a moment you straightened out the papers and started to read.

Hi kiddo. So today’s your first day here. It’s getting pretty late. I just checked and you’re passed out in your room. I’m taking that as a good sign. I know today was stressful for you, stressful for all of us. It certainly hasn’t turned out like I expected. I never expected you to be any sort of way really. But you kind of broke my heart earlier. It’s alright. It’s part of being a dad. It’s nothing you even did. I see how afraid you are, how closed off you are. You told me not to bother with you.

Y/N, you’re out of your fucking mind if you think for one second I’m not going to fight every single day to prove you wrong. You are worth a family, sweetie. You are so worth it. Dee and I talked about you quite a bit after you went to bed. We’re going to adopt the shit out of you someday. Hopefully by the time you get this, we already have or at least you know we’re going to.

I don’t need that piece of paper to know how I feel. We’ll get it someday, I promise you that. But I don’t need it. I don’t need a piece of paper to call you my daughter.

I know you’re probably thinking, Jensen, you’re nuts. You barely knew me for five hours! How did you know you wanted to adopt me?

Well, Y/N, here’s the thing. Before I opened that front door today, I didn’t. I wanted desperately for you to be part of this family. I certainly never expected to know right away. You know, I’ve only known I loved someone unconditionally like that three other times in my life. You may know them as your siblings. Even with Dee, I fell hard for her but not so fast.

It scares the shit out of me to be honest. You’ll learn in time that while I’m big and tall and strong, I’m a wimp when it comes to this stuff. I got a lot of friends, but there’s only a few I let in close like that. I get scared of getting hurt too. I’m shy and quiet unless I feel comfortable around whoever I’m with. I force myself to not be like that around people sometimes but I don’t have to force a thing with you. So yeah, it’s only been a little while. I know we got a lot ahead of us to deal with.

I know I love you too, kiddo. I’m not your birth dad. I didn’t teach you to ride a bike or swing a baseball bat or take you to your first day of school.

But you’re my daughter and I’ll never give a damn that we don’t share blood or the fact I didn’t make you. You’re ours and we’re yours and no one will ever tell me otherwise.

I’ll always be your dad, no matter how big you get. You lost a lot of opportunities to be a kid. I know that and I wish I could give them back. But I’ll do what I can. You can be embarrassed of me or think I’m a dork. That’s okay. I want to give you as much as possible.

Just because you’re growing up doesn’t mean any of that will ever stop either. I will still be dad and still ask you to let me know you got home safe when you’re my age so get used to it. I know it’ll only have been about a year. I know it won’t be perfect. I know we’ll have had hard days by now and we’ll keep having them.

But as long as you’re safe, as long as you’re happy, as long as you give us a chance, that’ll be more than enough for me. You’re strong, Y/N. I am proud of you for how amazing you’ve done in life all on your own. Maybe it seems stupid to you but I am proud. You were your own parent and I’m sorry. No one should have to raise themselves. But you did a damn good job of it. Let us take over from here. You rest and be a kid again.

Allow yourself to feel loved again, honey. We won’t hurt you. We never will.

By the time you see this, I hope you know all of this already. I hope none of this comes as a surprise. We love you. I love you. I think you know we’re different already. I saw it tonight when I told you I was going to prove you wrong. No one’s cared about you like that in a long time.

Your parents care. Cole cares. We care. There’s going to be even more people that come into your life that care about you. I’m so very honored to get to be one of them. It won’t be easy. But that’s okay. I will never stop showing you that you are worth every bit of love you get around here and beyond it.

I love you.

Also, you snore a little and that’s so flippin’ adorable.

I don’t know how to end this so welcome home, Y/N and Happy 18th Birthday, kiddo.

Love,

Dad

You wiped off your face with your sleeve, a shaky breath escaping your lips. Carefully, you tucked the letter back into the envelope, holding it against your chest.

“Why didn’t you give me this sooner?” you whispered. You heard the deck creak behind you.

“You wouldn’t have believed me.” You closed your eyes, chest tight.

“Sunday night…you said you’d find me another family if that’s what I wanted. Even when you loved me all this time.”

“When you love someone, really love them, all you want is for them to be happy. I’d do anything to make you happy, kiddo, even if it hurts me. That’s what parents do.”

You tucked the envelope into the kangaroo pocket of your hoodie, slowly wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about Sunday. We don’t have to talk about that letter ever again either. All I wanted to do was give you a reminder for when I’m not around that we love you so damn much.”

Your bottom lip wobbled as your eyes opened, glancing right to find him at your side. Warm green eyes met yours, his smile soft. He wiped your cheeks with the cuff of his shirt sleeve, turning your head when you tried to shy away. “Hey. Look at me.”

You looked up, soft fleece touching under your eyes and then dabbing over your wet lashes. You blinked a few times, swallowing thickly. All he did was smile though. “Why are you washing my face?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wiped away one of my kids tears and it won’t be the last.”

“But why me? I’m not a little kid,” you whispered. He cocked his head, swiping down your neck before cupping your cheek.

“Because you’ll always be my kid and dad’s take care of their kids. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you. I promise.” You nodded, his hand dropping. “I’m sorry about the letter-”

“No.” You placed your hands over the pocket, the envelope crinkling. “I loved it.”

“It made you cry.”

“They weren’t sad tears,” you whispered. He took a moment to clear his throat, leaning against the railing. He lowered his head, breathing deeply. “Will you write me more letters?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, turning to you with a smile. “I’ll write you more letters. I just thought you didn’t like the way I ended it.”

“I don’t snore,” you said, getting a laugh out of him. “I don’t.”

“Yes you do but they’re tiny baby snores. It’s cute,” he said, looking down again. “I meant the dad thing.”

“You call yourself that all the time.” He sighed, straightening up.

“I know. But that’s not a title I’ve earned with you. I just…” he closed his eyes, shoulders tensing.

“That was my favorite part.” He turned slowly, blinking his eyes rapidly. You shrugged, a small whisper of a smile forming on your lips. “Why the hell wouldn’t I love when you tell me you love me?”

“I can love you as Jensen. You never, ever, have to call me anything other than that and it doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you.”

You nodded, looking out at the dark river beyond. The air was quiet, Jensen still, at ease next to you.

“We should invite everyone down here before they wonder what the hell’s going on,” you said. You felt him start to turn, your hand catching his arm. He looked down at it before finding your face. You smiled, taking a deep breath. “Can you bring down stuff for smores?”

“I can do that,” he said, getting a half step away.

“Dad,” you said, glancing over your shoulder, his whole body freezing. He spun around, surprise written all over his face. You grinned wider, tilting your head at him. “Don’t forget the napkins this time.”

“Right. Napkins.” He blinked a few times, glancing at the house and then you. “Are you sure-”

“Dad. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” He held up his hands. “I’m serious.”

“Alright. Smores coming right up.”

You woke up early the next day, padding down the hall and finding Jensen and Danneel sitting on the covered back porch with mugs of coffee in front of them. With a yawn, you saw him wave you over and grumbled. You’d taken to drinking coffee the past few months when you started working so much and had developed a craving for it in the mornings.

“Morning,” you mumbled, taking a seat at the table and stealing the closest cup to you. You took a big, slow gulp, humming to yourself.

“I need that more than you do,” said Jensen, taking the mug back, taking a drink. “Sleep okay?”

You nodded, rubbing your eye when Danneel leaned over and gave you a side hug. “Can we be normal again guys? I get yesterday was a big deal but I just want to go back to being Y/N.”

“We’re huggers,” he said as she squeezed tighter. “Speaking of which, we have one last present for you, from my parents. They asked us to give it to you privately. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

You raised an eyebrow, Danneel releasing you only to reach across the table and tug over a blue bag. “Go on.”

With a roll of your eyes, you reached in the bag and pulled out a picture frame. Turning it over, you saw a slightly grainy image of you as a toddler, maybe three years old at most. Except the other person in the picture, the person who’s hip you were sat on as you clung your tiny arms around their neck, was a young Jensen of all people.

You snapped your eyes over to him, a silly look on his face. “What is this?”

“When Jensen was in his twenties, they went on a family trip to disney world,” said Dee, hugging your side again. “When he was at the airport, there was a lost little girl and he helped her. Do you remember that at all?”

You titled your head, staring at him, eyes widening briefly. “You? T-That was you?”

“My mom was going through some old home movies and found footage from when that happened a while ago. She only told me last night and gave me a picture like that too. She thinks it’s a sign.”

“It is a sign,” said Danneel, your gaze going back to the picture. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

“Y/N, if I had somehow known back then what your future was…” You nodded, offering him a smile. “I wish I’d known and could have been there for you.”

“S’okay,” you said quietly, smirking at the picture. “Like mom said, I’m where I’m supposed to be now.”

“Exactly,” she said, your arms wrapping around her waist as she hugged you tight. You felt another pair of arms wrap around you both and squeeze. “So, did you text that boy from the pier yet?”

“Uh, actually yeah,” you said, heat creeping into your face. “He’s from Dallas. He seems nice.”

Thankfully they dropped it when there was a crash in the house and JJ came rushing over, covered in milk. Dee sighed and scooped her up, you and Jensen following behind to clean up the floor.

“Y/N,” he said as you used a roll of paper towels to soak up the half gallon splashed across the floor. You hummed, glancing up when you noticed he’d stopped cleaning. “I’m going to say this once and only once because I trust you. The person you end up with, make sure they’re a good one. I don’t want you to end up with an asshole who only tells you what you want to hear.”

“I won’t. I’ve got a pretty good example of how the guy I end up with should treat me.” You continued to clean up, shaking your head. “Besides, there’s no way that I end up with that TJ guy. Like zero chance.”

“That why you keep staring at your phone with a stupid smile on your face whenever you get a text?” You growled, Jensen chuckling. “Oh come on, I can’t tease you about boys? This is too much fun for me.”

“Dad,” you groaned. He only beamed though, smiling as you rolled your eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yup. Just remember you picked us dorks.” You glanced over at him, a tiny sliver of a smile coming through. “Too late to change your mind now.”

“You’re alright for an old guy,” you teased.

“Just alright?” he asked. You shrugged.

“Maybe a little more than alright,” you said, getting a head ruffle, stilling when you realized he’d just gotten milk all in your hair. “Dude! Gross!”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

__________

A/N: Let me know what you thought of this part with a comment or reblog as I'm very interested!

#supernatural #spn #Jensen ackles #Jensen ackles x foster daughter!reader #Jensen ackles x daughter!reader #Jensen ackles au #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fanfiction

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miumura · 1 year ago

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( 🤍 ) BLURRY HEARTS — NISHIMURA RIKI FIC

[ DAY NINE ] of the advent calendar !

( 🤍 ) SYNOPSIS . who knew taking a bus ride back home on a cold day could be romantic?

( ��♡˚ ) PAIRING . classmate!ni-ki x gn!reader

( 🤍 ) GENRE . fluff, classmates 2 lovers

( ｡♡˚ ) WARNINGS . none ? ~~ WORD COUNT 0.8k+ ( 833 )

( 🤍 ) NOTE . HAPPY NIKI DAYYY 🤍🤍 the back 2 back bdays in dec okayyy 😍 LMAO ANYWAYS i love riks sm u dont understand . but yes yk i had to think of a cute kinda cliche fic idea for this !!! hope u enjoyyyy 🤍🤍

"I have to go," Niki declared, catching Sunoo off guard as he put on his hat. Sunoo looked at him with confusion, and his confusion only deepened when Niki suddenly started running away. "Hey! I thought we were gonna—" Sunoo stopped mid-sentence, realizing Niki wouldn't hear him from where he was. Shaking his head, Sunoo continued on his own way home while Niki had places to be.

Rushing to the bus stop, Niki spotted you with reddened hands—apparently, you'd forgotten your gloves. The bus hadn't left yet, providing him with an opportunity to steal a few moments with you. Sneakily standing next to you, he nudged you a little, prompting you to look in his direction. With his head turned away, Niki pulled out a hot pack from his pocket, offering it to you.

"Thank you," you smiled, taking the hot pack from him. He simply nodded, and both of you turned a shade of red, and it wasn't just because of the chilly weather.

A slight awkwardness lingered between you both, but it dissipated as the bus finally arrived. Leading the way, you approached the bus entrance, with Niki following right behind you.

Finding seats on the bus, you and Niki ended up in the same row, side by side. The awkwardness from earlier lingered, but there was an undeniable cuteness to it.

As you settled into your seat, Niki hesitated for a moment before mustering up the courage to speak. "Uh, YN, do you mind if I sit next to you?"

“Oh I don’t mind—here,” quickly removing your bag off the empty seat, a small smile played on your face as you nodded.

He grinned in return, his enthusiasm evident. "Thanks,” Then, with a touch of shyness, he added, "But, uh, can I sit in the window seat?"

Chuckling at the request, you gestured toward the window. "Of course, have it." Rising from his seat, Niki offered a quiet expression of gratitude and slid into the seat, smiling at you as he tapped the empty chair beside him. Responding to the unspoken invitation, you swiftly took your place, feeling a gentle touch between your legs due to the limited space on the seats.

Despite the subtle physical contact, you couldn't help but smile, a hint of red tinting your cheeks at the unexpected closeness.

At one point, you noticed a familiar tune playing softly on Niki’s phone. It happened to be a song you both liked, and without a word, Niki pulled out his earphones and handed you one side, sharing the music.

You glanced at him with a playful smile, placing it into the left side of your ear. "Oh, you like this song too?"

Niki chuckled. "Yeah, it's a good one. Thought we could listen to it together as we wait for our stop.”

“That sounds nice,” and you two continued to listen along. With such similar music tastes, you two just had to exchange phone numbers so that you can send song recommendations anytime. You two were getting closer than you thought.

But as the bus neared Niki's stop, he reluctantly pulled the earphone out, giving you a warm smile. "I have to get off here. It was really nice sharing this with you."

"Goodbye—oh, hold on." As Niki rose to leave, the realization dawned on you that you still had his hot pack. Getting up from your seat quickly, you retrieved it from your pocket, you offered, "Here—"

"No, you can keep it," Niki declined, gently placing your hand, hot pack and all, back into your pocket. "I've got an extra—that one was just for you," he smiled, knowingly bending the truth, knowing that was his only hot pack. But, perhaps, he hopes you'd think of him later because of this gesture.

You returned the smile. "Thank you. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"You bet."

With a friendly goodbye, Niki exited the bus, leaving you in the now vacated window seat. Seizing the opportunity, you moved to the window seat, looking out at the passing scenery. The atmosphere inside the bus felt a bit different without him, but you welcomed the solitude.

As the bus moved along, you noticed a slight fog forming on the window. Absentmindedly, you drew a smiley face on the glass, only to realize there was already a message etched there. Through the mist, you saw something: “me + you = date?”

Right next to the message, there were blurry hearts, already slightly erased due to the fog. Since when did he have the time to write such a sweet confession in the most unique way possible? Were you that focused into the conversation with him that you didn’t bother looking around your surroundings?

Either way, your heart skipped a beat as you read the unexpected message. Blushing, you couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth that lingered even after the fog on the window had cleared.

With a smile, you took out your phone, contemplating what to text Niki. It wasn't going to be just another song recommendation; you had something else in mind.

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

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wands-natsthing · 5 months ago

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Snuggle Bug

This story was on my old acct @wandanatsthings I made a new one (aka this one) which will be the acct I use from now on.

Hey, anon I hope this is what you wanted and that you and everyone else enjoy it as well. and remember clinginess is adorable and I love all my snuggle bugs!! Feedback is more than welcomed. New writer

(P.s Im dyslexic i'm trying my best)

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: I really don't think there are any maybe missing someone and clingy reader? It’s just really fluffy!!

Summary: Wanda gets home from a tiring mission to a very snuggly reader who missed her.

Wanda’s Pov

I had just gotten home from a tiring mission that involved a lot of heavy lifting. Everything went fine but I had to pick up a lot of heavy things with my fingers and I know It may seem like nothing but not only does that take a lot out of me physically but mentally as well. All I wanted was to cuddle up with you. I had some making up to do after how early I left you this morning for said mission.

When I walked through the door of our apartment. I saw you lying on the sofa in the living room wearing my favorite burgundy hoodie with white and gray stripes on the sleeves. You also happened to have on my favorite gray sweatpants to match. You loved wearing my clothes, you said it made you feel closer to me which I thought was so utterly precious.

As I approached you I saw our pet cat (Someone should name the cat) jump off your lap to come and greet me. “Hi sweet girl, did you watch over your mama hmm,” I said bending down to pet the fluffy cat that by the looks of it had been given just one too many treats. I heard TV playing so I looked up to see that you were watching my favorite sitcom “The dick van dyke show.” Before we started dating you had no interest in sitcoms and said that they were too “cheesy” but with a lot of convincing, I got you to watch one episode with me and from then on you've been hooked. I might even go as far as to say you liked them more than me. When I walked closer towards you I saw you had dried tears running down your face.

My heart broke at the sight. You had always taken it hard when I had to leave you alone for anything. Whether that be a mission or just to go to the bathroom you hated when I left you by yourself; If you could be with me then you were and to be honest I had no problem with that. Deciding that I was no longer going to make you go through the torture of my skin not being on yours. I reach down and place a hand on your cheek with a soft kiss on your forehead. “Detka…detka love wake up im home.”

That was enough to wake you up. You were never a deep sleeper unless I was sleeping with you, you could sleep almost anything then. It was something about me being close to you that made you feel safe you once said that time I asked. You opened your eyes, squinting a little to adjust to the light.

As soon as you noticed that it was me, you immediately jumped up from your place on the sofa and wrapped your arms around my neck and legs around my waist. “You're home, I missed you!” You exclaimed a smile taking over your face, erasing any evidence of the tears that once took that smile's place. “Yes I am home and I missed you, more sweet girl,” I said while placing my arms under your thighs making sure you wouldn’t fall as I made my way over to sit in the chair that was in the corner by the TV. “How was the mission? Are you hurt or anything?” You asked while checking me over. “No no I'm fine don’t worry love, the mission went well. I'm tired but okay I promise.” I say holding out my pinky finger knowing that pinky promising would be the only way to ease your anxiety.

“What about you hm? How are you, what'd you do while I was gone?” I asked you to bring your head to my chest. “I didn’t do much. Just watched TV, took a nap, and waited for you.” You said looking up at me with your y/e/c eyes through your lashes. “Mm that sounds peaceful, how about we continue that minus the waiting for me of course after lunch? Have you eaten yet?” “No, I haven’t, I was trying to wait for you.” You reply. “Okay let's go have some lunch and then we’ll continue your amazing peaceful day. How does that sound?” I asked, looking down at you in my lap. You nodded up at me. “Sounds good.”

With that, I stand up off the chair with you still in my arms kola style not even thinking about having you let go knowing that would just upset you. It was a task making us lunch with you in my arms but not impossible. We make our way to the dining room table with you holding one plate and me holding the other.

I set you down in your usual seat that is straight across from mine. I picked up my fork ready to dig into the Caesar salads I prepared for lunch when I noticed you were pouting and not even attempting to start eating. “What’s wrong with love?” I asked you with patience in my voice. You look up with the face you do anytime you want something. “Can I sit in your lap and eat please?” I look at you with nothing but love on my face. “Of course, you can love to get over here,” I say while pushing my chair back to make room for you. You clamber in my lap already with your frown turned right side up making it into a smile digging into your lunch. When we finish lunch I get you off my lap so I can put our dishes in the sink to be washed later. I then grab your hand so that we can head upstairs to finish the rest of our day with cuddles.

When we get to our room I head off into the closet so that I can change into something more comfortable. While taking off my shirt, I feel you come up behind me and wrap your arms around my waist. “What are you doing lovely?” I ask, sounding muffled because of the shirt covering my face. “Um, I have an idea.” I hear you sound nervous. “Oh yeah and what’s that?” I ask while taking my shirt off completely. “Do you think we could cuddle naked? I just really wanna feel your skin on mine.” I look down at you and say. “I would love to cuddle naked with you.” We both walk over to the bed while taking off our clothes on the way. When we reach the bed we get under the covers. I bring you into my chest and within minutes you're asleep. I gently kiss your forehead “You will forever be my snuggle bug.” I say then drift off to sleep myself without a thought or worry.

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

Feedback is welcomed and very much appreciated!!

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aynavaano · 9 months ago

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The Cuddle pile

The Bad Batch x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2.5k

Summary:

You and your boys are on shore leave and you spend it like you always do, at your home, a tiny flat on Coruscant. You all lounge on the sofa watching a holomovie with varying states of interest. The last missions have been especially rough and when you finally get to relax you start feeling a bit unwell. Your boys notice and take good care of you.

Notes:

This is a quick completely self-indulgent comfort fic I mainly wrote for myself but sharing is caring so I hope some of you enjoy it too. Reader is in an established relationship with all four of the original Batch members (sorry Echo stans) This is mostly comforting fluff that I wrote on an evening when I was feeling down but there is a hint of smut delivered by Crosshair (oral f receiving) and a bit of grabby hands from the rest. This is maybe not my best work but the target audience was met (me, I was the target audience) also no beta on this one, we die like our hope for Techs return. NO CLONECEST

The holomovie flickers on the screen, casting shifting shadows across the dimly lit living room of your tiny apartment when a sense of fatigue begins to settle over you. The last few missions have taken their toll, leaving you drained, both physically and mentally. You shift uncomfortably on the sofa, trying to ignore the growing unease in your stomach.

Hunter is the first to notice your discomfort. He glances over at you, concern etched in his features.

"You alright cyar’ika ?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You muster a weak smile and shrug, not wanting to alarm the others.

"Just feeling a bit off, that's all," you reply, hoping it is nothing serious.

Tech, turns his attention away from his datapad, looking up at you and Hunter, who pulled you onto his chest, where you nestled your head against him.

"What's happening?" he inquires, having heard only half of the conversation, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Hunter's gaze remains fixed on you as he explains.

"She’s not feeling well."

Tech's eyes widened in understanding before he turns to you.

"Would you like some tea? Maybe a hot water bottle?" he offers, already getting up to fetch the supplies.

Grateful for the offer, you nod eagerly.

"That sounds perfect, thanks, Tech," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wrecker, always happy to carry you around, pipes up from his spot on the sofa.

"You wanna go lie down mesh’la? Want me to put you to bed? Or a hot bath?" he suggests, his concern evident in his voice.

You nod again, feeling touched by their care and concern.

"Yeah, bed sounds great," you murmur and wiggle yourself out of Hunters embrace.

With a gentleness that only you experience with him, Wrecker scoops you up in his arms, effortlessly carrying you to your bedroom. The familiar comfort of the bed envelopes you as Wrecker lays you down gently, tucking the blankets around you with love and care.

It is a huge soft bed fitting all five of you, that you acquired after your relationship with the squad had evolved into something more serious and you all began to spend your shore leave together in your home.

Nestling around in the bed, you feel the weariness creeping in, your muscles aching with every movement. Summoning the last of your energy, you turn to him and murmur.

"Wrecker, could you grab the weighted blanket for me? I think it should be in the reading nook."

Wrecker smiles softly.

"Sure thing," he replies before bounding out into the living room in search of the coveted blanket.

Moments later, Tech enters the room, a steaming cup of your favorite tea in one hand and a hot water bottle in the other. He sets them down on the bedside table before turning to you, concern etched in his features.

"Need anything else?" he asks, his voice soft.

You hesitated for a moment before mustering up the courage to ask.

"Would you mind staying with me?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, filled with vulnerability.

Tech's response is immediate. With a small smile, he nods.

"Of course, I'm happy to, if that makes you feel better," he says, his eyes warm with affection.

Quickly, Tech strips off his shirt, knowing you like to feel the warmth of his skin against yours and settles into the bed behind you, letting you rest against his chest.

Just then, Crosshair pops into the room, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Heard you wanted a weighted blanket," he quips, his eyes dancing with amusement as he walks over towards you discarding the toothpick from his lips.

Before you can respond, Crosshair sheds his shirt just like Tech did and joins you on the bed, settling beside you with a playful smirk. With exaggerated movements, he drapes himself over you, mimicking the sensation of a weighted blanket.

You can’t help but laugh at his antics, feeling the tension melting away with each chuckle.

"Yeah, much better," you reply, a genuine smile gracing your lips as you snuggle deeper into the warmth of your makeshift blanket called Crosshair, stealing a kiss while you’re at it.

When Wrecker returns with the weighted blanket in hand, carrying it as it weighs nothing while you always struggle to pick it up, his eyes widen in excitement at the sight of the cozy cuddle pile forming on the bed.

"Didn’t know that was the plan! I wanna join too!" he declares with childlike enthusiasm, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

You chuckle warmly, patting the space beside you to indicate where he should settle. "Come on, big guy, plenty of room for you," you encourage, your voice filled with affection.

With a gleeful whoop, Wrecker wastes no time shedding his shirt and sweatpants, leaving him clad only in his boxers. Before jumping into the bed he calls out to Hunter, who is still in the living room, his voice echoing through the small flat.

"Hey Hunt, get over here unless you wanna be left out!"

You hear the holomovie going silent and moments later Hunter enters the room, drawn by Wrecker's summons, where he is greeted by the heartwarming sight of you all intertwined in a mass of limbs and cuddles. You are nestled in the middle, with Tech on one side and Crosshair on the other, their arms wrapped around you protectively.

A soft smile tugs at Hunter's lips as he quickly strips down to his boxers and approaches the bed, his heart swelling with affection for your connection.

Climbing onto the bed, he moves with a gentle grace, his movements speaking volumes of the love he holds for you. When he reaches your side, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, his touch conveying a depth of emotion beyond words.

Settling between your thighs, Hunter envelops you in his embrace, his hand reaching up to you, finding its way under your shirt and softly caressing your belly.

"I'm sorry I ruined the evening," you murmur, feeling a pang of guilt for disrupting the movie night.

Tech shakes his head.

"I didn't want to watch that movie anyway," he quips, offering you a reassuring smile.

Hunter's response is filled with warmth as he squeezes your hand gently.

"Spending the evening cuddled up with you in bed isn't exactly my definition of ruined," he says, his voice soft and sincere.

You can’t help but giggle at their reassurances, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

"You always take such good care of me, I already feel a bit better," you admit, grateful for their understanding and support.

“Just like you always take care of us mesh’la” Wrecker adds, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’d know a way to make you feel even better”

Crosshair's smirk catches your attention, and you raise an eyebrow in curiosity at his suggestive comment, knowing all too well what he is up to, it’s Crosshair after all, but you decide to play along.

"Oh really?," you chuckle, catching his mischievous smirk.

"And what way might that be to make me feel even better?"

His smirk widens into a grin as he leans in closer.

"Well, let's just say I have a few ideas in mind," he teases, his tone suggestive yet playful before kissing you softly.

"Alright, Cross, surprise me," you say kissing him back, this time allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

“Move over Hunter and let me put that position to good use, seems like you won’t”

Crosshair's playful command draws a collective chuckle from the group as Hunter obediently shifts from between your thighs, making room for Crosshair to take his place. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he settles in, his eyes not leaving yours.

He begins kissing your thighs softly and when he looks up at you, seeking confirmation, you meet his gaze with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. With a subtle nod, you silently give him permission to proceed, your heart racing.

With practiced ease, Crosshair slides your panties off, his touch feather-light yet electrifying against your skin.

“Would you mind helping her Hunter?” he hisses towards his brother.

Hunter, who’s been busy kissing and nibbling on your neck, moves to assist you, gently helping you out of your shirt with a tender caress, lovingly fondling your bare breasts as soon as they are free, his touch a soothing balm against the lingering ache of fatigue.

Crosshair's touch is different today, not intense and demanding, but gentle and tender as he begins to kiss his way down your belly. Positioned between your parted legs, his eyes burn with an intensity that betrays his soft touch, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs with feather-light kisses.

When he finally reaches your pussy and begins to kiss along your slick folds, his tongue licking long strokes from your entrance up to your clit, a low moan escapes your lips, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure racing down your spine.

Each languid stroke, each delicate flick of his tongue, is met with a chorus of sighs and gasps as he teases you, his movements slow and deliberate, worshiping you in a way so different to how he normally does with you.

When he feels you are wet and relaxed enough, he parts your swollen lips with a gentle push of his fingers, his touch igniting a wildfire of sensation that consumes your senses.

He slowly slides two fingers inside you and begins thrusting in and out, drawing lewd sounds from your lips.

“Thats it cyar’ika, let go, let me take care of you”

The way he stretches your walls and the vibration of his voice against your core makes you arch off the mattress, pushing yourself further onto his fingers. He intuitively responds, deepening his thrusts and curling his fingers up, seeking out your most sensitive spot.

Meanwhile, Hunter's lips find yours in a sloppy kiss, his touch tender yet hungry, as he explores the depths of your mouth with his tongue, muffling the moans and gasps Crosshair draws from you. His hands roam your body with a fervent hunger, tracing lazy circles across your skin, worshipping your body with every caress.

Beside you, Wrecker and Tech lavish attention on your breasts, their touch gentle yet firm as they take care of you.

Wrecker's fingers tease and torment your nipples, his touch sending jolts of electricity racing through your body, while Tech's skilled hands explore the contours of your breasts with a tender precision that leaves you trembling with need.

With the attention of all four of them and Crosshairs touch growing more urgent, his movements more insistent, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, your body writhing with a desperate need for release.

“I’m …m…close,” you whimper between Hunters kisses.

You hear a few grunts and gasps around you as they watch you squirming under Crosshairs touch, eyes closed, back arched and your face blissfully flushed in the perfect shade of pink.

“Be a good girl and come for me”

Then he closes his lips around your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud with just the right amount of pressure and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body writhing with a desperate need for release. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suckle of his lips, brings you closer, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you surrendered yourself completely.

With a final thrust of his fingers up towards that extra sweet spot, he pushes you over the edge, the tension snaps, your mind goes blissfully blank and you reach out grabbing a fistful of his hair, desperate for something to hold on to, while you ride out your high on his fingers.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer as you surrender yourself to the blissful oblivion of the orgasm he’s given you. He carefully draws his fingers from your core planting a few soft kisses on your thighs to let you enjoy the last waves of your climax without overstimulating you.

When you slowly come down from your high, still panting against Hunters chest, Crosshair rises from his position between your legs, his face glistening with the remnants of your juices. He tenderly wipes away the traces of your arousal with the back of his hand before leaning in to press a soft kiss against your lips. His touch is gentle, his lips conveying a depth of emotion that he can hardly express with words.

“You feel better, riduur?” he whispers in your ear so quiet the others can’t hear it, he thinks, but Hunter hears everything, not that he needed to hear it, he knows how his little brother feels, how madly in love he is with you.

“Much better” you hum, kissing him.

You catch sight of his arousal straining against his sweatpants, and you reach out to palm him through the fabric. But he stops you with a gentle hand, a soft smile gracing his lips as he shakes his head.

"This was just for you," he murmurs, his voice a tender whisper against your skin.

"I wanted to make you feel better, and that's enough for me tonight."

His words wash over you like a soothing balm, filling you with a warmth that transcends the physical. As Crosshair leans in to press a tender kiss against your lips, his gaze softens with affection and love.

"But I'll gladly take you up on that offer when you’re better and you've rested," he whispers, his voice a gentle murmur against your skin.

You nod in understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of his care and devotion.

Tech shifts over to make room for Crosshair beside you, and as the five of you settle into the comforting embrace of each other, a sense of peace washes over you like a gentle tide. In the quiet stillness of your home, surrounded by the warmth and love of your boys, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of their breathing and Crosshairs soothing heartbeat against your cheek.

Only Tech remains awake for a while longer, his fingers tapping away on his datapad with a quiet diligence. But soon, even he succumbs to the pull of slumber, slipping off his goggles and nestling into the warmth and comfort of the cuddle pile.

cyar’ika - darling/beloved

mesh’la - beautiful

riduur - wife

#comfort smut #the bad batch #star wars #tbb #the bad batch season 3 #tbb smut #bad batch smut #clone smut #star wars smut #polybatch #the bad batch poly #no clonecest #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #crosshair x reader

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vaguely-concerned · 1 year ago

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it probably says something either sad or deeply unfortunate about me as a person, but I'm darkly amused to see some people react to the reveal of the ultimate permeability of souls in tlt as a triumphant thing -- the "you can't take 'loved' away!!!" side of it all -- when my first reaction was such an immediate wave of 'oh, oh so this is why this series is horror, I truly understand now' distress haha. ngl the final confirmation of the self not being inviolable in the deepest way freaks me the fuck out far more than any moment of body horror in the series has managed. (these two elements are of course the two sides of one thematic coin; it's about the horror of our bodies and minds and selves not being inviolable things, and about the effect of violence on them on so many different levels. violence psychological and interpersonal, physical, subtextually sexual, emotional, medical, political, a whole unlovely smörgåsbord of indignity and violation a person can be exposed to, and on a broader scale the spectrum of violence colonialism wields). The world and other people being capable of leaving indelible marks on us for good or ill through their presence in our lives is of course a pretty self-evident demonstrable truth in the real world, but somehow having it be proven metaphysically just uh. Fucks me up!

It also drives home to me just how perfectly Muir has captured the dilemma at the heart of human connection and intimacy: the fact that the thing that gives us life and meaning is also capable of harming us so deeply. the same thing that can be so beautiful — even in a bittersweet, violently transformative form like with the creation of Paul — when done mutually and consensually and compassionately, is the same process that means someone like John can touch someone else's soul and 'after he's put his fingers on something, you'll never find anyone else's fingerprints on it; too much noise'. I think the text itself — the whole series, because to me this is what it is ultimately about, this tension between individuation/self vs. love/connection/enmeshment — is far more ambivalent in its treatment of it than saying it’s inherently a good thing or inherently a bad thing. The only thing it says for sure is that it is always a thing, that thinking you’re ever getting away from it is the height of futility, and that through being alive (or even through being dead lol) it is something you have to engage with in some way no matter what. Contact with other people is deeply necessary — without it we sicken and die. it can be the most beautiful and meaningful thing in a human life, and the most unspeakably horrific. All of these people are searching for some way to be whole, whether in total self-contained sufficiency on their own or in melding with someone else as their ‘other half’, and stumbling around in the dark they reach for each other and score deep wounds into the thing they’re trying to touch even when they don’t mean to. Taken to horrific extremes with the form of lyctorhood John guided his disciples to when they were ‘children — playing in the reflections of stars in a pool of water, thinking it was space’, because while people hurt each other all the time with differing levels of intentionality behind it, what John did was deliberate. It weaponizes the misapprehension of what closeness must be and destroys everyone involved in the process… and all because it leaves John the one sun their ruined lives have left to orbit around, because that’s the closest thing his soul will allow to connection. He doesn’t understand that to truly touch something you have to truly let it touch you back, and then wonders why he’s never satisfied.

‘The horrors of love’ has been memed to death, I know, but… yeah. That is what it is, isn’t it.

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb meta #the unwanted guest #the unwanted guest spoilers #I wrote most of this right after reading tug for the first time but it's been so hard putting exactly what I mean into words #this is my best shot so far haha #I feel like a lot of a people have approached this lil 'revelation' a bit too... idk mechanistically? for my personal taste #I think it's far more thematically and metaphorically true than a scavenging hunt to see who's been rubbing off on who #spiritually. of course. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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ladycaramelswirl · 8 months ago

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I love you more

Ahhh it’s finally done! This is my first ever fic so it’s a little clunky, but I hope you like it💕

Summary: BAU reader and Aaron are married. What happens when she wakes up in a different past than the one she knows?

A/N: for the sake of the story Aaron and Haley get divorced some time in early S2. Reader joins in S3 and her and Aaron start dating during beginning S4. If anyone’s curious it’s a friends to lovers where he’s already in love with her before they start dating. I might write that too if anyone’s interested. sorry if there’s any typos 🙇‍♀️ (girl dad Aaron inspired by all the Ellie Hotchner writing by @ssahotchnerr)

Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, ANGST lol, no happy ending (TBD I may write a part 2), no use of Y/N. My love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation and it’s very evident here. Don’t come for me. SFW.

(Feel free to stop reading at the point where they fall asleep if you don’t want to read angst).

———————————————

Sunlight streams into the room, waking you up. You turn to the side to see Aaron already up, smiling.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hotchner.”

You giggle.

“Good morning, husband.”

His smile widens and he gives you a small kiss. It had been a little joke between you both on the day after your wedding, but it had stuck, becoming a part of your routine every morning. You both love it because it reminds each of you how happy you were on your wedding day, and how much you appreciate being in each others life. It’s been a year and a half since your wedding, and almost 4 years since you started dating. You move around each other seamlessly, every step of your morning routine in sync. You both brush your teeth and then he makes coffee while you make breakfast. Jack comes down the stairs and you all eat together. After breakfast, he will wash the dishes as you make sure Jack has everything for school. Today though, as you meet Aaron’s eyes over your coffee, you know he’s thinking of your last case, a family annihilator who targeted families as they ate together. You both had trouble sleeping after coming home last night, but as he squeezes your hand, you are profoundly grateful for the simple gift of being able to drink coffee in the morning with the love of your life.

“I love you”, you whisper, not wanting to alert Jack to why you both look a little sad.

“I love you too”, he whispers back.

“I love you the most!”, Jack shouts and you both smile. The two of them argue about how each of you loves the other more as you finish breakfast. Aaron picks up Jack and you all end up in a big giggly hug.

“How about we all agree that all of us love each other the most?”, he asks. Jack ponders for a moment.

“Okay”, he nods. “If you love me can I have ice cream?”

You burst into laughter as Aaron frowns, trying to hide his smile.

“Nice try buddy, but no ice cream before school.”

Jack pouts as you tell him to get his bag for school, but the ice cream is forgotten as you ask him some questions about his friends that he enthusiastically answers. He continues chattering on until he’s dropped off at school.

“Bye!”, he yells before running out of the car to meet his friends.

——

You give each other a quick kiss while still in the Quantico parking lot. You’ve both agreed to keep things professional at work, including a rule about no PDA in the office. But yesterday’s case must have rattled Aaron more than you thought because he grabs your hand in the elevator and squeezes three times. I love you. You squeeze three times back, which is how the elevator opens to you holding hands smiling as you look into each others eyes. You hear a squeal and both startle, dropping your hands, but not before Penelope takes a photo.

“I am making this your new computer background! I have a criminally small number of photos with you two. You’re so professional all the time, you wouldn’t even know that you’re together”, she pouts.

“Penelope you took like a hundred photos at our wedding”, you laugh.

“And there are rules about workplace conduct”, Aaron reminds, which causes her to blush. Derek walks past you three to whisk Penelope away.

“Leave mom and dad alone”, he whispers loudly while grinning, clearly meaning to let you both hear the office nickname for you two. You roll your eyes at him and smile at Aaron before heading to your desk, greeting the others good morning. You barely have a chance to sit down before JJ calls you all into the conference room for a briefing on a new case. You grab your go bag and head to the jet. The local police department has called you late and the unsub’s already starting to devolve, making mistakes everywhere and leading you all to finding him within a couple of hours after landing. He gets shot while getting apprehended which means there’s no interrogation either. You all pile back onto the jet, the pilot letting you know that you’ll be back at Quantico in an hour. It feels wrong to go home on time. For all that death to be part of a regular 9 to 5 work day. Catching the unsub is supposed to mean a success, but it’s tense on the jet. You’re still reeling at the attitude of the local police department. They were insistent to do what they could to keep the BAU off the case and made it clear you had only invited because they were forced to by the mayor. You wonder if they had called sooner, that maybe some of the victims would still be alive. If he wouldn’t have killed his last victim when the police had ignored your profile and approached him with force instead of sympathy as you had recommended. You’re pretty sure everyone on the plane is thinking it too. You lift your arm into the air and gently nudge Aaron’s up too. Spencer catches your eye and his arm is also already halfway up, knowing exactly what’s coming.

“Last one with their hand in the air buys the first round tonight”, you say and immediately everyone’s hands shoot up except Rossi, who looks mildly annoyed.

“I would have bought a round for everyone anyway”, he shrugs.

Emily scoffs. “Grandpa’s a sore loser”, she says under her breath which causes you all to crack up. The air immediately feels lighter and everyone starts joking again, debating the fairness of your hands up game. You grab Garcia before leaving Quantico and all head to the bar down the street. Her bubbly chatter makes everyone laugh and you can’t help but feel pleased. The job was tough mentally, and you always tried to make sure the team was doing well. Satisfied that everyone was cheerful again, you decide to leave after the first round, but Aaron pulls you to the dance floor before you can even order, which gets you grins from other members of the team. You laugh as he spins you around.

“Damn Hotch got moves”, Derek shouts.

“If my wife looked like that I’d beg her to dance with me too”, Emily smirks.

You ignore their teasing, swaying in Aaron’s arms and enjoying the scent of him mixed with his cologne and laundry detergent. It smells like home. He kisses your forehead, finding comfort in the smell of your shampoo, and the soothing feeling of your body against his.

“Everyone’s in a better mood because of you. Thank you for doing this”, he says into your hair.

You shrug. “Everyone needed this, including me. It’s not a big deal, I like it when everyone’s happy. It makes me happy.”

He gazes at you in rapture before leaning down to take your lips with his, kissing you breathless. You’re a little dazed when you both pull apart.

“What was that for Mr. Hotchner?”, you grin.

You think you could get drunk on the way he looks at you.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you so much”, he says softly.

You feel a little prickle of tears. “I love you too. I don’t know what I’d do without you either, so you’re stuck with me forever”, you joke, causing him to smile.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He leaves a kiss on your neck and you breathe out a sigh.

“Want to get out of here?”

“Trying to take advantage of me Mrs. Hotchner?”, he teases.

“Yes”, you giggle.

“Thank God”, he grins, pulling you towards the door.

“We’re going home!”, you wave at everyone who waves back, giving you both knowing smirks.

“Use protection!”, Emily yells, which earns her an eye roll from you.

You walk over to your car and Aaron puts an arm around your waist.

“A little late for that”, he smiles.

You nudge his shoulder. “Did you only dance with me so I wouldn’t have to explain why I couldn’t drink?”

He gives you a little smile. “I danced with you because you’re beautiful. The fact that you asked me to help you keep it a secret was a fun bonus”.

The second you had seen the pregnancy stick change colour, Aaron had covered you in kisses. You were both elated. But telling people you were pregnant meant you would have to sit out from field work for a while and you loved your job. Aaron had been against it at first, worried about your safety, but you had come to an agreement that you would stop when you were ready, as long as you promised to take it easy. So you were keeping it a secret. But you both wanted to tell people.

“I think we should tell them soon”, you say. “At the rate she’s growing, people are going to figure it out anyway”

Aaron looks at you excitedly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah”.

He interlaces his fingers with yours and you drive home with you hands in each others.

When you get home you thank Jessica for watching Jack. He’s excited that you’re both home early enough to tuck him into bed, but he’s tired and his eyes are fighting to stay open.

“Good night Jack, I love you”, you whisper, kissing his forehead.

“I love you mommy”, he mumbles.

Then he hugs your stomach.

“I love you, baby”, he says.

You and Aaron melt, trying not to tear up. You were worried when you had first found out about your pregnancy, not wanting Jack to feel left out, but he had been so excited at the thought of having a sibling. After finding out that the baby could hear him, he had been chatting to her all the time. He was going to be a great big brother.

“I love you too daddy”, he says.

Aaron chuckles. “Love you buddy. Time to sleep.”

Jack nods off and you both quietly tiptoe out of his room.

You get into bed and Aaron immediately puts him arms around you, pulling you to him.

“How come he says I love you to you and the baby before me?”, he teases, rubbing his hand on your back.

“I guess he loves us more”, you joke. Aaron moves around so his face is near your stomach.

“Hey sweetheart, your mom and Jack are teaming up against me. I’ll give you anything you want so promise me you’ll say Dad first instead of Mom or Jack when you come out okay?”

You smack his arm lightly.

“Stop bribing our daughter. And she’s going to say Mom first, right honey?”

Aaron smiles into your pyjamas. “It’s okay. I understand. I love your mom the most too”.

You pull him back up and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I can’t wait to meet her”, you whisper.

“If she’s anything like you, she’s going to be perfect”, he says.

“I hope she’s like you”, you tell him sincerely. You’d be lucky if your daughter was anything like her father. “I love you”.

You lie in each others arms, the last words you hear before falling asleep are a murmur of ‘I love you more’.

————————————

You wake up to the smell of pancakes. You smile, remembering you had told Aaron in the car last night that you wanted to eat some. You try to blink the fatigue out of your eyes and move towards the door. You recall a dream about him from last night that comes to you in flashes. It’s fuzzy, and you’re sleepy, which is why you don’t notice anything wrong until you step out and see the kitchen. Not your kitchen. And not Aaron in it. A smiling face startles you awake.

“Emily?”

“You woke up! I made pancakes, come have some”.

You stare at her. “When did I get here?”

She laughs. “You’ve been living here for like 2 weeks.”

What? “Seriously, how did I get here?”.

Her smile fades at the confusion on your face.

“You don’t remember?”

You shake your head and her brows immediately furrow in concern.

“You told me you were cleared for a concussion”, she mutters, sounding a little angry.

“Concussion?”

She forces you to sit down, frantically turning off the stove and grabbing you both coats. “Ok, we’re going to the hospital. I can’t believe you lied to me.”

Lied? What the hell was going on?

“What? How would I have a concussion? Why am I in your apartment? Where’s Aaron?”, you ask, slightly panicked at this point.

Your words make her go still. She stares at you for a moment, but before you can say anything else, she grabs her car keys and starts pushing you out the door. She promises to explain later and, despite your protests, manages to get you in the car. She sets up the GPS and starts driving.

“Okay how much do you remember?”, she asks worriedly.

“I remember we went for drinks last night after the case, then we went home and went to bed. Why am I in your apartment? Why would I have a concussion?”.

She grips the steering wheel a little tighter and speeds up. You grip your seatbelt.

“Oh my God, Emily slow down”, you yelp.

She ignores you and pulls into the hospital parking lot, dragging you towards the ER. She flashes her badge at a nurse.

“Emily Prentiss, FBI.” She gestures at you. “She’s an agent. She hit her head yesterday and now she’s having memory problems. I think she has a concussion.”

The nurse nods and asks you both to wait a moment. She gives you a form to fill out and Emily takes it. You look at her, exasperated.

“What’s going on?”

She looks tired. “We didn’t go out for drinks yesterday. You hit your head taking down an unsub. You told me you were cleared by the EMT, and you’ve been staying at my apartment since…”, she looks pained. “… for about 2 weeks because you’ve been a little… reckless lately.”

“Reckless?” If anything you’ve been more careful because you’re scared you might hurt the baby. “I’m not reckless.”

Emily stares at you in disbelief.

“You walked into a dangerous situation without backup. Look, I know things have been hard with Hotch-“

“What?” Why would things be hard with Aaron? “Aaron knows I wouldn’t do anything unnecessarily”, you tell her.

Her eyes cloud in sympathy and you stare back, confused. Ok, well Aaron would be upset if you had stormed in without backup. But he knew you were capable and even mad, would still respect your decision. Right? You’re about to start interrogating her for answers when a voice interrupts you.

“Emily?”

You look up and all the blood drains from your face. You’re thankful you’re sitting down because you’re certain you would have fallen over. Emily squeezes your hand before standing up and greeting the owner of the voice.

“Hi, Haley, what are you doing here?”

You try not to look like you were seeing a ghost. Standing in front of you was a woman that was supposed to be dead, except she was very much alive. And also staring at you. She gives you a wave. Your brain somehow sends a signal to your arm to do the same.

“I just finished a checkup. I’m about to leave”, she says.

The two chat a little before Haley is called away by a nurse. You stare at the back of her head until she disappears.

“You okay?”, Emily asks quietly.

You don’t even know how to answer. You glance down at the form Emily had left on her seat and blanch at the numbers on the top.

“Emily, what day is it?”

She looks at you worried.

“Wednesday.”

“The date. The full date”, you croak.

“Wednesday, 16th December 2009.”

You grip the chair. No. It was 2012. 16th December 2012.

“What day do you think it is?”, she asks softly.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. It’s a prank. Some kind of prank. But you open your eyes and Emily is still staring at you. And suddenly your dream from last night comes back to you. You in Aaron’s driveway picking up some pictures from his old house to use for a surprise. Seeing Foyet walk in with Haley and Jack. Sneaking into the house and waiting for Jack to leave and shooting Foyet. Haley screaming as his blood splattered all over her. You silent as you watch the life leave his eyes. Aaron running in, hugging Jack and consoling Haley as she cried. Them leaving together. Him being on leave to spend time with them and you giving him space. Him bumping into you at a coffee shop after not speaking to you for 3 weeks. You running into the building with a deranged unsub without backup a few hours later. You feel it all like you were there. Not a dream, but memories. Each one filling you with agony and dread. You feel sick. You need to see Aaron.

“I have to go”, you tell Emily. She protests, telling you you need to get checked out, but she can tell from the haunted look in your eyes that you remember everything now. She nods, helping you to catch a taxi. You’re on autopilot as you give the driver the address to Aaron’s old apartment. The ride is a blur and you barely remember being in the elevator or knocking his door. You’re in a haze until he opens the door. The immediate guilt in his eyes and the sinking feeling in your stomach is sickeningly real.

“I need to talk to you”, you say, your voice shaking. He stares at you before opening the door wider, letting you in. You move towards the sofa but neither of you sit. Silence stretches out between the two of you. You need to say something. You need him to tell you this isn’t real. But you don’t know how to behave, how to be around this version of him that isn’t your husband. What do you say to the man who doesn’t know he was the father of a child that doesn’t even exist? He runs a hand through his hair and looks down at his feet. You continue to stare at the empty space beside his head. Before you had moved into your house, there used to be a picture hanging there of you, him and Jack. Now it’s just a blank wall. He breaks the silence first.

“They’ve offered me retirement.”

Your Aaron hadn’t told you like this. He had told you he was coming back. You suppose there’s only one reason he would tell you.

“You’re going to take it.”

It’s supposed to be a question, but you know him too well.

“I have to. For them.”

Every moment of what was supposed to be the rest of your life dies before your eyes. You’ll never have your sleepy good mornings. Never hear him call you his wife, never get married. Never hear Jack calling you mom, never sit down and eat with your family. They weren’t your family anymore, you remember. They were Haley’s. You want to scream. At the universe? At him?

He just thinks he’s breaking up with his girlfriend, you tell yourself. That the Aaron in front of you has barely even been in love with you for a year. He doesn’t know that he has any memories of your life together to miss. But he must see the devastation in your face because you see the shame etched in his. You watch his heart breaking at the thought of hurting you. As he sheds a tear, you instinctively bring your hand to his cheek, wiping it away with your thumb. He rests his forehead on your shoulder and you move your hand to the back of his head.

“I don’t know what to do”, he says, his voice breaking.

You feel your own tears fall down your face, warm. He doesn’t see them.

“You do”, you whisper back.

You know. That he loves Haley, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. That he loves you, but he wants to be a good father more. That their marriage had really only ended because of his job. You also know that you refuse to be with him if he’s in love with someone else. That you won’t be the reason Jack can’t have both his parents happily married under one roof. That Aaron deserves happiness with the love of his life, even if it’s not you. So you take a step towards him and allow yourself the comfort of being held by him one last time. You bury your face into his neck, and breathe him in. The feeling of his arms wrapped around you, and his smell, the two things that were once your greatest solace would now be the two things you would always wish you could forget. You want to stay here forever, to pretend that this was still the Aaron who loved you. But you put your hands on his chest, pushing your face away from the crook of his neck to look at him. You wonder if he remembers your life together - the future you would have had. If he knows there is a girl neither of you will ever meet. But he doesn’t look at you the way he used to. You feel, with a mournful certainty, that those memories are yours to die with. He presses his lips together, trying to blink his tears away. They fall anyway. You smile at the man who isn’t yours anymore.

“You love her”.

His whole body hurts at the certainty in your tone. Its agonising finality.

“I’m sorry”, he murmurs. You wonder what it means that you hope he doesn’t blame himself for your heart breaking. To you it just feels like pain.

“I know”.

Your lips touch his in a farewell, the ghosts of a thousand kisses never to be dying between them. The words exchanged between two lovers from a lifetime ago feel heavy on your tongue. He would never hear you say them and you would never hear it back.

I love you.

“Goodbye, Aaron”.

——————

fin.

thank you for reading :)

masterlist

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds x reader #angst #emily prentiss #spencer reid #bau team #derek morgan #penelope garcia #david rossi

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lila-lou · 10 months ago

Text

✨ His only exception - Pt. 19/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 6456

A/N: This is part 19 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Despite the misunderstandings and the roughness of last night, Ben's touch brought a strange sense of comfort. You found yourself grappling with conflicting emotions as his hand rested on your thigh.

Despite the pain, both physical and emotional, there was an undeniable connection between you two, one that transcended words and actions. In that moment, you were torn between anger and longing, frustration and desire.

As you sat in silence, his touch serving as a silent apology, you wondered what the future held for you, whether you would ever find a way to bridge the gap between you or if you were destined to remain caught in this endless cycle of misunderstanding and pain.

Ben leaned forward slightly, his voice low as he addressed the group. "When are we going after Homelander?", he asked, his tone betraying the simmering intensity beneath his words.

Butcher turned to Ben, delivering the news. "The mission's set for tomorrow", he informed, his tone serious. Then, his gaze shifted to you. "Ben, today's all about training (Y/N). Tomorrow, she'll be at home, and she needs to be prepared for anything".

You glanced at Ben. You knew training with him would be intense, but you also trusted him to prepare you as best as he could for whatever lay ahead.

"Why do I have to sit back and be left out?", you questioned, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

Ben shot you an angry look, his jaw clenched with annoyance. "Because you're not ready to handle what's coming", he retorted sharply.

Butcher's expression darkened as he chimed in, his tone firm. "You need to sit down and listen, (Y/N). And you need to properly trained".

As Ben pulled away his hand, you couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation. It seemed like everyone was underestimating you.

"I can handle more than you think", you muttered defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Butcher sighed, shaking his head. "Look, (Y/N), this isn't about underestimating you", he explained, his tone softer. "It's about being prepared for whatever comes our way. We need to make sure you're ready".

You bit your lip, feeling a mixture of frustration and determination swirling inside you. Despite their doubts, you were determined to prove yourself.

Frenchie chimed in, his voice gentle yet firm. "He's right, (Y/N). We're not trying to sideline you. It's about safety. You'll be better protected at home".

You sighed, feeling a sense of resignation wash over you. "I get it", you conceded, though a part of you still longed to be in the thick of the action.

Butcher nodded in agreement. "Good. We'll make sure you have everything you need to hold down the fort while we're gone".

As the discussion continued, you couldn't shake the feeling of frustration at being left behind. But deep down, you knew they were right. Safety was paramount, especially in the face of someone as dangerous as Homelander.

Ben finished his food, pushing his chair back with a grating screech against the floor. He stood up abruptly, his eyes flicking towards you.

"Come on, princess", he called. "Time for you to learn how to handle yourself".

You rolled your eyes at his remark, but reluctantly followed him to the practice room, knowing that you needed all the training you could get, whether you liked his condescending attitude or not.

Annie's gaze followed Ben and you as you left the room, a furrow forming on her brow. She turned to Butcher, concern evident in her expression.

"Leaving her alone with him for training again?", Annie mumbled.

Butcher let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before responding to Annie's question.

"I don't know what the hell they've got going on between them, and frankly, I don't wanna know anymore", he admitted gruffly. "But if it means she's safer at home tomorrow, then yeah, it's the best option we got".

Hughie chimed in, his voice hesitant yet earnest. "I still think Soldier Boy's in love with her", he remarked, earning snorts from MM and Butcher.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England", MM retorted sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief.

Butcher scoffed, echoing MM's sentiment. "Soldier Boy? In love? Give me a break", he remarked, his tone dismissive. "That guy's got ice in his veins".

Annie's gaze shifted from MM to Butcher, her expression thoughtful. "So, the plan to send Soldier Boy back to Russia after Homelander's taken down is still on?", she asked, seeking confirmation.

Butcher nodded grimly, his jaw set in determination. "Yeah, it's still on", he affirmed, his voice tinged with a hint of distrust. "I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. We just need him and Homelander out of the picture for good".

As you and Ben entered the practice room, he made a move to touch you, brushing his hand over your lower back and then grabbing your hips. However, you quickly blocked him, shooting him a glare filled with anger. Despite your resistance, Ben's touch lingered, his grip firm as he attempted to assert his dominance.

"Let go of me, Ben", you demanded, your voice sharp with frustration.

"Why?" Ben retorted, his tone challenging as he tightened his grip on your hips.

You faced Ben squarely, your eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and hurt. "What was going on with you yesterday, especially last night?", you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. "You can't just handle me like I'm some kind of object, Ben. It's not right".

Ben's expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he met your gaze. "I don't owe you an explanation", he retorted sharply, his tone tinged with defensiveness. "You don't get to tell me how to treat you".

You bristled at his dismissive response, your frustration mounting. "I'm not just some plaything for you to use whenever you feel like it", you shot back, your voice tinged with anger. "I deserve respect, Ben. And if you can't give me that, then maybe we shouldn't be doing this at all".

Ben released his grip on your hips, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at you with a mix of irritation and defiance. "And what exactly do you think we're doing here?", he asked. “Holding your hand through everything?”.

His words stung, a sharp pang of hurt shooting through you. “That’s just cruel, Ben”, you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion.

Ben let out an exasperated sigh, his irritation palpable. "Calm down, (Y/N)", he said tersely, his tone edged with annoyance.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions despite the turmoil swirling inside you. "I can't just calm down", you retorted, your voice tinged with frustration. "I'm still in pain from how you handled me last night, and you didn't even have the decency to apologize".

Ben's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he met your eyes. "I don't have time for this", he muttered, his voice low and gruff. "We've got work to do".

Ben pushed you back slightly, his movements firm as he directed you towards the practice area. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his sudden assertiveness.

"We'll talk about this later", he said dismissively.

You frowned, frustration bubbling up inside you. "No, Ben, we need to talk about this now", you insisted. "I won't just brush this under the rug like it never happened".

But Ben remained unmoved, his expression stoic as he gestured for you to start the training session. The tension between you hung thick in the air, unresolved and simmering beneath the surface.

As you began the training session, the atmosphere was tense, each movement charged with unspoken resentment and frustration.

“I can’t believe you’re just brushing this off”, you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible over the sound of your footsteps.

Ben shot you a sharp look, his eyes flashing with irritation. “I said we’ll talk about it later”, he snapped.

You clenched your jaw, frustration boiling inside you. “Fine”, you bit out.

As you did some exercises to warm up, the tension between you and Ben lingered in the air like an invisible barrier. You focused on your pushups, trying to block out the turmoil swirling inside you.

Suddenly, you felt Ben's large, heavy hand on your lower back as he squatted down beside you. The pressure of his touch only added to the weight of the unresolved tension between you.

You struggled to maintain your composure, the pressure of his presence making it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

"Ben, please", you pleaded quietly, your voice strained.

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath. "Your weak-ass spaghetti arms aren't gonna get any stronger if you keep whining", he retorted.

You bit back a retort, feeling a surge of frustration and helplessness wash over you. Despite your best efforts to focus, the tension between you and Ben made it nearly impossible to concentrate on the exercise.

As you struggled through the exercise, Ben's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Come on, (Y/N), give it all you've got", he urged, his tone firm and unwavering. "I'm not going easy on you today. I need you stronger, so you never end up in the same position you were with Homelander ever again".

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of the danger you faced and the need to be prepared for anything. Despite the pain and frustration, you pushed yourself harder, determined to prove yourself and become stronger, both physically and mentally.

After an intense warm-up, you stood there, panting, your hands on your waist as you looked up at Ben, who grinned down at you.

"Now that's more like it", he said. "And hey, looks like I found a way to shut you up".

You shot him a defiant glare, holding up your middle finger in response to his teasing.

Ben chuckled, unfazed by your gesture. "Feisty, huh?, he remarked with a smirk. "I gotta say, I love that ass of yours in those little shorts".

You rolled your eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement at his comment. "Can we focus on the training, please?", you quipped, eager to redirect the conversation away from his flirtatious remarks.

Ben grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, we'll definitely be focusing on something", he replied with a suggestive tone, earning an exasperated groan from you.

As you continued training, the intensity of the workout gradually increased, the air filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional thud of impact as you practiced boxing.

Ben stood before you, his arms crossed, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he watched you throw punches with determination.

"Come on, (Y/N), show me what you've got", he teased. "I'm not seeing enough fire in those punches".

You gritted your teeth, shooting him a determined glare as you redoubled your efforts, fists flying faster as you focused on the target before you.

Ben chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he observed your efforts. "That's it, let it all out", he encouraged, his tone laced with playful mockery.

As you kept punching against his stomach and arms, Ben stood his ground, his expression a mix of amusement and mild discomfort as he absorbed the impact of your blows.

"Easy there, tiger", he teased, his voice laced with amusement. "I'm not made of steel, you know".

You shot him a playful smirk, a glint of determination in your eyes as you continued your assault. "Just making sure you're still awake", you retorted, your voice filled with mock seriousness.

Ben chuckled, his laughter mingling with the sound of your punches. "Well, I certainly won't be falling asleep anytime soon with you around", he quipped.

As you continued to punch, Ben gently caught both of your fists, bringing your flurry of blows to a halt. "Good job", he praised, a hint of pride in his voice as he looked at you.

Before you could respond, he leaned in and planted a quick peck on your lips.

"Alright, let's switch it up", he said, releasing your fists and stepping back slightly. "Time for some crunches".

As the grueling workout stretched on for over three hours, you found yourself becoming a panting mess, your muscles burning with exertion. Finally, unable to push yourself any further, you collapsed to the ground, your eyes closed as you struggled to catch your breath.

Ben knelt down beside you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he observed your exhausted state. "Looks like someone's hit their limit", he teased playfully, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You shot him a pissed glare, too tired to muster a response as you focused on regulating your breathing.

Ben pulled you up effortlessly with his strong arm, your body instinctively leaning against his chest for support. As you looked up at him, feeling slightly weak-kneed from the exertion of the workout and the intoxicating scent of his cologne, he met your gaze with a playful smirk.

"You look hot all sweaty like that", he remarked, his tone laced with amusement as he brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. "Almost makes me want to put you through another round".

You rolled your eyes at his comment and pushed against his chest gently, creating a bit of space between the two of you. Meeting his gaze, you took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to address the tension that had been brewing between you.

"Ben, we really need to talk", you said, your voice firm yet tinged with vulnerability. "About last night, about everything".

Ben let out a sigh of annoyance, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered your request. “Can’t this wait?”, he grumbled, his tone edged with frustration.

You held his gaze. “No, Ben”, you insisted, your voice steady. “We need to talk about this now”.

He hesitated for a moment. “Fine”, he relented, his tone more serious now. “But let’s do it under the shower. I don’t want anyone overhearing us”.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism coloring your expression. "Just so no one overhears us?", you repeated, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Ben smirked in response, his lips twisting into a playful grin. "Hey, you never know who might be eavesdropping", he quipped.

"Alright", you rolled your eyes, conceding to his suggestion as you headed towards the bathroom together.

As you peeled out of your sweaty clothes, tossing them into the hamper, you felt Ben's eyes on you, his gaze lingering on your figure as you moved.

"You know, you look even better out of those clothes", he remarked, his tone low and husky as he leaned against the sink, watching you with undisguised appreciation.

You couldn't help but blush at his comment, feeling a rush of warmth spreading through you despite the coolness of the room. "Flattery will get you nowhere", you mumbled, shooting him a playful grin as you stepped into the shower.

As Ben quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, he wrapped both arms around your torso, pulling you tightly against his chest from behind.

“You’re tense”, he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed his lips to your ear. “Let me help you relax”.

You leaned back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you as his strong arms encircled you.

You closed your eyes, relishing in the warmth of Ben's embrace, but the weight of last night's events lingered heavily on your mind.

"Ben", you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk about last night".

Ben's arms around you tightened slightly, a silent indication for you to continue.

"I… I need to know why you didn't stop when I asked you to", you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "It hurt, Ben, and I felt like you weren't listening to me".

You felt Ben tense behind you, his silence weighing heavily in the steamy air of the shower.

Ben's grip loosened, and you felt him shift uncomfortably behind you. His silence spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the pain he had caused you. As the water cascaded down around you, he began to speak, his voice tinged with regret.

He struggled to find the right words. "I messed up, I know that", he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I should have listened to you, respected your boundaries. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm not hearing you".

You felt a pang of sadness mingled with a glimmer of hope at his words. Despite the pain of the previous night, there was a flicker of understanding.

Without turning to face him, you reached out and placed your hand over his.

As the water continued to wash away the remnants of the past, you both stood in silence, wrapped in the warmth of newfound understanding and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Ben's lips brushed gently against your neck, sending shivers down your spine as his hands roamed over your breasts with a tender reverence. Despite the lingering ache of the previous night, his touch ignited a familiar fire within you, a primal desire that pulsed with every beat of your heart.

You leaned into his embrace, surrendering to the sensation of his lips trailing a path of warmth along your shoulder, his touch a silent apology, a wordless plea for forgiveness.

You whispered softly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the shower, "I can't, Ben. I'm still too sore".

Ben's movements stilled. "I know", he murmured, his voice. "I just want to feel you, to be close to you".

His words resonated with a tenderness that touched your heart, and despite the ache in your body, you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving the closeness and intimacy that only he could provide.

As the water turned off, signaling the end of your shower, Ben stepped out first, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. You followed suit, reaching for your pajamas, but before you could slip them on, Ben stopped you.

With a playful grin, he pulled his shirt over your head, the fabric enveloping you in his scent and warmth. "That's more of my taste", he teased, his eyes twinkling as he admired you wearing his shirt.

You couldn't help but chuckle.

As you walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in Ben’s shirt, you felt a sense of contentment wash over you.

Just as you reached the bedroom door, Ben’s voice, soft and tender, broke the silence. “Hey”, he whispered, his hand gently grazing your arm to get your attention.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with a curious expression. “What is it?”.

“I want you to sleep in my bed tonight”, he murmured, his eyes earnest.

You blinked in surprise at Ben's request, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. Yet, a warm smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a mixture of appreciation and affection for his gesture.

"Sure", you replied softly, a gentle warmth spreading through your chest. "I'd like that".

As you followed Ben into the room, you felt a flutter dancing in your chest. But as he let himself sink onto the bed, you weren't expecting him to suddenly pull you onto his lap with a firm grip on your wrists.

Your surprise was evident in the widening of your eyes and the sharp intake of breath as you found yourself straddling him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Ben", you murmured, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady yourself against his chest.

Ben's lips met yours in a slow and intense kiss, igniting a fiery passion that seemed to consume both of you. As his mouth moved against yours with a fervent urgency, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins, the heat of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

Despite the surprise of his sudden actions, you found yourself melting into his embrace, surrendering to the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours. His grip on your wrists loosened, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment, the world outside fading into oblivion as you and Ben became entangled in each other's embrace. His touch was both tender and possessive, a silent declaration of his desire to hold you close and never let go.

As you pulled away from the kiss, a faint smile lingering on your lips, you gazed into Ben's eyes, searching for any hint of what he might be thinking. His expression was a mix of desire and something else, a hint of possessiveness that sent a thrill down your spine.

As Ben's lips trailed down your jawline, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. His touch was electric, igniting a primal need that burned within you.

"I can't stop thinking about you", he murmured against your collarbone, his voice thick with longing. "You drive me crazy, you know that?".

"Ben…", you mumbled.

But before you could utter another word, he continued, his voice low and filled with a raw intensity that made your blood run cold.

"I couldn't even stop thinking about you when I fucked that little slut yesterday", he muttered.

Your heart skipped a beat as Ben's words washed over you, a whirlwind of emotions raging within you. With a shaky breath, you pulled back slightly, your mind struggling to process the magnitude of his confession.

"What?", you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, the word hanging heavy in the air between you.

Ben's gaze softened momentarily, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he continued.

"Yeah, it's fucking insane", he mumbled, his words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "It's like you're always on my mind, even when I try to forget".

Your heart ached at his admission, torn between the pain of betrayal and the lingering affection you still held for him.

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as the weight of Ben’s words bore down on you like a heavy burden. With a trembling hand, you pushed his hands away from your body, needing to create some distance between you.

“Are you serious?”, you choked out, your voice wavering with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. “Did you really… sleep with someone else?”.

Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion at your question, his expression betraying his lack of understanding. “What’s wrong?”, he asked, his voice tinged with frustration and bewilderment.

Tears continued to well up in your eyes as you struggled to find the words to convey the depth of your pain. “I can’t believe you”, you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “After everything…”.

But before you could finish your sentence, Ben cut in, his tone laced with a hint of defensiveness. “It’s not about the fucking part”, he snapped. “It’s about how I couldn’t get you out of my head”.

Feeling a mixture of anger, hurt, and betrayal swirling inside you, you couldn't bear to remain in Ben's embrace any longer. With a shaky breath, you gently pushed yourself up from his lap.

"I need some space", you choked out, your voice thick with emotion as you struggled to contain the flood of tears threatening to spill over.

"Why are you mad?", he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "I told you because I wanted you to understand how much you're on my mind".

"I thought we had something special", you mumbled through choked sobs, the words barely audible as tears streamed down your cheeks.

Ben rolled his eyes, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. "Oh, come on", he scoffed. "Don't be so dramatic. It's not like you're the only one I've ever slept with".

"I just thought…", you started, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words.

But Ben cut you off, his frustration boiling over. "Look, if you weren't fucking special to me, do you think I would fucking treat you like a raw egg every fucking time?", he snapped, his tone tinged with bitterness.

Your heart clenched at Ben's callous words, his dismissive attitude cutting deep into your already wounded soul. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sting of betrayal and the sheer audacity of his arrogance.

"If I were special to you, you wouldn't have slept with anyone else!", you shot back, your voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and indignation. "You can't just treat me like some disposable object and expect me to be okay with it!".

But Ben's frustration only seemed to escalate. "I did it so I wouldn´t fucking hurt you!", he retorted, his tone defensive. "I need to get rid of that tension sometimes, and you can't handle it because you're just a fucking human!".

“You’re acting like you’re my girlfriend, like you’re in love with me or something”, Ben continued.

Your heart skipped a beat, a sharp pain shooting through your chest as Ben's words pierced through you like daggers. More tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as his callous remark hit you square in the chest.

In the wake of his harsh words, you felt a surge of anger rising within you, fueled by the hurt and betrayal you felt. With a trembling voice, you whispered, "Fucking asshole".

Without another word, you stormed out of his room.

Ben raised his arms in disbelief, his brow furrowed in confusion as he watched you storm out of his room. He couldn't understand why you were reacting this way, why you couldn't just accept his explanation and move on.

But as he stood there, his frustration mounting, he realized that there was no reasoning with you in your current state. With a heavy sigh, he let you go, pushing the door shut loudly behind you before trudging back to bed, annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

As he lay there in the darkness, the echoes of your departure still ringing in his ears, Ben couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him. Despite his attempts to justify his actions, a nagging sense of guilt lingered in the back of his mind—a reminder of the pain he had caused you and the fragile trust he had shattered.

Meanwhile, you lay in your own bed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cried like a lovesick teenager. Your heart ached with the realization that you were not enough for Ben, and perhaps never would be as long as you remained just a human.

In the darkness of your room, Ben's words echoed in your mind, weighing heavily on your spirits. You couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy, wondering if you could ever measure up to the Supes who seemed to capture Ben's attention so effortlessly.

It hit you hard: you were in love with Ben. Admitting it to yourself only made you cry even more.

The thought of loving someone who didn't seem to see you the same way filled you with an overwhelming sense of despair. You felt powerless, trapped in a whirlwind of emotions you couldn't control.

As Ben lay in his own bed, the sound of your crying echoing in the stillness of the night, he found himself unable to sleep. His Supe hearing picked up every tear-soaked sob.

He still didn't quite understand your reaction, unable to comprehend why his words had hurt you so deeply.

For him, what he had said about not being able to get you out of his mind, even while being with that Supe, was meant to be an explanation of his feelings for you. It was his twisted way of expressing how much he liked you, how much you consumed his thoughts and his heart.

But as he listened to the sound of your tears, Ben couldn't help but wonder if he had missed the mark entirely. Had his attempt at honesty only succeeded in pushing you further away?

In the darkness of his room, Ben's thoughts churned with uncertainty and doubt. He knew he had a lot to learn about love and relationships, especially when it came to understanding your feelings.

But for now, all he could do was lie there, listening to the echoes of your pain, and wishing he knew how to make things right.

It wasn't until 3 in the night that Ben finally mustered the courage to leave his own bed. With each step, he tiptoed carefully, mindful of not disturbing your slumber. As he approached your room, a sense of trepidation washed over him, unsure of what he would find.

Gently pushing open the door, Ben slipped inside, the soft glow of moonlight casting shadows across the room. His eyes immediately found you, curled up in bed, your tear-streaked face peaceful in sleep.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, his heart heavy. He had never meant to hurt you, never meant to cause you such pain. And yet he constantly brought you so much pain.

In that moment, as he gazed upon your sleeping form, he realized just how deeply he cared for you.

Ben harbored a tender affection for you, one that he had been too blind to see until now. As he watched you sleep, a wave of tenderness washed over him, filling him with a longing he couldn't quite name.

In the quiet of the night, with only the sound of your steady breathing to break the silence, Ben made a silent vow to himself. He would do whatever it took to make things right.

With a soft sigh, he leaned in closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with gentle fingers.

The next morning, you were abruptly awakened by the sound of voices drifting from the living room. Confused, you stumbled out of bed and made your way to join Annie, Ben, and Butcher, who were engaged in a heated debate about how to proceed with the attack on Homelander, despite having already discussed the plan yesterday.

Annie's frustration was evident as she argued, "We've been over this already. We can't afford to deviate from the plan now. We need to stick to the strategy we agreed upon".

But Ben's determination was unwavering as he countered, "I don't care about the fucking plan. We need to take out Homelander once and for all. Killing him is the only way to ensure the safety of everyone".

Butcher interjected, "We can't risk a direct confrontation with Homelander. We need to focus on capturing him alive so we can use him as leverage against Vought".

Ben's voice rose in frustration as he continued to argue his point, his passion fueling his determination to see Homelander pay for the pain he had caused. "You don't fucking get it", he yelled, his voice raw with emotion. "Homelander hurt her, and he needs to fucking pay for it. We can't let him get away with what he's done".

But as the intensity of the debate reached its peak, the sound of footsteps drew everyone's attention. Turning, they saw you standing there, your expression worn and weary. Your heart clenched at the sight of Ben, the raw emotion in his eyes mirroring your own pain.

With arms crossed, you made your way towards Frenchie and MM, who sat at the table, working on their weapons.

Taking a deep breath, you joined Frenchie and MM at the table, ready to discuss your role in the upcoming mission. Frenchie wasted no time in pulling out his laptop, tapping away as he brought up the surveillance feeds and blueprints of Vought's facilities.

"We need to gather as much intel as possible", Frenchie explained, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "We'll use the cameras to track Homelander's movements and identify any vulnerabilities in their security".

MM nodded in agreement, his gaze focused on the screen. "Once we have a clear picture of their defenses, we can plan our approach accordingly", he added, his voice steady and resolute.

As you studied the images on the screen, a sense of determination filled you.

But as you delved deeper into the details of the mission, you couldn't shake the feeling of Ben's eyes burning into your back. His silent presence served as a constant reminder of the complicated emotions swirling between you, a mixture of pain, longing, and unresolved tension.

With a heavy heart, you pushed aside your feelings for Ben and focused on the task at hand.

As the discussion continued, Butcher's patience wore thin. He slammed his hand on the table, glaring at Ben with a fierce intensity. "Will you bloody well stick to the plan, or are you gonna go off half-cocked like some bloody lunatic?".

Ben's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he bristled at Butcher's accusation. "Watch your fucking tongue, Butcher", he snapped, his voice dripping with barely contained anger. "I know what I'm doing, and I won't let you or anyone else stand in the way of getting fucking justice for her".

Butcher scoffed, his expression unyielding. "Justice ain't worth a damn if it gets us all killed", he retorted, his tone sharp and unforgiving. "We stick to the plan, whether you like it or not".

The tension in the room was palpable as the two men locked eyes, each refusing to back down. It was clear that their conflicting ideologies would continue to clash, each determined to see their own vision through to the end.

Two hours later, you found yourself settled in front of Frenchie's laptop, your eyes focused on the surveillance feed from Vought's cameras. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone gathered in the living room, preparing for the mission ahead.

Just as you were about to immerse yourself in the task at hand, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Turning, you saw Ben entering the room, his presence commanding attention as he joined the group, just closing his belt.

Your knees weakened at the sight of him in his Supe suit, the fabric hugging his powerful frame in all the right places. It had been a while since you had seen him in full uniform, and the sight of him now sent a rush of longing coursing through your veins.

Despite the gravity of the situation, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him, captivated by his strength and determination.

As Ben's gaze met yours, time seemed to stand still. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the weight of the world faded away as you locked eyes with him.

In that instant, a flood of emotions washed over you—longing, desire, and aching heartache all mingled together in a tumultuous whirlwind of sensation. His powerful presence filled the room, commanding attention and igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

Your heartbeat quickened, your pulse racing as you felt a surge of primal attraction coursing through your veins. Despite the pain and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship, there was no denying the raw magnetism between you and Ben.

As the team gathered their weapons, Ben stood there, his gaze fixed on you. There was a palpable tension in the air, a silent exchange of emotions between the two of you that spoke volumes.

Both of you wanted to say something, to break the silence that hung heavy between you, but neither of you dared to speak. It was as if the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings kept you rooted in place, unable to move forward.

You could feel the intensity of his gaze, a mixture of longing and regret that mirrored your own emotions but neither of you could find the words to express what you were feeling.

Instead, you sat there in silence.

Ben took two steps towards you, his mouth opening as if he were about to speak, but you shook your head, cutting him off before any words could escape. He sighed, a mixture of frustration and resignation evident in his expression.

Another tense minute passed before Butcher broke the silence with a gruff, "Let's go".

Ben cast one final glance in your direction, a silent apology lingering in his eyes. "I´m Sorry", he muttered softly before turning to leave with the rest of the team, leaving you alone in the apartment.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the weight of his apology hung heavy in the air.

It was a simple word, "sorry", but coming from him, it held a weight you had never experienced before. It was the first time he had ever said sorry to you, and perhaps to anyone else, and it stirred something deep inside you.

Despite the hurt, his apology sparked a glimmer of hope within you. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the complexity of his emotions.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel a shift in the air, a subtle change in the dynamic between you and Ben. It was as if the walls that had divided you for so long were beginning to crumble, replaced by a tentative sense of understanding and forgiveness.

As you processed the significance of his apology, you couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for the two of you to find common ground and move forward together. But for now, all you could do was wait.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 20

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