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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months

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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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velvetm00light · 11 months

Text

Snowed In

photos: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The entire BAU team decides to take a vacation to snowy Vermont. After a day of traveling together and being the last of the team to show up to the cabin, Spencer and y/n are exhausted and in need of quality time with their friends. When alcohol and games are mixed, Spencer decides to get y/n worked up before sneaking into her room that night to show her what can happen when the sexual tension between them finally snaps.

Warnings: smut, choking, alcohol consumption, others in the house, teasing, sneaking into her room, fingering, oral (female receiving), sexual tension, games (Twister).

A/N: I know it's freshly November but that's close enough to Christmas for me. This idea has been plaguing my brain for literal days now so I just couldn't resist the itch to write this. I also don't want to keep a masterpiece away from you guys especially since I probably won't be able to write for a week after this :(. But, as always, I hope ya'll eat this tf up like I did while I was writing it. <3 Also, I think I like the 3 pic banner so much better than the gifs so I might start doing that :)

THE ICE THAT COATED the sidewalk became a mirror, the concrete beneath twisting into the twin of the gloomy, gray sky above. Y/n's frost-bitten fingers tremble against the ebony wool coat she was wearing tightly wrapped as close to her body as she could possibly pull it. The unrelenting wind bit at her cheeks, her skin raw and burning.

She and Spencer had decided to walk through the cabin's yard rather than risk slipping on the glassy ice, which proved rather asinine as both of their boots and luggage wheels caked in packed snow and mud the deeper into the yard they hiked, slowing their pace. She peered ahead at Spencer under her heavy hood. His chestnut boots a bit more worse for wear than hers, considering he's worn the same ones probably every day of his life.

One hand shoved into his pockets, the other gripped onto the handle of his suitcase so tightly his knuckles blanched. His head dipped against the sharp wind. If she had any energy left by the time they finally reached the cabin's wooden front door, she was going to one hundred percent rub it in his face. They had a negligible argument prior to arriving at the cabin - Spencer completely hellbent on not needing a winter coat, and y/n explaining that Vermont's climate is completely paradoxical to Virginia's at most times of this year.

When they had left Virginia, the sky had been a meager blue, and the wind had grown a bite to it, indicating the impending winter but not intense enough to warrant them to avoid being outside at all costs yet. Temperatures had called for slacks and the usual sweater under a proper coat during their last few cases prior to their very welcomed vacation time. She just wanted to laugh in his face at how right she had been proven in the 5 minutes since they'd parked their rental car in the snow-packed driveway.

When they finally reach the cabin door, Spencer fumbles with the brass knob, his frozen fingers barely able to grasp it enough to twist and open. The door opens without difficulty and y/n almost slams into Spencer's back in an attempt to flee the harsh cold of Vermont.

Y/n hastily shut the door behind her. She and Spencer didn't bother unwrapping any scarves or unbuttoning any coats until they could feel their extremities again as they made their way into the expansive living room, leaving their suitcases by the door. A fresh pine tree lay decorated in lights and garland in the far right corner, the smell of pine welcome in her nose, a large window hiding behind it, climbing halfway up the logged wall before stopping and becoming more logs, with a smaller window on top, shaped to a slope to match the cabin's sloping ceiling.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope sit perched on the chocolate-colored couch to the left of the pine tree turned Christmas tree, wooly sweater sleeves pulled over their hands as they gently hold warm mugs of hot cocoa, most likely.

"You're finally here!" Penelope calls, setting her chipped mug gently on the coffee table just a leg lengths away from the couch. Emily and JJ copy Penelope's actions as they rush over to greet the two latecomers.

"We thought you guys might've gotten stuck or frozen to death or something," Emily explained, engulfing y/n in a hug so tight she thought her lungs might have to escape her body entirely to relieve the pressure.

"With the way Spencer drives, I think we almost got stuck like 4 times," y/n teased, resulting in a malicious side eye from Spencer but giggles from the women in front of her.

"To be fair, we only actually got stuck once. We made it in one piece so I don't see the issue."

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, the rest of her energy spent on the single ridicule, her mind unable to continue the back and forth.

"The rest of them are in the kitchen," JJ explains, leading them through an archway embellished with fake leaves and fairy lights.

Rossi's back is to them as he pulls a steaming mug from the microwave. When he finally turns to spot y/n and Spencer, the last two team members to make it through the treacherous countryside of Vermont, he places the mug on the kitchen island. "I was just making you guys some cups of cocoa, but it's the packet kind. I would've made it from scratch if I thought I could survive another trip outside."

The team erupted in chuckles, "Yeah, I wouldn't suggest going out there, Rossi. You might freeze on the spot," Morgan laughed.

"Hey, I'm old, but I'm not that old."

Spencer reached delicately for the mug resting on the kitchen island, sliding his fingers through the handle and carefully lifting it as to not spill it over his hand. He turns to y/n and holds out the cup for her.

"I'll take the next one," he smiles. She gives him a sweet smile back as she takes the hot cocoa from him, "Thanks, Spence."

Y/n rose to sit upon a marbled counter, her hot cocoa clutched into her hands, greedy for the warmth it brought to her numbed fingers. Her legs swung, feeling restless despite the exhaustion that weighed her entire body down.

Vacation had began to seem like a myth considering serial killers never cease to kill and each and every person in the kitchen with her had the same mindset when it came to their work. People need us. She can't remember the last time one of her coworkers had taken a vacation or even just a day off as if they were avoiding it like a contagious disease.

She had to admit, it did almost make her feel uncomfortable to think about taking a vacation. She didn't hold much trust in others to do their jobs for them. But, nevertheless, she was grateful to finally have some time to spend with her favorite people doing nothing but watching cheesy Christmas movies and playing board and card games like she was a child again.

With all her might, she pushed down the lingering guilt she always seemed to feel when she wasn't working towards catching a bad guy. Villains always need their heroes, and she didn't like the idea of letting the villains run rampant for too long.

Her internal battle must have shown on her face because Spencer laid a secretive hand over hers as he leaned against the countertop she sat upon. He tilted his face upwards to look at her, silently asking her, what are you thinking about? Spencer seemed to be the one person who could read her like a book, despite y/n keeping the book of her life and emotions locked, shut, and completely hidden away from everyone else.

She shrugged, not important. She diverted her gaze from his, the weight of his causing her mouth to part slightly, wanting to spill everything running through her mind - but she clamped her mouth shut because that is definitely not something she wanted to do in front of her entire team.

She could feel his gaze still on her, reading the emotions on her face like a book, as if he looked long and hard enough, her thoughts would display themselves above her head. "Stop profiling me, weirdo," she whispered, just loud enough for only him to hear.

He rolled his eyes at her, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.

"How was the drive, Spence? It seems like you guys got the worst of this incoming storm," JJ stated, her mug had been retrieved from the living room coffee table and now rested in her cupped hands as she rested her elbows on the kitchen island.

"Dangerous," y/n muttered. Spencer playfully elbowed her. "Hey! You can't tell me you didn't fear for our lives at least once during that drive."

Spencer didn't bother responding, knowing she was right. The drive hadn't been the worst it could've been, but the snow had began flurrying as they arrived to the airport, y/n's hood pulled so far over her head she kept her eyes locked on Spencer's boots in front of her to lead her. The roads were slick with snow and ice, and the winding strip of road leading up to the isolated cabin had not been the easiest or safest to navigate.

"It's a good thing you guys got here before it got too bad, we might have to really get comfortable with each other considering we'll most likely be stuck here longer than we want," Emily suggested. The team nodding in agreement. Y/n was grateful she had remembered to bring every card and board game she could get her little hands on - Monopoly, Cards Against Humanity, even Twister. She couldn't wait to get the team drunk and convince them to play Twister.

"Speaking of, I think it's time we whip out the alcohol and the games," Emily smiled, as if reading the thought directly from y/n's mind, taking a bottle of top-shelf Tequila by the neck and wiggling it in the air.

"Best idea I've heard all day," Rossi stated.

Y/n and her team made their way into the living room, spiked hot cocoa in hand. She relaxed in the middle of the couch after grabbing her Cards Against Humanity box from her suitcase by the door, Spencer to her right and JJ to her left. Rossi and Hotch taking the two reclining chairs and pulling them forward to reach the table. Emily gracefully sitting on a pillow on the floor, Morgan settling for sitting directly on the carpet, and when Spencer attempts to offer Emily his spot, she dismisses him with the wave of a hand and a suggestive glance towards y/n.

Spencer repositioned himself again on the couch, the meaning of Emily's glance fully understood.

Y/n takes the liberty of pulling the cards out of their designated box and separating them into piles scattered across the coffee table, making sure every has access to a pile of white cards. As she finishes, the conversation about who goes first and random rules to add immediately sparks. Considering the instructions clearly read that whoever pooped most recently was to be the one to start.

The conversation turned argument continued on longer than any thought necessary, laughter filling the cabin to the brim. "Well if we're really trying to have a good time, all the losers each round have to drink."

Once in agreement, the team finally quieted as Hotch reluctantly grabbed the black card on the top of the stack in the middle of the table and read it aloud.

Y/n's head began buzzing as they were a fourth of the way through the stack of black cards, the game no where within bounds of stopping. Her limbs finally felt loose from being curled up in a plane and car seat for hours, trying to avoid looking at the snowy danger they had to travel through.

The entire team shed their worries, stresses, and found it in themselves to be in the moment. Everyone had equal amounts of pain lacing their chests and stomaches from laughing too hard at cards played and also equal amounts of disgusted faces and a little bit of gagging after the rules began to increase the more alcohol consumed - they had began ranking everyone's answers by the fourth time around, the person in first being exempt from drinking anything, the person coming in last being required to take a shot instead of a sip of their drink. Y/n seemed to be on a losing streak.

Luckily, her team was too engrossed in the game to notice when she took smaller shots than she was supposed to. She didn't want to be totally inebriated in the first few hours of her first vacation in God knows how long.

Spencer's arm was outstretched on the couch behind her, his other hand holding his cards secretively, knowing that y/n would a hundred percent be trying to take peeks now and then.

Once they had almost completely blown through most of the black stack, y/n ceased the opportunity. "I brought Twister!"

The entire room cheered, and she stumbled over to her suitcase to grab it out. It was quickly set up within a minute and to her distress, they decided to make teams and compete, obviously.

The girls split into a group and the boys into another. Emily and Hotch started first, Emily easily more flexible than Hotch, his leg unable to twist towards the red dot in the corner, resulting in him falling over and a chorus of laughter echoing off the logged walls.

"Spencer, Y/n, you guys should do it next!" Penelope gasped. "You're both so lanky, it'll be a close match."

Y/n's heart beat against her throat and she felt the rush of heat bloom in her neck and rise towards her still raw cheeks. She took a deep breath, not willing to show how much of a reaction she had at the thought of being tangled up with Spencer.

JJ and Rossi finish their round, JJ sneakily leaning into Rossi enough to knock him over, giving the girls a 2 point lead. Y/n and Spencer stroll leisurely towards the edges of the Twister map. An arched brow climbs her forehead, "I hope you're ready to lose."

"In your dreams," he smirks, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

As Penelope spins the pointer, she begins to call out body parts and colors. Within minutes, y/n and Spencer are a heap of tangled limbs, her back resting against Spencer's chest as she's bent over to reach her left hand to yellow, Spencer's hand next to hers on green. Her hair obstructs some of the view of the colored circles beneath them but the look of Spencer's flexed, muscular forearm on the side of her head does little to ease her rapidly beating heart. His breath is hot on the nape of her neck, coiling a heat in her middle she desperately attempts to push down.

"I think I enjoy you being under me," he whispers onto the skin of her neck, sending shivers rattling down her spine. As Penelope calls out left hand blue, she racks her gaze around the mat beneath them.

She can practically hear the rush of blood in her ears when she finally sees the blue between her strands of hair. The closet blue dot is down towards her legs, considering her right hand was already on the blue next to her left, requiring her to bend her hips upward. She takes a deep breath and reaches her hand to the spot, her ass rising upward into Spencer's hips.

She can hear the catch of his breath as she tilts upward to get into her position. The next color is called too soon after, resulting in Spencer's right leg moving to the left side of y/n's body, their bodies no longer touching in the way that spooled heat further into her center. Their limbs fight for purchase on different colored spots as the game continues, their teammates shouting at both of them, the game obviously riveting from above, but completely distracting between the two players.

After a few more minutes of twisting her body in ways she never knew she could, her arms trembled as she reached towards a yellow. Refusing to let a man who probably weighed the same as her beat her in a game of Twister, she fought through the shaking of her body and painful stretch of muscles she probably haven't used in years.

She could feel Spencer's body tremble underneath her, placed in almost the same position as before, just on the opposite side this time. "I think I enjoy being on top better," she whispered in the same way Spencer did to her.

His body tensed under hers before he dropped to the floor, crowning y/n the winner of quite literally a battle to exhaustion in a drunk game of Twister.

The women on her team cheered and hugged each other before reaching out a hand to pull her from her spot on the ground in which she collapsed onto right after Spencer did. "That was probably the longest game of Twister in the history of Twister games," Penelope laughed.

Y/n and Spencer plopped onto the couch together, content to watch Penelope and Morgan go against each other from their comfortable spots on the couch. As Emily called out colors and body parts and the teams cheering on their teammates, Spencer leaned over to y/n's ear. "If you're gonna be on top of me I think it'd rather be able to see you."

Her pulse quickened, the heat that as been building inside her since the start of their Twister match is beginning to come to an edge. Get a grip, she chastised herself. They were on vacation with their entire team for crying out loud, now was not the time for flirtatious advancements or sexual tension.

"In your dreams," she murmured, trying to keep the want in her voice caged down, but with the way that Spencer's lips lifted in a smirk told her she didn't do a very good job at it.

"Certainly."

She couldn't get her eyes to leave his face, lowering them to his mouth, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from saying anything stupid.

He noticed her do this and his expression turned hungry as he watched her work her bottom lip between her teeth. It was one of the things that always set him off without her even realizing. Her nervous tic could be taken as flirtatious by someone who doesn't know her. Even though Spencer knows better, it still causes tension inside his pants every damn time she does it.

"If you keep doing that I'm not going to be able to stop myself," he growled lowly.

The sexual tension between y/n and Spencer was almost palpable as the team said their drunken goodnights and stumbled to their respective rooms. Y/n climbed into her bed, pulling the quilt atop her closer to her face. Her thoughts swam, unable to stop them from completely consuming her with thoughts of Spencer - of his body on hers, his breath on her neck, and god damn the stupid comments he made, knowing they were working her up and torturing the hell out of her all night as they continued to play other games with their friends.

Her thoughts fell away, like birds falling out of the sky, as she heard a low sound. She sat up in her bed, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness swallowing her room, in attempt to see what the noise was. Her door opened gently and a figure quietly stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind them, obviously trying not to wake anyone up.

"Hello?" Y/n called out softly, at first she thought it was Penelope, coming to tell her some new gossip she overheard somewhere. But, it wouldn't make any sense of her to sneak in if she thought y/n was asleep. It most definitely wouldn't have been Hotch, Rossi, or Morgan and the only reasonable explanation for any of them to be in her room is if they mistook her door for a bathroom, but she doesn't believe they'd be that quiet about it. Emily was so inebriated she almost didn't make it to her bed by herself.

A nervousness began in her chest as the figure stalked closer to her bed and didn't answer her. Before she could react, lips met hers hungrily. She gasped into their mouth, an opening they took to their advantage as they slipped their tongue between her lips and battled hers for dominance. She supposed that if this was someone trying to kill her, they wouldn't have kissed her first and damn it was a good kiss.

She allowed the kiss to overtake her senses, small moans rising out of her throat as her bottom lip was taken in between teeth and tugged. When her bedroom intruder finally broke their kiss, they were both panting. "I did warn you I wouldn't be able to control myself," the voice growled. Oh.

"Spencer?" Y/n whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Well I wasn't going to wait for you to come to me," he murmured, dipping his head to her neck, trailing sloppy kisses downward to her collarbones. Her fingers tangled into his soft curls, a moan slipping from her lips as he teased her sensitive skin.

"Shh," he shushes her, his voice vibrating through her entire body. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"

"Spence..." she whimpered.

His fingers played with the hem of her tank top, only the thin fabric separating him from her breasts.

"I can't get you out of my head and it's been driving me insane," he muttered against her bare skin, his fingers trailing lightly over her exposed lower abdomen, sending goosebumps over her skin. "I can't stop thinking about that pretty little mouth wrapped around me, or the sound of your moans that I coax out of you in every possible way I can, or the sound of you screaming my name as you come."

Y/n feels breathless at his touch, the skin beneath his lips burning with heat. "Are you okay with this?" He asks after y/n's silence.

"Absolutely," she whimpers. "Don't stop, please."

As if that was his undoing, he tears her tank top from her skin, y/n almost unable to raise her arms up in time to get it over. As soon as her tank top is thrown to the floor, his lips latch onto her peaked nipple and a cry of pleasure gathers in her throat but she clamps her lips shut, not wanting to let anyone hear. He continues to work her nipple in his mouth, using tongue and teeth, mixing pain and pleasure.

Her fingers grip his hair tighter, her back arching to bring his mouth as close as it could possibly get to her exposed breasts. Without budging from her nipple, he removes her pants swiftly, gripping her hips with his hands to swing her under him.

Her eyes can just barely make out his face in the dark hovering above her, her body begging for more. She squirms underneath him, hardly able to contain the desire coursing through her blood. His smile turns feral as he realizes just how badly she wants him to keep going.

He lowers himself antagonizingly slow, leaving soft kisses along her naked body until he reaches her inner thighs. He settles himself comfortably in between her legs as she widens them to give him complete access.

He slides his tongue gracefully through her folds and she lets out a gasp. "I've been aching to taste you," he groans against her center, gliding his tongue from the bottom up again. "You taste fucking delicious."

His pace starts out tame as he saviors every whimper that leaves her mouth and the taste of her on his tongue. Another gasp escapes her as he slips a finger in, wasting no time in gently sliding it in and out, curling it upwards to hit her sweet spot just right. She bucks her hips, riding his tongue and finger as her pleasure builds in intensity, her breathing ragged.

Suddenly, his tongue and finger abandon her and she lets out a whine of disappointment. "Someone's needy," he chuckles lowly. "I'd rather make you come with me buried deep inside you."

Spencer quickly undresses himself and gently lines up with her center. He slides the tip through her folds, making her arch her back towards him, her silent plea.

Without hesitation, he slips inside her and releases a groan. "You're so wet for me," he smirks. She can barely see his face, but she knows he has a smug look on it. It's as if he's known how crazy he makes her, how she has fantasized about this very moment before.

His thrust starts out delicate, like he's afraid he's going to break her apart. She wraps her legs around his waist, an attempt to pull him as deep as possible. "Careful," he growls against her neck as he teases her skin once more. "I don't want to let loose just yet and hurt you."

"What if I like it rough?"

"Tell me how you want it, then." A challenge.

"I want you to fuck me dumb."

"Your wish is my command," he smiles against her skin and immediately latches onto her neck, sucking and pulling on her delicate skin. His hands grip her waist to keep her steady as he pounds into her, the sound of his bare thighs hitting hers. He places a hand on her throat and gently squeezes, as if he knows exactly how she likes it.

"Fuck.." Spencer growls, unhooking her legs from his waist with his available hand and using his weight to lift her legs above her head and driving in deep. Y/n claps a hand over her mouth to keep her screams in, her other hand gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turn white. "You're taking me like such a good girl."

"Fuck, Spencer," she whimpers under her palm.

"Say my name again."

"Spencer..."

"Louder."

"Fuck, Spencer!" She cries as he hits home, her pleasure reaching it's breaking point hastily.

"Open your mouth," he demands. She releases her palm from over her mouth and opens wide, Spencer wasting no time in sticking two fingers on her tongue. She closes her lips around his fingers and slides her tongue over their length. He groans in pleasure as she continues to tease his fingers.

"Come for me."

Those words were her undoing as she falls over the edge, Spencer following her over and her body releasing the pent up desire. Her entire body trembles as ecstasy floods her.

He releases her legs but stays positioned inside her, face hovering just inches above hers. Their panting breaths tangle with each other in the air between them. "You took me like such a good girl," he coos, cupping her cheek gently and rubbing her heated skin with his thumb.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Y/n whispers, trying to control her wildly racing heart.

"Of course."

"I've thought the same things," she confesses, pulling him by the hair to meet her lips again. "And I hope you're not too tired for another round."

An animalistic smile grows on his face as he pauses their kiss, "I'm going to tear you apart."

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wynnyfryd · 8 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 47

part 1 | part 46 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking; fatal levels of fluffy idiocy

They make their way over to the kitchen, where Eddie snags them two cans of beer off the counter — warm, but unopened, which is really as much as you can hope for at a house party by this time of night.

Steve doesn't mind, anyway. Doesn't want Eddie's hands to be cold.

"You think you're good to step outside for a few minutes?" he asks, tugging at the hem of Eddie's leather jacket. The black hoodie he has layered underneath. They're not nearly thick enough for an extended stroll through the two-inch blanket of snow outside, but he's hoping it'll do for just a few minutes.

Eddie cracks his beer with a grin. "Why? You wanna have a snowball fight?"

"Something like that."

Eddie follows him out back, down the slope of the lawn toward the property's edge. Away from the rest of the party until theirs are the only footprints in the powdery sheet of fresh snow.

It's bright out tonight. Moonlight bounces so fully off the white canvas that Steve doesn't even need to use a flashlight, and Eddie's pale skin shines; dazzles in the moonglow, all shimmer and sparkle and so utterly alive, his limbs in constant motion to keep the cold out of his bones. He's taking these big exaggerated hop-steps, shaking the snow from his shoes with each lift, compressing the fluff beneath his feet with each heavy stomp down so it doesn't creep into the eyelets of his boots and wet his socks.

Steve's gonna thrift him a new jacket. A big, puffy one, he decides. New boots, too, next chance he gets; gonna wrap him up in a big knitted scarf and crocheted mittens and a hat with a silly little pompom on top. He'd look cute like that, all bundled up. Warm and safe.

"What are you smiling so big for?"

"No reason," Steve smiles wider with a shrug. He doesn't bother trying to explain himself, 'cause he never sounds half as eloquent out loud as he thinks he does in his head; shit gets all jumbled up on the way out of his mouth, but he just thinks, "You look cute."

Eddie stops short. "Excuse you!" he squawks, one foot still hovering in the air. Arms out wide to keep his balance on one leg. "I am not cute."

"Uh huh," Steve licks his lip. Your eyes are bigger than the moon and your cheeks get all pink when you're offended, but sure. You're not cute. "Whatever you say."

"That's right," Eddie insists. He sticks his nose up in the air with a little hmph! noise. "I'm mean and big and scary, and you like doing what I say."

"Also true," Steve agrees.

Eddie's face comes back down, expression softening into something sickeningly sweet; desperately so, almost unbearable to look at.

Steve's heart squeezes hard enough in his chest to bruise his lungs.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?"

"Not much further," Steve says. The party’s on a cul-de-sac that backs up to Maple, to Tommy’s old street — weird, considering how much newer and nicer this neighborhood is compared to Tommy's, but that's how all of Hawkins is. The zones stacked on top of each other, new money swooping in and taking over them like kudzu.

In between the neighborhoods there’s a stretch of untouched woods: old trees and tall grass, brambles and dark mulch and the remains of reedy stalks, and through the center of it all runs a massive, winding storm drain. Like the bones of a concrete snake, blanketed by moss and leaves and snow.

Steve and Tommy used to play here. Used to perch where the drain pipe let out to a shallow open groove; dangle their legs over the edge and pretend they were sitting on a lake dock instead of sweating their asses off in the woods beyond Tommy’s yard.

“This one year,” Steve says as he leads Eddie toward the spot, pausing to hold a branch back so it doesn't pop them in the face. “There was this, like- this crazy flood, and the water got so high that we could almost splash our feet in it from the top of the pipe.”

He points out the drain in question. It’s smaller than he remembers; comes up to maybe shoulder height, but it used to be huge. Used to be that he could stand up in the opening and spread his arms out wide and only just scrape the tips of his fingers against the gritty walls.

Now it looks like he’d tweak his back trying to hunch over to crawl in. Guess he was a lot smaller than he remembers then, too.

"Okay..." Eddie says as he takes wide steps toward it, eyeing the curve of snowy concrete. "I can't tell if this is secluded in a romantic way, or if this is just some creepy Stephen King shit."

Before Steve can so much as roll his eyes, Eddie gasps and spins on his heel; snow spraying under his feet, eyes impossibly wide. "Oh, my fucking god," he breathes.

It puts Steve on high alert. "What is it?" he asks as he steps in close; gets Eddie by the elbows, backs him up against the side of the pipe and uses himself as a shield so he can look over his shoulder and scan the undergrowth. Is there an animal out here? Something worse? Did Eddie see something? "What-?"

When he turns back around, Eddie's clamping his lips shut so tight it looks like it hurts. "I just realized..."

His nostrils flare as a snort escapes him.

Oh, goddammit. Steve thought it was something serious! He slouches in relief, letting his hands slip around Eddie's waist; underneath his jacket, to the dip at the small of his back. "Yes?" he sighs, prompting Eddie to spill whatever's got him trying so hard not to laugh.

"Your- your name is Stephen."

Uh. "Yeah?" What the hell...? "I mean, it's Steven with a V, but- yeah?"

Another giggle breaks free. "And- and you're The King."

"...Oh, my god."

He's so stupid. He is so fucking stupid. Eddie's snickering so hard it's making his nose wrinkle up, his whole face flushed a brilliant pink, and there are fireworks going off in the neighborhoods all around them; Steve can hear the countdowns starting, the muted chorus over the hills, people shouting 'ten! nine! eight!' and Eddie's so fucking tickled he can barely get his words out.

"Baby," he gasps as the crowds chant four! and three! "You're Stephen King."

Two!

Steve has to kiss him.

One!

Has to kiss him and never stop.

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson," he smiles against laughing lips, and their tongues meet in the middle as they ring the new year in.

—

part 48

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker.

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s.

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage.

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley.

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you.

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind -

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door.

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper.

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile.

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen.

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit.

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls.

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug.

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity.

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat.

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar.

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights.

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours.

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t.

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes.

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust.

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion.

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio.

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late.

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels au #agent whiskey au #pedro pascal character fic

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

��I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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