#daddy!jensen

“We don’t do this here,” she cuts Jensen off. “We don’t point a finger at each other. If you made mistake, we can try to work things out but not blame each other within these walls.”

“I don’t blame him,” you scoot a little closer to Jensen to grasp his hand. You give it a gentle squeeze to assure him you are on a good way. “It’s been three months since that woman stalking and harassing our family got arrested. I want to move on and trust Jensen again.”

“Okay. How about we talk about the elephant in the room before we talk about goals? I know this is very painful to talk about,” she looks at her notes before looking back up to meet Jensen’s gaze. “What was the reason for your infidelity, Jensen?”

The counselor carefully addresses Jensen’s infidelity to find the root of the issue as a first step.

“I got drunk that night. Y/N and I fought before I flew to that convention. It was a stupid mistake. I let another woman perform oral sex on me.”

“Did you meet that woman again?” she asks.

“Of course not,” Jensen splutters. “I stopped her and told her to go. She wouldn’t stop spreading rumors and-“

Jensen and you tell the counselor everything happening over the last months.

You don’t like sharing intimate details of your relationship with a stranger, but you are willing to try anything to save your marriage.

“What do you think of that marriage counselor,” you watch Jensen make sandwiches for you and the kids. Today, you don’t feel well, and Jensen offered to make lunch for you. You forgot to go for a grocery run so, sandwiches it is. “Sweetheart?”

“Do you want me to lie or tell you the truth?"

“We agreed to never lie to each other again, Y/N. I want the truth.”

“You first.”

“I-I’m not sure about all of these techniques she was talking about,” he places a plate in front of you, “and we got homework. I didn’t have to do homework for like forever.”

“She wants me to draw my feelings,” you chuckle as Jensen looks at the staple of working sheets your marriage counselor handed to you. “I’m bad at drawing, you know that Jay. Even our kids laughed about the horse I drew for them.”

“It was a cute mix of a horse and a bear,” he smirks as you give him a dirty look. “What? I said it looked cute.” Jensen pecks your cheek. “Do you want some tea?”

“Maybe she can help us improve our communication. I don’t know, to be honest.”

“We should eat first and talk about marriage counseling later. I can help you with drawing later,” he grins as you slowly chew on your sandwich. “You can tell me about your feelings, and I draw them for you.”

“Right now I wanna kick your ass for talking trash about my beautiful horse-bear,” you quip. “It was a wonderful creature.”

“You sure,” laughing you shake your head as Jensen sits next to you at the kitchen counter. “I think you must’ve mistaken beautiful with tragic.” You snort at his words.

“You’re an ass.”

“Guilty,” he snickers. “Do you think we should wake the kids? They were so tired when Jada and Jared brought them back home.”

“Let’s enjoy the silence,” you take another bite of your sandwich. “They will wake soon enough and demand our attention, and food.”

Later that day you watch your kids draw. Your daughter tries to draw your family, especially you. She decided to give you a huge belly and pink hair.

“Mommy doesn’t have pink hair,” your son argues. He shows Sofia Rose the black car he drew. Of course, it’s once again, the Impala. His favorite car. “That’s wrong.”

“That’s art,” Sofia argues. “Nothing is wrong when it comes to art.” You hold back a chuckle at her attitude. She points at Jensen Dean’s picture, scrunching up her nose. “And yours is boring. You always draw the same car.”

“It’s the Impala,” Jensen jumps in. “I love it.” He places his hand on your son’s shoulder. “Yours is pretty too. I like that you gave me sunglasses and a leather jacket.”

“Daddy, can I draw the baby too?” Sofia Rose whips her head toward you. “I bet it’s a baby sister. We can play together and give our dolls names.”

“It’s going to be a baby brother,” and again, your children argue about the gender of your baby. “He’s going to be cool and we will drive around in my car.”

“Whoa, you will not drive a car before you turn thirty, young man,” you tut. “Now stop arguing, Jensen Dean. The baby will love their big sister and brother, and you will love them.”

“Mommy, can I play with a baby boy too? Maybe he’ll like my dolls,” your daughter asks, tearing up. “Please.”

“Of course, baby girl,” Jensen crouches down to wrap your daughter in a hug. “I bet they will love your dolls.”

“And my cars,” Jensen Dean insists. “Maybe we can put your dolls inside of one of my cars.” He offers.

“I want,” Sofia Rose sniffles, “the black car. The one looking like daddy’s car. It’s cool.”

“I knew all girls love the Impala,” Jensen smirks as you roll your eyes. He uses his Dean's voice and you can’t help but press your legs together. “Right, sweetheart? You love it too.”

No one knows you do love the car for a reason.

One day on set, Jensen gave you more than a ride in the car. You sneaked into the car to christen the backseat.

You still assume it was the day you conceived your twins.

“Jensen, that’s not funny,” you snatch the piece of paper out of his hands. “I said that I miss being intimate with you and you just…” you take a deep breath, trying to calm your anger. “You drew us while doing the nasty.”

“We kiss,” he points at the figures he drew in a compromising position. “See. That’s romance, not doing the nasty.” The bastard dares to grin at you.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, they are fucking!”

“That they do,” he shrugs as you can believe he drew a penis and boobs. “He’s doing it right, baby. See, she smiles dopily.”

“We can’t show our marriage counselor a picture of us fucking. That’s not going to happen,” you mutter under your breath. “Great. Now I need to try to draw it.”

“I can cover his big dick with some clothes,” Jensen holds back a snort as you turn your head toward him. You are currently sitting on your bed, back rested against a fluffy pillow. “Jay, we need to do this right. It’s homework.”

“I drew what you were talking about,” he defends his art. “You are missing having sex with me. I’m the same.”

“Oh, you miss having sex with yourself too?” this time you smirk. 

“You know what I mean,” he dips his head to glance at you. “I miss touching my wife, is all.”

“I miss touching my husband too,” you snatch the piece of paper out of his hands and shove the staple of worksheets and pencils off the bed. “I want to claim my husband again. I need to know you are still mine…”

>> Part 10 - FIN

You had just gotten the twins down for the night after the battle of bath time and JJ demanding that you help her play with the make-up you hadn’t worn in well over eight months when you heard the front door creak open. Bless your husband to know that had he been any louder than a mouse fart, you would have lost it completely on the man.

It was a little after nine in the evening when your husband strolled in from one of his final days of filming. His face looked scruffier than you were used to and his eyes looked like he needed a weekend of sleep. While you knew this process was taxing on Jensen - you also envied that he had the ability to leave the house without a small child attached to his hip. Let alone, when the time came to it, he was the one that got to sleep in on days off. Although, that was also because you were still breastfeeding the twins and luckily for your husband, he had the most useless nipples to grace the earth.

“Hey,” he whispered towards you as the door sealed shut softly behind you.

Waiting until you were a couple of steps away from the room of silent chaos, you shot a glare at Jensen. “Oh, hello Life Ruiner.”

A smile tugged at his lips while he shook his head, following you into the kitchen where the mess of dishes from the day awaited you. “Calm down,” he said, his tone anything less than playful as he crept up behind where you were now standing at the sink. “You’re life doesn’t look that ruined to me.”

You didn’t bother to look over at him as you flipped the faucet on, watching the water cascade over the dishes and silently wishing they could just rinse themselves and put them in the dishwasher. “Yeah, well, these last few weeks have been hell.”

His boots moved softly against the wooden floors until you felt the brush of his hand against the back of your neck as he swept some stray hairs, the mess of your mom bun, away. “I know it has, babygirl.”

Despite how you felt, that nickname sent goosebumps racing across your skin. “No,” you shook your head a sudden wave of emotions washing over you. “No, you don’t know.”

His hand moved to your shoulder now as he recognized that crack in your voice, forcing you to turn away from the sink and towards him. Green eyes searched your face as you fought back the tears that threatened to overflow.

“Then tell me.”

If only it was that simple.

You shook your head once more at him. “It’s just,” you sighed, glancing around at the beautiful house the two of you lived in; the memory of move-in day fresh in your mind - the plans, the places, how everything would have a home in this little paradise of yours. “It’s just little things all add up on top of one another. I haven’t showered in three days, let alone felt fresh air on my face unless it’s chasing Zep back into the house.”

Suddenly, word vomit continued. “Gen is always so busy. You’re never home - we haven’t even slept in the same bed for almost three months because of your schedule and the twins still getting up in the middle of the night.” You were talking too fast, you knew you were probably making zero sense right now. “We live together, we’ve been married and I still miss you like hell.”

A sob broke through your words. “I feel like a cow. Nothing fits me right anymore, I’m always a mess, just like this god damn house, I always want to cry and eat. God, do I always want ice cream. And cake.”

Your body was shaking as you listed out your random cravings for sweets these last couple of weeks. When you didn’t have the groceries delivered, you made sure to spend a decent amount of time in the frozen treats section of the store - it was the only thing that really made you feel good these days.

You hadn’t noticed that Jensen took a step away from you, whether it was out of fear or concern before you heard the freezer door open. Not daring to glance up at him, you stood there like a toddler in timeout, looking at just how bad you let your nail beds get when a spoon appeared in your line of sight.

Jensen remained wordless as he looked you over from the mess of your unbrushed hair to the wrinkled up sweats you had been living in for this week, before handing you the spoon and taking your hand, turning off the sink and leading you towards the couch. Once you were wedged in between two large cushions, Jensen produced your favorite flavor of ice cream and another spoon before taking a seat next to you.

Opening the semi-frozen lid, he dipped his spoon in first, taking a decent side scoop with him as he made a noise you hadn’t heard come out of his mouth in what felt like a lifetime. The heat rushed to your cheeks much quicker than you wanted to admit causing you to snatch the pint from his grip and snuggle it into your lap.

Your husband laughed at the image in front of him, earning himself a “look.” There was a silence that fell over the two of you while taking turns licking the spoons clean until there was nothing left, but the two of you.

“I’m calling off work for the rest of the week.”

“What? No. I’m not asking you to do that -”

Jensen simply shook his head. “You don’t have to.”

“But,” suddenly that wave of emotion was washing over you again. “This - this is the final season. This is a huge deal for you.”

“Fuck Dean Winchester.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you looked over at him. “I mean, I can.”

He gave a low rumble before scooting himself closer to your bunched up frame. “You’re too good for Dean,” his eyes raked up and down your disheveled body. “That man would have no idea what to do with you.”

“Much like my current husband.”

“Current?” He asked with a chuckle. “Oh, believe me, I know exactly what to do with you.”

There was a certain drop to his tone that had your stomach sinking from what he was implying. “Jensen…”

His chest was pressed into your shoulder now as his breath tickled just above the base of your neck. His voice was no more than a gruff whisper that washed over you in a  gentle caress. “If anyone should be called a life ruiner - it sure as hell isn’t me.”

You met his accusation with a low tone of your own. “And what does that mean?”

He leaned back enough that his bright eyes were boring into your own, like he was looking right into the very depths of your soul. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Tell me.”

A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You ruined my life the day I laid eyes on you. Only made it worse the very night I kissed you,” he leaned down, teasing your own lips that were baiting his with his breath, “then once I felt your skin undermine; I knew I was a goner.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, I tried back then.”

“You don’t need to try.”

In the usual smart-ass way that you did, you opened your mouth to retort, but was cut off by an intensely hard kiss that knocked the air right out of your lungs. Jensen was quick to pull you closer to him, his mouth trying to suck the very oxygen out of your lungs while his hands found their way into your hair. He held you in that lip lock for a good minute before releasing you to breathe once more.

“Yeah,” Jensen exhaled against you as you tried to tell your heart to calm the hell down. “That week off is happening.”

“Jensen,” you started. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

“I won’t,” he argued, his lips grazing yours once more in a tease of what was to come. “I need all of you. For at least a week.”

“We have children, you know that right?”

That playful smirk was on his lips once more. “I get to have them during the day, you get a very much needed break, and then I get to be responsible for you at night.”

“Ackles…”

“Woman,” he growled, grips tightening on your hips and he pulled you under him in some smooth gesture that allowed him to pin you on the couch, his hips digging into yours in that promise pushing into your thigh. “Don’t make me prove my point.”

Your stomach dipped at the threat. “It’s like you aren’t even married to me,” you teased, earning an eyebrow raise from him. “Prove it.”

In the blink of an eye, you were thrown over his shoulder as he mumbled about trying to keep his hands to himself. Even when you felt like the least attractive on the planet, Jensen Ackles always knew just how to prove you wrong.

Like the life ruiner, he was.

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