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Could you do a Jensen x daughter reader? When the reader is 6 or 7, Jensen marries Danneel. The reader loves his stepmother very much and calls her Mom. One day (the reader is 16-17), her mother, who abandoned her when she was a baby, comes back and wants to take the reader. The reader is afraid of her, and Jensen protects her. While the reader is returning from the grocery store, her biological mother and her lover kidnap her and lock her in a room. The reader tries to escape, and the woman abuses her. She threatens to kill her siblings and Danneel. Later, the police find her, and she is rescued. The reader is unable to leave the house for a while and falls into depression. Jensen takes care of her.

╰┈➤ Home Is Where You Are

Jensen Ackles x daughter!reader Daneel Ackles x daughter!reader Summary: You love your family. Your dad, stepmom, siblings... but when your biological mom forces herself into your life it changes your life. Warning: stalking/kidnapping/abuse Notes: There was no way I was going to fit this kind of story as a oneshot so I hope you don't mind. I got carried away with the details and made it into a multipart series.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You were seven years old when you stood beside your dad at the altar, holding a small bouquet of daisies as he married Danneel. The flowers had been your idea—you and Danneel had spent an entire afternoon at the florist, debating between roses and daisies until you'd insisted that daisies were "happier." She'd laughed and agreed, because that's what Danneel did. She listened to you like your opinion mattered, like you weren't just a kid but a person with thoughts and feelings worth considering.

The memory of that day at the flower shop was one of your favorites. Danneel had let you smell every single flower in the cooler, even when the florist looked impatient. You'd made her laugh by wrinkling your nose at the lilies—"They smell like Grandma's bathroom!"—and she'd agreed they did, indeed, smell like old lady perfume. When you'd finally settled on daisies, she'd asked if you wanted to help arrange them, and you'd spent another hour carefully placing each stem while she praised your "artistic eye."

You'd helped pick out her dress too, or at least you'd been there for the appointment. The bridal salon had felt like a palace to your seven-year-old eyes, all white and sparkly with big mirrors everywhere. You'd spun in front of those mirrors, your own little dress twirling out around you, while Danneel tried on gown after gown. The saleslady had brought you a little cushion to sit on and a glass of fancy lemonade with a strawberry on the rim, making you feel very grown-up and important.

Each dress Danneel tried on, she'd come out and do a little spin for you. "What do you think, sweetheart? Is this the one?"

You took your job very seriously, studying each dress with a critical eye. "Pretty," you'd declare, or "Really pretty," or sometimes, "I don't like the sparkles on that one."

When she came out in the dress—the one that would become her wedding dress—your breath had caught. It was simple and elegant, flowing like water, and when she'd knelt down to your level in it, you'd reached out to touch the fabric with reverent fingers.

"It's like a princess dress," you'd whispered, "but a real one. Not a costume one."

Danneel's eyes had gotten shiny with tears. "Do you think your dad will like it?"

"He's gonna cry," you'd said with absolute certainty, because even at seven, you knew your dad cried at commercials sometimes. "Happy crying, though."

And you'd been right. When Danneel walked down the aisle on the wedding day, you'd watched your dad's face carefully. His eyes had gone all red and watery, and he'd had to wipe at them with his thumb, trying to be sneaky about it but failing completely.

On the wedding day, you'd insisted on matching flowers in your hair. Danneel had braided your hair that morning, weaving in tiny daisies that matched your bouquet. You'd looked in the mirror about a hundred times, unable to believe how pretty you looked. You'd worn a yellow dress with a white sash—yellow for the daisies—and new shoes that were a little tight but you didn't care because they had tiny heels that made clicking sounds when you walked.

The ceremony itself was a blur of standing still (which was hard), holding your bouquet carefully (you'd practiced all week), and trying not to bounce on your toes with excitement (nearly impossible). You remembered your dad's voice shaking when he said his vows. You remembered Danneel crying happy tears. You remembered how they'd looked at each other like they were the only two people in the world.

And then the officiant said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife," and you'd squealed with pure joy. The sound had burst out of you before you could stop it, making several people in the audience laugh. Your dad had turned to you, laughing through his tears, and picked you up, lifting you high.

"What do you think, princess? Did we do good?"

"The best!" you'd declared, and then Danneel had wrapped her arms around both of you, and you'd been sandwiched between them, giggling and happy and feeling like the luckiest kid in the entire world.

At the reception, you'd run around with the other kids, your fancy dress getting a grass stain that Danneel said didn't matter one bit. You'd eaten three pieces of cake. You'd danced with your dad, standing on his shoes while he waltzed you around. You'd danced with Danneel too, and she'd spun you so fast your head got dizzy in the best way.

But the best moment—the moment that changed everything—came later in the evening. The party was winding down, and you were tired, your feet hurting from those new shoes. You found Danneel sitting at a table, taking a break from dancing, and you'd climbed up into her lap.

"Did you have fun today?" she'd asked, smoothing your hair back from your face.

"Uh-huh. The best fun." You'd been quiet for a moment, then asked shyly, "Can I call you Mom now?"

You'd been thinking about it all day. Your biological mother was just a concept to you, someone who existed in theory but not in reality. You had no memories of her, no feelings attached to her. But Danneel—Danneel had been there. Danneel had been the one who put bandaids on your scraped knees and made you soup when you were sick and read you bedtime stories and helped you with your homework.

Danneel had frozen for just a second, and you'd felt a flash of worry. Maybe you'd said something wrong. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe—

But then she'd knelt down beside the chair, bringing herself to your eye level, and pulled you into a hug that smelled like her perfume and happiness and something that felt like home. When she pulled back, tears were streaming down her face, but she was smiling the biggest smile you'd ever seen.

"I would be honored," she said, her voice all thick with emotion. "I love you so much, sweetheart. So, so much."

"I love you too, Mom," you'd said, testing out the word. It felt right. It felt perfect.

Your dad had found you both like that, crying and hugging, and when you told him what you'd asked, he'd started crying too. "My girls," he'd said, pulling you both close. "My two girls."

That was ten years ago.

Now, at seventeen, you couldn't imagine life without her. Danneel hadn't just become your stepmom that day—she'd become your mom, full stop. No qualifiers, no explanations needed.

She'd been there for everything. Your first day of middle school, when you'd been so terrified of getting lost in the big building that you'd nearly made yourself sick. She'd walked you to your classroom that morning, not caring that other kids might think it was babyish. She'd waited until you'd found your seat and given you a thumbs up through the door window, and that small gesture had gotten you through the day.

She'd been there teaching you to drive when you turned sixteen. Patient and calm even when you'd mixed up the gas and brake in the driveway and hit the mailbox, sending it toppling over. Your dad had come running out of the house in a panic, but Danneel had just started laughing, and then you'd started laughing, and even the neighbor who owned the mailbox had laughed when he came out to see what the noise was about.

"Everyone hits at least one thing when they're learning," Danneel had said. "Better a mailbox than a person, right?"

She'd been there for late-night talks about crushes and dreams and fears. You'd lost count of how many times you'd knocked on her and Dad's bedroom door at midnight, unable to sleep because of boy drama or friend drama or just general teenage anxiety. She'd never once made you feel like a burden. She'd pat the bed beside her, and you'd climb in, and sometimes you'd talk until two in the morning, just the two of you, while your dad snored softly on the other side of her.

She knew everything about you. She knew you were allergic to shellfish because of that terrifying incident at a restaurant when you were nine. She knew you had nightmares before big tests and needed her to quiz you one more time at breakfast. She knew you liked your coffee with way too much cream and just a little sugar, that you'd rather eat breakfast food for dinner, that you cried at sad movies but pretended you didn't. She knew your favorite color had changed from pink to blue to green and back to whatever it was now over the years. She knew you were scared of spiders but pretended to be brave for your little siblings.

She'd been there when you'd asked about your biological mother once, at thirteen. It was the only time you'd really thought about her, wondered about her. You'd been doing a family tree project for school, and everyone else had these complicated trees with grandparents and great-grandparents and cousins twice removed. Yours felt simpler, and the question had bubbled up after years of not mattering.

You'd approached it carefully, waiting until it was just you and your parents in the living room one evening. Your younger siblings were already in bed. The TV was on low. The moment felt safe, contained.

"Can I ask you something?" you'd started, and something in your voice had made both of them look up immediately, giving you their full attention.

"Of course, honey," Danneel had said. "Anything."

"It's about... about my biological mother." The words felt strange in your mouth. Foreign. "We're doing this family tree thing at school, and I just... I don't know anything about her. About why she left."

Your dad had tensed immediately, his jaw tightening the way it did when he was upset. But Danneel had just reached over and taken your hand, her thumb rubbing gently across your knuckles.

"What do you want to know?" she'd asked, her voice gentle and open.

That was the thing about Danneel—she never made you feel bad for your questions, even the hard ones.

"Why did she leave?" you'd asked, your voice small. "Was it... was it because of me? Because I was a bad baby or something?"

"Oh, sweetheart, no." Danneel had pulled you close immediately. "No, baby, it was never about you. Never."

"Your mother was young," Jensen had said, his voice careful and controlled, like he was choosing each word deliberately. "She was nineteen when you were born. She wasn't ready to be a parent. That was her choice, and it says nothing about you and everything about where she was in her life."

"I don't know exactly why she left," Danneel had continued, still holding you close. "But I do know that it wasn't your fault. Nothing you did or didn't do made her leave. You were a baby—a perfect, beautiful baby. That was her choice, her decision, and honestly, her loss. Because you are the most incredible person I've ever known."

You'd cried then, not really understanding why. Maybe it was relief—relief that it wasn't your fault. Maybe it was grief for something you'd never really had. Maybe it was just the weight of finally asking the question that had been lurking in the back of your mind.

Danneel had held you while you cried, and your dad had moved to your other side, both of them surrounding you with love and safety.

"I'm glad I have you," you'd whispered to Danneel. "I don't need her. I have you."

"You'll always have me," she'd promised. "Always. No matter what."

And you'd believed her. You'd never brought it up again, never asked another question about the woman who'd given birth to you but hadn't been your mother in any way that mattered.

Because Danneel was your mom—in every late-night conversation, every scraped knee kissed better, every school play attended, every moment of your life that counted. She was there for your first heartbreak, for your driving test, for your junior prom. She was there when you got sick with the flu and when you won the school art competition. She was there for the mundane, boring, everyday moments that actually made up a life.

By the time you were seventeen, you rarely thought about your biological mother at all. She was just a fact of your history, not a presence in your life. Like knowing you were born in a certain hospital or that you had your dad's freckles—just information, nothing more.

So when the doorbell rang that Saturday afternoon in October, you had no reason to expect anything unusual. It was a beautiful fall day, leaves crunching underfoot, the air crisp and cool. You'd been doing homework in the living room, your textbooks spread across the coffee table, a playlist humming softly from your phone.

Your dad was in his office on a video call—you could hear his voice, muffled through the closed door. Danneel had taken the younger kids to soccer practice. It was just you at home, enjoying the rare quiet of the house.

When the doorbell rang, you assumed it was a delivery. You'd been expecting a package—some art supplies you'd ordered online. Without thinking much of it, you set down your highlighter and went to answer the door.

The moment you opened it, something felt wrong.

The woman on your doorstep was maybe in her late thirties, thin to the point of being gaunt. She had hair a shade darker than yours, stringy and not particularly well cared for. But it was her eyes that stopped you cold—those eyes were your eyes. The same unusual gray-green that you saw in the mirror every day, the same exact shade that people always commented on because it was so distinctive.

It was like looking into a funhouse mirror, seeing a distorted version of yourself staring back.

The woman was smiling, but there was something brittle about it. Something that didn't reach her eyes. She was dressed nicely enough—jeans and a sweater—but there was something off about the whole picture. Maybe it was the way she was standing, too rigid. Maybe it was the intensity of her stare. Maybe it was just instinct.

"Hello, sweetheart," the woman said, and her voice sent chills cascading down your spine for reasons you couldn't immediately identify. "I'm your mother."

The words didn't compute at first. Your brain couldn't process them, couldn't make sense of what you were hearing.

Your mother was at soccer practice with your siblings.

This woman wasn't your mother.

But those eyes... those were your eyes.

And suddenly, with a sickening lurch in your stomach, you understood. Your biological mother. The woman who'd given birth to you and then disappeared. The woman you never thought about, the one who was just a fact on paper.

She was standing on your doorstep.

Your hand tightened on the doorknob, knuckles going white. Your heart started hammering in your chest, fight-or-flight response kicking in even though you didn't fully understand why yet.

"I have a mom," you said, your voice coming out firmer than you felt. It was important to say it, to establish it. You had a mom. This woman wasn't her.

You started to close the door, slowly but deliberately. You didn't owe this woman anything. You didn't want to talk to her. Every instinct was screaming at you to get away, to put a barrier between you and her.

But then a man's hand shot out and caught the door, stopping it from closing.

You jumped back, your heart leaping into your throat. You hadn't even noticed him standing there. He'd been slightly behind the woman, to the side, and you'd been so focused on her and those disturbing familiar eyes that you'd missed him entirely.

He was tall, maybe in his forties, with cold eyes and a harder smile than the woman's brittle one. There was something threatening in the way he held the door, in the set of his shoulders.

"Don't be rude to your mother," he said, his voice like ice sliding down your back.

That's when real fear kicked in. This wasn't right. None of this was right. They were being too pushy, too aggressive. The man's presence felt threatening. The way the woman was looking at you—not like a mother who'd found a long-lost daughter, but like someone who'd found something they owned.

"Dad!" you called out, backing away from the door, your voice cracking with fear. "Dad!"

You'd never been so grateful that your father was home. Never been so relieved to know he was just down the hall.

Jensen appeared within seconds. You'd heard his office door bang open, heard his quick footsteps, and then he was there, his protective instincts clearly triggered by the tone of your voice. He took one look at your face—pale and frightened—and the strangers in the doorway, and immediately placed himself between you and them. One hand reached back to make sure you were behind him, to keep you protected.

"What's going on here?" His voice was deadly calm—that particular tone he used when he was truly angry. Not the explosive kind of anger, but the cold, controlled, dangerous kind. You'd heard it maybe twice in your life, and it had never been directed at you.

"It's been awhile Jensen. Sarah, remember?" The woman said, and there was something almost prideful in how she said it. Like the name should mean something, should carry weight. Like you should recognize it, be excited by it. "I'm here for my daughter."

The way she said "my daughter" made your skin crawl. There was possession in it, ownership, like you were an object she'd left behind and now wanted to reclaim.

"Your daughter?" Jensen's voice could have cut through steel. Each word was precisely enunciated, sharp as a blade. "You lost that right sixteen years ago when you walked away from a six-month-old baby without looking back."

You'd never heard your dad talk about your biological mother before. Never heard this story. You knew the basic facts—that she'd left when you were a baby, that she'd signed away her parental rights—but you'd never heard the emotion behind it, the anger and protectiveness.

Sarah's smile faltered but didn't completely disappear. "I've changed. I'm in a better place now. I want to be part of her life. I want to make things right."

"That's not your decision to make," Jensen said, his voice still that dangerous calm. "You signed away your parental rights. Legally, you have no claim to her whatsoever."

"I'm still her mother," Sarah insisted, and now you could hear desperation creeping into her voice. She tried to look around Jensen at you, craning her neck to see past his shoulder. "Sweetheart, I know this is sudden. I know this must be a shock. But I've thought about you every day. Every single day for seventeen years. I want to make things right between us."

You pressed closer to your dad's back, not wanting to be seen by her, not wanting those eyes—your eyes—looking at you. Your hands were shaking.

"By showing up unannounced on our doorstep?"

Danneel's voice came from behind you, and you nearly sagged with relief. You hadn't even heard her come in, hadn't heard the car pull up. She must have cut soccer practice short, or maybe it had ended early. Whatever the reason, you were so grateful she was there.

You turned to see her coming through from the garage, JJ and the twins trailing behind her. She took one look at the scene—you huddled behind Jensen, strangers at the door, the tension thick enough to choke on—and her face transformed. You'd seen Danneel angry before, but this was different. This was protective fury, fierce and uncompromising.

She quickly ushered the kids upstairs with a quiet "Go to your rooms for a minute, babies," before coming to stand beside Jensen, completing the wall between you and the strangers at the door.

"That's not how this works," Danneel continued, her voice hard. "You don't get to just show up after seventeen years and expect... what? A happy reunion? A relationship?"

"And you are?" Sarah's voice turned sharp, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Danneel. There was jealousy there, you realized. And resentment. This woman was jealous of Danneel.

"I'm her mother," Danneel said firmly, no hesitation, no doubt in her voice. "The one who's been here for seventeen years. The one she calls when she's scared or happy or needs advice. The one who knows she's allergic to shellfish because I was there when we discovered it. The one who knows she has nightmares before big tests and needs to be quizzed one more time at breakfast. The one who knows she likes her coffee with way too much cream and just a little sugar, that she hates the texture of mushrooms but loves the taste, that she cries during sad movies but pretends she doesn't."

Each detail felt like armor, protecting you. These were the small, everyday things that made up a relationship, a life together. Things this stranger could never know.

You felt tears prick your eyes at Danneel's words, at the absolute certainty in her voice. This was what made someone a mother—not biology, not blood, but showing up every single day, knowing the small things, being there.

Sarah's face twisted into something ugly, her mask slipping. "You're not her real mother. You're just some woman playing house with someone else's child."

The words were meant to hurt, you could tell. Meant to undermine, to establish some kind of biological superiority. But they just sounded pathetic.

"Get off my property," Jensen said, his voice dropping to a growl. You could feel the rage radiating off him now, barely contained. "Now. And don't come back."

"This isn't over," the man beside Sarah said, speaking for what you realized was only the second time. His voice was flat, emotionless, somehow more threatening for its lack of feeling. "She has a right to know her real mother."

"She knows her real mother," Jensen said, his hand moving back again to touch your arm, to reassure himself you were still there. "And if you come back here, if you come near my daughter again, I'm calling the police. Stay away from my family. I'm not going to tell you again."

For a long moment, nobody moved. Sarah and the man stood on the doorstep, Sarah's face twisted with anger and something that might have been desperation. Jensen and Danneel stood firm, an immovable barrier between you and them.

Finally, Sarah took a step back. "You can't keep her from me forever," she said, her voice low and intense. "She's mine. She'll always be mine."

The possessive way she said it made your blood run cold.

Jensen slammed the door shut and immediately locked it, flipping the deadbolt with more force than necessary. Then he turned to you, his face softening instantly from anger to concern.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he said softly, pulling you into his arms. "She's gone. You're safe."

But you were shaking, you realized. Trembling like a leaf in a storm. Danneel wrapped her arms around both of you, and you stood there in the entryway, cocooned between your real parents—the ones who'd earned the title through love and time and showing up every single day.

"What just happened?" you whispered against your dad's chest.

"I don't know, baby girl," Jensen said quietly leaving a soft kiss on top of your head. "But we're going to figure it out."

Even in their arms, surrounded by love and safety, you couldn't shake the image of Sarah's eyes—your eyes—staring at you with an intensity that looked less like love and more like possession. Couldn't shake the way she'd said "mine" like you were an object to be owned rather than a person with your own thoughts and feelings and choices.

For the first time in your life, your biological mother was more than just a fact on paper, an abstract concept. She was real. She was here. And she wanted something from you.

The thought terrified you in a way you didn't fully understand yet.

"Can we call the police?" Danneel asked quietly, still holding both of you.

"I don't know if they'll do anything," Jensen said. "She didn't technically threaten anyone. Didn't trespass—she stayed on the porch. But I'll call our lawyer first thing tomorrow. Get their advice on what we can do to protect her."

"Who was that man with her?" you asked, your voice muffled against your dad's shirt.

"I don't know," Jensen admitted. "Boyfriend, maybe? Husband?"

"He scared me," you said quietly.

"He scared me too," Danneel said, and somehow that made you feel better. That you weren't being irrational or oversensitive. That your fear was valid.

You pulled back from your parents, wiping at your eyes. "I should check on the kids. They looked scared."

"I'll go with you," Danneel said immediately.

Together, you went upstairs, where you found all three kids huddled in JJ's room. JJ was looking worried, and the twins were slightly crying.

"Is everything okay?" JJ asked. "Who were those people?"

You looked at Danneel, unsure how to answer. How much should they know?

"Just some people who were confused about something," Danneel said gently. "But Daddy made them leave, and everything's fine now."

"Why was sister upset?" Zeppelin asked, and you realized he meant you. You were "sister" to them, the same way they were your siblings. Being half related didn't matter in this family.

"I'm okay," you assured them, sitting down on JJ's bed and pulling Arrow close. "Just a little surprised, that's all. But Mom and Dad took care of it."

Arrow snuggled into you, her tears slowing. "I don't like when you're upset," she whispered.

"I know, baby," you said, kissing the top of her head. "But I'm okay now. I promise."

You stayed with them for a while, helping Danneel get them settled for their afternoon quiet time. By the time you came back downstairs, your dad was on the phone with someone, probably the lawyer, his voice low and serious.

You curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over yourself even though you weren't really cold. You just felt... unsettled. Like the foundation of your life had shifted slightly, and you weren't quite steady on your feet anymore.

Danneel sat down next to you, pulling you against her side. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"I don't know," you admitted. "That was really weird."

"It was," she agreed. "And it's okay to be freaked out by it. That was a freaky situation."

"Why now?" you asked. "Why, after seventeen years, does she suddenly care?"

"I don't know," Danneel said honestly. "And I don't know that she does care, not really. The way she was acting... that didn't feel like someone who wants a relationship. That felt like someone who wants something else."

"She called me 'mine,'" you said quietly. "Like I was a possession."

"I noticed that too," Danneel said, her arm tightening around you. "And that's not okay. You're not anyone's possession. You're your own person."

Jensen came back into the room, rubbing his face tiredly. "The lawyer says we should document everything. Take notes on exactly what was said, what happened. If she approaches you again, we call the police immediately. He's going to look into getting a restraining order, but he says it might be difficult since she didn't actually threaten anyone."

"What if she comes back?" you asked, voice small.

"Then we deal with it," Jensen said firmly. "But you're not alone in this, okay? We're right here with you. All of us."

That night, you couldn't sleep. You kept seeing those eyes, kept hearing that voice calling you "sweetheart" in a tone that made your skin crawl. You kept thinking about the man's hand on your door, the way he'd stopped you from closing it. The implied threat in his presence.

Around midnight, you gave up on sleep and went downstairs. You found your dad in the kitchen, making tea.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" he asked, gesturing for you to sit at the counter.

"My brain won't shut off," you admitted.

He slid a mug of chamomile tea across to you. "Mine either."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping your tea. Finally, you asked the question that had been bothering you most.

"Dad? Why did she leave? Really?"

Jensen sighed, setting down his mug. "Honestly, baby girl, I don't know the full story. I met your mom—" he caught himself, "your biological mother, briefly. Very briefly. It wasn't a relationship, it was... it was a mistake, one night. When she told me she was pregnant, I said I'd support whatever decision she made. I said I'd be there, I'd help raise you, whatever she needed."

He paused, staring into his tea. "She seemed okay with that at first. But after you were born... I don't know what changed. She was young, maybe she got scared. Maybe she realized she wasn't ready. About six months in, she said she couldn't do it anymore. She signed over her parental rights and left. I haven't heard from her since. Until today."

"Do you think she wants money?" you asked.

"Maybe," Jensen admitted. "Or maybe she does genuinely regret leaving. I don't know. But whatever she wants, it doesn't change anything. You have a mom. You have a family. You have people who love you. That's what matters."

"I love you, Dad," you said quietly.

"I love you too, honey. So much." He reached across the counter to take your hand. "We're going to get through this, okay? Whatever happens, we'll handle it together."

You wanted to believe him. You tried to believe him.

But something in your gut told you this wasn't over.

Not even close.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Taglist:

#spn #supernatural #supernatural x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x daughter #jensen ackled angst #danneel ackles #danneel ackles x daughter!reader #danneel ackles fanfic