Hey my name is Isa, an graphic design student from germany. This blog exists since 2012 but since november 20 I am more active on tumblr :)
The content of this blog is about everything what interested me at the moment. Most of the time it is supernatural but also other stuff. Sometimes a little bit from other tv shows or the korean world.
For the whole SPN i have a second Blog called @izza-theqeen . There i am most active. It includes a lot of fanfic replies, gifs and my emotions about damn Dean Winchester or Jensen Ackles.
There is also a blog for art stuff called @queenieizzaart and one where I uploaded own MBLAQ gifs (sadly the group kind of disbanded and keeping the blog is more a sentimental thing).
If you have questions or just want to talk, I am here :)
Warnings: 18+ (Mature Readers Only). This is a one-shot inspired by the 2002 film Secretary and contains explicit sexual content, boss/secretary power dynamics, light BDSM elements (spanking, dominance/submission), and suggestive language.
Kim Hanbin always marks your mistakes in red ink, and maybe, he's enjoying it a little too much.
In the month you’d been working as Hanbin’s secretary, this was the first time he stepped out of his office to call you out—over a freaking typo.
“You missed a letter,” he muttered, tapping the error with his pen on the document you’d printed. His cologne hit you—musky and leather, a scent that pulled at your senses.
“Do it again,” he said, voice firm.
“Yes, sir. My apologies.” You snatched the document back, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your fingers.
You were about to begin the rework when you noticed he still hadn’t moved. His fingers hovered on the edge of your chair, tapping against it.
You glanced over your shoulder and caught him looking at your blouse—not in a sexual way, but in that piercing, assessing look that made you swallow. There was a hint of annoyance in his eyes. “Starting tomorrow, I want you looking presentable for our clients.”
He turned away, already heading back to his office, but added one more thing: “And stop biting your lip when you type. It gives the wrong impression.”
You almost bawled your eyes out the moment his office door clicked shut.
Hanbin hadn’t stopped testing you since that day. It was as if he were always looking for a fault in your work—in everything you did. You dressed better. You prepared his coffee exactly the way he liked it. Still, he’d say, “You forgot an extra teaspoon of sugar.” So you made it a habit to leave a packet beside his mug. You even trained yourself not to bite your lip anymore. Yet, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe he was just waiting for you to quit.
And of course—the damn red ink, circling your typos. Why did he have to act like a professor grading papers? You’d had enough.
So when everyone finally went home, you stayed behind and walked straight into his office.
“Come in,” he said. You found him by the window, watering the small plant he always kept in his office.
“I need to talk to you.”
He set the watering can down and faced you, his expression unreadable.
“I always do what you ask, sir, but I don’t know what else you want from me.”
He said nothing at first—just stared. But when his voice came, it was calm—too calm. It rattled you more than if he’d raised his voice.
“Do you?”
“Y-yes. No offense, sir, but… I think you’re doing it on purpose.”
His brow lifted. “Is that what you think?”
He stepped forward, slowly closing the space between you, inch by inch.
“You’re a perfectionist. Maybe even controlling,” you said, fighting the urge to shrink back. “But I won’t give up easily. You can’t break me, sir.”
You kept your eyes fixed ahead, his presence still clear in your peripheral vision.
Something ignited in his eyes—interest, challenge.
“Really?”
“Try me,” you said, surprised by how steady your voice sounded.
Silence.
Then he ordered, “Bend over the desk.”
“Excuse me?” you breathed, unsure you’d heard him right.
“You heard me.” His voice left no room for confusion, something darker simmering underneath.
You froze, pulse spiking. The air around you grew thick.
Hanbin stood behind you, like a predator circling its prey.
“I said, bend over,” he repeated, his voice now dangerously low.
And you did. You obeyed, bending over and pressing your palms to the cool wood of his desk, heart hammering in your ears as you waited for what would come next.
Hanbin began by caressing your back, and your body shivered under his touch.
Carefully, his hand drifted lower, reaching your skirt. He paused, lifting the fabric just enough before letting it slip away.
He took in the sight of the black lace underwear barely visible through your stockings, eyes tracing the curve of your ass down to the back of your thighs. You waited, breath held, your body aching for the return of his touch.
At last, he unfastened your stockings and slid your underwear down with maddening control. His palm pressed against your bare skin—testing, feeling—as if searching for the perfect spot.
Without a word—slap!
You gasped, the sudden sting stealing your breath.
Another strike—harder this time.
Then another. And another.
He didn’t stop until you’d lost count. By the time he was done and satisfied, your ass throbbed, red and burning. You winced as you pulled your skirt back up, the fabric scraping raw against your skin.
Leaning in, he whispered in your ear, “Now, go home.”
That day had changed everything; going to work each morning thrilled you like never before.
Hanbin felt it too—though he made sure you’d never know. He maintained his composure, face impassive, speaking only when necessary—usually when you made a mistake, which, more often than not, you did on purpose.
“What did I say about commas?” he’d scold you, tone clipped.
“Sorry, sir. I’ll fix it.”
“Do it again.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“You’ve been slipping.”
“I know.”
“I gave you more responsibility because I thought you could handle it.”
“I can,” you said through clenched teeth.
You couldn’t tell if he was convinced. His gaze locked on you in a way that made you feel exposed—like he was dissecting you, as if you were something to be figured out.
And yet, he made you feel seen.
“Bring them back to me as soon as you're done. Don’t use your hands.”
“Understood, sir.”
Again, you obeyed him.
An hour later, you entered his office, the papers clutched delicately between your lips. He saw that your lipstick had been wiped off, leaving only the clean imprint of your effort. He watched as you placed the papers on his desk neatly—no smudges, just proof of your attentiveness. His expression didn’t falter, but you were almost certain his fingers had tightened around his pen.
He hated to admit it, but he liked it. He liked when you improvised—how you found clever ways to accomplish every task he gave you. And this time, you’d used your jaw, your mouth. A mouth he often thought about kissing. Hard.
You both kept it up every day of the week—undetected by anyone else at the firm. No one suspected a thing.
You two were unconventional—didn’t even hold hands in the break room.
But Hanbin had his ways.
He would leave notes on your desk in that annoyingly perfect handwriting of his. Little praises. Daring challenges. Sometimes, just your name written in red ink—like a secret only the two of you understood.
In the following months, Hanbin noticed how much you’d changed. The woman who had often avoided his gaze now looked him straight in the eyes—the same woman who used to apologize even for minor things. You stood taller. Spoke clearer. You had learned to be confident in yourself.
As for him, you weren’t just the fire in his loins—you’d become a light in his life. A light he wanted to keep. For a long time.
One night, after everyone had gone home, he found you still at your computer, typing away. He knew you were pretending, as you always did—finding excuses to stay late so you could wait for him.
“You never give up, do you?”
You looked up, a playful smile on your lips. “Never.”
Hanbin’s gaze glinted. “Can you do this… twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?”
“You know I can,” you replied, daring, matching the spark in his stare.
For the first time ever, you saw Hanbin smile. God, he looked so good when he smiled—it made your heart jump.
“I’ve made reservations at this Italian place… for us.”
Your smile widened. “Are you asking me out on a date, sir?”
He nodded.
“You know what this means, right?” you teased.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It means this.”
Hanbin walked around your desk, took your hand, and gently pulled you to your feet.
Then he kissed you—not rushed, not demanding. Just real.
Katsuki’s nose twitches “shoulder.” He refuses to meet her eyes. Instead, he opting to look at the empty spot beside her shampoo. His bottle with the broken cap had sat there months ago.
She touches his shoulder, gingerly, at first. “It’s dislocated.”
“No shit, sherlock,” he balks. Ochako always was to-the-point when she’s annoyed. Much like when he used to get home later than he meant to and he’d find her all alone in the kitchen heating up his dinner after a training day went longer than he expected and had to bail on their date. Of course, he would wrap his arms around her from behind and pepper her with little kisses, compliments, and promises to make it up to her. A smile nearly breaches his lips at the memories.
She shoots him a glare and presses on the injury. He grits his teeth and returns the look. “Give me your arm” Ochako makes a grabbing motion with her hand. He never did follow through on all those promises.
He huffs out a breath, “so you can torture me?” But lifts his arm to meet her grip anyway. She lifts his arm to a ninety-degree angle and slowly twists his arm backward until a loud pop echoes off the familiar tiled bathroom walls. A grunt of pain and relief follows the sound. Ochako releases his arm and Katsuki’s body visibly deflates a bit as he leans against the shelf behind the toilet – nearly cracking the cheap plyboard with his sheer mass. Ochako lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She looks at him out of habit, purely out of habit, she tells herself. If she needed any proof he hasn’t changed it’s his very presence in this bathroom right now, showing up at her door, once again, bloody, bruised, and broken begging for her to make it better. She busies herself gathering the supplies to patch him back together. For the last time. She tells herself.
Katsuki chances a look at her when she unceremoniously dumps rubbing alcohol and bandages on the counter beside him. She refuses to look him in the eye. She refuses to give him what he wants; refuses to let him into her bed again; refuses to let him make her feel so idle and unimportant when he’s gone before the dawn light can paint him heroic.
She works swiftly to prep a cotton ball with alcohol. He sees the way her eyebrows crease. The way they do when she’s deep in thought - holding back. His fingers twitch urging him to hold her tight enough to make the past disappear. To hold her that way he used to when she let him. Before he fucked everything up. Leaning his head back against the shelf, he resolves to close his eyes, instead, and let the quiet of the room sink in.
Ochako glances over at the picturesque pit fighter and chances the question, “why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
“Hate the smell of sterile” he mutters after a while. Conversation lulls again.
She brings the cotton ball to the cut on his cheek, and he hisses, his eyes shooting open to meet hers. She pauses for a moment. His eyes are just as deep ruby red as she remembered. She feels like she could get lost in them. She has gotten lost in them. The comfort of them after a long day, the way the sun makes them shine, the way they look up at her when he laid her down, the way they light up when he’s in the ring. She breaks eye contact and furrows her brows. She couldn’t ever compete with the ring. He notices her aversion. Katsuki always does.
He clears his throat. “So,” he starts, “heard you were at Perignon tonight.”
She swallows, trying to appear nonchalant, “Yeah. Didn’t know you were stalking me.” It came out harsher than she meant.
He clicks his tongue, “m’ not stalkin you. Dunce-face squawked my ear off about it before the match.”
Ochako swallows, “and what if I was?”
He looks toward the shower again – not at anything in particular, just away. The movement shakes a dry laugh from him, “so you are seeing that hippy twig.”
He looks almost satisfied with himself like a little boy figuring out a puzzle. Her jaw clenches, “how is my love life any of your business?”
He flinches. She pulls the cotton swab away for a moment. His eyes stay trained on the crooked tile next to the shower; hers stay on his face watching the twitch in his lip that usually precedes a screaming match. Much like the one they got into six months ago when they were both perched in this very bathroom after a particularly rough defeat in the ring.
He deflates. “s’pose ‘s not.” Ochako’s face pinches in concern, but another pregnant silence engulfs them.
“the other guy look worse?” she breaks the silence.
Katsuki huffs a smirk, “’course he does.”
She smooths a bandage over the last cut on his face. He grabs her wrist flattening her palm against his cheek.
“I’m going to Tokyo tomorrow.”
“Oh,” her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “You got accepted by the pro league?” It wasn’t a question. She knew he had been working for this since he could throw a punch.
He nods. She unconsciously rubs her thumb along his cheek where it isn’t bruised. He melts into the familiar touch.
“Congrats. You’ve been working hard for this.” Her tone is devastatingly tender.
He nods, “they’re paying for my apartment near the ring. Foods on me but they pay twice as much as they do here. Enough to support more than just myself.”
“Mhm,” Ochako starts, “I bet you’ll miss your post-match wonton soup at Lucky’s.” She pauses letting out a little laugh, “Remember when you laughed so hard it came out your nose?”
He huffs a laugh and a smile at the memory. A real smile that only Ochako can get out of him. “I’ll have to get the recipe.” He stands, crowding the small, newly claustrophobic, bathroom.
Her own smile falters a bit. “From Lucky?” she forces a laugh, “I think you’ll have to beat it out of him.” Please stay. Katsuki looks at her, drinking in every curve and movement like he only has a few moments to memorize them before painting them in fine detail from memory.
“I should go.” He motions to the door, “early flight.” I love you.
Ochako becomes suddenly aware of the awkwardness filling the small space. “oh, uh. Yeah.” She steps aside and lets him out of the narrow doorway. He leads the way to the door like the dingy apartment was his own; she follows like a lamb without a herd. She opens the front door to let him out, hesitating once he steps through. “You, um,” she can’t find the words, “should get used to the doctor. In Tokyo, I mean.” I love you too
He pauses and turns to face her. “Yeah. Guess I’ll have to without you around.” I’ll miss you
“Won’t be able to kiss your nurse in the big city” I will never love someone like I love you.
He gives a bittersweet smile and lowers his head, defeated. “Thank you. For everything, Ochako.” He looks up and gives her the saddest smile she has ever seen on his lips. I will never forget you. It leaves her speechless and heartbroken. He turns on his heels and strides away before she can say anything – standing in the doorway until he walks out of sight and, even then, reluctantly closes the door. The bandages remain on the counter, waiting.
Trying to figure out how to draw armour.
These are some of my notes I uploaded on patreon. A lot more to come since I really want to figure this one out.
POV: You are gushing about this new show you are watching “Countdown” especially about how hot is Mark Meachum to your husband Dean and he is not that amused😂😂😂
"Well, you lost your TV privileges for the time being," Dean grunts before walking out of your shared room, the TV tucked under his arm.
"Dean! DEAN!" You huff, knowing exactly why he took the TV. You gushed over the new show you watched, and the main character one too many times. "But baby! He looks like you!"
"I don't care! I'm the only man you can look at. Period!" Dean yells while running off with the TV.
"What? Do you want me to run around with my eyes closed all the time?"
"DAMN RIGHT!" He pokes his head into the room, giving you a warning look. "No sexy times until you admit that I'm your man."
You giggle. Dean won't survive a week without sexy times, and you can still watch the show on your phone...
Summary : You're the Navy's most reserved systems specialist. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw is the loud, golden retriever pilot who can’t stop watching you work. He starts with coffee. Then conversation. Then a playlist. But you're silent, guarded… until the jukebox plays his song, and you finally speak in the loudest way you know how.
Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader/groundsystemstech!reader
Warnings : mutual pining, jealousy (brief flirtation), sunshine x quiet introvert, playlist flirting, he’s loud for both of you
Words : 5K
»» ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ««
There was a certain stillness to the sim bay when you were in it—not silent, exactly, but quieter in a way that wasn't just about decibels. It was the kind of quiet that made people talk softer when they walked by you, as if your presence created a ripple of calm in the mechanical hum of monitors and diagnostic lights. You weren’t unfriendly. Just focused. Precise. A whisper in a world of voices raised too loud too often.
Bradley Bradshaw was not quiet, he was everything but quiet.
He was energy and swagger and sun-soaked charm, tall and golden, never without something to say. Usually something funny, sometimes something stupid, but always with that boyish confidence that made people laugh even when they didn’t want to.
And for some reason, lately, he kept orbiting around you.
Today, it was coffee.
You barely registered the footsteps until he was standing beside your desk, one hand curled around a cup, the other sliding the second one in front of you with practiced ease, like he’d done this before, like he’d made this part of his day.
“Hazelnut,” he said, voice low but cheerful, like you two were already in on some inside joke as he offered you the sweetest smile. “With oat milk. Thought I’d take a gamble, you look like an oat milk kind of girl.”
You paused mid-keystroke. Your eyes flicked up to his face—those soft brown eyes, wide and too curious for their own good—then down to the coffee. ‘Oat milk kind of girl’, what the hell does that mean ? Anyway, you took it without hesitation, your hand wrapping around the warm cup like it was familiar, though it wasn’t. At least not yet.
A quiet breath left your lips. “Thanks.” You murmured, voice just above the whir of the nearby fan: soft, clipped, barely there.
Then, you turned back to the screen, like the moment had never happened at all. Bradley stood there a beat too long, blinking once, then scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish kind of grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“…Cool.” He said to no one in particular, and walked off. Glancing back once to see if you looked at him again.
You didn’t.
»» ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ««
By the time lunch rolled around, the mess hall was its usual mess of uniformed pilots, engineers, and stray conversations about upcoming tests and simulations. Bradley slouched into a seat beside Phoenix and Bob, stealing a chip off Bob’s tray like it belonged to him.
“She never talks,” he said, more to himself than anyone else, watching you across the room as you sat alone, quietly eating, headphones on. You were scrolling something on your tablet—a manual, probably, or flight logs. You looked like you’d be anywhere else if you could, and still, you glowed in your own strange, distant way. Like a lighthouse in fog.
Phoenix didn’t even blink. “Whisper ? That’s her whole thing.”
Bradley raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but she literally never talks. I’ve said good morning to her for like four days straight and got exactly two words in return. One of them was ‘thanks.’ The other was ‘hmm.’”
“She doesn’t waste words,” Bob offered gently. “I like that about her.”
“Yeah, but how does she communicate ? Like, with other humans ? Does she just telepathically vibe what she wants across the room ?”
Phoenix smirked. “You’re not mad she’s quiet, you’re mad she’s not talking to you.”
Bradley opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He glanced across the cafeteria again. You were sipping the coffee he brought. Slowly. Still the only one you’d had all day. He watched the way you bit your lip, thinking intensely. How your hair fell back when you let it go, slightly hiding your face. But suddenly, a question popped in his head. “Why do we even call her whisper ?” He said still looking at you, not really waiting for an answer, more to make a statement.
“We talked once,” started Bob, cutting the brunet off from his observation. Rooster turned his head quickly, interested in what the blond had just told him. “Said she was a former pilot. Real good one too.”
His interest peaked, “Former pilot ? I thought she was a ground systems tech.”
“Well she is now.” The blond said. “But she used to fly, so people still use her call sign. Top of her class, sharp as a tack. Then she switched to ground—said she liked the quiet shadows better than the spotlight in the cockpit.”
Rooster took a slow sip of his glass of water, thinking about what his friend had just told him. “Guess I’ve got a mission then.”
Nat raised an eyebrow, “What kind of mission ?”
“To get her talking.” He answers, grinning like a kid who just found a new puzzle.
Bob laughed. “Good luck with that one.”
But that didn’t discourage Bradley, not even a little.
The sim bay had the kind of buzz that never quite went away—humming computers, faint whirring fans, a voice or two in the background reviewing telemetry. It was comfortable in a mechanical sort of way, and you liked it that way: your space, your rhythm, your quiet corner of the world. You were back at your console, headphones on, lips parted ever so slightly in focus as you adjusted a variable in the flight response program.
Bradley Bradshaw, on the other hand, existed in full color. He lingered in the doorway, pretending to look for someone, but mostly watching you work. He moved like someone born in the sun, all wide smiles and long limbs, always cracking a joke or throwing a casual wink in someone’s direction. So, when his boots thudded up beside your desk for the second time that day, coffee in hand again, you felt him coming before you even saw him. You slipped one of your headphones off as he stopped beside your desk, and he couldn’t help but smiled at the anticipation.
“You always drink coffee after lunch,” he said, setting the cup beside your keyboard like it was already tradition. “But I figured I’d switch it up. This one has vanilla instead of hazelnut. Dangerous, I know.” He chuckled for a bit.
You paused, glanced at him, and took the cup with both hands like it might vanish if you didn’t. “Thanks,” you murmured, the word barely above a breath.
He smiled like it was a full sentence. And then, to your surprise, he didn’t leave. He leaned against the edge of your console, arms crossed. “So… do you always have your headphones in, or is that just to avoid me ?”
You blinked, looked at him—not startled, just unreadable. Then: a quiet, short answer.
“No.”
His brows lifted. “Oh ? So it’s not personal.”
“No.”
Another beat passed. He was clearly trying to decide if that was good or bad.
“What do you listen to ?”
“…Music.”
That made him grin. “Wow. The mystery deepens.”
You looked back at your monitor. You weren’t trying to be cold, you just didn’t know what to do with all that energy, all that focus pointed at you like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
Still, he stayed.
“What kind of music ?” he asked, voice dipping into something gentler.
You hesitated. “…Instrumental.”
“No lyrics ?”
You shook your head.
“Okay. So you like stuff that doesn’t talk much. That makes sense.”
There was a tiny flicker at the corner of your lips. Not quite a smile. But almost. Bradley caught it like it was gold dust.
“Are you from around here ?” he tried again, as casually as he could.
You shrugged. “Sort of.”
“That’s not an answer.”
You glanced at him. “It is.”
He chuckled, arms dropping as he leaned a little closer to your screen, trying to read what you were working on. “You calibrating the response latency on Phoenix’s sim log ?”
“Yes.”
“Wanna explain it to me like I’m five ?”
“No.”
He laughed—this full, warm thing that drew glances from two other pilots on their way out. You didn’t laugh with him, but you did nod, slow and almost amused as you went back to work. And that was something. Bradley stared at you for another second. Then, without a word, he picked up the half-empty coffee cup you’d been nursing since morning and pulled a black Sharpie from his back pocket.
He scribbled something near the rim, just above the sleeve, and set it gently back beside you. You didn’t look up. But you didn’t tell him to go, either. He turned and left with a smirk playing at his lips.
Once you were sure he was gone, you reached out, fingers curling around the cup like it was something private. You turned it, just slightly. In dark, careful handwriting, it said:
‘Don’t worry,
I talk enough for both of us.’
You stared at it for a second. Just long enough for the smallest smile to touch your lips—the kind you’d never let him see.
Not yet.
»» ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ««
The Hard Deck was buzzing, already alive by the time you stepped through the doors. Half-empty beer bottles, familiar voices crashing over each other like waves, Phoenix’s laughter echoed from the pool table and a Springsteen song rumbled from the jukebox. Bradley was already there, leaning back at the bar, flashing that easy, sun-warmed smile at anyone who passed. As usual, he was dressed in an open Hawaiian shirt with a simple white T-shirt, his aviator pair on the tip of his nose, and his stupid moustache making him looking good as ever.
You hovered at the threshold longer than you meant to—long enough to wonder why you came, short enough that no one noticed—then slipped in quietly, the familiar hum of chatter wrapping around you like a cocoon. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly. You weren’t afraid of noise, just tired of being swallowed by it. But tonight, something pulled you in. Maybe it was the ache of loneliness that crept in when the hangar emptied you. Or maybe it was just the memory of Rooster’s smile earlier that morning, when he handed you coffee just to hear your thank-you.
“Watch this.” Bradley said to Phoenix, next to him, as he saw you cross the room.
“You're gonna make a fool of yourself.” She laughed as he stood up, walking with a determined step towards you.
You found your usual corner near the window, sliding onto a stool with your drink and earphones already tucked in your jacket pocket. Not quite ready to drown out the noise, but ready to keep some space from it. You hadn’t even settled on a stool before a shadow fell beside you.
“There she is,” Bradley drawled, smooth and pleased, sidling up beside you with his usual beer in hand. “Didn’t think this place was your scene.”
You glanced at him sideways, eyes unreadable, and shrugged. “Got bored.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, leaning one arm on the table next to you, his attention all yours. “You in a bar full of pilots ? That’s not boredom. That’s anthropology.”
You tilted your head. “Maybe I’m observing.”
He grinned wide, taking that as a win. “See ? She does talk.” He says loud enough so Nat could hear it.
You didn’t reply. Just looked at him with wide eyes and sipped your drink, letting the silence settle again.
Bradley seemed content to fill it. “You always just… listen ?” He asked, watching over the rim of his bottle.
You gave a small shrug. “Someone has to.”
His eyes softened, “I like your voice.” He said unbothered by your silence.
That pulled something from you—the tiniest exhale of laugh, gone before fully formed. But he caught it, and his grin widened even more when he saw your cheeks getting slightly red. “There it is,” he said, mock-dramatic. “A sound. We’ve got confirmation of life.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat in it.
Across the room, near the jukebox, Fanboy nudged Payback and nodded toward you both.
“Ten bucks says he won’t get her to say more than four words tonight,” Fanboy said.
Payback chuckled. “I’ll take that bet. Bradshaw’s relentless.”
Back at the corner, Bradley didn’t care. Didn’t even notice. He was too focused on you—on the way your fingers traced the rim of your glass, the way you listened like it mattered. Then, he seemed to be slowing down, leaning against the edge of your space like he might stay there all night.
“You ever drink anything stronger than water ?” He asked, nudging his empty bottle toward your glass.
“I had whiskey last week.” You murmured.
Bradley arched an eyebrow. “One whiskey ?”
You let the corner of your mouth twitch. “Two.”
He laughed, the sound full and bright, startling in the close space between you. You turned slightly toward him, just enough to give him your attention—not more, not yet.
“I think people forget you have a voice,” he said, his tone quieter now, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I mean, I see you every day. Running diagnostics, fixing our busted egos in the sims, headphones always on. But nobody really talks to you.”
“I don’t mind,” you said, fingers tapping the base of your glass.
“Why’d you stop flying ?” He asked suddenly, not unkindly. Just… curious.
You glanced away for a beat, surprised he knew that, then shrugged. “Liked control more.”
Bradley’s smile softened, fading into something more thoughtful. “You ever miss it ?”
You paused. Then, so quiet he almost missed it: “Sometimes.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment—just looked at you, like he wanted to remember the sound of your voice exactly as it was. Then someone brushed past you on the way to the bar, a blonde woman in a sundress, tall and glowing, with a spark in her eye and a laugh that cut clean through the room. Confident in a way that glittered, she moved like she already knew who would be watching her, and her eyes locked onto Bradley.
You caught the way his eyes settled on her. Not just a glance, but a long, lingering stare, the kind that said he was interested, curious, maybe even impressed. His usual playful charm softened into something quieter, more focused, like he was seeing something worth leaning into, and for a moment, it was like you weren’t even in the room.
Anyway, he stayed with you a little longer.
And unconsciously, you gave him more than usual tonight—a full five minutes of quiet conversation, soft answers barely audible beneath the noise, a trace of a smile when he teased you about something you just said. It was the most you’d spoken to him outside the sim bay, and for a moment, it felt like something shifted. Like maybe he saw you a little more clearly now.
Then your glass emptied. You stood slowly, nodding toward the bartender on the far end. “Be right back.” You took his empty bottle in your hand, without asking him.
He thanked you and straightened, stretching his arms back just enough for the fabric of his shirt to pull across his broad shoulders. The movement was effortless, the kind of thing he didn’t even know he was doing. “Don’t disappear on me.” He called, half-laughing, as you stepped away, weaving through shoulders and laughter. You didn’t answer, just slipped into the crowd, quiet as ever.
You didn’t see the blonde until you were halfway to the bar, but he saw her. She brushed past you with the kind of scent you couldn’t name but somehow noticed. And by the time you looked back, his eyes were already on her. Focused. That warm, open grin of his softened into something more curious, the kind of look he gave to things he wanted to figure out—the same look he gave you earlier that morning. When she glanced over and smile, he smiled back like it was instinct. The blonde placed a hand on his forearm, light and lingering, nails painted in a summer pink. And he didn’t move an inch away.
He tilted his head, smiling down at her like they’d known each other longer than thirty seconds. That familiar warmth in his eyes—the one he gave you—was now entirely hers. Your grip on his bottle tightened and you turned back toward the bar, but not for the bartender anymore. Instead you set the bottle and your glass gently on a vacant corner.
“Doesn’t need his beer anymore.” You muttered under your breath.
“Ditching the golden boy already ?” Phoenix’s voice came from beside you, light but knowing.
You didn’t flinch, just gave her a small shrug, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere past the jukebox. “He’s got company.” You said quietly.
She followed your gaze. Her expression didn’t change, but you caught the way she exhaled slowly, like she wanted to say something. Instead, she offered a soft nudge to your shoulder. “Come shoot a round with me. Before Bradshaw says something stupid dumb and ruins both your nights.”
You nodded once, grateful, and let her steer you away—away from the laughter from the blonde, from the part of you that had started to hope he’s look for you first.
»» ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ««
The next few days passed in a blur of drills and simulator runs, but something was off. Bradley felt it before he even saw it. A shift in the air, subtle and sharp. The way people say you can sense a storm rolling on, not by the thunder, but by how still the birds go.
You were still there in the sim bay every morning, like clockwork. Still perched at your console with your headphones draped around your neck, fingers flying over diagnostic keys. Still responding to reports, confirming flight data, calling out corrections with crisp professionalism.
But you weren’t there. Not like before.
You didn’t glance over when he leaned on the edge of your desk with his usual swagger, coffee cup in hand, teasing tone ready. You’d just take the cup without eye contact, said a flat, “Thanks”, and go back to the screen like he hadn’t just offered you the sun.
No smile. No soft voice. No quiet moment like before. Bradley stood there a second longer, watching you scroll through diagnostics. The first time, he brushed it off. Maybe you were tired or busy. The second time, it tugged a little. But the third ? It started to sting.
“Rough morning ?” he asked that day, testing the waters. He watched you from just a few feet away, trying to catch your expression through the edge of your hair. But you didn’t even blink. Didn’t even lift your head. Just muttered, “No”, and continued typing.
Bradley lingered awkwardly for a few seconds longer, waiting—for a smile, a glance, anything. But you never looked up. He left the coffee on the corner of your console and walked away like a door had closed behind him.
And it stuck with him. It gnawed at him all day. During simulator drills, debriefs, even lunch where he barely touched his food, through endless conversations with teammates where he found himself half-listening, distracted by the feeling of something slipping out of reach. By the time evening rolled around, he couldn’t shake it. He found Phoenix on the flight deck catwalk, where the sky was bruising purple, and the air still carried salt and heat.
“What did I do ?” He asked impatient.
She didn’t looked away from the horizon, “To who ?”
He looked at her like it was obvious and sighed, “Whisper.”
Now she looked at him, one brow lifted. “You mean besides not shutting up around her ?”
Bradley narrowed his eyes. “No, I mean lately. She’s been…” He exhaled hard. “Different. Cold.”
Phoenix tilted her head, giving him a long, pointed look. Then she asked, “You really don’t get it ?”
His expression didn’t change, but there was hesitation in his eyes. “Get what ?”
“She saw you Bradshaw.”
He blinked, “Saw me what ?”
Phoenix pushed off the railing, folding her arms. “You flirted with some random at the Hard Deck right after spending all night talking her out of her shell. And she saw you. Every second of it.”
Bradley’s mouth opened slightly. “What ? No, I wasn’t— I just talked to her for a second—”
“Bradley,” Phoenix’s voice dropped, serious now. “She was holding your damn beer to get you a new one. She wanted to come back to you.”
He stopped. Actually stopped. Like the weight of those words landed straight on his chest. “I didn’t…” He scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” He muttered.
She softened a little but didn’t let him off the hook. “Didn’t have to.” She waited a beat, then said more gently, “She’s quiet, not stupid. You think that kind of girl opens up to just anyone ?”
He didn’t answer. Because he was thinking about the bar now. About the way your eyes had briefly flicked toward him when the blonde leaned in. About how your expression had shuttered before he could even recognize the look behind it.
Phoenix watched him closely, then nudged his shoulder. “So. Fix it. Or at least don’t make it worse.”
»» ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ««
Two days went by.
Long enough for Bradley to feel every inch of it—in the clipped responses, in the polite nods, in the way you passed him in the corridor like he was another file to be sorted and ignored.
And it was driving him insane.
Because you weren’t the kind of person to shut people out impulsively. You were calculated, quiet, deliberate in everything you did. And this coldness wasn’t sudden. It was chosen. Thought through.
Which meant it hurt.
He spent hours turning it over in his head, reliving that night at the Hard Deck, the way you’d said ‘Be right back’ like it meant something, like you were truly planning on coming back to him and not just disappear as he thought you would. And how he’d let himself be pulled into a meaningless moment with a girl he didn’t even remember the name of. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing. Not until Phoenix spelled it out for him in painfully clear words.
So now he sat with that. The guilt, the frustration, the quiet hollow ache of knowing he’d hurt someone who barely let people close to begin with. And he wanted to fix it. But with you, big gestures didn’t work. He knew that. You didn’t want spectacle, you wanted sincerity. Something simple. Something honest.
So that morning, before anyone else was in the sim bay, he left a flash drive on your console. No note. No explanation. Just slid it onto the edge of your desk beside your water bottle and walked away without a word.
You noticed it the moment you sat down.
A plain silver drive, no label. But when you hovered over the files on your screen an hour later, curiosity finally won over.
“Songs You Should Smile To — A Rooster Original”
You stared at the name for a long moment, your finger paused above the track list. You didn’t open it right away. Didn’t smile, either. Just… paused. Then clicked. The first song was soft, warm around the edges. The kind of sound that lingered like late sunshine on concrete. It played in your headphones for exactly thirty-eight seconds before you stopped it. Then closed the window. Then unplugged the drive.
You slipped it into your pocket like it was something fragile.
Later that day, while the rest of the pilots were out on deck, Bradley circled back into the sim bay. You were alone at your station, typing quietly, brows drawn together as you reviewed a diagnostic thread. He lingered by the edge of the console—not leaning in like usual, not crowding your space—just there. Treading softly.
“Hey,” he said gently, scratching at the back of his neck. “Did you, uh… open it?”
You didn’t look at him. Just nodded. “Yeah.”
That was it.
A single syllable, flat as an ocean on a windless day. You didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer a smile. Didn’t even glance his way.
Bradley hesitated, thumb rubbing the edge of his palm. “Cool,” he said, too quickly. Then added, “Just figured… you might need a better soundtrack. Y’know. For… stuff.”
No reply. No warmth. Nothing to hold on to. You didn’t ignore him, but you didn’t give him anything, either. And that was somehow worse. He lingered for a second longer, then gave a small nod and turned away. Chest tight, mouth pressed into a thin line.
But he didn’t see the way your fingers curled slightly as he walked off. The way your eyes flicked toward the flash drive, still safe in your pocket. Or even the way you waited until the door hissed shut behind him before reaching for your headphones again.
You started the playlist over. From the beginning this time.
»» ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ««
The Hard Deck was loud that night. Louder than usual. Full of laughter, clinking bottles, half-sung choruses to half-remembered songs. Bradley was already two beers in when he dropped onto a stool by the bar, half-listening to Hangman brag about something no one cared about and trying not to look toward the door every few minutes like some hopeful idiot.
You hadn’t showed up yet.
He told himself he wasn’t looking. That he didn’t care. That it was just a normal night, and he was just enjoying the bar like everyone else.
But then he heard it.
The song.
Soft drums, rising gently above the noise, his heart stuttered.
“I want to know what love is” by the Foreigner.
It wasn’t one of the Hard Deck bangers, not on Penny’s usual rotation. It was his song. The first track on the playlist he gave you. One that made him grin when it came on during drives, made him think of wind in his hair and summers that never quite ended. It wasn’t loud enough to cut through pool games or Payback’s booming laugh across the room. But loud enough for him to hear it.
He blinked, turning toward the jukebox automatically.
And there you were.
Alone, standing quietly with one hand still resting lightly against the machine, like you weren’t quite sure you were allowed to touch it. Head bowed just a little, listening. You looked soft in the amber glow of the neon bar lights.
Playing his song.
Bradley was on his feet before he could stop himself. He crossed the floor slowly, weaving through the crowd as his pulse ticking somewhere behind his ribs, watching you with a quiet disbelief. You didn’t turn until he was almost beside you. Then, finally, your eyes lifted to meet his. There was something unreadable in your expression: something brave.
He opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.
“I liked this one.” You said simply, your voice barely louder than the song.
Just that.
No buildup. No grand declaration. But your voice was warmer than it had been in days, and your eyes held a softness he hadn’t seen since before that night at the bar. And Bradley melted. A breath escaped his chest like relief and hope all tangled into one. “Yeah ?” He asked, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “I thought you might.”
You gave a tiny nod, barely there. “Had it on repeat all night.”
He smiled then. Really smiled. The kind that stretched across his face like a sunrise. His heart clenched in his chest, and for once, he couldn’t find a smooth comeback. Just stood there, quiet in front of the quietest person he knew, feeling every word like it had weight.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “For that night. I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to…”
“I know.” Your eyes didn’t leave his.
And then—finally—you smiled. Bradley exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath since that night. You looked at him for a long time, longer than you ever had before. The jukebox kept playing as the music wrapped around you both like velvet.
Bradley laughed under his breath, “There it is.”
The jukebox’s glow flickered softly across your face, casting colors that shimmered like stained glass: red across your jaw, blue across your lashes. You were looking at him like he’d said something sacred. Like he hadn’t messed it all up.
Bradley’s throat tightened. His hands ached to move—to reach for you, to tuck that strand of hair behind your ear, to do something—but he didn’t. He didn’t move. Didn’t trust himself not to screw it up by rushing. So he stood there, holding his breath, watching you like he’d watch a sunrise he was afraid to blink through.
And you… you just looked at him for a moment longer. Eyes calm, unreadable, but soft. Then slowly—so slowly he almost thought he imagined it—your hand reached up. Fingers brushed lightly against the collar of his shirt, then steadied there, like an anchor. You leaned in, hesitant, but sure, eyes locked on his, not breaking even once. Bradley’s breath caught. His lips parted just slightly. He still didn’t move.
But you did.
You kissed him.
Not tentative. Not shy. Not loud, but louder than anything you’d ever said before. It was soft, but certain, the kind of kiss that said everything you never did. And Bradley melted into it. When he finally kissed you back—deeper, more grounded, hand slipping gently around your waist—it felt like exhaling after months of holding his breath. Like gravity stopped pulling and just let him float.
And in the background, Kelly Hansen sang on :
I wanna feel what love is, I know you can show me…
Just a quick reminder….this is what Changbin’s hands look like…
You ever just wanna hold Changbin’s hands and lock them between yours cause his fingers just look so soft and warm but at the same time you can easily imagine them just squishing you all over nd stuffing you full and-
Hold on. Putting this in my drafts before I get too carried away but you guys get the gist lol.
“What the hell are we going to call him?” Y/N whined as she looked down at her son, his little nose scrunched up as he drank his formula.
Yes, she had decided not to breastfeed. It was a hard decision, but she had chosen to bottle feed so that she could have help with feeding him, and that also gave Jensen the chance to bond with him when he took care of the feedings.
“I don’t know, honey. Just pick something,” Jensen chuckled, as she looked at him with a glare.
“Well, it has to be unique, and that makes it hard.”
“Why does it have to be unique?” he asked, a little confused.
“Because! The other kids all have unique names,” she groaned in frustration.
“That doesn’t matter, Y/N. He doesn’t have to have a unique name because the other three do.”
“Yes, it does matter! I don’t want to be introducing the kids and be like ‘Here’s our children, Justice, Arrow, Zeppelin, and Bob!’ See how stupid that sounds?” she threw her free hand up in exasperation.
“Well, I’m pretty sure we’re not going to fucking name him Bob,” he laughed.
“Jay…”
“I know, babe. We’ll come up with something. Just don’t get so frustrated with it, okay?”
“Okay,” she sighed as the door to her room opened, Jared and Gen walking in.
“Okay, it’s Uncle Jared time. Hand over the munchkin,” he grinned as he rubbed his hands together in excitement. His face lit up as soon as Jensen passed the bundle into his arms.
“He’s so little!” Jared said with awe, mesmerized by him already.
“I can promise you that he didn’t feel so little when I was pushing him out!” Y/N exclaimed with a laugh, the others joining in.
“I’d say not, short stack,” Jared agreed.
“Okay, that’s enough Jared time. It’s Aunt Gen time now. So, hand him over,” Gen demanded, bouncing on her feet in excitement.
“No need to fight over him, guys. You’ll be seeing a lot of him as I’m sure we won’t be able to get y’all out of our house for a while after we bring him home,” Jensen joked, sitting on the side of the bed beside Y/N, leaning in to kiss her sweetly.
After she’d given birth to their son, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. He knew that it would be this way, as he fell more in love with Dee when she’d had their kids. But, he didn’t remember it being this profound of a feeling. All he could think when he looked at her was what a damn amazing woman she was for enduring what she did, and that he was head over heels in love with her. More so now if that was even possible. He sighed with happiness before Jared spoke and broke his reverie.
“So, what’s his name?” he asked, Jensen chuckling at the frustration that was soon to come from Y/N.
“We can’t think of a name yet,” Y/N grumbled, Jensen giggling at his right prediction.
“No Name Ackles. I like it,” Jared chided, making Y/N groan.
“Fuck you, Padalecki. It’s not from lack of trying.”
“I’m joking, Y/N. It will come to you soon. Don’t stress out about it.”
“I know. I just wasn’t prepared for him to come so soon, and I hadn’t really looked into any names much. We’ll think of something,” she agreed, too tired to argue.
‘Knock, Knock.”
The voice at the door made all the adults turn toward the sound, the baby didn’t even react. He could care less. He was the most relaxed and peaceful baby. Even the nurses commented on how relaxed and content he was. Y/N and Jensen were both thankful for that. As the door opened wider, Dee and all three kids walked into the room. The kids went straight to their father, anxious to see the new sibling.
“Aww look how cute!” JJ squealed, standing beside Gen and looking down at the baby.
“Daddy, pick me up so I can see my sister,” Arrow said, jumping into her dad’s arms, Zep followed suit and jumped into Jensen’s other arm.
“What makes you think it’s a sister?” Jensen asked with a smirk.
“Because Dad, it has to be. We need another sister,” Arrow quipped, the sass strong with that one.
“What about Zep? Doesn’t he need a brother?” Jared asked, smirking along with Jensen, dragging it out by messing with the kids.
“No. There’s enough boys. We need another girl,” she huffed, crossing her arms, all the adults giggling at her.
“What do you think, JJ?” Y/N asked, the oldest girl standing there silently.
“I’d like another sister, but I don’t mind a brother. It would make it even,” she replied, always the little peacemaker.
“Daddy, it’s okay if it’s a sister. I’d like a brother, but if they want a sister, that’s okay,” Zep said quietly, laying his head on his dad’s shoulder.
“Aww, Zep. You’re such a sweetheart,” Y/N cooed, reaching out to pull him down to sit with her, kissing him on his head.
“Well, honey, do you want to break the news, or shall I?” Jensen winked at Y/N, that signature smirk on his face.
“Go ahead, Dad,” she laughed, holding Zep tighter when he cuddled closer to her side.
“We don’t have a name yet, but guys, I’d like to introduce you to your little brother.”
The squeal of joy from Zep almost deafened the room, and the groan from Arrow was almost as loud. JJ just smiled and leaned over to start talking to her youngest sibling. The adults couldn’t contain their smiles at all the kid’s reactions.
“Fine, I guess it’s okay to have another brother. Only because he’s so cute,” Arrow grumbled, everyone laughing as Jensen ruffled her hair and kissed her on the forehead.
Y/N sat and watched as all her friends and soon-to-be step-children oohed and ahhed at the baby. She was lucky to have been brought into this amazing group of people, and to be accepted as if she’d always belonged there. It warmed her heart and made her start to tear up. Jensen noticed quickly and was by her side.
“What’s wrong, honey? Are you hurting? Do you not feel good?” he questioned, looking her over to see if he could find what was making her cry.
“No, no. I’m fine. It’s just…” she choked up, clearing her throat to speak as he looked at her with worry and confusion, “I just realized how lucky I am to have all of you, and it made me emotional. I promise I’m okay.”
“Baby, I will tell you this right now. We are just as damn lucky to have you. We all love you, and I hope you know that,” he said softly, wiping the tear that fell down her cheek.
“I know, and I love all of you. More than you’ll ever know,” she smiled, leaning up to kiss him.
“Eww, cooties!” Jared shouted, making all the kids laugh and the adults roll their eyes.
“Very mature, man,” Jensen huffed with fake annoyance. He knew he had done it to lighten the mood.
“That’s me. Mr. Mature,” he laughed, as Gen playfully swatted at him.
“Y/N, do you mind if I hold him?” Dee asked, looking a little nervous.
“Of course! You’re his family, too,” Y/N answered with a smile, watching as Gen handed Dee the baby.
“Oh my God, he’s the cutest little thing. He’s perfect, guys, truly,” she whispered, trying not to rouse the dozing baby in her arms.
Everyone talked for a while after Dee laid the baby down to rest. He never roused even with all the talking and commotion. Dee and Gen told Y/N that she was lucky to have such a quiet and peaceful baby and that they would hope it stayed that way for her.
The company started to leave slowly as the day got later with promises to come back and see them, but they wanted to let Y/N rest. The couple thanked everyone for their kind words and the flowers and gifts that were brought and said good night. Once the last person left, Jensen looked over to Y/N. She looked tired but happy, and that made his heart swell with love for her. Seeing her so in love with their son made him feel like he was on top of the world. He didn’t think he could be any happier than he was at that moment.
“Are you ready to get a little rest, babe?” he asked as he walked over and sat on the bed beside her while she was looking at her phone.
“Drystan,” was all she said, looking up at him with a smile.
“What?” he said in utter confusion.
“His name. Drystan. I was looking at unique names, and it means peaceful and melancholy. It fits him perfectly!” she beamed, happy she’d finally found something.
“Drystan, huh?” he hummed, scratching his chin like he was thinking before smiling down at her, “I think it’s perfect, Y/N. I like it.”
“Really?!”
“Yeah, really. It’s unique like you wanted, and like you said, it describes him to a tee. Now all we need is a middle name.”
“Well, I think I have that, too. If you like it, I mean,” she looked at him sheepishly.
‘Okay, out with it,” he laughed at her expression.
“I think his name should be Drystan Hunter Ackles. Because if it wasn’t for Supernatural, we would’ve never met and fallen in love. Which means he wouldn’t be here. I think it fits,” she explained, biting her lip in anticipation of what he would say.
“I love it, baby. Drystan Hunter Ackles it is,” he chuckled as she released the breath she was holding.
They both looked over at their sleeping son and now that he had a name, everything was perfect. Jensen pulled Y/N into his arms, resting his chin on her head as he ran his hand up and down her back. Her contented sigh made him smile. All he ever wanted was to make her happy, and now that they had Drystan, he was always going to make sure she and his children were taken care of and do everything in his power to make sure they were happy.
“Uhh, I feel like I sat on a firecracker,” Y/N groaned as she sat on their couch.
They had been released from the hospital that morning, and they had just made it home. Jensen had led her over to sit down and rest as he went to finish unloading all their things from the car. He couldn’t help but laugh at her as he handed Drystan to her.
“That’s one hell of a visual, baby.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but this isn’t any fun. Why don’t they warn you about this before you have a baby?” she whined, squirming around trying to get comfortable.
“I agree, darlin’, but once you’re pregnant, there’s really no getting out of the end result. I wish I could take it from you. I hate seeing you hurting,” he frowned, knowing she had to be miserable.
“I know you would, Jay, and I appreciate it. I’ll be fine, eventually, hopefully,” she chuckled.
“You’re my badass short stack. You’ll be back raising hell before you know it,” he laughed, kissing her on the forehead before he went to get the rest of their things inside.
After a few minutes by herself, the door opened and she looked up expecting to see Jensen, but instead, it was Alan and Donna. The excited smiles on their faces made her smile whether she would’ve wanted to or not. She motioned them to come in and sit down, glad to see them, as it had been a long time.
“Y/N, look at you! Motherhood looks good on you, dear,” Alan stated, sitting down on one side of her as Donna took a seat on the other.
“Oh my goodness! Look at that handsome little man. He’s absolutely precious!” Donna cooed over her new grandson.
“I’d like to think I had something to do with that,” Jensen said as he walked through the door with their belongings, his arms more than full.
“Jay, you know you could’ve made more than one trip to get our stuff. You didn’t have to get it all in one go,” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head.
“No way. Two trips is for pussies. Sorry, Mom, Dad,” he apologized quickly once he realized what he said.
“Like we haven’t heard you say worse when you thought we couldn’t hear you, son,” Alan said with a laugh. Jensen turned a deep shade of pink from embarrassment.
“Leave him alone, Alan. Not like you don’t use some colorful words sometimes,” Donna chastised her husband with a smirk. Obviously, the one her son inherited, “Now, let me have that baby!”
Everyone laughed as Y/N handed Drystan to his grandmother. Who was soon completely infatuated with him, Alan joined in with coo’s and baby talk soon after. Y/N stood slowly to make her way into the kitchen to get a bottled water. Jensen was on her heels when he realized she was up and moving. Y/N shook her head with a giggle as he rounded the corner of the kitchen.
“Baby, I would’ve gotten you water if you would’ve told me you wanted one,” he said, walking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, and placing his chin on her shoulder.
“I know, but I’m fine. Yes, I’m sore, but it’s just going to get worse if I sit and do nothing.”
“Yeah, but you also have to heal, honey. I’m not going to tell you not to do anything, but will you promise me you’ll take it easy and let someone know when you get tired and need a break?”
“I promise, Jay,” she agreed, turning to place a kiss on his cheek, “Now, let’s get back in there to your parents and our son.”
They had a good visit with his parents, and they had said they were going to stay in the guest suite for a week or two to help out, and Y/N was grateful for that. The whole motherhood thing was new to her, and she welcomed the help until she got the hang of things. Donna had offered to make dinner for everyone, and they were all sitting around while she was in the kitchen figuring out what she would make for dinner when the doorbell rang. Jensen opened the door to the Padalecki’s, and Dee and the kids were behind them. Everyone was excited about seeing the baby again. As everyone made their way into the living room, Donna poked her head around the corner.
“Looks like I’m going to have to make a grocery run to feed all of you,” she laughed, walking in to grab her purse.
“No, Donna, you don’t have to feed all of us,” Gen spoke up.
“Nonsense. You’re all here, and I’m sure you’ll be here a while for everyone to have time to spend with the baby. So, you’re getting fed. End of discussion,” she stated bluntly on her way to the door.
“It’s best if you don’t argue with Mama,” Jensen whispered to the group, his dad agreeing with a nod of his head, everyone laughing at the scared expressions on their faces.
“So, when’s the wedding?” Gen asked as they all sat around the table eating dinner.
“Honestly, that’s up to her. I’d marry her tomorrow in the backyard, but I want her to have the wedding she wants,” Jensen chuckled as the others laughed at his statement.
“I’m not sure. I know I want to marry him, and I don’t want to wait too long, but I’d love to lose some of this baby weight. I do know I don’t want anything big, and honestly, now that you mentioned it, just our family and closest friends in the backyard sounds kinda perfect,” she admitted, liking the sound of something small and intimate.
“Really? The backyard? Are you sure that’s what you want? I promise, baby, I’ll be happy with whatever you want,” Jensen asked, making sure she had the true wedding she wanted.
“I’m serious, Jay. That sounds perfect to me. We’ve had so many good memories in this house, and I’d like to keep adding them. And what better great memory than having our wedding here?” she smiled, squeezing his hand to assure him she was being honest.
“If my girl wants a backyard wedding, a backyard wedding she’ll get,” he smiled, leaning over to kiss her.
“Eww, cooties!” Jared shouted, again, the kids were laughing and the adults rolling their eyes, “No, seriously, I’m so happy for you guys. Jay, it means the world to me to see you this happy. Uh, sorry Dee. No offense.”
“None taken at all. We loved each other and we had three amazing kids together, but we realized we were better friends, and that’s perfectly okay. I’ve moved on and am happy, and so has he. And I can’t imagine anyone better for him as a partner, and as a second mom to my kids than Y/N,” she smiled brightly, showing she was just as happy for the couple as everyone else.
“Dee, I don’t know what to say. I-I…” Y/N stuttered with emotion, as Danneel cut her off.
“You don’t have to say anything. Just make him happy, Y/N, and I expect the same thing from him for you,” she replied, holding her glass up in a toast, everyone joining in before going back to their dinner.
The rest of the night went by with smiles and laughter. Everyone joined in on the conversation. Funny stories were told, advice on being a new mother was shared, and lots of happy memories were made. As everyone had finished dinner and moved to the living room, Y/N stayed back and was putting the leftovers in containers for lunch the next day when Jensen walked in, grabbing her and spinning her around to face him.
“Hi, beautiful,” he whispered, bending down to kiss her.
“Well, hi yourself, handsome,” she chuckled when he pulled away.
“Today was great,” he sighed happily, his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her.
“It really was. I couldn’t ask for a better group of friends.”
“Family, honey. They’re just as much your family now as they are mine, and they feel the same way about you,” he told her as he kissed her forehead. She loved it when he did that.
“Family…” she smiled as the word left her mouth. She didn’t have real family on her side, but that didn’t matter now. She was where she was meant to be, and that’s with her new-found family, and in her opinion, that was the best kind.
“That’s right, babe. Your family and I can’t wait to marry you and make it forever. I love you so much, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express in words how recklessly in love with you I am. The only way I know how is to marry you, spoil you and those kids rotten, and do everything I can to show you every day how much you truly mean to me, and pray I don’t fuck it up,” he sniffled as he started getting emotional again. She had a way of doing that to him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Jay, I know you love me. And I promise you the same. I’ll do my best to be the best mom to these kids, a wife you deserve, and do everything I can every day to show you that I love you, too.”
“Forever?” he asked, holding his pinky up for her to take in hers, one of the special things they do with each other. She took his pinky in her own, squeezing it tight, and kissing him deeply before she said the words that meant everything to him.
here’s a little comparison for people who say engagement hasn’t gotten that bad and anyone who complains is ungrateful.
these are two posts from my first go round on tumblr circa 2014-2017, my most popular gifset of all time
& a text post
notice how the ratio is about even on likes to reblogs?
here’s from this go around, my most popular gifset
and my most popular fic
do you see how that’s discouraging?
i love being on this site. i love the little community i’ve found and the people who follow me and the mutuals i’ve made friendships with and the mutuals that i’m still getting to know. i love it. but at a certain point it’s hard to justify spending so much time on works that get bad engagement.
reblog, comment, send asks. without them, this site doesn’t work.
THIS!!! I really do appreciate the likes on my fics. I really do! But, this site runs on reblogs. That’s the only way anyone other than you, can see the content. And as much as everyone says “Write for you and don’t worry about the notes”, it does get discouraging to take the MANY hours it takes to write the story, edit it, edit it again, tag everyone in the fic when you post it (for the people who still use tags) just for your fic to sit there. Please please please reblog and comment! A little encouragement goes a long way for the authors of the fics you want to read and, most importantly, gives them the boost to keep posting!
