#all i want is a friend i can build a life with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

proceduralpassion · 19 hours ago

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Starting off with the angst. Sol made me want to cry. Her missing Roman was so palpable. I'm so glad she had so many people there to support here and keep her out of her funk as much as possible, especially her grandmother.

Roman reuniting with his first kid (Dulce)!

I think Roman and Paloma is going to be such an interesting dynamic to explore, especially after Fetu's passing. Absolutely nothing and no one is filling that void but it'll be good to see them build a bond over the person they love and care about the most.

Roman being nervous to see his wife for the first time after six weeks.

Standing By The Ocean. We love a title reference! The imagery is so beautiful by the way, I can just see this scene in my head.

“I don’t think I could ever not want to be close to you, pretty girl.” My knees would give out.

Ugh their reunion was everything I needed and more. I was already basking in all the emotions with them just holding each other but then the girls making their presence known?? Omg they really waiting on their daddy.

Roman following along with the twins' growth on the app. That's such a sweet little detail but also angsty bc I can just imagine him looking through it constantly and missing all three of his girls.

Roman making sure the house was decorated for Christmas even though he's not big on holidays. My babies!

Them both spoiling Dulce with gifts is sending me lmao..

Artsy Solana coming through with these sweet, sentimental gifts PLS. Omg this is all so domestic and everything they deserved.

Shed real life tears over that proposal scene. I would not have been able to breathe omg.

Ahhh Casa de Reigns coming soon! Roman is gonna make sure that house everything they need so they neve have to leave (his preference). Def looking forward to seeing the progress of their forever home coming to fruition.

I'm glad that Solana, Brandi, and Emma all got to have their moment to decompress a little after everything that happened and I hope that Brandi is able to take Solana up on her offer for processing everything that happened to her :( Also BIG Solana, not the little one! She ATE that interaction with Cody up like a boss! I love how we've already seen her come into her own as such a protective figure, not only for Roman, but as an expecting mother as well.

The New Year's Eve scenes were FLAWLESS omg. Jimmy and Naomi's absence was definitely felt which sucked but I love that Solana and Roman have so much family now, people they can depend on and trust. They both deserve it, especially as we move into navigating Roman and Matteo's fuck ass mama and whatever she wants from them.

That ending scene in particular had me ready to cry bc Solana truly has done a 180. Like she really got her happy ending with a loving, devoted husband who loves her unconditionally and wants nothing but the very best for her. She has friends, family, a lovely home, and about to enter the exciting chapter of motherhood! Her glow up has been astounding and I've never been happier for a fictional character!

looking through your eyes + thirty eight | part two

authors note: see at end of chapter.

warnings: fluff and angst

story song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

chapter song inspo: 'that's the way it is' by celine dion

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 16k

Daytime is easier, nighttime is trickier, but bedtime is when it all comes to a head.

When Solana removes the decorative pillows and pulls back the covers. When she lifts Dulce and places her fur baby on the same bed that she climbs into shortly after. When Solana adjusts the blankets and shifts onto her side, her hand planted on her growing baby bump. And, she closes her eyes, prepared to sleep. That's when it hits her.

The light is still on.

The light that Roman always shuts off for them before he climbs into bed with her, gently tugging her close and into him. His strong arm securely wrapped around her as he kisses her temple and tells her he loves her.

But, none of that happens.

It doesn't happen, because he's not here.

The light is still on.

That's when the tears come. When Solana does her best to soothe herself, sometimes grabbing her phone and looking at pictures of them. Even reaching for one of his shirts, swapping out her gown for something that holds her husband's masculine scent.

It doesn't work.

Not usually.

If anything, it makes things worse.

Reminds her that once again, he's not here.

The light is still on.

-------

She spends her days as best she can. Rarely, if ever, alone. Paloma makes sure of that. If it’s not her abuela forcing her to leave the bed and come sit in the living room as they quietly watch TV, it’s Afia and the children coming over to keep her company. It’s Bayley coming in the room with her as the two sit and talk, discussions about what will be like when this all passes, and they can return home. Aurora is brought over by her mom, usually, Solana able to spend a few hours with the little girl, mentoring and just interacting with her.

Solana appreciates it. She does. It helps her to not be too into her head, but at the end of the day, it all still falls short. There’s not an hour that passes that she doesn’t think of her husband.

That she doesn’t wonder about what Roman’s doing. How he’s doing. What his recovery is looking like. If he’s taking care of himself like he said he would.

If he’s being safe.

There are tears. Most definitely, there are tears. And, those are largely brought on and up when she looks down at her baby bump. As she watches it grow, the roundness of her stomach seemingly expanding week by week. As she follows along with the app. And especially when she attends her checkup appointment. Her abuela is there with her, but Roman isn’t.

And, the lack of him is devastating. In all aspects.

She misses him. She just really fucking misses him, and as amazing as her family and support system have been, it still doesn’t take away from the fact that she feels lonely. There’s a void his absence causes that can’t and won’t be filled by anything other than their reunion.

Solana does her best not to think of how much time passes. It only makes things worse.

She tries to think of life after this chapter. Of a life when and where she can focus primarily on the upcoming birth of her daughters. Of what changes motherhood and parenthood will bring about for the both of them. Of the happiness that will bring.

But, there are also those heavy, inescapable moments where she can’t help but think and dwell on what got them here. The betrayal. The lies. The loss.

So many things have changed, and not for the better. She thinks of Jey, a perfect mixture of anger and sympathy for the man she once considered a brother. Same as her husband did.

She’s hurt and angered by his betrayal, but she also feels for him having lost his wife, the mother of his children. His children who now have to grow up as she did, without the love and presence of their mother.

Solana didn’t know Nicki well, and while the few interactions they had were….interesting, to say the least, she was still a person. A mother and a wife. Solana doesn’t know how much “love” was present between Jey and Nicki, but she firmly believes Nicki loved her children. And, her children loved her back.

And, it was for them, for the children, that Solana pleaded with her husband.

She doesn’t hate Jey, but his role in the coup is not something she can easily move past. She won’t, because while she does believe he did not know the full extent, he knew something. He was still in agreement with turning against her husband, and that is enough for her.

But, his children, for all their misbehavior, are innocent. To grow up motherless is one thing, but to grow up motherless and fatherless seems inconceivable. And, truly, Solana considered Roman when making her decision to ask him to spare Jey's life.

She considered what being orphaned, essentially, was like for Roman. It impacted him in so many ways, few of a positive nature, so much so that it made her feel like she had no choice but to ask her husband not to kill him.

Truth be told, she’s not sure if Roman will honor her request. She can only hope and pray that he does.

Then, there’s Jimmy and Naomi.

Solana holds no contempt towards them. Not really. Roman told her about his conversation with his other cousin. How Jimmy disclosed there was always some sort of discontentment from Rikishi towards Roman, and she understands why this bothers him. Why it upset him.

However, she’s not prepared to lump him in the same category as his traitorous brother. Naomi, either.

To Solana, the only thing they’re guilty of is naivety. And, more Jimmy than Naomi, because Solana still, even after everything, believes that Naomi was valid with her feelings expressed during the girls trip. Her delivery of said issues was just what Solana had problems with. Along with the fact that she hadn’t said something sooner.

And now that conversation, the necessary one that needed to happen before everything went down, that still needs to happen, remains in limbo. Because, right now, from Solana’s understanding, Roman wants nothing to do with Jimmy. She doesn’t necessarily feel the same, but it’s also not her place to tell him how to handle this.

Right or wrong, it’s how he feels, and she respects that. She will respect it.

Granted, it leaves her feeling a bit stuck regarding how she’s supposed to navigate her relationship with Naomi moving forward. Is there still one? Can there still be one where she respects the wishes of her husband while not destroying the sisterhood she built up with the woman she really did—does—consider a sister?

Solana honestly doesn’t know.

There’s truly so much up in the air, so many things to sort through and figure out. But, at the end of the day, the number one priority is remaining healthy for her babies. She can only think of and focus on so many things at a time, and her immediate family comes first.

Her immediate family being her babies, Dulce included, and her husband.

Everything has to work itself out at some point.

She believes that. She has to.

She has nothing else to believe in.

—-------

6 weeks.

6 weeks in total that passed without any contact, any sort of interaction between Roman and his wife.

Six weeks that felt infinitely longer. As busy as he was during the time, settling all the wrongs, it never escaped him. The fact that he was alone.

He had his brother, had his two cousins, but he didn't have his wife of their dog, and the presence of close relatives didn't make up for that deficit. Not as much as he thought, or maybe hoping, it would.

Nevertheless, Roman did his best to keep himself busy. He worked and then worked some more. Killed. Killed a lot more. Thought….he thought a lot more than he worked and killed, probably.

Sessions with Lita helped, but they didn’t help enough.

Then….that.

Roman couldn’t allow himself to think of that.

His mother and grandfather a thing, even with all his pride, Roman knew he needed Solana to help him with. To sort through.

That it’s not something he could or perhaps even can handle on his own.

Hence why that shit’s been put on the backburner.

Especially now.

Now that it's time.

Time to bring Solana home.

Roman’s return is something that was kept on a need to know basis. It’s not that he wanted to surprise Solana. They were way past that shit. He just didn’t want anyone to inform her, and some shit happened, hindering his return. Delaying it. No, he wanted to be 100% certain nothing could get in the way of him finally being reunited with his wife.

Especially as his return falls on the day before Christmas Eve. Ideal timing. Not preferred, but ideal. He knew how upset she was about them missing their first Thanksgiving together, and while he’s never been big on holidays, he respects that that’s something important to her.

So, being able to bring her home just in time for Christmas is at least something.

He arrives in the evening, as per Paloma’s suggestion. Makes his way through the back of the house. Also Paloma’s suggestion.

She’d let him in, Roman a bit unsure of just how to interact with her. He thanked her, for certain, though something told him that it was unnecessary. That she was eager to spend as much time with her granddaughter just as much as Solana wanted to spend time with her.

Still, the circumstances were not ideal. For certain.

Left alone, Roman looks around the home, as if trying to see if anything has changed but also taking it all in. There's something welcoming and homely about the aroma of the food marinating in the kitchen, the sound of the TV at a low volume that serves as background noise of sorts. The windows that are partially open, allowing a nice breeze and the sounds of nature to filter throughout the abode.

Home.

It feels like home.

The sound of a single bark redirects Roman's focus as the smallest smile falls on his face.

He's moving to his knees at the same time Dulce makes a beeline for him, jumping in his arms, whimpering and trying to lick him.

Roman chuckles, petting her while standing up and still holding her. "I've missed you, too, girl." Because he has. As much as Solana is his wife, is his family, so is Dulce. The first addition to their growing family, if he's being honest with himself.

Paloma walks out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling as she watches Dulce continue to wiggle around, overcome with excitement at her dad being home. "Well, I certainly see why that one is so spoiled."

Roman glances over at the older woman, offering no protest. He can also admit that Dulce pretty much gets whatever she wants, within reason.

He does wonder how that might change, if it will change, once the girls are born.

It's a thought that dims his prior smile, slows down his interactions with the still excited puppy. "How….how was she?"

Paloma lifts her chin. Something tells Roman she knows he's not referring to Dulce.

"She's missed you. A lot." He swallows. "But, all things considered, she's done well. We kept her busy, wouldn't let her sulk when she wanted to, gave her space when she needed it."

Space.

That's probably the one word Roman never wants used in regards to any aspect of his marriage ever again in life.

They've had enough space to last them a fucking lifetime.

Paloma claps the remnants of crumbs from her hands and walks over to him. Roman allows her to take Dulce, ensuring she's holding her properly.

"Go." Paloma nods toward the backdoor. "She's out by the ocean." Roman's expression must give away his curiosity, as she smiles softly. "Some of us believe water to be sacred, some say it holds memories, others say it represents life and fertility." Her grin is solemn, bittersweet. "I think it made her feel closer to you."

Roman, once again, has nothing to say in response. Is sitting on the words that are covered and too enmeshed with all the emotions he's feeling. That he refuses to show but feels nonetheless.

"Go," Paloma repeats herself, stepping back while gently caressing Dulce's head. "I think you've both waited long enough, don't you?"

Very fucking much so.

He gives Dulce a final pet on her head before nodding at Paloma. "Thank you."

For it all.

She says nothing, talking to Dulce in Spanish as she heads back in the kitchen and him out the backdoor. There's a strange, unfamiliar, weird as fuck sensation that climbs up his legs and settles into his stomach as Roman makes his way through the backyard, leading to the beach.

Nerves.

It feels like nervousness, but he hasn't the slightest clue as to why when he literally never gets nervous. Ever. Also, why the hell would he be nervous to see his wife? This is Solana. What reason does he have to be nervous about seeing her?

It's small, a glint of a thing, but it comes to him, Roman gradually realizing his nervousness comes from the fact that he's unsure how she feels. How she feels about how long they've been separated. How long he left her.

Longer than either of them would have liked, but shorter than what either feared.

He wonders….he wonders if she'll be upset with him, and that's always been something he's struggled with. He doesn't like upsetting her. Never has. But, he also knows this separation was completely beyond his control. Necessary. It was necessary for Roman to clean up the mess back home before she could return. To eliminate all potential threats.

And, that's exactly what he's done.

He just hopes she understands.

Roman manages to quietly but brusquely wave away the guards that patrol the same beach he walked on over a month ago. It feels like a lifetime. Like a millennia that he's been gone, and he's hated every fucking second of it.

Scowling at a guard who takes too damn long for his liking to leave, Roman readies to verbally accost them when he sees it.

Sees her.

Maybe a good ten to twelve feet away, she's exactly where her grandmother said she would be.

Standing by the Ocean.

Roman stills, completely overcome with all the things.

Standing, facing the water, she plays with something in her hand, her gaze focused on the waves in front of her while he focuses on something else entirely.

The fall of her long, sleeveless white dress against her stomach. Against her baby bump that's significantly more prominent than the last time he saw her. When he left, Solana could still, with the right clothes, conceal her bump. But now, he's almost certain there's no concealing that. No hiding that she's in fact pregnant, that a child grows in her womb.

Two.

He swallows, watching as she tosses whatever was in her hand into the water. Watches how she lowers her hand to her stomach, rubbing and smiling sadly. Watches as she turns to continue walking among the sand, water slapping against the bottom of her dress.

It's only then he realizes the distance happening between that.

The last thing he wants.

No more.

He's careful in his movements, long legs allowing him to close said distance with a minimal amount of time. He does his best, however, to not alarm or scare her. To keep his presence a secret, of sorts.

And, then she stops. Stops walking.

So does he.

Roman sees her head tip down, hears her quiet, soft chuckle. "You know…." His stomach twists. It's been too long since he's heard her voice. "You don't have to stay so close to me."

The smallest hint of a smile as he shoves back all those damn emotions. "I don't think I could ever not want to be close to you, pretty girl."

A gasp. A small shout even. The way her body snaps around feels almost impossibly and inhumanly too fast.

But, she does.

She does.

Solana is staring at him, mouth ajar, eyes widen, face filled with all the shock. She doesn't move. Doesn't say anything, not at first, anyway.

"Roman…"

And, that breathy, emotion filled address is followed by her gathering up the bottom of her dress and closing that damn distance between them.

Her arms are around him, holding on tighter than she's ever held him. The same way his are wrapped around her waist, her baby bump between them nothing but an additive. An inclusion into this heartwarming reunion.

"You're here," she cries into him. Her fingers grasp at the hair on the back of his neck, her body trembling against him as she sobs. "You're here…"

His eyes shut. "I'm here," he repeats, kissing her temple. He doesn't let her go. Not once. Not fucking once.

Solana holds on and clings to him, murmuring, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Roman sighs, reciprocating the exact same thing, because he’s felt the exact same thing.

And, he tells her as such. “I’ve missed you, too, Sol.” Deeply. In all of the ways. And thinking of it, thinking of how lonely he’s felt without her soothing presence, brings up those emotions. Emotions he does his best to keep at bay. This isn’t about him. It’s about her.

But, Solana is perceptive. She knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes, it feels like.

So, when she pulls away to look up at him, he sees it. Sees the way her gaze shifts, how she transitions from being overwhelmed with feelings of everything and above. Slides into something of concern.

She grasps his face, voice quiet but audible. "What's wrong?"

A lot of things. More than he'd like to admit, and in a weird turn of events, it has nothing to do with the reason she's had to remain in Mexico.

And everything to do with the woman he wishes would have never reappeared in his life.

Would have stayed dead.

But, that's for then. Roman mentally nor emotionally feels like discussing that. Not right now.

He wants to enjoy this.

Enjoy her.

So, he settles for a truth for her ears and her ears only.

Roman licks his bottom lip, voice quiet and vulnerable. "I've needed you…"

He sees the moment her shoulders drop, a heavy, heartfelt sigh leaving her mouth. "Mi amor….." Solana blinks, shaking her head. "Come here…." Solana pulls him back into a hug, except, this time, it feels less for her. More for him.

Because, it is for him.

She's comforting him.

Solana kisses his temple, sliding her fingers up, gently massaging his scalp. "I'm here now." He sighs against and into her. "It's okay." She's with him. He's not alone anymore, and as long as there's breath in her body, he'll never be alone again. She goes to reassure him again when a sensation causes her to still. A movement. In her stomach.

Solana jerks back, mouth slightly ajar, hands on her belly as she looks down.

Naturally, Roman's entire disposition shifts. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't say anything. She can't. She's waiting for—again.

She feels it again.

Undeniable, this time.

Emotion climbing all over once more, she murmurs, "oh my God...."

"Solana, what's wrong?" He repeats himself, the concern growing as he moves closer to her.

Shaking her head, she reaches for his hands, laying them on her stomach. She looks up, eyes still watery, and a smile weighed down with that emotion. "Feel."

Roman, however, remains equally confused as he is concerned. "Solana, what—"

Silence.

Movement.

His expression shifts once more. Less concerned. Fully taken back. "Is that—"

"It is." She nods, sniffling and explaining. "I—I was starting to get concerned, because I hadn't…I hadn't felt them at all, and I should have at this point in the pregnancy, but I think—" She reaches a hand to cup his bearded face, voice cracking. "I think they were just waiting for daddy to come back."

His eyes lock with hers, filled with all the sincerity and vulnerability. Love. Filled with love.

They're kicking. His daughters. For the first time, for the both of them, Roman and Solana can more than just see them. They can feel them.

It's something one can't truly nor accurately describe. Just an insane amount of joy and delight.

Happiness.

Solana takes her other hand and rests it atop his that hasn't left her stomach.

"Let's go home, mi amor."

—--------

It doesn't take long for the family of three to leave. Solana had wondered why so many people had been over at the house yesterday. Why it felt like they'd lingered a bit longer than usual, even with it being an early Christmas "party." She'd felt like something was off but had pushed it to the side, chalking it up to her emotions being muddy due to Roman's absence and her pregnancy.

But, now, now she knows it's because Roman had informed her abuela and the appropriate parties that he'd be coming for her, and abuela sought to make sure everyone had time to see her and say "goodbye," so that they could leave shortly after he arrived.

Which is exactly what happened. Solana's longest goodbye was with her grandmother, as was expected. It was not without the promise for Paloma to come to the states and stay with her and Roman during the last month of Solana's pregnancy to ensure she didn't miss the birth.

An easy thing for the older woman to agree to.

The best thing for Solana.

But, what's not best nor preferred and definitely not liked is the quietness of her husband. Not that Roman is ever one for many words, in the first place. But, it's the fact that she knows there's a reason behind his quietness that bothers her. It bothers her to know there's something wrong with him, and he's not saying anything.

They lay in bed together on his private jet carrying them back to a home she's been dying to see for over a month now.

It's felt so much longer than that.

So much longer.

Her fingers caress his scalp as he lays besides her, body slightly hovered over hers as he continues to rub her stomach. "I can't….I can't believe how…how much you've grown."

"You mean how big I've gotten?" She teases in a soft voice and with a small smile. He looks up with a tiny glare. She sighs, eyes falling to her stomach. "I'll be five months next week…."

He knows. She's sure he knows, and he confirms as such. "I know. I….I was following along in that app you showed me."

Her chest tightens just a bit.

So was she.

"Ro…." He's once again forced to redirect his focus from her bare belly to her concerned gaze. "Talk to me." Something flashes in his eyes, prompting her to whisper, "what happened?"

It's strange how just the gleam of something in his warm eyes say so much without saying anything. She studies the way he shifts, watches how he moves to sit up next to her. She turns and angles her body as much as she can, holding onto his arm. "Rom—"

"My mother is still alive."

One blink. Two. Three.

A what that rests on the tip of her tongue. That small part of her, though unlike his character, waiting for the joke. For the confirmation that he isn't being serious.

But, it never comes. He just continues to look down, hand on her thigh, moving up in down in calming motions.

Solana sits up, eyes slightly widened. "Wh—what?"

Roman's jaw twitches. "She's—she's alive." He turns to look at her. "She's been alive. All this fucking time."

There's a continued, lingering disbelief. One that has her with so many questions, mainly, a big, massive how. Though Roman hadn't gone into explicit specifics, the way his family was killed, she'd just assumed…

How?

Disbelief paints her face. "How—how did you find out—"

"I saw her."

Silence. "You did?"

He nods, still not looking at her, focused on the edge of the bed where Dulce sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the heavy conversation transpiring. "She—she showed up at my office. Her and….and my grandfather.”

“Grand….” Solana knew she must have missed a lot during their separation but just how much she missed is blowing her mind right now. “I didn’t….maternal?” He doesn’t provide a direct answer, but it’s not exactly necessary. She can put two and two together. But, that’s about the only thing she can piece together. “Rom—”

“She should have stayed fucking dead.”

At that, she swallows. Gone are any traces of vulnerability. Replaced is anger.

And, a lot of it.

“Baby—”

“I don’t need her. Didn’t then. Don’t know.” Words spoken from anger and something else. Definitely something else. “Doesn’t matter if she’s alive. She’s still dead to me.”

It’s obvious a conversation occurred when his mother, his alive mother, showed up at his office. A conversation Solana would bet did not go well. Did not go well at all. But, she can also see it. See that he’s not in a place or space to have that discussion right now. It needs to be had though. For sure. But, she won’t force it. Won’t force him.

She’ll give him his space. For now. And revisit when the time is not necessarily right—because she's not sure that exists for something like this—but better than it is now.

Solana leans up and kisses his cheek, her lips lingering as she murmurs, “it’s okay, mi amor.” It’s not. It’s very much not okay. But, it’s been not okay since she was kidnapped and the betrayals were revealed, and that is something, she’s almost certain, he still hasn’t processed either. So, this massive, unexpected thing is going to have to take the backburner until they get everything else sorted. What exactly that looks like, she’s not sure. She just knows that she’ll be with him every step of the way in and with whatever this journey looks like.

Always.

—-------

They don't leave their bedroom. Not on Christmas Eve. Not really. Nothing but discussions, reunification, and lovemaking. Making up for all of the time lost and then some. For Roman and Solana, the world consists of only them and Dulce. Everything else is irrelevant as they engage in and indulge in each other.

A necessity after being apart for so long.

Christmas morning is special for a variety of reasons. The main one being the minute they pulled up to the house upon her return home, she was immediately taken back by the outside. Christmas lights and other decorations greeted her and Dulce, who damn near jumped out of her arm to go bark at the Santa that Roman had on the porch.

And, the surprises continued, as Solana found the interior just as wonderfully, festively decorated as the outside.

Tears in her eyes, she’d looked over at him in disbelief. She’s known from the beginning his stance on holidays, so coming home to find her home so beautiful and cheery, it meant so much to her. He'd done it for her, because he loves her. The reason he does majority, if not all the amazing things he does and is for her. Her eyes shut as he leaned over and kissed her forehead, murmuring, “welcome home, baby.”

A wonderful welcome it certainly was.

Waking up extra early Christmas morning, Solana managed to sneak away, venturing downstairs to her kitchen where she was able to prepare and surprise her husband with a grand breakfast.

Among other things.

He’d come down the steps, partially irritated only because it hadn’t dawned on him to have the chef prepare breakfast for them. An insult to her, though.

If there’s one thing Solana loves, it’s to cook. She especially loves to cook for her husband. And given it’s their first major holiday spent together, she’s not prepared to let it go to waste.

She simply lets her husband hold her, leaning up on her toes to kiss him, an emotional “Merry Christmas, mi amor” on her lips right as Dulce comes running in, like the firstborn that she is, clearly eager and ready to open gifts.

Despite Dulce’s protests, the actual gift opening doesn’t happen until after Solana and Roman have shared breakfast together, the easy, light banter and conversation between them something both had deeply missed.

But, when it does roll around for presents to be revealed, no one is happier than Dulce who receives an abundance of toys, clothes (she could pass on that), treats, and yet more beds.

Giggling, Solana looks over at Roman who watches, shaking his head as Dulce makes herself comfortable in her latest sleeping option. “Now, who’s got her spoiled?”

He rolls his eyes, snapping a photo of their primadonna puppy. She especially appreciates how he's had his camera out, snapping and capturing memories ever since she returned. “You started it.”

Debatable.

Of course, Roman being Roman, went above and beyond with his gifts for his wife. Solana is certain their new house will need a separate room just for all of her clothes and accessories. Once again, she’s overwhelmed with expensive, designer bags, jewelry, etc. But, as always, what makes her the happiest are the journals and books. They mean the most to her out of anything. It’s all appreciated, but there’s something about him gifting her with something he knows she loves so deeply that makes it even better.

But, as thankful and grateful she is for his never-ending generosity, she’s most excited, albeit nervous, for her gifts for him.

“Okay,” she starts, having walked over and grabbed two of the bags she’d snuck under their tree before going to bed last night. “Your turn.”

Roman lowers his camera from where he was snapping photos of her. “Baby, you know I don’t need anything.”

“Neither did I, and that didn’t stop you.” Is her soft counter. Solana stands before him, both bags in one hand, the other hand rubbing her belly. “Plus, I had to….it’s our first Christmas together.”

And, the last Christmas where they’ll just be a family of three, because come this time next year, they’ll have their daughters.

Just the thought brings a small smile to her face.

He sighs, moving the Canon to the right of him. “Still, Sol.”

She ignores him, offering the bag with what she wants him to see first. “Open it.”

He accepts it, legs spread just enough to rest it on the exposed space of the sofa. Solana bites down on her bottom lip, watching his face the whole time to assess for his reaction. She watches how he pulls out the neatly folded shirt, the tissue paper falling to the carpet. Sees how he lifts it up, the plain black back facing her, the front facing him.

“OTC?”

He lowers it just enough to catch her gaze. She nods, softly, offering explanation as he moves it to his lap, fingers ghosting over the intricate design embedded behind the blood red letters.

“You’re the Only Tribal Chief.” Once more, his eyes are on her. “My OTC.”

It’s a term she’d heard Domingo, Matteo, and Dwayne use at various points back in Mexico. A powerful term considering everything that happened. One that feels entirely applicable for her husband.

They tried to get rid of him, tried to kill him, tried to lay claim to a throne that rightfully belongs to him.

But, they failed.

And, they always will.

Roman Reigns is the Tribal Chief.

The Only Tribal Chief.

“Your OTC, huh?” Her smile is shy, almost. There’s a hint of respect in his voice that means a lot to her. “I like that.” A soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he again focuses on the design, recognition dawning. “These patterns….”

“They’re your tattoos,” she answers the unasked question. “I—I designed it for you.”

His surprise is evident and unhidden. “You did?”

Another nod and an almost bashful acknowledgement. “Yeah…” She shrugs with just one shoulder, adding, “I know you’re not into….fashion and things like that, but, I don’t know, I just thought—” An unfinished statement as she’s gently tugged forward, in between his legs and then onto his lap. The shirt resting over the same arm that’s over her, his hand on the side of her belly.

“I love it,” he murmurs, eyes flitting up and down over her. “Thank you.”

Solana’s smile is unavoidable, as she leans forward to kiss him. “You’re welcome.” Wasting no time, she hands him the other bag. “Here.”

He wordlessly accepts it only after placing the shirt on the sofa beside him, next to his camera, the gift bag carefully kicked to the side, still on the floor.

“This one might be my favorite.” Her confession is accompanied by part 2 of watching every movement he makes before reaching the end goal. Instead of lifting it up, largely due to the fact that she sits on his lap, Roman simply lays it to the side where both of them can see it.

An amused smile grows at the way he scowls, confusion evident as he looks down at the black shirt with white writing. Spanish. He looks at her. “What does it say?”

She giggles. “Real men make twins.”

His smile also grows, the biggest she’s seen in some time. The quiet laughter that leaves his mouth is nourishment to her soul she didn’t realize she was lacking until now. “I saw it in the market while I was on my girls trip, but I couldn’t get it, because I didn't want to risk anyone finding out about the pregnancy. But, Afia saw me looking at it and bought it for me, so I guess it’s a gift from her.”

“Naw.” He shakes his head, thumb brushing over the lettering. “It’s from you.” He lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “And, I love it.”

A second reiteration. An overwhelming appreciation.

“Good,” she murmurs, voice softening as she takes his hand, squeezing slightly. “But, that’s not all.”

“Solana…”

Climbing off his lap, she gives the slightest tug, forcing him to stand. “Come on, papa.”

Quiet, expected grumbles as she starts to guide them out of the living room. Solana goes to call for Dulce to go with them, but a single glance reveals she’s fast asleep in her latest princess bed.

He shakes his head. “I told you she’s lazy.”

“Hush,” Solana chides lightly, holding his hand as she walks them to the back of the house, ignoring his question of where they’re going.

But, it’s when they’re outside of her art room, she turns and looks up at him. “Okay, close your eyes.”

He sighs. “Baby—”

“Roman, I’m not going to tell you again,” she warns, crossing her arms, not missing how his eyes fall to her breast at the motion of them unintentionally being pushed together. “Close your eyes.”

He’s slightly annoyed. She can see as much. She also doesn’t care.

“Fine.” Her smile returns, as he obliges. Solana lifts and waves her hand in front of him, checking to make sure he’s not looking. Satisfied he isn’t, she opens the door and hits the light switch.

“Come on,” she encourages, taking his hands, guiding him into the room. Solana walks them over to the wall space opposite the open window, the natural light highlighting the heavy, black drape over her main Christmas gift for her husband. “Just a minute.” Solana works to remove the drape, allowing it to fall to the floor. Solana kicks it to the side, preventing it from obscuring any portion of the gift. “Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Open.”

Roman doesn’t need to be told twice.

He opens his eyes.

Once again, Solana is focused solely and only on him, wanting and almost needing to see every reaction, minute to overt. And, there’s certainly a reaction.

She sees the way his face instantly softens, brows relaxed, mouth partially open. But, he doesn’t say anything, just steps forward, moves closer to the massive framed drawing that’s only a few inches shorter than him.

He stands in front of it, Solana watching silently from the side, chewing on her bottom lip. “I—I’d started one here a few months ago, but obviously, I couldn’t finish, so I….I started over while I was in Mexico. I wasn’t….I wasn’t sure I’d be able to finish it before you came back, but I did.”

She’s not certain how much of the backstory he’s retaining, as it’s obvious his attention is fully focused on the unexpected gift.

“Solana…” His voice is both heavy and quiet, the weight in it undeniable emotion. “You…you made this?”

She nods with a soft smile. “Yeah.”

He returns his attention to the large scale drawing. It’s of him. A sort of headshot with the only trace of his body being his tattooed shoulder. The main focus, however, is him, his face. A side profile, jaw and expression fierce, chin jutted. An almost regal pose. His hair down and flowing, however, is what he can’t seem to look away from. Because embedded in the ringlets of his mane are two other individuals. Subtle but visible. One smiling shyly, very similar to Solana’s own current expression. The other wearing a similar expression to his own.

His daughters.

It’s his daughters.

“I know it might…” Solana starts, sounding a bit unsure. “I know it might seem silly to include them. We’ve only….we’ve only seen them in dreams, but I….” She stops, eyes closing, hands to her belly. “I know that’s them. I just….I can feel it.”

She just can. How or why, she hasn’t a clue. Solana just knows the sweet little twin girls that she and Roman have dreamed about for months are the little girls growing inside of her stomach.

Visions, as she once called them.

Glimpses of their future.

A beautiful, wonderful future.

“Baby….” His voice is even heavier. Thick with emotion. A true space of vulnerability reserved for her and only her. “It’s beautiful.”

Her throat is heavy, eyes watering. “You like it?”

Roman scoffs and reaches for her hand, gently pulling her in front of him. He brings his hands to her face, his eyes gleaming with something confined and unspoken. “I love it.” Similar sentiments towards the shirts but deeper. Infinitely deeper. "Thank you."

Her eyes shut as he kisses her forehead, one hand dropping to her stomach, moving in a gentle circle. Appreciative. Grateful. Loving.

Solana moves herself into him, holding and hugging him as he kisses the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Roman…”

—-----------

The day is spent just as Christmas Eve was spent. Together. Solana reaches out and wishes happy holidays to close friends and family, but for the most part, she’s tucked up under her husband the majority of the day. Talking, discussing, planning. The pregnancy. Post birth. The new house. Dreams of the future they’ve worked so hard to create and contribute to.

Pieces finally coming together.

She is, however, a bit surprised when evening rolls around, and he shares that they have dinner reservations at one of her favorite restaurants. It’s extremely unexpected given she’s yet to make her status as not dead a public thing yet.

Or, rather, shared it with appropriate parties.

But, he assures her that privacy and "secret" will be maintained, and she believes him. Roman has always prioritized giving and allowing them the space to just be. That, especially after everything that’s happened, is bound to not change anytime soon.

If ever.

So, she obliges, getting done up, even donning a dress not even a year ago she wouldn’t dare to brave, let alone while pregnant. But, that was then. This is now. She’s a completely changed person in all the best ways.

So, they share dinner together, talking, connecting, completely immersed in only the person sitting across from them. It’s a bit scary to her just how easy it is to get lost in Roman. The world feels like it starts and ends with him sometimes.

She wonders if he feels the same way about her.

Something tells her he does.

But, as they drive back home after almost three hours at the restaurant, Solana can feel it. Feel a shift within him. Nothing bad. Just….different.

He’s quiet, and while she could guess that it’s largely due to them exhausting most and all topics on their date, it’s different. She can’t explain it, but she feels it.

They ride home in almost complete silence. One of his big hands resting on her stomach, the other on the steering wheel.

She doesn’t say anything though. Prefers to wait until they’re back at the house.

But, it’s when they arrive home, stepping out of the car, Roman closing the door behind her, Solana’s attention is immediately drawn to the front door.

“Ava?”

Sure enough, Roman’s cousin stands at their front door, and not only is she standing in the front door, but she’s holding Dulce.

Naturally, Solana walks over, Ava meeting her halfway on the cobblestone driveway, instantly pulling her into a one arm hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” she murmurs. Only then does Solana realize this is the first time they’ve seen each other since the coup.

She sighs. Happily. “It’s good to see you, too, Ava.”

Briefly, Solana wonders if her friends will feel the same.

Cameron. Mickie. Melina.

Will they also be relieved or too upset by the subterfuge?

It’s a thought she has to shake away, as the two women separate. Ava takes a step back, smiling widely at Solana’s bump. “Holy shit, they’re getting so big.”

Solana giggles and rubs her bump. “They are.” However, it’s Dulce looking over, ears up, clearly wanting to be pet that redirects Solana’s attention. “What….what are you doing here?”

She looks up and back at Roman who stands close behind Solana. “I–I wanted to see you guys.”

Solana eyes her suspiciously. “Ava, you hate Roman.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“You literally told me, “I hate him.” To be fair, Solana knows that Ava doesn't actually hate Roman, but there's something about her reason for being at their house that just feels...off.

Again, more avoidance. “Okay, but that was before he almost died and shit, and then we lost an aunt. Like, a lot has happened,” she dismisses. “Besides,” her smile returns as she caresses the top of Dulce’s head, “I wanted to see this cutie.”

Solana frowns. “Dulce?”

“Duh. She’s like my favorite person in this lil fam'.” Ava reaches to rub Solana’s belly. “Until the girls get here, of course.” But before Solana can comment on Ava’s….strange demeanor, she suddenly announces, “well, I’m gonna go take her for a walk.”

At that, Solana frowns. “A walk? Dulce doesn’t go on walks this late.”

“Well, she does now.” The other woman frowns, covering her mouth with one hand to whisper, “she’s getting a little chunky.”

Dulce looks over, her ears lifting as if knowing she’s just been insulted.

Ava, however, just offers a wave. “Have fun!”

Solana can only open her mouth and turn to Ava who saunters off like nothing just happened.

“What—”

“It’s fine, Sol,” Roman advises, stepping forward and kissing her temple.

“Where is she taking our baby?” Solana asks, trying to look past her monolithic man of a husband as he gradually guides her inside the house. “It’s getting late—”

“Damn dog sleeps all day anyway.”

Solana gasps, slapping him lightly on the chest. “Be nice.” He snorts, managing to guide her onto the porch. She continues to look off in the direction where Ava walked. “Are you sure—”

“Solana.” She turns her gaze back to him, realizing only then how serious he’d become. But, also something else….something close to trepidation.

Like, he’s nervous.

Solana frowns. “Roman, what’s going on?”

In the time she’s known him, he’s never acted like this with her. So….on edge.

But, once again, he dismisses it, instead taking her hand to lead her into their home.

For now.

Their home for now.

But, that’s the least of her concerns. What sits promptly at the top of the list is the weird behavior from Ava and the uncharacteristic disposition of her husband. “Roman Tamasa Reigns—” She starts, right behind him as he goes to open the door and step inside. “What the hell is going—” She stops the second she’s inside. “On….” Solana feels like breathing is suddenly a thing only few are allowed and privy to. And, she’s not one of those people. “Oh my….”

There’s so much to take in. The rose petals that are carefully placed and decorating the entire entryway of the home. Of various red, pink, and white colors. Heart shaped balloons in every corner. Soft music that plays in the background, a tune she can’t focus on because of everything else. Lit candles placed strategically and carefully around the home in conjunction with the low lighting that serves as the perfect ambiance.

“Oh my God,” Solana finds words, but they’re brief and weighed down with all the emotion that fills her chest when she finally realizes what song is playing.

Can’t Help Falling in Love

The version from one of her favorite movies of all time, Crazy Rich Asians, from one of her favorite scenes in any adaptation of all time.

Tears blur her vision as she looks over at her husband. “Roman…”

He says nothing, just reaches for her hand, directing her to follow him. “Come on.”

“Baby….” Her voice breaks as she does as he says, all the while taking in the beauty around her. Beauty that extends past just the foyer, the path continuing into their living room and kitchen. It’s all shades and rays of pinks and reds.

But, it’s when she sees the backyard, the petals that continue along the path there, litter their pool along with beautiful lanterns, the music even louder, emanating from the outdoor speakers, that it really breaks her.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

Solana starts crying, her hand over her mouth. It takes everything in her to ask, so overcome with so many feelings, “you….you did all this for me?” She sniffles, shaking her head. “It’s beautiful.”

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

“Solana…” He moves closer to her, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I’m not….I’m not good with words like you are, and half of this shit, I needed Ava and….Fetu’s help to figure out the best way to do” Words that make her heart stop. Fetu. If Fetu had helped Roman arrange this, then that would mean he’s been planning this for months.

Months.

He continues, swallowing, “we didn’t start out the right way, and that’s because of me. I deprived you of that. Our wedding was traumatic for you, and I fucking hate that shit more than you could ever know. I don’t ever want to be on the causing side of your trauma.”

Her eyes water, her heart aching. “Roman, you could never–”

“And, I know I can’t change what happened, but I can offer you another chance.” Solana has to remind herself the importance of breathing, watching how he reaches inside his suit jacket. “I know that my forever is with you. My forever is you, but I—I want us to do it the right way. To give you that the right way, because you deserve it, baby.”

She’s crying into her hands again as he moves to one knee. “Oh my God….”

“Solana Esmeralda Reigns, I love you, and I don’t think I’ll ever really deserve you, but I love you, and I promise to always take care of and protect you and the family we’ve made.” Her eyes widen as he pops the ring box open, revealing the most beautiful ring she’s ever seen. A massive pink diamond in the most breathtaking setting. “Will you marry me?”

Emotions. All of the emotions. Fluttering, raining, running, drowning her.

It’s all overwhelming in the most unexpected way. He went through so much to make this happen, has been working on this for months, working to provide her the type of fantasy a woman can only dream of. The type of thing people read about in sappy romance books, all the while knowing the reality of anything similar ever happening being slim to none.

And, it’s that slim space that he’s found and made a reality.

But, it’s only when Solana feels her babies kicking, both of them, that she realizes an answer is due.

The only answer she could ever give the man in front of her.

“Yes,” she breathes. The smallest hint of a smile on his handsome face tugs on her heartstrings even more. She cries harder. “Of course, yes.”

A million times over. In all the ways. In every universe.

Solana watches as he removes her current ring—something she 100% plans to still keep—replacing it with the new, current one. She can only continue to stare in utter shock and disbelief at the stunning, unexpected ring sitting on her ring finger. Just like she can barely wait for him to be back on his feet to reach up, palming his face as she leans up to kiss him. Passionate. Intense. Love.

So much love.

Their eyes shut, foreheads touching as she moves his hands to her stomach to feel their girls moving around, as if also partaking in this unforgettable moment of love, promise, and future.

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

—--------

"Where are we going?"

To be fair, the minute it comes out of her mouth, she already knows she's not about to receive an answer. Not a straight one anyway.

Roman lifts her hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, the corner of his mouth brushing against her new wedding ring. He follows this up with a simple, "you'll see." Roman lowers their now conjoined hands, maneuvering the steering wheel with his other hand, offering nothing else.

Solana is tempted to pry and try to extract something more than that, but she decides against it. Roman has been full of nothing but positive, beautiful, wonderful surprises since their reunion.

Something tells her this will be no different.

Instead, her attention travels to the emotional reunion she had just yesterday at the local community recreation center.

The children.

The children from her reading club.

Of all the people to see and reveal her not being dead to, that had to be the hardest group. Such young, innocent lives forever changed. Mourning the loss of Mrs. Jensen, the kind librarian who lost her life for nothing. Mourning the loss of her. Except, one loss was permanent. Never to be changed.

It’s a type of loss and grief Solana knows she hasn’t really started to feel and process, but one that’s bound to come sooner or later.

However, while the kids were surprised, obviously emotional, they were mostly relieved. Happy. Filled with so much relief. She was tackled with so many hugs, so many questions especially about her stomach. About her pregnancy.

Something she included in her child-friendly explanation.

“My husband and I had to make sure those bad people couldn’t hurt me or our babies.”

Not a lie.

Not a lie at all.

But, it’s also the overwhelming appreciation from the parents that took Solana by surprise. The indescribable appreciation and gratitude they extended her way.

“You saved my baby.”

She can’t count how many times she was told that and other variations. A truth she hadn’t really considered until then. She wasn’t thinking about how she was, in fact, saving the kids’ lives by pleading with Solo for mercy.

She was just doing what was right.

It’s a bittersweet thing, because while she was able to save the children, she couldn’t save the other lives lost. Innocent people just going to their local library.

Sami.

Bautista.

Two people who, though not knowing for long, she will miss greatly. They were good men who didn’t deserve the ending that found them. A sentiment she shares with her husband who has vowed that he’ll make sure their families are looked after and always taken care of.

He’d already issued payment to cover the rest of Bautista’s daughter’s collegiate years along with six figure college funds for Sami’s children. Is funding his widow's move out of the city to be closer to family.

Kind, appreciated gestures that help but don’t fully the dull the ache and pain of grief.

Again, more processing Solana knows she’ll have to work through over the next few months.

Years, even.

And, she continues to think of the past, the present, and the near future up until the SUV comes to a stop.

One glance out the window, and all she sees is….nothing.

Solana continues to look around confused as all the outdoors. Her confused expression remains as Roman rounds the SUV and opens the door for her, helping her step out.

"Ro…." He steps back only after making sure she's flat and stable on the ground, taking her hand in his once more. "What…."

Roman continues to remain silent, guiding them deeper into….nothing.

Nothing exists around them outside of the security detail, grass, and trees in the far off distance. Beautiful. She can acknowledge that much. The views of hills and forestry in the distance are a beautiful compliment to the sun that shines behind it, illuminating and highlighting it almost.

None of that, however, explains just why her husband has them in the middle of beautiful nowhere.

"What do you think?"

Solana looks over and up at him, the two finally stopped, a distance large enough between them and their security so that a conversation can be had privately, without listening ears.

"Umm…." It could possibly be one of the most confusing questions she's had presented to her in some time. "It's…..it's a beautiful view, and the grass is….really green."

The smallest smile falls on Roman's face prompting her to reciprocate it. She loves to see him smile.

Especially these days.

Roman lifts his sunglasses up, placing them atop his head as he makes a low sound. She watches him move to stand behind her, leaning down, holding her from behind, hands on her stomach. "It's almost 700 acres." Her eyes widen at that. It's even bigger than it looks, and that's saying something. "A couple miles away from the nearest other property." Solana's initial profound confusion diminishes ever so slightly at that last line, and she knows Roman must sense it. He holds her closer, pushing back strings of her hair. "More than enough room to build as big as you want."

Her head snaps to look at him, that recognition and realization slamming into her. "Ro…"

He gestures ahead, Solana following his line of vision. "Main house could be right there." He motions to the right. "Mother-in-law suite over there." Another gesture to the broad span of emptiness. "And then anything else we want."

"Roman…" Solana pouts, eyes watering as it all comes to her. As she sees exactly why they're here. Why he's taken her here. Sees the vision. Stepping away, their hands drop as she moves one of hers to her belly, eyes closing. She can see it. See Lina and Leya chasing Roman around the pool, eager and determined to finally "catch" him. Can hear the sounds of their happy laughter and the ding of the oven signifying lunch is ready. Can smell the delicious aroma of her abuela's cooking. Can feel the love that consumes her little family.

Her home.

It's why she turns around to look at him. "It's perfect."

That same small smile returns. "Yeah?"

Solana chuckles, walking back over and reaching up to cup his bearded face. "Yeah." She leans up to kiss him, lips lingering over his. "It's ours."

"Ours," he murmurs, hands on the sides of her stomach, pulling her to him. "When do you want to break ground?"

"Tomorrow." An easy answer. Solana moves her hands up his chest, explaining, "I know it won't be ready before the girls are here, but I at least want it ready for their first Christmas." A thought crosses her mind. “Wait, we have to sign paperwork though, right?”

He shakes his head, turning her around, leaning her back against him. “I already bought it.” She gasps. “I saw it while….while you were gone, and it just seemed right. But, I wanted to get your thoughts first—”

“It’s perfect.” She cuts him off, holding onto his forearms, eyes shutting from undeniable contentment. “And ours.”

He echoes her sentiments, kissing her cheek. “Ours.”

—----------

The minute Roman opens the door for her, and Solana steps out onto the field, she takes it all in. Imagines it. Imagines a time where the stadium is filled with cheering, yelling, excited bodies, all eager and fully immersed in the game. A game her husband once played.

And, then she looks up at Roman, sees how he also looks around, but he doesn't have to imagine. He can just remember. Relive, maybe.

Reliving his time in the stadium where he played football so many years ago. The stadium that they currently stand in.

Taking his hand in hers, Roman looks down, Solana offering a small smile.

He doesn't say anything, just leans over and kisses her forehead. Solana holds onto his arm as he walks them deeper into the gridiron, in the middle almost. And, it's not until she turns around that she realizes just how heavy their security detail is. Nine SUV's lined up back to back, armed men, some Bloodline, some Cartel, standing and watching. Always assessing.

Same as the man beside her.

"It's okay," she comforts, pressing a kiss against his arm.

He sighs, still not saying anything as he just continues to wait.

And watch.

Not even five minutes later, the familiar sound of cars. SUV's. Much like the entourage they traveled with. They come in from the opposite side of the stadium. Solana counts six of them.

And the fourth one is the one that they get out of.

She sees Cody first. Sees the way his gaze falls on them, falls on Roman. The same way she feels Roman tense next to her. Subtly, Solana caresses her fingers across his arm, a quiet gesture of continued comfort. Cody rounds the SUV and opens the side door, the first person to exit bringing a small smile on Solana's face.

Emma's too.

Solana can vaguely make out the sound of the little girl saying something, a big smile planted on her face as she makes a beeline towards where she stands with Roman. Already feeling him tense even more, Solana moves to stand in front of him, to prevent him from doing anything.

"Solana!" Emma cries out happily as she slams her little body against Solana's legs, hugging her.

"Hi, Emma," she greets, watching the little girl pull back, eyes wide, mouth ajar as she stares at her stomach.

At her baby bump.

"You're having a baby?"

Naturally, Solana's smile deepens. As does her pride. "I am." Eyes twinkling with playful curiosity, she asks, "you wanna know something else?" Emma nods rapidly, prompting Solana to giggle as she bends down to whisper in Emma's ear. "I'm having two babies."

Another loud gasp and a "really?"

Solana laughs, straightening up, rubbing her belly. "Yup."

It's only when Roman moves his hands to Solana, tugging her back beside him that she realizes Cody and Brandi have started to walk in their direction. Emma turns around and runs toward her parents, tugging on Brandi's shirt. "Mommy! Solana is having a baby! Two babies!"

Roman tenses once more beside her, Solana subtly brushing her arm against him. She knows he wasn't the most comfortable with this whole idea in the first place but especially because there's no way to hide her pregnancy anymore. Not to mention, her black one piece with gray cropped top does absolutely nothing to hide her pronounced baby bump.

But, Solana needed this. She needed to see Brandi and Emma, and while it definitely took a lot of convincing and pleading with her husband, he finally agreed. Reaching out to Cody who, surprisingly, agreed.

Solana wonders if Brandi and/or Emma wanted the same thing, too.

Brandi's gaze falls over to Solana as they step closer, close enough for her to reach over and pull Solana into a hug. Instantly and immediately, Solana feels it. The turmoil still brewing within the other woman. The trauma.

"It's okay," Solana whispers and holds her just a little tighter. "You're safe." The tiniest gasp leaves Brandi's mouth. Emotions she's clearly doing her best to keep at bay. For a variety of reasons but none more than the little girl with blue eyes who stands close to her dad, watching with curiosity the interaction between her mother and Solana.

Brandi clears her throat and backs away. She quickly wipes at her eyes and motions down. "I can't believe…." She trails off, the recognition settling in. "Does that mean you were—"

"Yes," Solana answers prematurely. She already knows the rest of it.

Brandi's expression grows solemn, prompting Solana to motion for her to step to the side with her.

Instantly, Solana feels Roman behind her, inching closer. "Sol—"

She turns around, eyes soft and pleading. "Please."

His jaw, much like his entire body, is tense. But, he meets her eyes, sees and feels the sincerity. The unspoken 'trust me.' And, he sighs, nodding. Approval.

She presses her lips together. Relieved. Thankful.

Solana and Brandi move to the side, Emma going to join them, staying close to her mom. Expected.

But, that leaves the two men alone, mere feet from each other. Both of them watch their wives quietly interact, Roman having to push away his irritation at seeing Brandi place a gentle hand atop Solana's belly.

"You know…." Cody's voice is the last thing Roman wants to hear right now. He's the last person Roman wants to see right now. "What they went through…." Roman turns a vicious glare onto the man he'd prefer to just put a bullet in and leave it at that. "They'll always be linked together."

The same way you and I are.

The unspoken, obvious ending neither man will ever be able to verbalize.

The same way Roman would rather be rotting in a grave somewhere than acknowledge the truth to Cody's statement.

But, he is right.

Solana, Brandi, and even the kid, shared something together. Experienced and survived something traumatic as fuck together. That means, the same way Cody and Roman, who also, in a convoluted manner, have a history cloaked in betrayal and trauma, will always be linked.

That doesn't mean Roman has to like or allow it to go beyond that.

"This is a one time thing." An announcement to Cody. Something he's yet to discuss with Solana. He understood why she wanted to see Brandi and Emma. Didn't like it, but made the arrangements. However, this shit can't happen again. "And, it doesn't change anything between us."

Regardless of the team up of sorts, even Roman learning more about the betrayal that resulted in the murder of his family, the role Rikishi played, it doesn't change what's happened. At the end of the day, there will always be a thick river of blood that separates him from the man across from him. That bleeds out whatever type of friendship that once existed between them.

That shit is dead.

"I have something for you!" Emma's happy voice shouts as she turns around and makes a beeline for the line SUV she's exited with her parents. Brandi turns around only for Cody to lift his hand, running after Emma, neither parent clearly wanting too much distance between themselves and their daughter.

Again, understandable.

With some newfound privacy, Solana takes advantage. "Brandi…." She turns around, expression expectant. "You haven't told him, have you?"

Just like that, her eyes shift. An abundance of something and then nothing. "What sense does it make?" Brandi looks away, discomfort palpable. "He's dead now."

Solana swallows. "Brandi—"

"He's dead, Solana." Her voice takes a dark, empty tone. "It's over."

Solana grows quiet. She sees it. God, she sees it. The pool of hurt and anger and fear and confusion, and every other emotion Brandi is clearly pushing away. Her lack of disclosure of the assault comes at no surprise to Solana. Neither does the other woman's overall disposition toward it. Indifference. An attempt to pretend like everything's okay.

When it's not.

It's very clearly not.

"When….when you're ready, and only then, just know that I'm here," Solana offers, voice just as gentle as her gaze. "I mean it."

Because while Brandi may not see or realize it now, at some point, she will need to talk. Or not even talk. Just be around someone who understands her. Understands her pain. Understands what it does to someone to be violated in the worst way possible. And sadly, Solana knows that all too well. It's a pain she wouldn't wish on anyone and why she's making herself available.

When Brandi is ready and needing support, she'll be there.

No matter what.

Brandi offers no verbal response, just nods and once again wipes at her eyes just as Emma runs back over.

"Merry Christmas!" She stands before Solana, a decorative bag not much bigger than her in her hands as she reaches it to the pregnant woman. "Well, late Christmas."

Solana gasps, a genuine smile on her face. "For me?"

Emma nods happily as Solana accepts the bag, moving to pull out the soft item covered in wrapping paper. A quiet gasp leaves Solana's mouth as she manages to place the card in between her thighs, Brandi catching the bag before it can fall onto the floor. "Oh my goodness…." There's a hint of awe in her voice both at the softness as well as the beautiful baby pink color of the knit blanket. "This is so beautiful!"

Emma's smile brightens as she looks up at her mom. "Mommy and I made it!" She sounds so proud, Solana's heart swelling at seeing her so happy. It's relieving, to say the least. "I hope you like pink."

"I love pink," Solana holds it up and hugs it, looking between mother and daughter. "Thank you." Such a kind, thoughtful gift from an equally kind little girl. Placing the blanket back in the bag, she moves closer to Emma. "I hope one day my little girls can be just as sweet and brave as you, Emma."

Emma's eyes light up once more, as she holds onto Brandi's leg, sharing with all the innocence of a young girl. "You're gonna be a super cool mommy."

This time, Brandi laughs along with Solana, the latter feeling tears brew in her eyes.

"I hope so, sweetie." Truly. "I hope so."

There's an unspoken reminder from the two men. An invisible countdown of sorts that's reached zero. That makes Solana to venture back over to Roman's side, and Brandi and Emma to move closer to Cody.

The conversation is brief, less emotional, largely due to the men before them. The tension between them is substantial.

But when Emma asks the infamous question as to if/when she’ll see Solana again, the answer provided is something neither Roman—or Cody—seem to like.

“Yes.” It’s said with the most sincere smile. “You will.”

Solana knows she’ll have to figure all that out, and she will. Just not now.

A few more comments, well wishes, and a Happy New Year message are exchanged between the women, and Emma, before Cody quietly instructs them to head back to the cars.

It's only when Brandi and Emma's retreating forms are a good distance away that Cody directs his focus to Solana. "Solana…"

Naturally, Roman shoots his arm across and in front of his wife, sneering, "you don't get to fucking address her."

Cody's jaw twitches, something lingering in the back of his throat but set aside for what he's clearly intentional about saying. "I know my history with your husband must be something you're certainly aware of at this point." She says nothing, just moves her other hand to the small of Roman's back. Fingers gently scraping up and down. A calming, subtle gesture. "That it should come at no surprise to you that it took everything in me to agree to this. That the idea of being this close to the Tribal Chief and not putting a bullet in his head seems like the greatest missed opportunity."

At that, Solana has to actively grab Roman's arm, preventing her husband from lunging forward and carrying out an act she's sure he's dreamed about.

However, Cody remains unmoving. Undeterred. "But, the fact of the matter is that I'd be a hypocrite—"

"—you already fucking are—"

Cody ignores Roman's interjection. "Because I owe him." At that, both husband and wife still, never giving away just where they are to the man across from them, all the while still taken back by the unexpected statement. "And, I owe you."

"Because, my hatred for your husband can't and doesn't outweigh my knowing of the fact that if not for his resources, for his team, my story could have played out very differently." The most subtle yet visible softening of his expression. "I know what you did for my wife. For my daughter." Solana lifts her chin, mindful of her expression, though unable to ignore the emotion brewing. "You saved their lives, protected them, and that's a debt I can never truly repay."

Unexpected. It's such an unexpected thing to leave the mouth of the man who could, arguably, be her husband's biggest enemy.

She can practically feel the hate radiating off his big body.

Off both of them, really.

But, dimmed by that hate, with Cody, at least, is something else. Sincerity. He seems sincere with his words.

"You're wrong," she speaks for the first time. Roman never takes his eyes off Cody, however. "You can repay it, even though I don't see it as a debt or something that needs to be repaid. I saved your wife and protected your daughter, because that's who I am." Similar words said to Domingo. Words that she means with everything in her. Same for the next set that comes out. "But, if you see it as a debt, I'll hold you to that."

"Solana—"

"You want to settle that debt?" Solana moves past Roman's arm, feeling him reach for her hip as she approaches Cody with zero reservation. "I want your word that you will never lay a hand or bring any harm to my family or my husband." At that, there's visible shock from the man before her, and probably from the one behind her. "You hate Roman? That's fine. He hates you just as much, if not more. But, the same way he's not brought any harm to you or yours in years, I expect you to do the same. You stay the hell away from him. Now and until the end of time."

Truth be told, this was the last thing Solana expected to come out of this meeting. Her essentially threatening the leader of the Nightmare Factory. But, the opportunity to take advantage of what the man views as a debt is too great to pass up. If she can secure protection for her husband, for her future children, she'll do it every time.

His voice remains even. "That sounds a lot like a threat.”

"Your perception of my words is of no consequence to me." She shakes her head, nose turned up almost. "You can view it however you want. Just know that I have the Bloodline, the Cosa Nostra, and the Cartel behind me." Power. She has power. "And you know what I did to protect your family." Solana inches forward, head tilted, voice dangerously calm as she ominously asks, "so, what do you think I'd do to protect mine?"

Never ever would Solana do anything to directly hurt Brandi or Emma. Truth be told, she doesn't even want to see anything necessarily happen to Cody. But, she's not naive, either. She knows how this works. Knows that it's everyone for themselves, so she has to do what she has to do for hers.

Solana remains planted directly in front of him, gaze unwavering. Unbothered but aware of the fact that Roman stays close behind her, waiting and ready to move, if necessary.

Cody maintains her gaze, eventually nodding. "Alright." She remains still. "You have my word, Solana Reigns." Still unmoving. Waiting for it. "No harm will come to you or yours from me or mine."

Confirmation. Solana's response is simple. The bare minimum. "I plan to hold you to that."

And, she will.

Cody offers only a nod as he slowly steps back, a last glance toward Roman before turning to walk away.

Roman doesn’t look away. Not until the SUV's begin to drive off, one by one. It’s then she places her hand on his arm, as he takes a deep breath. “That was bold.”

“It was.” She won’t deny it. Won’t disagree whatsoever. “But, necessary.”

His jaw twitches, as he looks down. “Solana—”

“No one is ever going to come after our family again, Roman,” she vows. She means it with everything in her, too. “And, if they’re stupid enough to try….we’ll give them hell.”

Because, if there’s one thing this whole experience has taught and shown her, it’s that she’s not alone.

They’re not alone.

And, they never will be again.

Solana takes his hand in hers, squeezing gently. “Let’s go home, baby.”

—--------

“Aye, the players have gotten too soft, I swear.” Santos sneers with all of the disgust, watching the game playing on the flat screen TV.

Dwayne lifts up his beer, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. Lil pussies can’t take a fucking hit anymore.”

“That’s cause they don’t let those boys play anymore,” Steve snorts, finishing his second—or third—beer of the night. “Everything’s a fucking penalty.”

“I’ve never understood the appeal of American football,” Matteo admits, also sipping his beer.

“And, I’ve never understood the appeal of most male dominated sports,” Afia chimes, walking past and leaning over behind the sofa to kiss her husband on the cheek. “Though some do look mighty fine doing so.”

Matteo sits up. “Hey.” Afia’s laughter is heard as she walks down the hall, heading to the kitchen but not before motioning for Solana to follow her.

Solana, situated on Roman’s lap, looks down at her husband. “Baby—”

“What the fuck was that?” Roman shouts at the TV, his expression of frustration chorused with the other men seated around their living room. “Are you fucking shitting me? How was that not holding?”

Solana giggles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” he responds, gaze focused more on the TV than anything. She yelps when he slaps her ass as she adjusts her dress before walking off.

In the kitchen, Solana finds the majority of the women lounging in her kitchen, some sitting at the island, some preparing their second plate of food, some just casually chatting.

It’s an expected group, as the rest of the party attendees, primarily the older folks including her abuela, Bayley’s parents, and her grandma in a separate part of the house, watching the kids. Mostly, Afia and Matteo’s boys, as well as Melina and Santos son.

Sana preferred to stay with the women, where she currently sits atop Bayley’s lap.

She’s taken a strong liking to her, ever since their time spent in Isla Mujeres.

“It’s amazing how football seems to be the universal language of men.” Melina says with a sigh, gesturing to where the group have been glued to the TV since the game started a half hour ago. “Any other time, they’d be trying to kill each other.”

Bayley makes a sound from where she sits on the bar stool, Sana on her lap, headphones on, attention on the tablet in her hand. She’s in her own little world. “Give it time.”

Ava makes a sound of agreement. “Especially with Big Ears over there.”

“Hey.” Solana remains standing, hand rubbing her belly. “Be nice.”

“What?” Ava scowls, rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry, Solana, but you gotta admit those ears are big as hell. He looks like—what’s that Dwarf with the big ears?”

Mickie snorts, sipping on her wine. “The ears ain’t the only thing that’s big.”

Cam’s mouth drops. “Mickie, you gotta stop that.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Ava grimaces, walking over to grab the bottle of wine to refill her cup.

“What? Did I lie?” Seeing the partially confused, partially intrigued expression on Stephanie’s face, Mickie leans over to whisper in her ear.

When she pulls back, Stephanie’s mouth drops a bit, asking in her deep accent, “that big?”

Rhea looks like she’s about to vomit. “Disgusting!”

Solana covers her face, but spread fingers allowing her to see the smirk on Stephanie's face as she comments before sipping her beer. “I see why you’re pregnant.”

“You guys, stop it. That’s her husband,” Afia steps in, shaking her head before a smirk falls on her face. “Must run in the family.”

“Stop!” Solana shouts, eyes wide as laughter breaks out among the group, herself included as she shakes her head. “You guys are terrible.”

“Naw.” Mickie shakes her head, laughter settling into a small smile. “We’re family.”

It’s an announcement that brings a comfortable silence over the spacious kitchen and women currently occupying the space.

To say Solana was nervous about revealing her “dead but not dead” plot to some of the women around her would be an understatement. While recognizing the necessity of it for a myriad of reasons, it was still a difficult thing to do at the time and even more difficult to reveal as a non-truth.

Solana knew her friends would be mourning her death, mourning the tragic loss of her “life,” having to spend over a month in this headspace in believing her to no longer be among the living.

So, sharing the truth, explaining the real story, was something she was not only nervous about but not looking forward to. She hated doing that to them. Necessary or not.

But, a few days after being home, spending time with just her husband, Solana knew the longer she waited, the harder it would be. Her friends deserved the truth, and it’s a truth she delivered to them.

There were a lot of emotions. A lot of anger and confusion. Rightfully so. And, Solana accepted and handled it all, because again, it was deserved.

But, it was after that dust settled, a new, strong emotion was present.

Relief.

They were relieved to know she was alive and even expressed understanding why Solana had to fake her murder. Recognized it was to protect her and her unborn children.

And ultimately, they were just happy to have their friend back.

To have their family.

And, that’s why, on the last day of the year, at this New Years Eve party she planned and organized in only a couple of days, Solana will bring in the New Year surrounded by her loved ones.

Her family.

“Enough of the sex talk.” Ava takes the lead to divert the conversation to something else, as she looks over at Solana. “Have you and Dumbo decided on names for the girls?”

Sounds of agreement and similar questions hit the ears of a smirking Solana. “Maybe.”

Melina scoffs, playfully shoving her, as she’s the closest. “Well?”

Shrugging, Solana answers truthfully. “We’re keeping their names a secret until they get here.” As expected, groans and grumbles, prompting her to clarify. “There’s….there’s a story there that makes how we picked them personal, so we just want to keep it between us….for now.”

An agreed upon thing between the two of them, not to mention Roman and Solana having zero desire to explain that they’d both had dreams or visions of the girls before they even came to be. That’s such a special, intimate thing that both would like to keep between them.

Including the girls' names.

As she said, for now.

“I get that,” Afia offers an olive branch. “Plus, really, it’s no one’s business except you and him.”

“True,” Mickie makes a face. “But, we’re also nosy.”

“Not your uterus,” Rhea chimes, lifting her drink. “Not your business.”

Solana smiles. Though Rhea, and even Stephanie, are new additions to the group, they blend seamlessly. And, to Rhea, Solana owes so much. She was a part of the team that helped rescue her. She didn’t have to. She didn’t even know Solana, but she did, and for that, Solana is immensely grateful.

Stephanie nods, looking over at the other woman. “I like her.”

Bayley chuckles. “Of course, you do.” She looks down at Sana who continues to play on her tablet, comfortable and oblivious. “But, they are right. You can tell us when you’re ready, prima. Or, ya know, at the baby shower.”

At that, Solana frowns a bit. “Baby shower?”

Afia looks over at her sister-in-law. “You didn’t think we weren’t going to throw you a baby shower for your first pregnancy, did you?”

Solana opens her mouth only to close it before admitting. “I guess….I didn’t think about it.” She truly hadn’t. With everything that’s happened the past few months, it never even occurred to her that that is also something that should happen. “But, you guys really don’t have to—”

“Too late,” Melina speaks up, sharing. “We already put down the deposit on the venue this past Monday.”

Solana continues to be taken back. “That quickly?” Part of her surprise is also at the fact that despite only knowing about her still being alive for a matter of days, the group has fallen right back into their sense of normalcy.

It’s appreciated.

More than they could ever know.

“But, don’t bring Roman,” Ava adds, nose turned up in disgust. “Leave his ass here.”

Rhea looks confused. “Isn’t he the father?”

Stephanie also speaks up, just as confused. “And her husband?”

Ava, however, shrugs. “And?” She quickly provides what Solana can consider to be a valid point. “He hates people and social interactions anyway.”

They’re not entirely wrong, and Solana had only briefly discussed a baby shower with her husband, but that was before. Before…..everything.

She’s not too sure where he would stand on it now, though a part of her wonders if it being planned for them (her) would change anything.

“He agreed to this.” Cam offers another valid point.

“Yeah, because she probably promised to sit on his face once we all leave.”

“Mickie!”

Melina pinches the bridge of her nose. “I swear to God, they should have never taken you off that damn Lithium.”

Solana shakes her head right as another subject change commences. “You girls are all way too focused on the wrong things.” Afia once again looks over at her sister-in-law. “Are we just not going to discuss that gorgeous ring on her finger?”

Solana is blushing once more, looking at her….engagement ring? Wedding ring? She’s not sure just what to call it considering she’s already legally married. She just knows that Afia is 100% correct.

It’s gorgeous.

“Do you have any idea how rare and expensive pink diamonds are?” Bayley asks, her question more rhetorical than anything. “That man may hate everyone else, but he certainly loves you.”

Admiring her ring, Solana is immediately taken back to the most unexpected, yet beautiful night of her life. Roman proposing to her. Giving her something she never got to experience. Giving her a choice.

Though that last part feels a bit unnecessary.

In any circumstance, in any life, in any universe, she’ll always choose him.

Every single time.

“Clearly,” Rhea chuckles and asks. “Have you two picked a date?”

At that, Solana’s smile deepens. “Valentine’s Day.”

It’s actually a date, surprisingly enough, he suggested. Roman shared that he’d discussed with Ava and Fetu, before the latter’s passing, proposing to her on Christmas and them having another wedding on Valentine’s Day. The dates primarily being Fetu’s suggestion.

He told her Fetu thought it would be romantic and a way for them both to experience some of the holidays after spending years not doing so.

Solana couldn’t agree more.

Melina’s smile deepens. “Really?”

Solana nods. “And you’re all invited.” It should be obvious, but in the event it isn’t, she wants to make it clear. “It will be in Isla Mujeres though, so just clear your schedules.”

Because Solana can’t imagine a better place to once again commit herself to her better half than in the place where so many memories have been made.

And, there’s so many more to come.

—-------

"Wait," Mickie takes another quick gulp of her drink, before looking around the room. "Am I really the only one who's done the math?"

Nearing closer to midnight, the group has all transitioned back to the living room, everyone coupled up, with the exception of the non-couples. The older folks remaining in the separate room, some of the kids laid to bed in some of the guest rooms.

That last part was definitely a hard sell for Solana when she first brought up the idea of a New Year’s Eve party to her husband. The fact that some folks might end up spending the night, due to how late it would be.

He was….less than pleased.

Melina rolls her eyes from where she sits on Santos lap. "What math, Mickie?"

Solana is partially confused on just how they got on the topic of her pregnancy once more, but she’s at least willing to see where it goes.

Even if something tells her it won’t be….the best.

Mickie downs the rest of her drink, stumbling over to stand in the middle of the living room. She’s definitely one of the ones who will be sleeping off her hangover shortly after the clock strikes midnight. "Our collective goddaughters are due sometime in May, correct?" A few head nods from the group. "That means they were conceived sometime in August, and guess where we—" She motions to herself, Cam, Melina, and Solana. "—were in August?"

It’s an answer most know, and for those who don’t, Solana doesn’t really care either way. Because everyone sitting around her has proven their loyalty and ability to be trustworthy. A bittersweet thing, because the absence of Jimmy and Naomi is noticeable. And, she hates it.

Hates that they’re not there.

Hates where they are right now.

She can only pray this time next year, things will be different.

Hopefully.

“Wait a minute.” Afia sits up, looking over at Solana. “Did you….” She trails off, clearly not wanting to necessarily give away the specifics given the presence of the latest additions.

If only Dwayne felt the same.

“Yeah, they were fucking while she was away at treatment.”

“Dawyne.” Roman shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Guys.” Solana’s eyes widen in horror. She’s certain her cheeks must be flushed red.

“A lot, too,” Mickie adds, making a face. “We could hear them.”

“Can we please change the subject?” Solana begs, hand over her face.

“Or, ya’ll can all just get the hell out of my house.” Roman suggests. He sounds dead serious, too. She sighs loudly. Of course. “That’s an option, too.”

“I mean, sex is a natural thing,” Rhea shrugs, sitting on the loveseat with Stephanie. “Fucking is fun.”

Steve, however, starts coughing a bit. “Christ, Rhea.” He shakes his head, waving his hand. “Have some fuckin’ decency for your old man, kid.”

Hearing such differing accents, Stephanie sits forward, motioning between the two. “How are you two—”

“It’s a long story,” Rhea dismisses. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Solana would also love to learn that backstory.

As the clock ticks on, nearing closer and closer, the groups unite, largely due to the true party nature the event takes on. A specifically curated playlist blasting a collective genre of tunes. R&B. Pop. Dance. Spanish. A perfect mixture, boasting some of the best songs, perfect and most fitting for the occasion.

Happily, the gang mingles and dances, with the exception of a few folks, Roman and Matteo included.

Though, Solana finds her heart swelling seeing those two interact. She’d briefly spoken with Afia about what she knew of their mother’s unexpected return, and it seemed Matteo was just as tight lipped as his brother.

It’s something, however, the women are not going to let go. They’ll be there for their husbands in any way they need and face whatever their mother re-entering their lives brings about.

Together.

Solana’s smile is stapled as she dances playfully, sometimes sultry. The latter often earns her being pulled into her husband as he so eloquently reminds her just how she got pregnant in the first place.

But, when the music shifts to one of her favorite Celine Dion tunes, That’s The Way It Is, Solana becomes more aware of the time. It’s only a couple minutes until midnight, and for what feels like the twentieth time tonight, that familiar pressure on her bladder is begging to be tended to.

Solana breaks away, shuffling past her husband, heels long gone at that point. “I have to use the bathroom.”

He frowns. “Again?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not my fault that your daughters are sitting on my bladder.”

He says nothing, just moves his hand to her stomach. Her grin is small. It seems that’s become his favorite hand placement these days.

She leans up and kisses his cheek. “Be right back.”

Solana makes her way to one of the bathrooms on the first floor.

There's something insanely relieving about removing that weight off her bladder, even if she knows it's bound to return within the hour, maybe two, if she's lucky. Regardless, it grants her some semblance of relief, and she'll take it all.

Solana flushes the toilet and moves over to the sink, squeezing out the strawberry shortcake scented hand soap into her palm. Hitting the knob with her wrist, she garners just enough water to build up a good lather. Washing her hands while humming along to the music that makes it through even the thick door, she turns off the water and reaches for the hand towel on the bar to the right of her.

Briefly, Solana's gaze falls onto herself in the mirror, and she freezes.

Time stands still, it seems, as she takes in her reflection.

Really looks at herself. Seeing herself for the first time in a long time. If ever.

Seeing not scars and flaws or the reflection of someone broken, damaged, unworthy of love and adoration.

She doesn't see that same 10 year-old girl who woke up one morning with hopes and plans for a brand new, brighter future only to wake up in a hospital and find not only was that future forever gone, but the one person who meant the most to her at the time was also gone.

She doesn't see the 12 year-old girl who wasn't even old enough to have had the talk about what sex is but had already been violated in the most unholy of ways, her innocence ripped away from her by pure evil.

She doesn't see the 16 year-old girl who'd grown too exhausted, felt far too heavy to continue to go on, to continue to live. Who'd ultimately made the decision to try to end her own life.

She doesn't see the 28 year-old thrust into an impossible situation, believing her only options were either kill or be killed, the latter of which, seeming more of a relief than anything.

She doesn't even see the 29 year-old woman who just months ago regressed so deeply that she'd once again tried to kill herself, because she felt the damage was too heavy, and life for everyone around her would be easier if she no longer existed.

She doesn't see any of that.

She doesn't feel any of that.

Solana sees a woman. A beautiful, strong, courageous woman who still has her struggles, will always have to battle her vices, but whose good far outweighs the bad. She sees a woman in love with a man who means more to her than words can describe. She sees a wife, a sister, a friend, a cousin.

A mother.

For the first time, Solana sees her.

When you're ready to go and your heart's left in doubt.

The woman her mother always said she would become.

Don't give up on your faith

Tears build in her eyes as she lifts one hand to her clavicle, ghosting her fingertips over the inked tattoo representing her better half. Her person. Her soulmate.

Love comes to those who believe it

Her other hand settles on her belly, the safe space where her girls grow stronger and bigger with each day that passes, preparing for their grand arrival into the world.

Her eyes shut.

"I did it, mommy," she murmurs, lifting her watery gaze to the ceiling with an emotional smile. "I got my happy ending."

And that's the way it is.

The sound of voices rising from where the bulk of the guests remain remind Solana of the countdown. Sniffling and shaking her head, her smile remains as she goes to open the door, hitting the light switch as she walks out.

A tiny gasp leaves her mouth, a brief pang of tension rising when she's grabbed, only for it to settle at the familiar set of hands grasping and gently spinning her so that she's backed against the wall.

Solana's smile widens as she looks up at her husband. "Hi."

Roman chuckles, as he stands before her, one hand going to cup her cheek, the other on her hip. "Hi."

"Ten!"

"Did I take too long?"

"Nine!"

He makes a sound, gaze softening. "You know I'd wait for you forever."

"Eight!"

Her smile deepens as she reaches up, wrapping her arms around him, her baby bump pressed against his stomach. "Good thing you don't have to."

"Seven!"

His eyes briefly dip to her belly. "Everything good?"

"Six!"

"No," she answers, softly. Naturally, his expression shifts to something close to concern. "It's perfect."

"Five!"

Roman's smile is small but oh-so-telling. He starts to dip his head towards hers when movement between them, felt by both, makes him pause. Naturally, Solana giggles, the two of them looking down.

"Four!"

"I'm telling you, it's Lina." His hand moves to her belly, feeling around to where one of their girls just kicked. She knows it's only one, because she's felt when it's both of them. Big difference. "She's gonna be active just like her daddy."

"Three."

At that, his smile deepens just a bit, his eyes flitting up to hers. "I love you."

"Two."

It doesn't seem to matter just how many times he says it. How many times she hears it. It never gets old.

Solana reaches behind his neck, lowering him so that their lips are only inches apart, his icy breath cool against her face.

"One!"

"I love you, too."

"Happy New Year!"

Fanfare and celebration from down the hall as the husband and wife celebrate privately, lips dancing in that sensual song of promise and oath. A declaration of love, now and forever.

Voy a reír

Voy a bailar

Vivir mi vida

Solana gasps and smiles against his mouth, hearing the familiar lyrics of another of her favorite tunes. "I love this song."

"Baby, you say that about every song."

Solana, rightfully, ignores him, stepping back and taking him by the hand. "Come on."

In true Roman nature, he protests. "I think I like it over here."

Again, he is ignored as she drags him back into the living room where the rest of the attendees celebrate. Old with young. Young with old. The children havinh awoken to bring in the new year with their parents and relatives.

Her abuela pulls her into a hug. Maternal and warm. Kissing her on the cheek and feeling on her stomach.

Several hugs and various forms of acknowledgement. The affection and joy permeating the space, Solana filled with so much love and appreciation.

Happiness.

She feels happy.

Her smile remains stamped on her face as she moves back over to Roman who leans against the wall, watching her the entire time. Humming to the music, she moves her arms up his chest, swaying against him.

Roman looks down at her, sensing her joy. “What is he saying?”

She smiles. He’s referring to the lyrics.

Voy a reír

“I’m gonna laugh,” she translates.

Voy a gozar, Vivir mi vida

Truer joy, peace, and gratitude have never existed nor been felt than in this moment. Unbreakable and unshakable peace as she shares what she feels and doesn’t plan to deter from ever again.

Ever.

“I’m going to enjoy living my life.”

-------------

authors note: i sincerely and legitimately can't believe we've reached the end of book 1. i won't bore you all with my rambling. just wanna say thank you immensely to every single person who's read, liked, commented, and/or reblogged this story. it's been such a ride, and i'm so thankful for all the support and everyone who stuck it out with me to get to this point. 🥺

the proposal scene was never included in the original outline, but i've just been so thankful and grateful for all the support you all have shown my little story that i wanted to say thank you. also can't wait for ya'll to see her wedding dress that i've deadass had picked out for months lmao

possibly considering a oneshot/to show their love scene upon solana returning home, as it just didn't make the cut for this already long ass final chapter.

lastly, if you haven't heard already, there will be a sequel, book 2. first chapter should be out in a couple of weeks.

muchas gracias, amigas. ❤️

#fic recs #BLOWN AWAY FROM THIS SERIES

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terraswallows · 2 days ago

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Diary of an Awkward trans-girl : Day 9

Dear Diary,

You know, one of the hardest things about being a trans girl without much money… isn’t just the cost. It’s the excuses. The quiet moments where I have to tell friends I can’t go out, or why I’ve had to cancel again, or why I’m always calculating every cent. Medication, laser, gym, cloths, trying to build a body and voice that feel like mine—and then still needing enough to make it through the month. It all adds up. Every single part of me feels like it has a price tag attached to it, and I’m just trying to buy back myself in little pieces.

And then there's my father.

It’s strange. He kind of supports me… in that way where he doesn’t push me out, doesn’t scream, doesn’t threaten. He'll make excuses for me to others when needed, and in his own broken way, I can tell he’s trying. But he still won’t call me by my name. My real name. The one I chose. The one that feels like me. He still asks why I’m doing this to myself. Why I can’t just accept the way I was born. Why I have to go and change everything. He tells me I’ll regret it someday. That I should just be “normal.”

And those words—they hurt more than I want to admit.

But then he tells me he doesn’t say these things to be cruel. Just that… it’s not in his nature to understand. That it’s too different, too much, too far from the world he grew up in. He says he’s too old to “get it,” and that he wishes things could go back to how they were.

But how could I ever want to go back to before? Back to a time where I had to wear a mask every day, hiding the parts of me that felt the most alive?

I tell him. I tell him how I’ve always felt. How I’d look in the mirror and not recognize the reflection. How I’d drift through life feeling more like a ghost than a girl. And when I say these things, he just shrugs. Like he hears me—but doesn’t know what to do with that truth.

Still… I can see he tries. In his quiet, awkward, fumbling way, he tries. He doesn't say the right things. He doesn’t always listen. But he stays. And maybe that’s something.

I guess this is just another kind of transition, isn’t it? Not just me becoming who I am—but the people around me learning how to love that version of me, even when they don’t understand her. Even when they’re scared of who I might become.

I just hope someday, he’ll see the woman in front of him. Not as a stranger. Not as a mistake. But as his daughter.

And maybe, just maybe… he’ll finally call me by my name.

#trans gender #trans #trans community #transgender #mtf trans #transfem #lgbtq #lgbtqia #trans woman #transgirl

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maybejj · 2 days ago

Note

what are your headcanons for theo as he gets older? what is he like as a teenager or young adult? or even a young kid (like 6-10)?

i love this question!! this lowkey healed my writers blocked i’m ngl. this also turned out longer than i expected so enjoy! 🫶🏻

theo throughout the years.ᐟ

ᯓ★ theo as a toddler is very shy and quiet. if he’s uncomfortable, he will hid behind his mom or dad’s legs. however, he is wild as a buck around the pogues (jj instigates this behavior) since he’s known them his whole life. pope is lowkey his favorite for sure but theo would never say because he doesn’t want to hurt jj’s feelings although sarah is a close second. he observes everything. he’s always watching every interaction. he’s a very curious baby and has so many questions. he gets scared real easy and is a total mamas boy down to his core. he’s tiny but he’s mighty so don’t mess with his mama. he’s obsessed with superman and legos! loves to build anything and everything his little mind comes up with. for valentine’s day, pope helped him build one of the flower lego sets to give to reader. she proudly displays it as the centerpiece on the kitchen table.

ᯓ★ theo as a young kid is still quite shy. it doesn’t take him as long to open up to people anymore but he’s definitely still cautious. he loves being outside and riding around on his bicycle rafe bought him. he’s starting to enjoy the ocean more and more at this age (wasn’t a big fan of water for awhile) so jj really hops on the opportunity to teach him how to surf. theo ends up loving it! he kinda has a temper in this stage of his life. he gets frustrated easily, has tantrums out of nowhere. he gets overwhelmed easier and will hit the side of his head when his environment becomes too much. rafe and reader work with him on this but it takes time. he loves going to his dads office and looking out the window-it’s very high up so he pretends he’s flying above the city like superman.

ᯓ★ theo as a teenager is very outgoing. once he hits puberty, he becomes very confident in himself. he’s basically rafe’s mini me in the best way possible. his sharp blue eyes are his biggest weapon. uses them to get whatever he wants and it works everytime. he becomes interested in baseball and golfing and rafe gets so excited about this. constantly taking him to the country club on the weekends. buying him all the expensive baseball bats, gloves, etc. he will only have the best of the best. he still lowkey loves superman but he doesn’t want his friends to think he’s lame so he saves his geek out sessions until pope comes over. his love for building things has only increased as he gets older so he takes a woodworking shop class at school and makes his mom all kinds of things. every holiday/birthday/special occasion, he builds her something she can use. at this point, 95% of their house is scattered with stuff he’s built his mom. his still has a slight temper but nowhere near as bad as when he was younger. still very protective of his mother, even more so now that he’s older and is more aware of everything. no one is messing with his mom.

ᯓ★ theo as a young adult is very successful. he goes to UNC and studies architecture. he just loves to build things so he decides to make a living off of it. he wants to start his own business eventually so he shadows rafe for a few months to get the basics down. he’s had a few girlfriends by now but nothing serious, he’s more focused on his career at this point. he’s a great public speaker and always leads all the group projects in college. he doesn’t play any sports in college but volunteers as a baseball coach in his free time for his hometowns little league. he also golfs on the weekends with rafe when he has time. also loves coming into town and having dinner with his parents. he loves sitting down with them and telling them what he’s learned in college and what he’s currently working on. rafe always asks if he’s seeing anyone and reader just rolls her eyes at the typical boy talk. theo always laughs when they start bickering. he’s learned how to control his anger completely by this age and thinks things through before making any decisions. eventually starts his own business after he’s got a couple of years of experience and rafe really helps him out when theo starts to doubt himself. his business doesn’t do as good as he thought in the first year so rafe dedicates a lot of his time and effort into helping his son build it back up and where he wants it to be. definitely still builds things for his mom. it just becomes second nature and he loves being able to give her things that no one else has.

#rafe cameron #babydaddy rafe #babydaddy!rafe #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron’s son #head canon #twin flames: rafe smau #rafe cameron headcanons #baby daddy rafe #ashley asks⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#psychicnatural asks ✨

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winterzsurprise · 3 days ago

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Change My Mind [8]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 7.3k

hello, sorry for ghosting you all. I got busy with school and projects. This chapter is brought to you by my PCD because I saw hobi a few days ago and its kicking my ass. I think this chapter being focused (kinda) on Hoba says a lot so yeah. Not proofread, will fix and add more later. Any tips on recovering from pcd cause woahhh wth

please do tell me if ya'll want to be added to the taglist. pls leave a comment or my jk pcs will be sleeping outside my window

edit 16/04/25: fixed grammar mistakes, added new scenes during Hobi and Reader's interaction in his studio, and a couple of paragraphs here and there, that is all.

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

________

When Seokjin came to consciousness, it wasn’t to the ear-shattering blares of Jungkook’s alarms a few doors down nor was it to someone shaking him awake. For the first time in his life, he was instead woken up by the feeling of someone’s warm touch tracing the sharpness of his jaw.

His eyes flew open, heart jackhammering in his chest at the thought of someone climbing into his bed while he was at his most vulnerable state only to calm down at the sight of you looking down at him with the softest look in your eyes and the breath in his lungs was punched out.

Seokjin is not a poetic guy, that was Namjoon and Yoongi, but if he had a morsel of their creative minds, he would’ve waxed anthologies upon anthologies just to describe how your gaze, overflowing with the sweetness of love, had made his mind stutter and his heart skip a beat. He’d say how it can definitely make a man win a war all by himself and the heat of your love to keep him warm during the winters.

Realization came to him like a sudden flash of thunder, his brain becoming more aware of the haziness and the peculiarity of it all.

Your gaze, usually warm and friendly, is mellowed out and overflowing with the sweet, stickiness of love as if you’re looking at him with all the love that exists in the world. His fingers trembled when it reached out to touch your cheeks, scared that once he touched this image, this hallucination of his would fizzle out and he’d wake up with more longing than he’s already feeling.

This is a dream, it must be. You’ve never looked at him like that.

Yet. His mind whispered.

He was dreaming but the warmth of your cheeks and the softness of your skin brushing against his fingers felt so real it made him shiver.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Li-like what?”

He didn’t know if this dream was a nightmare or not, hearing your voice and feeling your fingers caressing his skin so softly . It was cruel how gentle you were handling him, how the heat of your hands when it cupped his cheeks had sent electric shocks throughout his body, stirring every part of him awake.

Then before the question could even leave his lips, you leaned down to press your lips on his and his brain short-circuits.

Your lips are as perfect as the rest of you, it slotted in between his so perfectly it ached. He felt breathless from the brief contact, stomach ticklish as his mind repeated the same sensations and memories over and over again. Suddenly, the cumulation of longing and withheld desires surfaces and his fingers twitch at where they laid on either side of your face.

It’s just a dream, you can do everything you ever wanted. A darker, greedier voice at the back of his head whispered and he almost let himself follow its whims.

“There you go again.” You said and his brewing thoughts faded into the background. “Stop looking so… sad.”

“I look… sad?”

“Like a kicked puppy,” You laughed, hand coming up to his cheeks and the smell of your sweet lotion invaded his senses. “I’m here with you now, stop looking so defeated.”

You kissed him again but this time it was in the spot in between his eyebrows and the tip of his nose. Seokjin didn’t know how greedy he could be, never knew how hungry he was until he felt your lips pressing against his skin.

It’s just a dream , the logical part of his brain whispered to him but it still felt wrong .

He shouldn’t be doing this, he should be better than this. He needs to wake up before he completely lose himself in his own imagination.

This dream was toying with the already frayed thread holding his flimsily gathered self-control. It's like dangling a game in front of a predator who’s been starved for years. It’s so tempting to just lean in and kiss you, to pull you down and let his hands roam down the curves of your body.

“Jinnie.”

“Yes?”

“Stop holding back.” He takes a deep shuddering breath as his brain catches up on your words. “I want this. I want you.”

snip!

Suddenly overcome with the molten heat of desire lighting his skin, he surged up to capture your lips with his, hands cradling and pulling your face to him. With a yelp, you tip over to fall on top of him. Seokjin waited for you to push him away, to fight against his hold, to stand and walk away from him with a disgusted look on your face but none of those happened. Instead, your hands cradled his face and brought him closer for a kiss as breathtaking as you make him everyday.

Seokjin didn’t care that he was dreaming, his body burned with the intense desire he had tampered down for so long and if he didn't kiss you now he might actually combust.

How long has he longed to feel the heat of your skin against his? How long had he stirred restlessly at night wondering how comforting it would be to feel your weight on top of him and your body pressing against him? He couldn’t count how many nights had gone where he’d wake up sweaty, body electric from the rampant and unsatisfied need running in his veins, wishing he could expel the carnal hunger rooted deeply within him with you.

And he had tried, god knows how he tried to find someone else, to move on like you had done but his skin would crawl from their touch and his stomach would churn whenever they looked at him. Even staring at someone longer than what is appropriate felt like committing the biggest sin.

You had ruined him for any other woman without even doing much and he didn't know whether he should be thankful or not.

Seokjin doesn’t dream often but when he does, it is never about you.

Until tonight.

You gasped into his mouth as his kisses grew hurried and his roaming hands grew more confident in its exploration, teasingly brushing the underside of your breasts before it would fall to and your fingers threads into his hair before tugging on them. The sting of his scalp immediately melted into hot pleasure that dripped down to his abdomen. He was undeniably hard, bursting at the seams from harmless kissing and if lust wasn’t clouding his mind, he would’ve been embarrassed.

He trailed kisses down your throat where your perfume smells the strongest and he groaned before beginning to lave his tongue over your skin and gently sucking on them, relishing in the soft sighs he’s reaping. You shifted under him, no doubt feverish with desire like he is, and your thigh brushed against him, making him tighten his hold onto your waist as a shuddering exhale left him.

Seokjin wasn’t pure, he’s had one or two experiences with women before you came into his life, still it was embarrassing how he had reacted from how you had nudged against him.

“Jinnie…” You sighed and his heart stuttered at how sweet his name sounded spilling out your lips. “Stop teasing me, I want you.”

He detached himself from your throat to take a look at his masterpiece, gently thumbing the small but purple bruises on your skin before daring to look up.

And god, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

With your hair strewn messily around your head, you looked like an absolute angel with a halo. Your lips are swollen red and your eyes are blown black as it stared back at him with the same exact amount of need itching his skin. Letting his eyes fall to your neck littered with his marks and the uncharted territories of your thighs, he swallowed hard as his pants grew tighter.

“Jinnie…”

Seokjin…

“You’re so pretty like this, baby.” He whispered.

God, he wanted to do a lot of things with you.

His head a mess trying to figure out what he should do first, fingers twitching as he figured out if he’ll start with shedding your top off—which he just noticed was one of his hoodies, holy fuck —or begin unbuttoning your denim shorts.

“Jinnie please...”

Seokjin…

All those years with only him and his pent-up frustrations whenever he’d see you wear your pretty dresses—the sensual floor-length maxi length dress you had worn for the luxury themed Christmas party with the high slit on the side of your thighs dangerously matched with a pair of red heels forever ingrained into his brain—finally resurfacing and all of a sudden, he’s insatiable, ravenous and one kiss away from his sanity snapping.

You were his to have, to hold and to revere.

God, he feels crazy just thinking about how you were his . He was descending into madness from the unbridled desire he's been holding back and now that he's got you within arms reach, he doesn't know what—

“SEOKJIN HYUNG!”

He shot up from his bed with a scream beyond what his parched throat could tolerate and he started coughing.

Mind immediately catching up on what was happening, he quickly pulled his blanket up to hide the painful tent in his pajamas. The surprise from having his name called out by a voice that belonged to someone else fades and irritation begins to burn his back.

Jungkook, who was the one who had woken him up, eyes half open and blinked blearily back at him, absolutely clueless of what he had just interrupted.

“Why did you wake me up?! Did your parents not tell you how rude it is to wake up someone so abruptly?!” Seokjin didn't really mean to scream that out so loud but he was frustrated.

Who wouldn't be in this situation?

“Why so grumpy? Was your dream really that good?” Seeing the blush spreading on his face, a shit-eating grin grew on his lips. “Was it about noona?”

“What do you want?” He asked, attempting to stir the conversation away.

“Namjoon hyung called me to wake you up, something about needing your voice at the studio to record a demo he had made this morning.”

Turning to the windows, he immediately noticed how the sun was barely even peaking through the horizon and groaned exasperatedly. Namjoon’s mind is usually a blessing but all he could think about was how he wanted nothing more than to strangle the man for having an inspiration this early in the morning, interrupting the only pleasant dream he’s had in years.

Jungkook, although had woken him up due to an order, wasn't safe from the bubbling wrath at the pit of his stomach. How could the men he's supposed to be his brothers by heart do this to him?

If he slept in the car, would it—

“So… how was your dream with noona?”

“GET OUT!”

__________

To say his family was enthusiastic would be the understatement of the year.

The moment the news reached his mother’s ears, it quickly spread throughout the clan and everyone had demanded to hold a banquet, at least a week-long feast to celebrate their first ever tethered in the family.

While he understood their enthusiasm, his shared sentiment quickly soured when the excitement stretched over to the next week and it plunged into the negatives when his aunties began to demand him to discreetly arrange a soulbinding without the other members of the nexus knowing, reasoning that man is born greedy and having multiple men pine for one girl is not a good look.

They didn’t say it outloud but it was clear what they thought of the nexus connection and it pissed him off.

Despite the concept of soulmates existing since the dawn of time, those who are considered normal think of multiple connections as some kind of taboo, something that shouldn’t even exist and having seven men only tethered to one woman is contradicting what mankind deem is typical and expected in a relationship. The underlying judgment under the fake smiles of his aunts’ and the playful comments of his uncles about having to compete with six other men had spoiled his excitement faster than an unrefrigerated fish.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t judged a passing throuple before, he was guilty of once being a little unsettled when he had heard the five trainees a floor below them were all connected to each other. It was human nature to be unsure and frown upon the unnatural after all—not that he’s excusing his behavior from before.

But now that he’s found himself a part of a nexus, Hoseok had surprised himself when he realised how easily he had welcomed the idea of polyamory like a fish to water. Maybe it was the bond forged by sweat and tears he's had with the other guys had made it an easy pill to swallow but being a part of a nexus, he had understood why, despite being against what was considered normal and typical, those throuples and the five boys downstairs fearlessly flaunted each other despite the world's efforts to shame them all.

He eventually learned how to ignore their pestering calls and messages for the sake of his public image because he wouldn’t know what would fly off his mouth if he ever heard them utter another veiled remark about how impure and disgusting it is for one woman to entertain seven men.

Today, he finds himself confused by how Jin has been acting whenever you’re within a meter away from him, flinching back with his ears practically glowing with how red it has turned and stammering every word out like a flustered high schooler because for as long as he know, their oldest has long graduated from acting cute around his crush.

Jungkook choking on his food from his constant laughter whenever they see the eldest fumble and stumble on air only stoked their curiosities further.

“What is it? Why do you keep on laughing?” Jimin asked, voice low and careful to not be caught by their eldest who is currently hissing, and bent over on one leg as he held onto his toe that he had just stubbed on the corner of the island counter.

“Let us in on the joke, come on.” Taehyung goaded on.

Jungkook, surprisingly, shook his head.

“Does all of those years mean nothing to you?”

“Where does your loyalty lie?!”

“Even if I want to tell you guys, Jin knows all the passwords to my accounts. I just hit Grandmaster rank there, I’m not risking it.” Jungkook replied before continuing to stuff his face with his breakfast.

This didn’t deter the two other maknaes, if anything, they grew more determined to uncover the secrets their youngest and eldest managed to gain in a short time. Silently, the rest of them cheered on Jimin and Taehyung, also eager to learn what the secret was but not having the energy to bother.

Almost a month since Jungkook’s birthday, the doctors had finally given you and Jimin the green light to continue work when he found out you both can now last an hour and a half without being in the same room.

It also meant that the tour could finally continue, the management had already informed them of their new schedules.

Days since he found out his tethered status, yet even with a very enthusiastic Taehyung’s help, Hoseok is yet to find what kind of soulmate link he has.

All they knew was that it can alter their appearances but they hadn’t specified what part of the body it’ll affect. There's a thousand possibilities and most of them involve being hurt, something he's not willing to do. He had to turn down a couple of Taehyung's suggestions in the fear of accidentally hurting you in the process. It hurts him to reject Taehyung and seeing his excitement dull but who in their right minds would agree to his experimentations when all he could suggest was pinching him, cutting a small wound on his palm, shaving a patch of hair on his leg or arm, and finally, trying if baldness can also be inherited by the other.

Hoseok thinks the boy had momentarily forgotten they share the same soulmate.

He wasn't rushing to find out his soulmark anyways. Hoseok can wait, he has done so for two years, he can wait a couple days more.

Tossing all the stress of yesterday to the side, Hoseok found himself staring blankly at his monitor, an unfinished melody looping on his speakers, and wondering if there is a soulmate mark out there that can gather all of his thoughts and feelings to become a song he'd just randomly blurt out to help him.

He has a vision.

There’s an almost non-existent melody playing at the back of his head that had been tormenting him since the day he had found out his new status. Ideas overflowed in his mind so much that he might as well have none because of how cramped and cluttered his brain had become. If he were to explain it, his mind was like a lottery ball machine that is teeming with so much it refuses to spill anything out.

Hoseok wanted to dedicate a song to you with a melody as sweet as your voice yet as sparkly and bright as the glint in your eyes. He wanted the word to know that he's been spoken for while barely revealing anything but his mind wasn't cooperating.

Maybe Yoongi can help me with this one...

A shrill sound of his phone shattered through his train of thoughts. Seeing his mother's name on the screen, he quickly picks it up but to his surprise it was Jiwoo who welcomed him.

“Hey, mom’s wondering if you guys plan on ever introducing her and her parents to us and the others?” His sister began, her head popping from the side and covering most of the screen while their mother’s body stood behind her.

Almost every member has complained about their parents wanting them to go through a soulbinding ceremony as soon as possible, claiming it was useless to drag it out.

While he does understand the benefits of being formally and spiritually bonded, everyone thought it was better to court you first.

A bit traditional and pointless as they're all tethered but dating and courting you with roses and fancy dinners has been at the back of everyone's mind. With their eldest insistent on doing so, the others had no choice but to follow.

There's also the North American tour they have to start. The management had made it known how important it is to continue their tour, saying it had been delayed for too long and ARMY were getting antsy so it was difficult to make room for a pre-bonding party and the soulbinding ceremony itself.

“We can't delay the tour any longer so we'll have it once we return home. Besides, the guys and I wanted to properly court her before any binding takes place.”

His mother made a disapproving sound. “I’m worried. You all know that not being formally binded means you guys are more susceptible to hyperactivity, right?”

“Of course we know, we all had a discussion a couple of days back but the tour’s just a couple of weeks. When we all return to Seoul, we'll finally seal the deal.”

“I'll ask the other moms for help arranging it so you guys won't stress about it during the tour, okay?”

“Do you even know how to woo a woman?” Jiwoo asked, a teasing grin on her lips.

“Obviously! What do you take me for?!”

“You buried yourself in work for years, I think I have a good reason to be suspicious of your ability to woo a woman.” Jiwoo retorted. “Your last relationship was back in high school and she dumped you for reasons you haven’t told me yet.”

“Because it's dumb and I’m not giving you more ammo than you already have.”

“Children, the both of you,” his mother sighed, shaking her head. “Can I finally speak now?”

When she was answered by the ashamed silence from the both of them, she continued.

“What are you planning for your date? Where will you guys be when it's finally your time?”

Hoseok turned away from the intense stares he's receiving through the screen because for someone who had insisted he had plans earlier to his sister, he absolutely has no idea on how he'll take you on a date.

A food trip date around a city in disguise has been taken, a dinner on a yacht and a date on a fair got snatched away by their youngest before anyone could even start raising their ideas. A musical in New York is out of the equation too, a romantic night walk in Paris also.

Basically, almost all the date ideas he had were stolen by the others and he’s beginning to consider locking them all in their rooms and cut their charger cords.

“See? I can’t trust my baby brother to know how to woo a woman!”

“What does she like? We’ll help you.”

“The others got most of my ideas, except Jungkook. Nothing can make me ride rollercoasters.”

“Even if your soulmate asks you to?”

Hoseok pondered for a moment.

Does he love you more than he values his life?

“I don't need to anyways, she's got the other maknaes to ride it with her.”

“I mean—”

“What does she like? We need to give you ideas on how your date with her will go.” Their mother interrupts before they continue bantering. “Have you all decided on whose first and last?”

“Jungkook goes first, I don't know how that kid did it but he won against all of us in rock, paper, scissors.”

“You guys are losers.” Jiwoo sighed in the background. “The world's biggest boyband are dorks trapped in handsome bodies.”

“How about you?” His mother asked.

“Miraculously, I got second.”

“Where would you guys be at the time?”

“I can choose between Hamilton and Newark. Chicago is already reserved by someone else.”

“Stargazing?” Jiwoo suggested.

But before he could respond, a knock cut him off. Turning to face the door, his eyes met your concerned pairs as you entered with a plastic bag in hand and a styrofoam food package inside it.

You had your hair in a braid today matched with the most minimal makeup due to you waking up late compared to their usual schedule yet Hoseok thinks you the cutest human he’s ever laid eyes on.

Moreso when you’re the one who’s bringing him food.

“Yoongi had me bring this up to you and to tell you to take a break.”

“Is it time for lunch time already? I think I just ate earlier.” He says, standing up to take the food from your hand and muttering a ‘thank you’ under his breath.

Stepping aside, he invites you into the studio and motioned his hand towards the sofa on the corner of the room. Instantly, you fall into its plush cushion comfortably with your feet hanging on the side and the rest of your body on the cushion.

You look absolutely cozy in your loose pants and oversized hoodie combo that he almost leaned down to fit himself into the space next to you and cuddle up to your side to see if you’re as comfortable as you looked.

Like the others, he had sometimes laid next to you, but he always maintained distance from your body. He wasn’t like the maknaes who had grown used to your hugs and cuddles. Whenever it does happen, he’d always freeze up and pull out his phone to distract him from the loud thuds of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Hoseok wouldn't lie and say he was never jealous of how easily the maknaes could saddle up next to you. It was something he had to learn to swallow or force to the back of his head every time its ugly face rears into his mind.

Seeing you strewn comfortably on his couch, he thinks that maybe he could finally muster up the courage to cozy up next to you.

“Aren't you a bit too comfortable lounging in my studio like this?” He jokingly said.

��We've been together for years, you should know how I act when I see a couch.”

“Still, it would be nice if you could have a bit of decorum.”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m your soulmate.”

It was astonishing how a word could evoke so much within him. Hearing the word ‘soulmate’ felt like a balm after years of stolen gazes and aching yearning to be yours. You were confirming and acknowledging the existence of the still undiscovered bond between you both, something he hadn’t thought he’d ever get, and it made his chest warm.

It was a bit hard at first to get you and Namjoon—who still couldn't believe the very subject he had dedicated a school paper to deny happened to him—to accept the bond but to be constantly exposed to each other at the dorm and be surrounded by the familiar joy from the days before the marks’ manifestation, the both of you grew to welcome the idea more comfortably with each passing day.

And today just happened to be the day where you had verbally acknowledged the bond.

He's sure the others would be ecstatic to hear that you're beginning to accept and see the link in a positive light.

“Were you talking to someone before I came with the food? I didn’t interrupt anything, right?” You asked, grounding his mind to focus on you.

“Just my mom and sister asking about the tour, don’t worr—”

“LIAR! We were teaching him how to woo yo—!” Jiwoo’s voice screamed from the phone before his mother’s reprimanding hushes took over.

“We’ll call you back later to continue our discussion, son. You both have a nice day, alright?”

“Bye mom!”

“See you, auntie.”

With his screen returning to Twitter’s homepage as the call drops, the pin drop silence in the room had reminded him how it's just you and him together.

Alone.

In his studio.

Never in his life did he think having you alone with him would be so daunting.

He stared at his chair in front of the unfinished melody on pause on his monitor then to you who had sat up to unfurl the knot on the plastic bag where two food containers, one rectangular and the other a deep cylinder, stuck between the decision to continuing his work before eventually settling next to you to uncover his food himself.

“So," He began but his voice sounded weaker than he wanted and he cleared his throat. "What did you and Jin have today?”

“We settled with a salad and chicken paired with a milkshake. Yoongi ordered our lunch from that new store by the intersection, you know, the one you pointed out on our way here.”

Leaning down to take a sniff of the biggest container, he then turned to you.

“What did you get me?”

“Guess.”

It doesn't take a genius to know what is inside the container and it made his chest warm at how his friends always remember if he’s craving for something. Yesterday during dinner, he had asked Yoongi if he ever plans on making beef bone broth anytime soon.

Said bone broth is now filling the cylinder container while kimchi fried rice and bulgogi filled the other.

“Did Yoongi order this? Because if he does, I will thank him with my forehead touching the ground.”

“Yeah but Namjoon was the one who brought it up.” You answered as you opened the lid of the big container while he brought the bone broth up to his lips for a couple of quick sips. “Also, the reason why I came here was because we need you down in the styling department. There’s changes made with the tour outfits and they wanted to see if it fits.”

“Now?” He asked before placing down the soup to start eating from the larger container.

“They’re busy with the maknaes now so eat slowly or you’ll choke.”

“But that means they'll have to wait for me.”

“You're paying us to wait for you, so don't worry much.” You said, waving him off.

“You know you don't have to worry about money or working, right?”

He knew not to bring up the matter of jobs and money, but he really couldn't help but be a bit disheartened at how you continue to refuse their offer to pay and buy you everything you'd ever need.

You might just be the only person he knows who'd vehemently deny being spoiled by seven billionaires who are already at her beck and call. Hoseok knew you liked working as their makeup artist but couldn't you still enjoy working for them while dressed in clothes and wearing jewelries they want to adorn you with?

If you were more accepting of their fortunes, you'd have all the diamonds and precious gems in the world filling the kitchen and lounging area of their dorm by tomorrow.

But unfortunately, he and the others have to hold back on spending ridiculous amounts on you.

“I know but sometimes I'd rather be Y/N the makeup artist.” You say, standing up to leave. “It can be a little exhausting being the Bangtan’s Soulmate Y/N.”

For a moment, he panicked. Shouldn't he have brought it up again? Had he set back the progress they had made since the day Jimin had told them what happened?

He almost broke down from how worried he was at your reaction, until you returned with a kombucha in your hand to offer him.

“Don't look so distressed you'd get wrinkles.” You teased.

“I was worried I messed up by saying that, the others would have my head if I had.”

“I'm not angry or annoyed. Surprisingly.” You fall to the space next to him with hands intertwined on your lap and your eyes staring a hole onto the ground. “Didn't know there'll come a day where I'd be more accepting of the fact.”

“Me too.”

__________

Ever since this morning, everyone in your department had been bugging you about your unexplained and sudden absences that spanned over for weeks. Your friends from other departments had jogged up to you in the cafeteria, asking if you felt better after catching a stomach bug.

Minhyuk had successfully spread the news that you got sick from drinking yourself dumb during Jungkook’s birthay with his expansive connection as a cover up and you were struggling with how careful you have to be with your words and keeping your answers as vague as possible.

But out of all the events of today, all you could think about was how Alexa’s gaze had eyed you skeptically and scanned you from head to toe as if she was searching for something. It lingered on your forearm when you had tugged your sleeves up to your elbows and you had subconsciously closed your hands to try and hide the musical note tattoo hidden between your fingers.

Who knew having soulmates could make you a little paranoid?

That being said, there’s been a new rotation for makeup noonas so you couldn’t accidentally activate your soulmarks with Taehyung and Jimin. Even then, everyone had been instructed to take Amoneuron before they leave the dorms to dull the body's sensitivity to the new bond and to somewhat slow the effect from having someone of the opposite gender touch you pre-binding. It would stall it long enough until you both activate your soulmate mark together.

You were assigned to those with the less noticeable soulmarks like Namjoon and Hoseok while Minhyuk and Nabi were assigned to Jimin and Yoongi, Saeyoung—one of the oldest make-up noonas—was lined to only assist Namjoon; which left Jihae and Alexa to tend to Taehyung and Jin

Minhyuk had the stinkiest grimace on his face when he heard.

It was Jihae’s honest mistake since the changes had been abrupt and the pairings were given out on-the-spot. It wasn’t until later did she realise her mistake.

“So you’re saying, the girl with the wild delusions about Jin being her soulmate will be handling Jin? How did that happen?” Hoseok asked, voice barely a whisper as you both dismount the elevator.

“Jihae, bless her old soul, made a mistake when she was matching us up.”

Hoseok’s eyes scanned your face, searching for something you don’t know yet before turning his attention back to the front.

“You and I both know who Jin loves right?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “Of course..? What are you getting at?”

Instead of giving you a proper answer, he just smiled and said: “Good.”

"Hey, I'm not gonna be jealous. He's only got one soulmate and that's me."

A radiant smile splits his face as he lightly pinches your cheeks. "I'm glad you know."

The double doors to the correct styling room parts open and you both head in to see all the stylists and make-up noonas fluttering around in a somewhat organized chaos while the rest of the boys either sat in front of the mirror or stood still in the middle of the room as someone takes their measurements and hold up accessories to their faces.

Like second nature, Hoseok heads to the last available seat at the far left next to Yoongi and a standing Namjoon who’s scrolling through his phone while his stylist fetched a different top from the clothing rack.

“How’s the bone broth? Is it good?” Namjoon starts as the dancer sits down and you began to pull out the palettes and bottles from the rack in his shade.

“Our leader takes care of us so well, I loved it.”

“Why do you say it like he doesn’t care about us at all, Hoseok?” Yoongi instigated next to him with a blank expression as he scrolled through his phone.

“Oh come on, hyung. You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Instead of replying, Yoongi just grinned.

Soon enough, Hoseok’s primary stylist approached you both and began to list down possible make-up looks to match the outfit he’ll be wearing in the US. Picking up the primer and twisting the lid off, you began to work as the stylist pulled up reference pictures of his past make-up looks and other idols faces for inspiration.

Spreading and patting the product onto his face, your heart began to pick up a pace as you grew hyper aware of how close you are to him. Being aware of the unknown soulbond connecting the two of you had changed how you perceive what you used to deem as normal and routinely.

Hoseok has always been stunning with his cute nose and a jaw sharper than the finest of blades but since when did he begin to look as radiant as he does right now? And why are you so nervous?

You take out the foundation bottle with shaky hands and try your best to collect your composure.

But having your brush glide gently down the slope of his nose and having to touch his chin to tilt his head up made the task almost impossible.

It didn’t help that instead of his usual routine of scrolling through his phone, Hoseok was openly staring up at you with an unreadable look. You felt the heat of his gaze as it roamed up to your eyebrows, down to the tip of your nose before it paused at your lips. It left a trailing blaze that instantly melted the wall you tried so hard to establish between you and your soulmates during work.

You were tempted to keep your brush resting on top of his eyelids just so your heart could rest a little.

Every time you sensed it lingering on your lips, your heart would soar. You don't dare to listen to the voice in your head that tells you to look up to meet the other pair of eyes trained on you.

You could see Namjoon staring at you from the edge of your eyes, no doubt hearing how fast your heartbeat is going. You try not to fluster under his gaze too and switch your brush to the other hand to shake the tremble off of your dominant hand.

When Aera, Hoseok’s stylist, had walked away to answer to the other stylist's call, you narrowed your eyes at the dancer.

“Stop looking at me like that and do your usual scrolling through Naver.” You whispered, resolution faltering as a grin splits through Hoseok's perfectly sculpted face.

“I left my phone on the makeup table though.”

Without skipping a beat, you turned to pick up his phone and pushed it into his hand.

“Please look away, you're distracting me.”

Then, as if his stage persona had possessed him, his smile sweetened into a flirty grin. Suddenly, you were faced with an immovable force that is Jung Hoseok. His eyes flit down to your lips and his entire demeanor takes a sharp turn when his gaze grows heavy with longing, deep, desiring red flashing across his eyes and for a moment, you thought he was going to lean in to devour your whole.

Your heart skipped a beat and this time, Namjoon had snapped his head to the both of you.

“Stop teasing her, Hoba. You don't distract your make-up artist when they're doing their job.” Their leader said in a low voice, careful of any eavesdroppers as he placed a hand on his shoulder in almost a warning.

“I've never seen you be flustered like this before, noona. It's a bit addicting to see you turn red for me…”

Namjoon sighed. “Please remain professional inside the BigHit building please. We agreed to not let our personal feelings affect our work, didn't we?”

You sent the man a silent thanks and continued to work. When Aera returns, Hoseok had begrudgingly returned to his usual programming with him scrolling through his phone. But it didn't mean that your heart had calmed down from the previous encounter.

“Y/N? Are you sure you’re okay?” The stylist, Aera asks, concern marring her face as she touches your forehead. “You’re a little red.”

“I-I'm fine, don't worry.”

Hearing this encounter, a proud smile grew on his face.

Doing the rest of his make-up passed by uneventfully, Hoseok had listened to their leader and kept up a professional facade in front of other observers with an ease and coldness of a perfectionist dance leader. Yet even then, you couldn't stop the tremble and the suddenly halts whenever his heady gaze flashes in your mind.

When it was Namjoon’s turn, Minhyuk had finally appeared after discussing with the other stylists, his bright presence immediately drove away the emotions from earlier.

“God, I know we should be professional and all that but I really hate seeing her doing Jin's make-up.” The other make-up artist whispered as soon as he arrived, his eyes trained at the girl behind you. “She looks so smug and it's making me want to scratch her face with a foundation spatula.”

“Isn't a foundation spatula blunt?” Namjoon asked, confused.

“You underestimate how much I hate her with my entire being, Namjoon. Even the bluntest, roundest edge can be turned into a weapon in the hand of a hater.” Minhyuk responded as he took the eyeshadow palette you were stretching out to him before reaching over the brush container for the correct one.

“I think you've just given me inspiration.”

“Well, I’ll be honoured to know that my random blabbering has helped the magnificent leader, RM of BTS.” Minhyuk then bowed his head exaggeratedly, making Namjoon chuckle.

With Minhyuk taking over Namjoon’s eye makeup, you looked over your shoulder to see what he was referring to and found yourself staring at what might just be the most uncomfortable look you've ever seen on Taehyung and Seokjin as Alexa made her preference for Seokjin obvious as she flutter around him, singing honeyed praises and touching his face longer than a staff should. With Jihae busy bouncing ideas with the head of the styling and Saeyoung, Alexa was left unattended with all the freedom to do whatever she wants.

Irritation prickled your skin, not because you were jealous but because she was practically coaxing out a soulmate hyperactivity out of him with how long and often she's brushing against his face. It wasn't like with Nabi who's careful not to touch your soulmates or Saeyoung and Jihae who are already married old women. Alexa, despite being tethered, is yet to find the person with the letters on her skin to complete the bond. She has also expressed strong romantic feelings for Seokjin which could still trigger hyperactivity.

Catching Taehyung’s gaze through his reflection in the mirror, he gave you a panicked look, his thoughts the same as yours.

Luckily, there hasn't been any rising dread or your senses being dialed up to the nines which means the medicine is working.

“That amount of touching would be dangerous, no? I think I should step in.”

But before Minhyuk could begin to march towards them, Seokjin turned to Alexa with the politest grin as he finally let her down slowly if the amusement in Taehyung's eyes were anything to go by.

Shocked and embarrassed by being rejected by the idol in presence of another, she hastily left the room to the confusion of the leaders and oldest women standing near the entrance. Turning to you and Minhyuk, Jihae raised an accusing eyebrow to which you both replied with a shrug. With a sigh, the woman excused herself from the conversation to tend to Seokjin and Taehyung.

“Serves her right.” Minhyuk snorted before turning his attention back to you and ushering you away. "Go calm down the bond with your man. There's chocolate in my bag and go eat it with him."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, hyuk?"

"Only when you're drunk. Now go!"

Quickly retrieving the sweets from Minhyuk's bag, you jogged up to Jin and offered the chocolate to him. With no second spared, he tore through the wrapper and tossed the small candy into his mouth. Its sugary taste bleeds into your tastebuds before the candy touched your tongue. Despite not experience any hint of hyperactivity, there was still a rush of cold relief flushing through your body from having your soulmarks get activated together, as if it was glad to have the bond still intact. A resonating warmth soon replaced the coolness and Seokjin expelled out a long exhale.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

_____________

“Noona, have you packed everything you need?”

You huffed. “Of course I have. I've been doing this for years, you know?”

“Well, even if you forgot something, the others can bring it to you anyways.” Taehyung shrugged as he pushed open the doors of the van and stepped out, offering a hand to you as you followed him out with Jimin behind you.

“I'm starting to hate having idols for soulmates. Leaving the country at midnight to evade reporters and stalkers just isn't for me.”

“On the bright side, you'd never have to worry about money and losing your best friends.” Jimin replied as the three of you strolled into the hidden entrance of the airport. “Plus, you get to have handsome men with all that money and companionship.”

“Can't deny that…” You sighed as the two bodyguards assigned to the three of you guided you into the establishment and you yawned. “God, I'm so sleepy.”

Taehyung pats your back.

“We can sleep on the plane then you can choose between the two of us who you want more," Taehyung paused as he considered his words. "Or you can have both of us at the same time."

“Tae, you know how bad that sounded, right?”

“It's not my fault that you have a rotten mind, Jiminie. You know that I don't mean anything by that.”

TAGLIST: @wildestdreamsblog @canarystwin @prettywheenicry @jmnscutie @sassy-snassy @misuguru @11thenightwemet11 @yoongibaybee @rinkud @bri602 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @marvel-potter-1d-korea @comingupwithacoolnameishard @sooha-neul @juju-227592 @coffeewanderer @x-uno @diamonddia-mond @eggsysstuff @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @sld88 @katsukis1wife @bjoriis @btsgangleader @butterfly-lover

#bts x reader poly #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #kim namjoon x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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thewisewill80sbyers · 1 day ago

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I didn't know bylers shippers existed hehe, what makes you think Mike likes Will? Im really curious

Ohhhh, thank you for giving me the opportunity to repost this, I wrote it for the old blog, but it's a neat summary, so I'll reuse it lmao

these are more or less the main reasons:

I personally think there are some scenes in the show and there are some choices that the writers made that are telling us that the plot of the show is going towards Will getting a "pay off", in terms of writing, at the end of the show and Mike and El finding out they are better as friends instead and Mike discovering he has romantic feelings for Will

The writers have emphasized Will's sadness in relation to Mike and El as a couple both thematically and visually, in the writing & filming of the show there are too many scenes like this especially in season 3 and 4 they have made it clear that he will never be happy if Mike and El are the endgame relationship, even during Mike's love monologue after he supposedly decided that he was ok with El having his own feelings for Mike by saying that the painting was a thoughtful gift from El when it wasn't... They put a shot of Will's sad face in the middle of the monologue, and also he was framed behind Mike when he said "I love you" which in film is a EXTREMELY weird choice unless it means something more is going on that should make us not want El and Mike's relationship to work - the writers have been sabotaging the emotional connection of the fans with mileven by doing this and I don't think that professional filmmakers don't know that, I think it's on purpose!

The writers have shown Mike and Will as having a deeper relationship than all the other relationships Mike has, putting him in the same category of El as one of his possible love interests in the plot, they have multiple scenes bonding in a tender way than Mike has with any other of his friends, they happen in private usually or in emotionally charged moments that they film to make you as a viewer feel like they are in private and show how they have this connection that's more than just friendship

The writers have wrote in the show since season 1 MANY parallels between Mike and Will and other official couples (Mileven too!!!) that are, in my opinion, hinting at them ending up together at the end of the show

You can find most of the parallels here! (I have to finish re-uploading them all here, ugh)

The writers have continously shown El and Mike to have some kind of problem in their relationship and made El decide to leave Mike behind multiple times even if to save his life because she loves him, the writers have been showing us how Mike is not her PLOT priority and instead they have put having a romantic relationship with Mike as Will's deepest desire since season 3

The writers are building up El's character to have a coming of age that has recurrent themes of her finding herself without the influence of others around her, her becoming completely free from any kind of influence, and Mike has been represented as having too many internal fears to overcome at the moment about their relationship, especially with the love monologue at the end of season 4, he has beliefs about himself as a person that clash with El's character arc about not having to feel influenced in any way, the end of the show for El should be her having complete freedom in all aspects of her life because of the circumstances of her upbringing... Not saying that Mike is influencing her in a bad way necessarily, I think they both love each other a lot but having a relationship with someone that is that much insecure about his role in your life because you have powers will always be a type of influence

The writers have shown Mike and El as not being a team at the same level by separating them constantly after s1, instead they have shown the other couples that work as working together in the supernatural plot (Jancy, Jopper, Lumax, Byler)

The writers have paralleled Mike and El's relationship to all the ships that are not working for some reasons/are not endgame and have more infatuation than a real "true love" kind of relationship (Steve x Nancy, Karen X Ted, Bob x Joyce)

The writers have wrote in multiple scenes of Mike acting awkward with Will (Mike!!! Not Will) or them having coded conversations about how much they care for each other that have no sense to exist unless there is a pay off at the end

The writers have presented El, Mike and Will as being in a love triangle and have been framing them in a love triangle composition in the framing of multiple scenes, with Mike at the centre

When during season 4 the writers talked about all the movies that have inspired season 4 and 5 they have put multiple movies with love triangles that are almost identical to the situation between Mike, El and Will

Will and Mike have multiple fight scenes that are scenes you give to two possible love interests usually, the way the fight happen is written as two lovers having emotional fights instead of as how you would write two friends fighting

The writers wrote in the show a precise parallel in all the scenes of Vickie and Robin... between them and Will and Mike, paralleling Mike to Vickie specifically... who is a canon bisexual character and even paralleling Steve and Jonathan in that context as observers of the couples!

The directors filmed their scenes how you would film romantic scenes in stuff like Bridgerton or a romcom lol

The whole painting scene was Will making Mike feel so loved that he felt comfortable being vulnerable with El, but this means he was still not comfortable on his own relationship with her, he didn't feel safe enough to open up on his own and needed that talk and needed to believe all of those ideas about him being the heart came from Eleven so that he made the jump and told her how he felt instead of being selfishly silent on it because he was too afraid of her possibly leaving him one day... When you are really deeply in love with someone in the context of movies the characters don't let those type of fears influence them and if what gives him courage is the feelings of another character in the love triangle it means he's the right person for the character

( idk if you saw gossip girl, but there was a love triangle situation between Blair, Dan and another character where Dan made Blair believe the other character felt some type of way towards her, she understood that she loved Dan because of this act because she wanted those words to be from him and not from the other guy… The whole painting lie is that same trope)

The writers are obsessed with IT from Stephen King and there are clear parallels with it in the show, the whole plot of s4 about the painting is a reprise of the plot between the romantic relationship of Bev and Ben in IT (with the postcard and the poem) Beverly is supposed to be Mike, Ben is Will and Bill is El.... Mike and El share a kiss at the end of season 3 that is supposed to parallel a kiss between Bill and Bev (they did love each other and liked each other but are not endgame)

Both Will and Mike are queercoded multiple times during the seasons, rainbows around them, queer coded lines of dialogue, being framed inside closets etc etc

There are WAYYYY more reasons, but this post is becoming too long so I'll leave it as this lol

You should rewatch the show and imagine if Will was a girl, I think many people would be seeing what I'm talking about way more and take it as a sign that Mike is going to choose "Willow" and see how Will is the better love interest for him…

Maybe it's all just queerbaiting, who knows, but at the moment I believe this is way too much for it to be queerbait!

I personally think Mike is bisexual -> the power point I made about it

and has feelings for both of them, but his feelings for El have always been a "puppy love" type that is growing to become more platonic than romantic with time, and I think he's a better match with Will, I think Will is able to make him be the best person he can be, he's capable of making Mike feel worthy in a very natural way unlike the relationship with El does at the moment!

Thank you if you read all of this, regardless of what I believe, I think everybody should be free to ship what ship they like best!! 😊

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #w80s #byler proof #ask #bi mike wheeler

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thealtoduck · 3 days ago

Text

TASTE

Nate Archibald x Male Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You meet a worried little socialite boy out on the streets of manhattan…

——

”And what did you tell him?” you asked engaged in a phone call with a friend, stood on sidewalk outside a Tiffany’s. When all of a sudden someone bumped into you from the side spilling their coffee all over your buttoned up shirt. After the intial shock was over you just said to your friend…

”You know what, I’ll call you back”.

You then turned to meet the person who had just ruined your new shirt. You were met with a handsome boy your age, his hair was slightly messy and he was dressed in running get up. You gave him an annoyed look as he quickly started saying ”I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going”…

And as he kept apologizing and explaining himself he started patting your chest as if he could just wipe away the coffee stains with his hand as you stood there awkwardly watching him try his best. It was kind of cute. You couldn’t stop the small smile spreading on your face.

He met your eyes as you gazed into each others eyes before you said ”You can stop touching my chest now” in a mildly amused tone. His hand placed right in the middle of your chest swiftly withdrew as he said another quick ”Sorry”.

Something about the way he spoke made it very clear that he did not need more on his plate at the moment so you just asked him ”Are you okay?”. He looked a bit taken aback but answered ”I’m a bit stressed honestly” and he then went on ”Look, I’m really sorry, Is there anyway I can make it up to you?”.

”How about you buy me a coffee and you can tell me what’s on your mind?” you offered. He smiled and said ”Alright, it’s a deal… uhm?” he said and you understood. ”I’m Y/n” you said and held out a hand to him which he took and answered ”I’m Nate”.

The two of you then walked to a café, where he bought you both a coffee and you went out back on the streets of manhattan. He offered you his blue zip up hoodie to cover the coffee stain which you accepted, not wanting to have it on full display.

He then started telling about his worries about his family, his ex-girlfriend, his friends, the university his parents were trying to force him to go to, life in general, and the list just kept on going…

”Well you definetely got a lot going on” you said lightly. ”I get that your stressed, it must be really tough going through all of that at the same time” you said understandingly. Nate smiled at this as if you were the first person to truly understand him.

Your phone chimed and you took it out of your pocket, your mom had sent you a text saying she needed help with some stuff at home. ”Hey, this has been really nice but I need to get home soon”. He nodded understandingly and asked ”Can I walk you anywhere?”

”Actually, It’s just a couple blocks away from here” you told him. ”Lead the way” he said. During the walk to your apartment building he started asking questions about you, where you went to school, your hobbies and interests.

Soon the two of you reached your apartment building. You stopped outside it and took off Nate’s zip up handing it back to him saying ”Thanks for letting me borrow it”.

”It the least I could do, sorry again about the shirt”. ”Don’t worry about it, besides if you hadn’t spilled anything on it we wouldn’t have gotten a chance to talk and like I said it’s been really nice, we should do it again sometime” you told him.

”I’d like that” he said and the two of you exchanged numbers. You said goodbye before you went into your building and up to your family’s apartment.

——

The next day…

”Y/n, there’s a package for you” your mom voice came from the living room, you noted her tone sounded slightly confused. You left your bedroom and went to the kitchen where your mom put down a flat square box and asked ”Where’d you get the money to afford Armani?”

”What? I didn’t buy anything from Armani?” you questioned and walked over to the box, seeing Armani written on top of it along with the logo, there was a note attached that you picked up and read.

”Thanks again for last night. I got you this to replace the shirt I ruined. Hope you’ll like it. - Nate”

Your mom read the note over your shoulder and questioned ”That’s the guy you told me about from yesterday?”. ”Yeah” you mumbled. You put down the note and slowly opened the box.

It was a button up shirt that looked almost identical to the one you had. But as you touched it, it immediately felt different, it wasn’t the same, the fabric was softer, more luxorious and as you saw a price tag MUCH MORE EXPENSIVE.

”Oh my god” you whispered looking at the shirt feeling as if it was staring you down and judging your middle class-self. You then almost jumped as your phone started ringing, you saw that it was the friend you had hung up on yesterday. He was probably calling you about that so you answered the phone saying…

”Hey sorry I didn’t call you back but-”

”You’re on gossip girl” he cut in.

”What?” you asked confused.

”On the website, you need to read it” he said as you walked to your computer typing in the website. Immediately being met with a picture of you and Nate walking together, you wearing his zip up. The headline read…

”Nate Archibald swinging for the other team???”

You then read through the article…

”Nate Archibald was seen out in deep conversation with a dashing young man”

…

”He was then seen walking this ”friend” home, having lended him his own zip up, how romantic”

…

”Perhaps this ladies man has become more of a mens man or maybe even both, only time will tell - xoxo gossip girl”

As you finished the article the only words that could leave your gaping mouth were…

”Holy shit”

Your mom then came over and looked at the computer screen and at the picture of you and Nate and stated ”Huh, you actually look kinda cute together”.

#nate archibald x male reader #nate archibald x male!reader #nate archibald #gossip girl x male reader #gossip girl x male!reader #x male reader #male reader #x male!reader #gay #lgbtq+

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phant0msworld · 1 day ago

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Watching you

Guys I don’t know what I should write so this is a little image i came up with. Maybe a little occ and turned out darker then I wanted actually so I’m not really sure about this. Anyway have fun reading , if you have any ideas on what i could write send them to me.

TW :mention of death, Jason is a bit stalkerish

Before he died Jason thought of many things, he thought of Bruce, his family, his friends, he thought of you. He planned to ask you out as soon as he returned from a Ethiopia, as he layed there waiting for his doom he thought of how he would never be able to live his life to the fullest, to live his life with you.

Jason stands a top of a building, he hasn’t seen you in years, he knows he can’t come to you right now,he has to finish this first. But then hopefully he can come back to you and finish, what he never was able to start. But right now the only thing he can do is watch you, and make sure that nothing happens to you, to finally be there for you after leaving you alone in all of this for so long. He yearns to see you, to really see you and soon it will be time for him to have you.

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godmadeaterribleerror · 7 hours ago

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Chapter 17 - You Come Back

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I fear my “every action in this story must have a consequence” is coming back to bite us in the butt this chapter. Also Dean middle name just dropped. It’s an owie.

Chapter Title from This Love by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 17.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has some hard conversations, and you destroy a building and make a friend. Extra warning on blood/injury.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 16 - Chapter 18

Read on A03!

A week.

Dad was going to be gone a week.

It was less than last time. More than the time before that. And Dean had been alone for longer—part of him was pretty damn sure he’d simply been alone his whole life, and everyone else that passed around him knew that he’d be temporary better than he did—but it never made the pit smaller.

“Are you sure you don’t need extra hands-“

“I’ve told you, Dean. This ain’t a family bondin’ hunt, it’s a real hunt. Gotta be me alone.”

Dad alone.

At least he’d be alone by choice.

And he could’ve kept Dean with him, but Dean wasn’t Sammy. Dad wanted Sam—the only person who’d ever left Dad alone on purpose—and Dean couldn’t be Sam if he tried.

It was for the best. Someone had to take the heat, be the grunt.

But the whole fucking point of that was that Dean was supposed to be a good hunter, too. Nothing out there in the real world to offer him comfort, just himself, the pit, Dad, and a siren-like voice is his ear that he could never get rid of.

And he was still being benched. It was a ‘real hunt’ and Dad didn’t trust him, or want him, or something, so Dean was being benched in the middle of freakin’ nowhere, and he was going to be alone.

“I could just handle the lore,” Dean offered, one last time, because this pit was gaping in the cavity of his chest, and he really didn’t want to be alone. “I’d use one of the baby pistols for defense, I wouldn’t even leave the motel room-“

“Well, good news, son. Since you’re stayin’, you can leave this motel all you damn want.”

Dad wasn’t moving on this.

And Dean wouldn’t want to hunt with himself, either.

So he dropped it, and Dad vanished. Simply turned into something like mist and faded from the room, leaving Dean stranded.

Alone.

In real life, he’d been alone barely a day. Dean had found a body a little warmer than his hands, and he’d let it sway him into bed, then he’d spent the night staring at the ceiling. Listening to that beautiful, haunting voice call his name.

There had been an itch in his hands. A tug from just to the right of his heart, telling Dean that he had to go. Had to move and never stopped until he crashed into something, until the pit in him was tended to and lined with silver and flowers. He hadn’t been able to sit still for the whole damn night, the night air had smelled like an unnamable fruit when he’d gone outside, and he’d been driving himself out of his damn mind.

It had been sunrise when he’d grabbed a newspaper, started circling different stories, and found a case about people going mad with dancing just a few towns over.

And it had been a little before noon when-

“Dean?”

He turned, and She was there. He was still in the motel room, but She was fucking there. And beautiful, and bright, and almost seeming to literally glow in the low light of the morning.

Maybe the morning.

The sky outside the motel blinders was shimmering, and made of a million soft colors. There was a moon but no stars, and the sun was still hung on the horizon—making the whole world seem almost golden—and none of that really mattered anyway, because She was there.

With Dean.

“De-“

“Hey, Princess.” He gave Her a smooth, slightly crooked grin, and had a brief and terrifying thought that She could feel his heartbeat through the whole world. “You’re, uh- I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

She raised Her chin at him, eye narrowing, and there She was.

More commanding over the world than anyone should have the right to be. Gorgeous and ethereal—turning the world colorful where Dean could’ve sworn it had been muted shades of brown—and just out of Dean’s reach.

Always just out Dean’s reach.

“You don’t get to tell me where to be, Winchester.”

“I think I got some right, given this is my motel room.”

She flushed, and Dean wanted to grab that color and paint it over the sky. “Yeah, but-“

“You just gotta ask me, sweetheart.”

“Ask-“

“To be here.”

To stay.

Dean wanted Her to ask him if She could stay.

And She was rubbing the scar on Her palm, glancing around the room, and when She broke the silence it must be because this was Dean’s dream. Or memory. Or whatever.

It was Dean’s head, so he could have whatever he wanted.

“Can I please stay?”

Dean grinned at Her. “Yeah, you can. Good work on the manners-“

She rolled Her eyes. “Shut up-“

“That’s not very nice,” Dean drawled Her name, and side-stepped Her shove. “And here I was, missing you all the time-“

“You miss me?”

Dean paused, and there was suddenly something incredibly open and nervous about Her features.

She was made of all Dean’s thoughts. This version of Her, at least, should know that Dean missed Her more than he was pretty freakin’ sure he’d miss his heart, if it just fell out of his chest.

“Course I miss you.” He shrugged. “Always missed you.” Dean paused, frowning at the door. “Even today, I think. I really missed you today.”

“Today-“

“Texas. That pagan douchebag you helped me gank-“

She scoffed, and Dean wasn’t sure when She’d gotten right to his side, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Fuck off, De, that was a team effort-“

“I got the kill-“

“I worked out the whole case. And you’re the one who called us a team.”

He had done that. Shit.

She was too pretty to fight with. And Dean missed Her too much to try.

“Yeah, well, I’m also the one who found you.” He looked down at Her carefully, and if this really was a fantasy, this was the part where She should smile at him and kiss him. Tell Dean that he’d always find Her, and they’d always stay together, all the way down.

But instead She tilted Her head at him, Her voice soft, and the whole universe glowing in Her eyes.

Dean still wouldn’t want Her any other way.

“You did, didn’t you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning down a little further. Just to be a little fucking closer to Her light. “Wish I could do it again, Princess.”

She gave him a small, sad smile, and for a brief second, She shifted. Glitched. Became covered in blood and bruises and cuts, Her shiny hair tangled and hanging over Her almost battered features, one of Her eyes swollen and a large gash on Her arm and puffy mark on Her cheek, and Dean wanted to reach out and grab Her—keep Her safe however he could, maybe trade himself to whatever was hurting Her, or wrap his body over Her’s so nothing could ever hurt Her again—but he couldn’t fucking move-

“You’ll find me,” She hummed, and the words didn’t sound like they were for Dean. “Or maybe I’ll find you.”

Bobby’s house was quiet, in the early morning. It was why Dean’s groan seemed to split through the air, his brow furrowing at nothing when he felt the stiff mattress of the guest room, and knew that if he reached over, the other side of the bed would be cold.

He hadn’t found Her. He’d sworn he would, snapped at Sammy that he had to, and he’d made himself a lying son of a bitch because he couldn’t. He was back at Bobby’s because—after three weeks of running around and calling numbers and looking for cases Dean knew She'd be drawn to—he'd ended up exactly where he'd goddamn started.

"You ain't gonna be able to keep this shit up, Dean."

Bobby's words over the phone had been clipped. Tired.

Dean really hadn't wanted to hear them.

"I told you, I'm not coming back until-"

"What? 'Till you find her? You got a single fuckin' lead?"

He'd scowled. "No, but there's a case of some weird shit going on up in Maine, exact type of case-"

"I know what cases she likes, boy. I'm asking you to use your damn brain for five seconds, and think about where she'd be headed to first, moment she got back to the states-"

"We don't know that she's not in the states." Dean had muttered, running a hand over his face. "Maybe she's trapped, Bobby. Maybe she's in fucking trouble, and she's got no one to help her because you and Sam just let her run off-"

"Dean." Bobby's voice through the speaker had been low. Gruff. A warning. "You know damn well we didn't let her do a damn thing. I've told ya', we got back to the house and she was just fuckin' gone-"

"You should've looked." Dean had hissed, and Bobby had scoffed.

"You think I didn't? She didn't want to be found Dean, so there was no fuckin' way I was gonna find her-" Bobby had cut himself off, the exact same moment the words had sunken in, and twisted into Dean's gut.

She didn't want to be found.

Maybe Dean hadn't been able to find Her because She didn't want to be found.

But She'd said she'd come back home. She'd pinky promised him, over the phone, that She'd come back. That Dean would be able to see Her soon, and hold her, and know that it was real.

That She wasn't just a ghost or a demon, that he was really alive, because something like Her could never exist in Hell.

But maybe She'd heard it in his voice. How that pit inside of him had been slashed further and further open, and how there was goddamn gaping void where all the redeemable parts of him used to be. Every bit of pain he'd inflicted on others, staining him and rotting him and making him a little more than a wet dog, at Her feet in the mud. Dean had turned himself into something fucking ugly, and mangy and horrid and undeserving of Her light, and she could've heard it and decided that She'd made promises to the Dean from before Hell, and she owed whatever he'd become after nothing at all.

Maybe in Her time away, She'd found her way back to somewhere heavenly and bright—filled with luxuries Dean could never offer Her—and decided She'd rather stay there than return the mud.

Mud that was now boiling and toxic, and made of all Dean's sins. She should stay away from it. She never should've been cursed with it—with Dean—in the first place.

And he was being selfish, wanting Her to return to his side. She'd deserved better than him before, and Dean sure as shit hadn't made himself worthy.

But he still wanted Her back.

He'd never stop wanting Her back.

And if he found Her, he'd tell Her that he was ugly, but he'd still be Her shadow. He didn't need to be good for that. He just had to keep doing what he'd always done. Wanting Her, following Her, protecting Her and holding Her the way no one else could.

Maybe She'd found someone who could hold Her the way Dean did, but without all the tragedy and horror of it being Dean.

The thought made him fucking sick.

And he still wanted Her back. He was a selfish piece of shit, and he wanted Her home.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dean.” Bobby had muttered through the phone. “I’m sayin’ that when you were gone, she ran. Ran far. Off the face of the damn earth, and it’s gonna take her a minute to find her way back.

Bobby had said that like She was finding her way back.

And son of a bitch, Dean was clinging to that. Bobby was the only person who knew her just as well—if not better—than Dean, so if he said She was coming back She had to be.

There was a chance She’d look at Dean, and everything that he’d been afraid she’d hear, she’d see. Right over Dean’s soul, all that ugliness visible to Her, until she couldn’t bear to look at him and She left.

At least then Dean would know She was safe. Alive, and safe, just wanting nothing to do with him at all.

He wouldn’t bother to try and hate Her for it. It wouldn’t work. It never had.

There was always a sliver of a chance that She’d stay. She’d stayed before. And it would mean the same thing for Dean no matter what.

She’d said all the way down. And even if that had been temporary—something She’d said before, that she’d never be able to promise him now—Dean would sit at the bottom for Her until she returned.

Or until She didn’t.

He’d gone to Bobby’s because they had angel shit to deal with, and chasing empty cases and weak leads wasn’t going to help him find Her. Sam had given him a grimacing, sympathetic smile, and said nothing of it for the first few days. None of them had even mentioned Her name, focusing on the crazy chick, and Cas and Uriel’s bullshit, and all the millions of other fucking problems it was their responsibility to fix.

“You know this is the first place she’ll go.” Sam had broken the silence in the kitchen, not looking up from his laptop as he spoke, and he hadn’t need to say who.

Dean knew. There was no other She that mattered.

“She might be heading here now-“

“Sam.” Dean had grunted, picking at the label of his beer. “Don’t.”

Sam had sighed, glancing up with a heavy gaze. “She’s probably fine, dude. Nothing’s gotten to her before-“

“She had us before.”

“She has us now-“

“Not in goddamn Brazil, she doesn’t.” Dean had narrowed his eyes, and every word had fucking hurt. “And don’t tell me it’s a long drive again. She should’ve been back by now, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but, it’s- She’s fine, Dean.” Sam’s voice had dropped under his breath, and he’d shaken his head at his screen. “She’s got to be.”

And Sam was, at least, right about two things.

She had to be fine. She likely wasn’t, but if Dean ever wanted to sleep or look in a mirror again, she had to be.

And Bobby’s was the very first place She’d return to.

It was Her home. She grew up here, and She’d have to known they were all waiting for Her.

That Dean passed by Her room every day, and had to force himself not to open the door. And that on the weaker days—when he really deserved a little extra punishment—he would look up and down the hall before he caved, and looked inside.

Bobby hadn’t moved anything. The only thing different from when Dean had left was the little bit of tape on the door, leftover from his note.

The note was gone though. Bobby mentioned they’d never found it in the trash, but maybe She’d crumpled it up and stomped it into the mud.

Or She could be holding onto it.

Dean wasn’t lucky enough for that to be true. Not important enough for Her to cling to a paper, just because he’d touched it.

He still liked the idea that She was. Lying to himself had always made this easier and harder, all at once, the exact same way standing alone in the middle of the room was torture and relief.

It was evidence. Proof She’d existed at all. That She wasn’t just a collective hallucination, and that Chuck hadn’t included Her because She’d simply never been real.

She had been.

Was.

She was real.

Clothing Dean had seen Her wear was in the drawers. All of Her indecipherable notes about demons and deals were still scattered on the floor, and sometimes Dean would glance to the bottom of the wall and think he’d find Her curled against it, bags under Her eyes and a stub of a pencil in her hand. That he’d get to kneel before Her, talk until she looked at him, and when She did, the whole world would become good again. No demons, no Hell, no angels, no weird, impossible mysteries.

Just Her and Dean. And She’d lean into his touch, and let him lead Her to bed, and he’d wake up the way he wasn’t allowed to anymore.

With Her at his side.

He had things to do. The morning was crawling in, and they had a lady in the basement, and Dean needed to get up and be useful.

It still took another minute of staring at the ceiling. Of warding off thoughts about, how if She wasn’t okay, if She needed Dean, he didn’t have a goddamn clue how to find Her.

She’d come home.

She had to come home.

And if Dean had to wait a million years—until the house was covered in vines and he was just a pile of bones and ash—he would.

But now he had to move.

Sam was already at the kitchen table, bent over a newspaper with his laptop pushed off to the side.

“Coffee’s on.” He said, not looking up from whatever the hell he was doing. “Bobby’s going to town, getting groceries. Said he wasn’t expecting to feed four people or something.”

Dean grunted. “Any updates on the angel shit?”

“Anna’s still in the panic room.” Sam shrugged. “And I’m looking for a new psychic, but none of these guys seem legit. I can’t tell the real deal would be more or less expensive.”

“What about Pam?”

“I’d rather not bother her after last time,” Sam muttered, grimacing slightly. “At least try to find someone we didn’t blind.”

“Maybe put out an ad online?” Dean dropped at the table, not bothering to put any life in his tone. He was too fucking tired. “Three men, looking for someone to read the mind of the woman we locked in our basement?”

Sam shot him a dry look. “She volunteered to go in our basement.”

“Yeah, the cops are gonna buy that.”

“Not helpful, Dean.”

He shrugged, glaring at his coffee. “Not trying to be.”

He knew this was important. That this meant things even Bobby hadn’t fully been able to understand, and that people weren’t just casually hunted by angels and demons, but all it made him think of was Her.

She’d know how to fix this. She’d look at Anna and solve the puzzle in two seconds flat, then give Dean a smug, blinding grin that could probably part the ocean or bring an army its knees.

But She still wasn’t here.

So they were stuck running in circles, trying to find answers to problems they didn’t even fully understand.

“Online ad thing isn’t a bad idea, actually.” Sam frowned between his paper and the laptop. “I mean, we’ll get a lot of false leads and, uh, less than stable people responding, but it can’t hurt.”

“Cool.” Dean muttered. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s tone was dry as he nodded to the fridge. “Can you take Anna her food for me?”

Dean frowned. “You do it yourself-“

“I’m working on this.”

“Nobody freakin’ told you to do that-“

“Dean.” Sam sighed. He’d been doing that a lot, lately. “Please. The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can figure out what’s going on with Anna, and the sooner this whole thing is done.”

The sooner Dean could go back to looking for Her.

It was a false promise. Deep down, Dean knew—and he was pretty damn sure Sammy did as well—that this thing wasn’t going to just be done. The angels hadn’t raised him from Hell just to find and turn over a redhead. Lilith wasn’t running around breaking seals just for the shits and giggles of it all. They’d still have work to do.

And She’d still be missing.

But Sam had said please. And Dean hadn’t really caused anything but fucking problems since he’d been brought back, so the least he could offer was walking some toast and coffee down the stairs.

“Fine.” He grunted, pushing out of his seat with a scowl. “But you better find that damn psychic.”

“I’m trying.” Sam muttered, glaring at his laptop. “Why do people think it’s fun to pretended to have these powers? Don’t they have anything better to do with their lives?”

Dean didn’t have an answer for that. The only people he’d known with the real deal were Missouri—who hadn’t seemed that bothered by it, but also didn’t allow bullshit—and Her.

And She’d hated it. Whatever She was, she’d despised it. Didn’t even entertain the thought of using it. She said it hurt Her, Dean had seen it hurt Her, and he couldn’t imagine someone wanting to have that kind of power if it made them pick their skin raw and choke the air from their own lungs.

Dean’s stomach twisted, and an image of Her curled on the floor of a motel—Her body tensed and features panicked, Her own hand wrapped around her throat—burned its way through his skull. She could’ve hurt herself. There was always a chance no monster would be able to touch Her, but she’d snap her own neck to try and keep Her power under control, and Dean wouldn’t be there to stop Her-

He must make a face, every time he thought of Her, because Sam cleared his throat and said Her name.

Carefully.

Like just the sound of it might make Dean crush the mug in his hand.

“It’s- I know you’re worried about her-“

“Save it.”

“Dean-“

“I mean it, Sam.” Dean shot him a glare, grabbing Anna’s food from the counter. “I know everything you’re going to say.”

Sam shook his head. “You don’t-“

“I do. I promise you, Sammy, I know exactly the type of fuckin’ lecture you’re gonna give me, and I’m not hearing it.”

Dean didn’t wait for a response before he was walking away. Sam wanted him to bring down the food, he’d bring down the fucking food, but one more speech about how She was probably okay and safe and Dean worrying wasn’t going to help Her, and he’d lose his goddamn mind.

Worrying wasn’t going to help Her, but it was better than just sitting on his ass and not thinking about Her. And it made him feel better. Part of Dean’s head was convinced that—if he worried about Her loudly enough—the angels would hear and bring Her back, just to shut him the hell up.

They wouldn’t. And Dean wasn’t exactly in heaven’s favor right now, between the whole Chuck thing and Anna not being turned over to the angel police.

Dean would be a lying asshole if he said that, for half a second, he hadn’t considered turning Anna over in trade for Her. But the angels couldn’t be trusted with that type of deal, Dean hadn’t hit that big of an evil, awful low, and She’d never forgive him for that. Christ, Dean would never forgive himself for that. Anna was sweet, and she’d been nothing but patient with all their bullshit, and trading lives was the exact type of shit Dad would have done.

And Dean couldn’t really stomach that thought anymore. The idea of what would Dad do felt a little too much like one of Alistair’s weapons in his hand. Fitting, but wrong, and full of fucking hate just for Dean to get his own way.

Dad would’ve turned Anna over. Dad never wouldn’t have considered the thought to be a moment of bitter, exhausted, horrible weakness—born from Dean really fucking missing her, and never sleeping enough, and still have half a foot in the door of Hell—and would’ve gone through with the idea in a heartbeat.

Dean didn’t doubt for a second that, if the angels had told Dad to trade some random girl over for Mom back, Dad would’ve even hesitated.

But Dean couldn’t. He was a hell of a lot fucking weaker than Dad, but for Her, he didn’t want to be anything like Dad.

Dad had only ever hurt Her. Driven Her away. And She wouldn’t make the trade, because She was smarter than Dad and Dean combined, and She’d insist that there was another way.

She’d say there was always another way.

And She wouldn’t like Dean being Dad. She’d want him to be Dean.

And Dean wouldn’t turn over Anna. So he didn’t.

Anna seemed to appreciate it. The angels seemed to be pissed off about it.

That made it, almost certainly, the right call.

“Delivery.” Dean’s voice was flatter than he wanted as he pushed open the door, but Sam also hadn’t let him finish his coffee. “Got you breakfast.”

Anna looked up from the panic room’s cot, offering Dean a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t.” He muttered, passing it into her hands. “Looks like Sammy burnt the toast, and I spilled a whole lot of the coffee coming down the stairs.”

That got a gentle laugh, but Anna still hummed a soft thanks as she took the food. “Sam said you were going to try and find me a psychic?”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean shifted on his feet, glancing around the mostly empty panic room. Filled with signals and concrete, so unbelievably cold. Later, he should bring Anna a sweater. “He’s putting an ad online, seeing if we get any real hits. Right now it’s just a lot of crazies.”

Anna frowned. “What’s wrong with the crazies?”

“They’re frauds.”

“Oh.” She paused, looking between Dean and her toast, and maybe if he walked away now he could avoid a conversation- “Thank you for your help, Dean. I know you have other things to be worrying about besides me.”

He did. He’d have to be an even bigger asshole to say that out loud. “’S fine.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Dean shrugged, and Anna paused, frowning at the air for a long second before she spoke.

“Am I… the first?”

“Uh, the first what?”

“Girl. That you’ve kept in here.”

Dean was lost. “Yes?”

“Are you-“

“Sweetheart, we don’t just keep girls in panic rooms-“

“Then whose are these?”

Anna nodded down to her side, and Dean realized that she’d been doing something, before he’d arrived. Scattered over the cot were torn pieces of paper, all scribbled on in slightly faded paper, all written in-

Son of a bitch.

“Where the fuck did you get those.” He grunted, and it was a harsher than he meant it, but that was Her goddamn handwriting, in that odd code only she seemed to understand. “Anna-“

“Ruby said they belonged to the girl before me.” Anna’s words were slow. Cautious.

Dean was really fucking sick of being treated like a rabid dog, about to attack.

She’d never treat him like that.

“Ruby said that.” Dean’s lip curled into a sneer, and he had to have a long talk with Sam about Ruby just being allowed to wander around Bobby’s house. “You showed these to her?”

Anna nodded nervously. “I- I just wanted to know if she knew who’d made them. They’re… incredibly intricate. And confusing.”

Dean’s gaze shot up from the notes as Anna’s words sunk in. “Can you fucking read them?”

“Yes?” Anna frowned back down to the notes. “I’m not sure how, and it- It makes my head hurt, but I can.”

“What does it-“

“I’m honestly- I don’t understand most of it. Whoever wrote this, they weren’t in a good state of mind. It’s a lot of… ramblings? And ideas?” Anna gave him an odd look. “Do you know? Who wrote them?”

“Yeah.” Dean muttered. He might not have a clue what those notes said, but he’d recognize anything of Her’s blindfolded. “It- You just found those things in here?”

“I did. Over there.”

Anna pointed to the other side of the room, at a large pile of old, woven blankets, and Dean marched over without a glance over his shoulder.

The blankets were cold. Tangled and itchy, and—when he moved them, rifling through them for any further sign of what he was already pretty damn sure was the truth—smelling of an unnamable fruit.

She’d been in here. Dean didn’t know how long ago, but She’d been in this panic room, wrapped in these blankets, and She left all those fucking notes that Anna-

Anna could read the notes. The girl who could tune into angel radio could read the same language She wrote in, the one that big tome had been written in, and that had to mean something but Dean didn’t have a damn clue what-

“Dean?”

He grunted, his hands still fisted in the blankets, and Anna cleared her throat.

“I- The girl who wrote these-“

Dean snapped Her name, because She wasn’t just a girl. He was getting really damn tired of people making Her just a girl, and not the most important and bright and awesome person in the universe. “She wrote those. That’s her handwriting.”

“Oh.” Anna paused, repeating Her name slowly. Dean didn’t hate how she said it, but it there wasn’t enough awe or glory in the tone. Anna didn’t seem to be appreciating the fact that they were all lucky to be blessed with even knowing of Her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, it’s just- This is-“ Anna sighed, and Dean glanced back to see her frowning back down at the notes. “I’m not sure how to describe it. I just know that these are made of a really, really old, dark… something.”

Dean raised his brows. “Something. What’d you mean, something.”

“I mean that magic isn’t a strong enough word.”

Of course it wasn’t. It was Her. No word was ever strong enough.

His girl could never make anything and simple.

He missed Her more than he’d missed the sun in Hell.

Dean grunted Her name, and he always said it right. Like it was a prayer. “She- It’s complicated.”

Anna blinked at him with confusion. That word was always fucking unhelpful.

So Dean tried again.

“She’s got a complex past-“

“Don’t we all?” Anna asked, and the question was innocent, but Dean still had to bite down a snarl.

“Not like her, we don’t. None of us do.”

Anna frowned. “I don’t know who I am, Dean. And I’m being hunted by demons and angels, and locked in a panic room-“

“You asked to be locked in the panic room-“

“Yes, but I just don’t think we should turn our suffering into a competition.”

That was a fair point. And if Dean thought about it for a few more seconds, he could acknowledge that maybe Anna would know a little about Her, and relate to what She’d been through.

But it felt different. Anna got to have them help her solve all her problems, while She was missing, and fighting for herself. Anna had some clues for what she was, and they had some leads they could follow. Every single thing they learned about Her—and whatever the hell She was—just offered more damn questions.

And Anna didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Anna hadn’t been tormented by pain her whole life, as far as Dean knew. Anna’s parents had been normal, and up until all this shit, she’d lead a nice and easy life.

Anna had never had to listen to Dad ask a demon to kill her. And if she had, Dean was pretty damn sure she’d run for the hills.

But She’d stayed. Against all reason and odds, despite Dad doing everything to keep Her away from Dean, She’d always come back.

And nobody got act like they knew Her. No matter how kind and well-intentioned they were, nobody got to fucking speak about Her if it wasn’t with care and reverence.

“It’s not a competition.” Dean kept his voice low and even, and he was pretty sure he was going to throttle this blanket. “But if it was, we would even be in her fucking heat.”

Anna frowned at that, but Dean kept going before she could push back.

“All these wards, keeping you safe? She made them. Half the books in Bobby’s library are there for her, and she knows the lore better than anyone, and all this angel shit, she’d work it out like it was freakin’ breathing.”

“I-“

“Demons are afraid of her.” Dean snapped, and something was wrapping around his throat. “And she can kill anything. Doesn’t hunt with a gun because she doesn’t need it, been hunting since she was barely a fucking teenager, and all the angels should count themselves lucky she’s not here, because she’d kick their asses.”

“I know.” Anna’s voice was soft, and a lot of the fire died in Dean very quickly. He was being an asshole.

But he fucking missed Her.

Missed Her smile and voice and laugh, missed Her sparring with him and never backing down, because—despite all previous evidence—She always seemed to trust Dean to not properly hurt Her. To have Her back. To be in Her wake and carry her to safety when she fell apart. Dean missed Her looking at him like he was worth something. Like Dean, just Dean, was enough for Her. Like She could see the gaping pit inside of him, see just how deep and tragic it was, and always seemed to decide that it was never too deep for Her to walk away.

It might be too deep now. He was snapping at girls he’d locked in basements, and he could still always slightly taste the metallic blood he’s spilled in Hell, and She might want nothing to do with him now.

But Her spitting in his face would always be better than anyone—Sam or Bobby or fucking Anna, who barely even knew him—looking at Dean with pity. Soft, cushioning fucking pity that he hadn’t earned, and didn’t deserve.

“You know.” He muttered, giving Anna a flat look. “What, angels having a little chat about my-“ Dean cut himself off with Her name, and prayed Anna hadn’t caught his slip.

Anna just shrugged and hummed.

He was probably safe.

“The angels don’t… Every mention I’ve heard of that name, they’ve been confused. Like even they’re not sure to make of her.”

Dean swallowed, and something chilled over his bones. “But they talk about her.”

“Yes. A lot. Ruby said-“

“You talked to Ruby about this?”

Anna had the decency to blush with slightly shame, but it didn’t stop Dean’s hands from curling into fists.

“The fuck did Ruby say about her,” he grunted, and Anna sighed.

“That she was a distrusting, paranoid, self-important bitch. That I shouldn’t bring her up around you, because your judgement about her is, um.” Anna swallowed, tucking some hair behind her ears. “Clouded.”

Dean was going to fucking kill Ruby. Sam could cry about it all he wanted, Dean was going to fucking kill her.

“Ruby,” Dean grunted through his teeth. “Is a fucking liar.”

“She’s been kind to me-“

“Because you trust her.” He snapped Her name, and Anna’s mouth snapped shut. “She and Ruby never got along, and Ruby doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. I fucking told you, my girl, she’s a fucking fighter, and Ruby’s just never liked that she won’t go along with whatever the fuck the bitch says. Ruby hates that she’s not in control.” Dean said Her name again, and something to the right of his heart was pounding. “She’s not fucking self-important. She just doesn’t let people fucking walk all over her, and she fights for what she wants. She fought for me, and I-“

He’d died.

He’d left Her, and now she was gone.

And Anna’s head was bowed, and Dean felt like a dick, but he’d do it again. She wasn’t self-important. She’d damn near let herself waste away, just for Dean. And She’d done it right until the very end.

And he missed Her.

“I-“ Anna’s voice was barely a whisper. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Dean let out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “Thanks. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Anna nodded, meeting Dean’s gaze with a small frown. “She sounds like she’s… really important to you.”

“Yeah. She is.”

And there weren’t enough words for it in the world for it. For how much he missed Her. How much he wanted Her. How there was something just to the right of his heart of that would never rest until he knew She was safe, and would ache for Her every single second until She was at his side again.

Anna let him take the notes back upstairs, and Dean gave another mumbled half-apology that didn’t even sound sincere to his own ears.

He’d try again later. When there was less to deal with, and his head wasn’t spinning faster than he could keep up with.

Because Anna could read the language. And the rituals She made were from an old, dark something—not a helpful description at all—but in a language that existed outside of just Her insane family.

There was a chance She could hear angel radio, too. Maybe she wasn’t coming home because She could hear all the angels shit talking Her, and saying things about Dean he’d wanted to tell Her—She’d find out on Her own if he didn’t, She was too smart and important to hide things from—but she’d now heard from feathered douchebags who weren’t going to be able to explain to Her why. If Dean told Her everything, he’d be able to sink to his knees and ask Her to stay with him anyway. To tell Her that he’d never let anything hurt Her again, if She let him be her shadow. That he was broken and evil, but he was still Her’s, if She’d have him.

He’d never be brave enough to say it like that.

But he still wanted to.

And knowing his life, Dean never got what he fucking wanted. So the angels had probably told Her of how he’d become barely better than a demon, and She’d run, because who wouldn’t.

Maybe if Dean solved this puzzle for Her, figured out what She was, with this odd lead was clutched in his hands as he climbed back up the stairs, She’d smile at him one last time.

He could figure this out.

For Her, Dean could do anything.

Bobby was back from the grocery store. Standing at the fridge and talking to Sam in a low voice about something Dean really didn’t fucking care about.

He slammed the notes down on the table, and Bobby and Sam both looked over to him with wide eyes.

“Dean, are you-“

“You got some explaining to do, Bobby.” Dean cut Sam off with a hiss, shoving the notes across the table.

“Explainin’?” Bobby raised his brows as Sam pulled the notes forward. “Boy, I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you-“

Dean snapped Her name, and Bobby tensed. “Those are her’s. And Anna found them in your panic room-“

“Dean,” Sam muttered, examining the notes with a frown. “These- Isn’t this the same language as that book she stole from her family?”

“Yes. Not the point, Sam-“

“I mean, it’s not a real language, and if it’s a code I can try to break it after I find the psychic-“

“It’s not a code.” Dean grunted. “It’s like- A magic language. Anna can read it, but-“

“Anna can read it?” Sam was gaping at him. This really wasn’t the fucking point. “What- how?”

“I don’t know. Bobby-“

“Dude, what if Anna knows what-“

“She doesn’t. Says the angels don’t either. I-“

“That’s not right.” Sam frowned back down to the notes. “At Chuck’s, that bald guy obviously knew, and maybe, uh, Cas might know too-“

“Cas doesn’t know. And even if he did, it’s not like we’re on chummy terms with him right now-“

“Yeah, but maybe-“

“Sam,” Bobby grunted, watching Dean far too carefully. Like he already knew what was about to happen. “Now ain’t the time.”

“Bobby, you should be on this, it’s-“

Bobby said Her name with a sigh, and Dean whole fucking body whined. “I know, that’s why I think we should hear about whatever the hell is buggin’ your brother that’s got him slammin’ on tables and shoutin’.”

Dean scowled. He was not shouting. He was talking firmly.

“You got somethin’ you want to say to me, Dean-“

Dean said Her name, holding Bobby’s firm gaze. “You were locking her up in your panic room.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bobby, those blankets fucking smelled like her-“

“Why do you know what she smells like, Dean?” Sam’s grin was shit-eating, and it was going to get knocked off his fucking face with all his teeth. Sam knew Dean thought about how She smelled, he knew why Dean thought about it, he was being an asshole-

“Shut your face, Sam-“

“No, Dean.” Bobby’s tone was deadly. Dean should’ve brought his gun. “Why don’t ya’ explain why you got my little girl’s smell memorized?”

“I- This isn’t about that!” He regained his fury and footing, every word spat through his teeth. “This is about why the fuck you were locking her up-“

“I told ya, I wasn’t-“

“You were!” Dean roared. “You fucking were! And now she’d fucking gone, and you never bothered to fucking look for her-“

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice was a careful warning. Dean barely heard it over the blood in his ears, and on his hands, and chocking his breath because they’d lost Her, they’d fucking lost Her and now Dean couldn’t find her-

“None of you fucking cared about her! You’re letting Ruby run around and shit-talk her, and you’re locking her up like a fucking animal, and Dad tried to have her fucking killed-“

“Dean Adam Winchester.” Bobby snapped, and Dean’s whole body went rigid. Braced for something that never came, as Bobby only glowered at him from across the kitchen.

Bobby hadn’t know about Dad’s deal with Azazel. Dean could it all over the fury on his face, that She’d hidden it from everyone, Bobby included. For Her own, fucking insane reasons, She’d lied to everyone about it. And Dean had fucked up. He never knew how to stop, and he’d fucked up, and he was lower than the mud-

“I didn’t lock her up.” Bobby grunted, and there was something in his voice that could probably send an angel running for the hills. “She started lockin’ herself up, after she fuckin’ chased you to the goddamn hospital when you were dyin’, then came back cryin’ and tellin’ me she needed to start runnin’ again. I thought she was runnin’ from the pain, but it turns out you got some news for me.”

“He didn’t know, Bobby.” Sam mumbled. “Neither of us did until Chuck told us-“

“Told you what. That your Daddy tried to fuckin’ kill my kid?”

“Azazel.” Dean muttered, something very deep in his muscle tissue shriveling away. “Dad asked Azazel to kill her.”

Bobby’s jaw ticked. Dean was going to get shot. “You two are fuckin’ idjits-“

Sam swallowed. “Bobby, we didn’t know-“

“And I don’t give a flyin’ pig’s ass what you knew. I care that you, Sam are lettin’ me take all the fuckin’ heat for losing her when you’re the one who ran off with a damn demon the moment your brother kicked it. And you,” Bobby turned to Dean with a sneer, and now Dean was going to get shot. “I am not your fuckin’ father. I’ve known that girl’s somethin’ special since she grabbed my face and told me that the flowers like how I sing. You’ve heard me sing, I sound like shit, but she said the flowers liked it and hell, I believed her.”

Dean understood that. It was just how loving Her was. She said something, and it was true, and there was no room for questioning it because they truest law of the universe was whatever the hell She said it was.

“That girl is the light of my fuckin’ life,” Bobby hissed, still holding Dean’s gaze. “And if I had been smarter I woulda stayed with ‘er when you two went chasin’ Lilith. She runs Dean, and she’s damn good at it, and no one ain’t ever been fast enough to catch her. But if you think for one fuckin’ second I don’t leave my porch light on every night just in case she needs to open the door, you’re a hell of a lot more stupid than I thought. Just cause John tried to get her away from you don’t mean the rest of us are to fuckin’ blame for it, Dean. And that includes you.”

There was a long, heavy silence as Bobby just glared at him, and Dean felt something crushing his ribs. Someone had to be to blame. There needs to be something he could fight, someone who could bleed, because She was lost and everything in Dean was hurting, and there had to be something he could punch and beat into the concrete to make this better-

“Go walk it off.” Bobby grunted, and Dean shook his head. Weak. He was fucking weak.

“Bobby, I-“

“I know you- I know what she is to you. Same as I know what you are to her. Jesus, Dean, the only reason you ain’t gettin’ kicked out to sleep it off is cause I know that if she do come back tonight and you ain’t here, we’ll never fuckin’ see her again.”

Those words might have hit deeper in Dean’s body than Bobby had meant it. It might have snapped something in him then fused it back, all in half a second, and Dean-

He needed to walk it off.

It was dark outside. Dark and cold, and the wind was biting at his skin, and the last time he’d been out here at night had been-

He didn’t want to think about that. If he thought about that his legs might give out, and he might roar loud enough that the engines in the junkyard would howl back, and the whole world would stop turning for just a second, all to join in on the demand that She was safe.

Not even home, just safe. Not in the hands of Lilith, or being hunted by angels or Hell’s Assassin’s, or, son of a bitch, Alistair was top side, and knew about Dean’s… care for Her.

He’d taunted him about it, when Dean was still on the rack. Told him words that had to be lies, but hurt all the same. That Dean had always been right, thinking She deserved better, but he’d also been right thinking that he was the only one who knew how to hold Her right. That without Dean, She was going to go on and settle down with some rich Hollywood douchebag, and they’d have a happy little apple pie life, and she’d never look back to see if Dean was behind her again. That her husband would neglect her, and she’d keep having episodes that made the whole world bend into her, and then one day she’d implode on herself and join Dean down here.

“And I’ll make you watch, of course.” Alistair had hummed, turning over a blade in his hands. “That can be your new torture, for a few thousand years. Watching your Princess get carved up, watchin’ me touch her everywhere you were too much of a little fuckin’ pussy to, and listening to her curse your name. Oh, she’ll hate you, Dean. Hate that you left her to kill herself, even though we all knew it would happen eventually. To think you could’ve saved her, if you hadn’t let her destroy herself in your pathetic, unimportant name-“

Dean had spat on him, but the words had hurt more than the knife in his skin, the very next second.

And if Alistair had Her, there was someone who could bleed, but-

There might not be anything left of Her to retrieve.

“Dean.”

He didn’t even bother to shout at Cas for popping up without warning, or doing it when Dean felt like was about to goddamn cry. Dean just rubbed his face with a hand, and tried to not let his words be as empty as he felt. “Cas, now’s not really a good time, try again when you’re not looking to kill innocent girls-

“I am not here about Anna Milton.”

That got Dean to turn around, and Cas was a few feet away, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

And there was something behind it.

Dean just didn’t have a damn clue what.

“You gonna elaborate, dude?”

Cas said Her name. Slowly. Like he’d been practicing. “I have located her.”

“Cas, if this is some sort of twisted fucking joke or play to get Anna-“

“It is neither.” Cas titled his head, the odd expression deepening. “I believe you’d call it a peace offering. I wish you no harm, Dean, and this is meant to show that.”

Dean’s heart might not be beating. Time may not be moving. “And what, you think we’re just going to be buddy-buddy again because you might have found-“

“I did find her.” Cas said with a frown. “It is… Not possible to replicate or possess her.”

“So why aren’t you running back to your big bosses in the sky, telling them-“

“Because of the peace offering.” Cas said, like it was fucking simple. “I am afraid I am not able to bend on Anna, but this- I am under no orders to find her. This is of my own volition.”

“So you just, what? Combed over the earth until you found her?”

“No, I didn’t use any type of brush-“

“It’s a- Never mind.” Dean glanced back to Bobby’s house. To the flickering light on the porch. “How sure are you that you-“

“Positive. As of exactly three minutes ago, she is checked into a motel in Mission, Texas, United States of America.” Cas paused, watching Dean carefully. “Dean, if you are to… retrieve her, it may go badly for you both. Many of my brothers and sisters do not understand what she is, but we have been told that she cannot be allowed to interfere with our work.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Well, I hate to break it to you Cas, but your bosses might count this as interfering-“

Cas shook his head. “The area around her is scrambled. She is an anomaly of our knowledge, and she had quite an odd effect on our grace.”

“Then how’d you-“

“I cannot linger, Dean.” Cas sighed, glancing up the sky. “Being near her has given me a brief amount of cover, but it will wear off soon. We will be back soon for Anna. I hope you and Sam come to your senses and that you,” Cas paused, and let out a long, slow sigh. “Make the right choice.”

Cas vanished, and Dean didn’t care if he was talking about Anna.

The only right choice was going after Her.

And he knew there was a world where She’d seen his soul and hate him. Know what Dean had done, and despise him for it.

But he’d rather—selfishly, weakly, fucking pathetically—see Her one last time. If She cast him down and away, spit on him and left him to rot, at least he would seen Her, and known that she was okay. If She’d come to her senses about him while he was gone, at least he’d had Her, just in a fleeting moment before She returned to whatever Heaven she was made for, and Dean crawled back to the mud knowing he’d been smiled at by a god.

He’d give Her his fucking heart and whatever shreds of his soul were left, and even if She threw them away, at least Dean would have made his offering.

At least She’d know that Dean was still with Her, all the way down.

——————

Your guts are in your hands. You’re going to have nightmares about this for the rest of your life.

And you wouldn’t call yourself safe.

But at least you’re fucking free.

You’d started driving the day Dean came back. The phone had hung up, you’d looked up to the sky, and it had flickered in warning. But your silent words had been an oath. You were going to get home, and if the Sky had a fucking problem with that, it could come down and try to restrain you itself.

Even then it wouldn’t work.

You were going back to Dean.

You’d wanted to go straight back to him. To drive and drive until you pulled into Bobby’s yard, and you could burst through the door, and he would be there, in the kitchen. You’d fall into his arms and his body would be warm because he was alive, then you’d cling to him until the world was Silver in a way that wasn’t painful, and all of Dean’s Gold was stained on your shirt and pants and skin. Until it would take a tidal wave to wash him away.

A tidal wave you’d never let touch you, or Dean. You’d be home, and you’d be able to keep him alive. This time you wouldn’t fail him. If Lilith came for him, you wouldn’t hesitate to crush Her with the Silver. If Dean—the beautiful, amazing, clever dumbass—made another demon deal, you’d wipe it off his soul then strangle him for doing that to you twice.

Then you’d hug him, and hold him, and he’d be fucking alive.

You might have traded the whole world just to be allowed to hold Dean. Sooner, and forever. To be permitted to crawl into his lap, and wrap your legs around his torso, then just fucking stay there. The Sky wouldn’t see you, and nothing would hurt Dean because you’d be there, and monsters never hurt you.

Monsters never hurt you.

Humans did not have the same reservations.

You’d been distracted. Ketch and Davis only caught up to you because apparently, whatever was funding their fancy suits was also funding their fucking planes and cars. You’d been driving the Firebird, and it was a beautiful car that you wouldn’t give up for anything, but no amount of Dean’s mechanical skills could make a car that was older than you were faster than a plane.

The distraction had come from the combination of the Silver—rocketing around your body and the world, restless until you could look at Dean and know he was safe—and the fact that you’d been rushing. Sloppy. Careless. Half your body had been coffee and off-brand energy drinks, and the other half had been gas station slop that would’ve made Dean proud, but only made you a little sick.

You hadn’t been eating much before he came back. You could barely stomach healthy food without feeling like you were going to vomit. And Dean may be alive, but the light that was spinning and humming and refracting through the Spiderweb couldn’t repair months of damage to your body.

And if it could, you hadn’t had the energy or power or time to find out.

You’d needed to get home. And if sleeping four hours every other day—a small part of you still rotting with fear that you’d fall asleep, and dream of Dean in Hell once more—and only eating sparsely when you stopped to refill your gas got you home faster, so be it.

It hadn’t been healthy. You’d known that.

But knowing had never helped. And you’d just really fucking wanted to get home to Dean.

So your body had been weak. And the Silver had been suffering from your neglect as well, and the world had been slightly blurry, and Ketch and Davis had gotten the fucking jump on you.

They must have known they’d only get one shot. That once they showed that they’d been tracking and following you—with their cryptic fucking ways—you would fortify. Account for it, and adjust, and the chance would slip through their fingers.

It hadn’t.

They’d found you in Monterrey, Mexico. A few hours from the border. So fucking close.

The Firebird had been left in the motel. They’d told you that.

Maybe not told you.

But you’d heard it.

“What should we do about her car?” That had been Davis, off to one side as they transported you like fucking cargo. Iron cuffs around your wrists, a cloth gag in your mouth—they still didn’t seem to fully grasp that gagging you really didn’t do fucking shit—and your legs bound as you’d been laid in the back of the van.

They’d at least given you a pillow.

That had likely been Davis. And you’d bet a lot of money it was Ketch who’d knocked you out with a blow to the back of your head before the Silver could pick up on a threat and riot.

It had at least given you an advantage.

They hadn’t known you were awake and listening.

“Leave it. It’s a scrap of shit from the 70s, we won’t even be able to sell it for a proper gain.” Ketch’s voice had been dismissive. Bored.

You’d had to fight the urge to sit up, spit out your gag, and hiss at him that it wasn’t a scrap of shit, it was an amazing car that Dean had made for you, and only about forty-five percent of it was actually from the 70s, because Dean was fantastic with cars and he’d made this one with a million different modern parts, so Ketch could suck your fucking dick.

You hadn’t done that. It wouldn’t have done you any favors, and this way, you’d been able to keep that in the back of your head.

They’d left your car in the lot. And it was old, so no one would try to steal it.

If they did, you’d track it down and take it back. It was your car, and there was no fucking way you were going back to Dean only to tell him you’d lost his gift. He might say it was fine, and he’d just build you another one, but you didn’t want him to have to do that. You wanted to have some sort of proof to show him that you had been waiting, and missing him, and loving him, and you would’ve spilled blood for that car because it was a little piece of Dean that got to be yours, so you’d cared for it.

Saying that the car was still there had been their first mistake.

The second had been keeping you in Mexico. Where you could get back to your car, once you broke out.

Because there had been no fucking way you weren’t going to break out. Ketch and Davis could tie you up where the fuck they wanted, and starve you and torture you and weaken you further, but you were always going to break out.

The only reason it had taken so long was that the state they’d been keeping you in hadn’t done your exhaustion any favors.

“We’ve learned better than you try and ship you over, after your little display in Bolivia.” Ketch had drawled, sitting a carefully distance away and watching you with a smirk. “But our doctors are quite… fascinated by you.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and kept your mouth shut. They’d taken off your gag, but entertaining Ketch’s mocking might be worse torture than anything.

“You know, if you behave, we might offer you a partnership. A little tit for tat. You’re an American, we have limited ability to work in America, and you’re obviously far more disciplined than their dogs of hunters-“

That had gotten you to narrow your eyes, and Ketch had caught it.

“Interesting. Would you consider yourself a hunter? Even with your affliction?”

No entertaining him. You couldn’t entertain him, if only for your own dignity.

“Do the other American hunters know of what you are? Do you know what you are?”

You’d bitten down on your tongue until you tasted blood, and Ketch had sighed.

“You know, darling, it doesn’t matter if you won’t speak to me. Once our experts get here, they will ensure you’re cooperative.”

He’d got up and left, and if you could’ve, you would’ve laughed in his face.

In a way, you had.

Their experts had arrived the next afternoon. You’d been tied to the same chair, Davis across from you with a small frown, trying to get you to talk to him.

“You know, you are the first case that’s required me to have a gun.” He’d hummed, and you’d blinked at him. “I am not usually put on these types of missions, but you have fascinated us. Witches are usually quite easy. They go down fast, with a dirty fight, but you have evaded us longer than anyone. And I do not believe you are a witch.”

You’d only stared at him, and he’d pressed further.

“I went back to retrieve your possessions, yesterday.” Davis had watched you carefully, and you’d forced your face to remain neutral. “You have very few personal belongings.”

That had been true before Dean’s death. And everything you hadn’t had on you the day you left was still at Bobby’s.

You really hoped these douchebags didn’t find out about Bobby. Or Dean. Or Sam.

Especially Sam. Given the whole special child thing, they wouldn’t treat him well, and whatever partnership Ketch had been implying earlier likely wouldn’t extended to a boy with demon blood.

“Please tell me if I missed anything,” Davis had continued, pulling out a small notepad. “Your bag continued a flask filled with water, and I’m afraid we had to empty it for precautions, but the flask itself remains intact.“

You’d scowled at that. That had not been fucking water, and it had taken you a whole fucking day to get it.

“There was also a book.” Davis had frowned at you, and the curiosity on his face had almost been genuine. “It is not something I’ve seen before, which, I hope you understand, is quite rare. I have to ask, are you capable of reading it? Do you think you could provide me with a translation to English?”

That had gotten a reaction. You’d sat up straighter with an obvious confusion all over your face, because that copy was English. It was made of all the same, slightly floating and shifting words that were on the Blade—that spelled out woman of the high—but they were in English. You could only read in English, and—after your time in South America—some shoddy Portuguese and Spanish.

You’d been able to read that book since you were a kid. It had been one of the reasons you’d been yelled at, by your grandfather, because you couldn’t just go around claiming to know what you did not understand.

And Davis had seen your obvious reaction, but he’d misread it. Taken it for defiance, and let out a long sigh before moving all.

“I suppose now isn’t the best time to be make offers. I did tell Arthur you’d be more cooperative if we didn’t treat you like an animal, but he- Never mind. We’ll discuss it later. Now,” he’d looked back down to his list. “Your jacket was on the bed, and I found a little note from DW in one of the pockets.” Davis had raised his brows and you, and the Silver had bucked pathetically in your chest.

The pain of the possible concussion Ketch had given you, combined with your exhaustion, had been holding it down. But the mention of Dean had made the Spiderweb flare, and had jolted the Silver, and your gag had disintegrated in your mouth.

Davis’ eyes had widened. “How-“

“What else did you find in my jacket.” You’d snapped, and he’d shaken his head.

“Ah- Just two knives. But-“

“Did you touch them?”

“No, that would go against protocol-

“Good.” You’d muttered, rubbing your palm, your hands still tied behind your back. “Don’t.”

Davis had frowned at you. “I-“

Ketch had burst through the door with a woman whose soul was a flat, slate-like color—almost nothing under it, made of the same parts of the earth where life could never grow—and Davis had been dismissed.

He’d given you one last odd look, before he left, and you think Sam would’ve liked him, if he hadn’t chosen whatever this was as a career. They both had a habit of asking too many questions at all the worst possible times.

And you were grateful, because now you’d known about their third mistake.

They’d taken your stuff. The stuff Dean had given you, that you’d do anything to get back.

The first week had continued to pass. It had been long, and tedious, and painful, but you’d spent your whole life drowning yourself in pain. No matter how weakened you’d made yourself, there was nothing they could do to you that you hadn’t already done to yourself.

It wasn’t like you could answer their questions, even if you fucking wanted to. You had maybe less answers than they did.

“Would you consider yourself a witch?”

You’d shrugged at the cold woman, keeping your voice bored. “I dunno. Would you?”

The woman’s jaw had ticked. “This is not a conversation. Answer my question.”

You’d only hummed, swinging your feet a little off the floor. “Witch is such a loaded word, right? I mean, between Salem and the persecutions with Protestantism, there’s just such a complex history. And what is magic if not science that the general public doesn’t get to know about-“

“Arthur.” The woman had snapped, and Ketch had moved in a flash.

You don’t think they knew that the only reason you hadn’t killed them all by then was because of the torture. Because that external pain was great enough for the Silver to balk and whine, and you were too weak and tired to drag it to the surface.

“Let’s try again,” the woman had hummed when Ketch finally backed away, your skin cold and dripping wet, your breaths coming in ragged, shallow sounds. “Would you consider yourself a witch.”

“No, but I’d consider you one- Sorry.” You’d given her a soft, sweet smile. “I meant bitch, that’s my-“

The rag had gone back over your face.

But you didn’t break easy.

“If you’re not a witch,” Davis had asked a few days later, when Ketch and the Bitch had left for the night. “What would you consider yourself?”

You’d shrugged in your binds. “Not sure. But I am taking suggestions.”

“Suggestions?” Davis had repeated, watching with a frown. “You are… Aware of what you are?”

You’d given him a grimacing smile—there really was no point in lying—and he’d given you a curious look.

“Interesting.”

If he’d passed it on to the Bitch and Ketch, their methods and questions hadn’t changed.

“Are you a witch?”

“Yes, but only when I need a last-minute Halloween costume.”

“How did that book come into your possession?”

“Technically, it’s not in my possession.”

“You know what I am asking, you snide little creature-“

“Do I?”

Dean would be proud of you.

You missed him.

But he was alive. The whole time, nothing in you really broke because Dean was alive, and nothing could really break you more than his death had. Where the Silver was whining and howling for him, the Spiderweb kept you peacefully tethered. You didn’t have the luxury of exploding fully—there was a possibly unfounded, but entirely certain fear that, after weeks and weeks of build-up, you’d explode and hurt a little more than the assholes keeping you locked up—but you were still alive.

And the woman had gotten frustrated quite fast. You like to think you’d learned to drive her insane from years of watching Dean talk in circles around people, just like this.

He really would’ve been proud. Once he got past being pissed about the whole kidnapped and tortured thing, he’d be proud.

And then there was mistake four.

One of the agents—you’d thought it was just the three who never seemed to have anything better to do than talk to you, but apparently, they had a whole operation going on in Mexico—had been a fucking idiot, and touched the Blade.

The Silver had flared, when they’d told you. You’d never let anyone touch it. It had just been an instinct in your body, of no one should hold the hilt but you. When Sam had examined it, you’d made him wear Bobby’s kitchen mitts, or use a cloth. You’d slapped Dean’s hand away countless time, apologizing for the hit but knowing you’d do it again in a heartbeat, because no one should touch it. Ever. It’s yours. Made for you, only for you, and nobody else.

“Are they okay?” You’d whispered, and Davis had blinked at you.

You don’t think he expected you to actually care. But that instinct didn’t come from nowhere, and if whatever soul stuff was going on with you really was forbidden as Letitia had implied, that agent might be-

“He’s gone mad.” Davis had said, and you’d swallowed.

Better than dead. But only a bit.

“The doctor and Arthur will return soon.”

“Cool.” You’d shrugged, had Davis had sighed.

“They are not pleased with you,” he’d said your name gently, and you’d snorted.

“Well, they can get in line.”

“You are a remarkable woman, I am sure if you cooperated-“

“Look,” you’d raised your chin, holding Davis’ gaze. “I’m not interested in cooperating, and I cannot emphasize enough how little I care about your operation, and questions, and torture.”

“Our methods have been… ineffective.” Davis had muttered under his breath. “May I ask who trained you to withstand such proven tactics?”

“I did.”

Davis had blinked at that. His words turning slow and measured. “Is there anything we could do? To sway you in our favor?”

You’d given him a flat look. “Stop torturing me.”

“That’s not unreasonable.” He’d nodded, and if you didn’t think you’d cough up blood, you would’ve laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

What he could do ended up amounting to them feeding you. The woman didn’t cease her questions—if anything, they increased, becoming harsher and more specific—and Ketch became, somehow, more of an asshole, but you were eating.

It was their fifth mistake. The moment you weren’t on the brink of starvation, the Silver started to grow comfortable again. Started to settle and build, and you were more than fucking ready to go home.

“Mick thinks you’d be a good addition to our forces.” Ketch had hummed, when it was just you and him in your carpeted prison. “I think he has a soft spot for intriguing things. You’re lucky you’re not his type, or he might be proposing every time you confused him.”

You’d gotten really sick of rolling your eyes, so you’d just sighed. “Yeah, well, he’s not my type either. And I tend not to accept proposals from people holding me prisoner.”

Ketch had given you a wolf-like smile. All teeth, no light, crawling over your skin. “And what is your type, darling?”

You had one type. Pretty green eyes and messy short hair, an infuriating and boyish smile, leaving Gold everywhere he went and holding your hand in a way that made you certain you’d kill something with your teeth so you never had to let go.

“I don’t think I have one.” You’d shrugged, twisting the skin on your finger, your hands still tied behind your back. “And if you’re building up to a proposal, I’d like to remind you of my prisoner rule.”

Ketch’s grin had grown. “And if I wasn’t keeping you prisoner?”

You’d been unable to stop your snort. “Dude, you can’t be serious-“

“You must know how beautiful you are,” Ketch had hummed, and the Silver had hissed and boiled in your chest. “Even if they don’t have mirrors in America, you must have spent a lifetime fending off suitors.”

“We have mirrors.” You’d said, your tone flat. You wouldn’t entertain this. And if Ketch was smart, he’d have dropped it there.

But he hadn’t.

Sixth mistake.

You could feel the Silver coiling. Tightening.

Getting ready to burst.

“You seem to have been running for a while,” Ketch had said your name, and it had sounded wrong. Too soft, too simple, barely even a word. “I’m sure you’d want to rest, and we have far more luxury to offer you than any brutish, American hunters ever could.“

Seventh mistake.

Your lips had curled in a tight smirk, and you hadn’t bothered to hide the venom in your voice as you spoke.

“Maybe not,” your smile had grown impossible full-lipped and sweet. If Ketch had used his brain, he would’ve seen it for the warning it was. “But at least they’ve never had to tie a girl up to talk to her.”

Ketch had laughed. “Oh, I’m sure they’re fun for a night, darling, but if they knew what you were? They’d kill you in a heartbeat. No offers of making use of your curse.”

For a half a second, an image of Dean holding you right to his chest as you sobbed had crashed through your head, his voice ringing in your ears.

Come home.

Dean knew what you were. And he was alive, and he wanted you to come home.

It sparked over the Spiderweb. A righteous fury—born of them daring to keep you from Dean, then act like he wasn’t the best thing in the fucking universe—overtaking your body. That there might be American hunters that would kill you, but you still had Bobby and Rufus and Sam and Jo and Ellen and Dean, and they’d do more than make use of you.

They’d hold you.

And these fuckdicks had been keeping you from them.

Then, right as the Silver started to almost swell, humming and running under your skin, clawing to be set out, to set you free, Ketch made the eighth mistake.

The last one.

Ketch’s hand had cupped your face, and it was sweaty and clammy, and then you were everything.

The smooth exhaustion of the lights they’d been keeping on for weeks, right over your head. The itch of the carpet and the wear of the chair and the tension of the walls, too fucking tired from holding up the ceiling.

You could relieve them. The same way you could relieve the chair of your weight.

Ketch had gone flying across the room, and you hadn’t bothered to look at him as you’d—rubbing your wrists where the bounds had fallen away—stepped over his dazed body.

The wall deserved a break. And they relaxed just enough to cave in the room, and trap Ketch inside.

He’d be fine. They’d dig him out later, once you were long, long gone.

It had taken a minute to find where they’d been keeping your possessions, and you’d barely open the box—marked with your first name in neat, little cursive letters—in the storage room when the alarms began. Blaring and deafening and pair with flashing lights and fuck, they’d been loud-

But you’d almost been free.

And the Silver was still burning you into everywhere in the world.

So you’d shrugged on your jacket, grabbed your knife and flask and keys, and felt a little of the earth shake beneath your feet when you’d realized what was missing.

The Blade and the Book.

Fuck.

There wasn’t enough time to look for them, or find them, and god fucking Christ, all these assholes were British, maybe they’d fucking shipped your shit across the fucking ocean-

A problem for you in a week. When you were home, with Dean.

When someone wasn’t bursting through the door, and aiming a gun at your chest.

You didn’t have the Blade, but you had your knife.

You’d be fine.

It was easier than it maybe should’ve been, to fight your way out. The halls had been dark, and you’d still been so fucking tired, but you hadn’t stopped moving for a second and by the time the second agent fired right over your shoulder, the blur kicked in.

These people were just a different kind of monster.

And you were really fucking good at fighting monsters.

Your knife had spun in your hands—the world flashing and fading in and out of focus around you—and didn’t aim to kill. Every cut had been measured to cause harm, but not death. The worst was a man who grabbed you by the neck, and ended with a gash from his cheek to the base of his neck.

And you could see the daylight, and you were so fucking close, and-

The air had been hot and flat. If the jacket around your body wasn’t one of the only things you owned that was yours, you would’ve had to leave it on the sidewalk.

Instead you’d run. Ignored the stares of pedestrians, prayed no one called in a sighting of a woman covered in blood, staggering down the streets with a knife, and kept fucking running until-

Somehow, after almost a month, your car was still there.

The headlights were bashed in.

You should’ve killed Ketch while you had the chance.

But the Firebird had started—when you see Dean again, you’re going to buy him so much pie he’ll fall in love with you—and you’re fucking gone.

It’s only when you’d cross the border—with falsified papers, but that’s maybe your least severe crime of the afternoon—that the blur had fully faded. They won’t follow you into the States. You’d heard Davis and Ketch mentioning a lot about jurisdictions before.

You’re safe.

Safer.

Because the blur fades and you feel a little faint. And when you glance down for half a second, you see it.

Blood seeping through your clothing, hot and sticky.

Fresh.

Yours.

Fuck.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

You just have to get through this, and then you can go home.

There’s just enough money on your card to get you a motel room for the night. It’s a shitty, creaking floorboard and concrete shower motel, but it’s got a bed.

The woman behind the desk surveys you with raised brows as you lean against the wall, and you offer her a weak smile.

“Roleplaying convention.” You mumble, twisting the skin on your finger. “We like to be realistic.”

You’re not sure how she buys it, but you get the key, no other questions, and no cops come knocking on your door.

It takes a minute to heal the wound. It was a bullet shot, right to your abdomen, and your head is still spinning with dehydration and exhaustion and the weight of the past months crashing into you.

Dean’s alive, and you’d promised him you’d come home, but then you hadn’t.

And what if he thought that you weren’t. That you’d decided to leave him, and you simply weren’t worth the effort of looking for. What if he was looking for you, and he was putting himself in danger for it, and before you ever even saw him again you’d feel the Spiderweb go dark once more, and you would’ve missed your chance, and the Sky was still watching, but it hadn’t bothered to rescue you, so what the fuck was it even for then-

Dean wouldn’t just give up on you like that. He was a stubborn asshole, and even if he didn’t love you, he would never just abandon you.

But he didn’t know what you’d done. What you’d become, while he was gone.

He might walk away once he learned. It would be for the better. You were still sick, still incurable. And you’d embraced it, when you should’ve been fighting it.

Dean wouldn’t be looking for the monster. She was what he’d find, when he found you, but until then you’ll cling to the idea that you’re going to knock on Bobby’s door and Dean would only hold you. Only tell you he missed you.

You’ll torture yourself with that thought later.

Right now, you’re still bleeding out on the motel floor.

The shot went through your body, and when you bite down on your tongue and carefully press on the wound with the palm of your hand, the Silver flowing into a soft, easy harmony as you focus on Dean.

He’s not here, but he’s alive. Safe. You’ll see him soon, and even if he pushes you away, you’ll get the chance to wash yourself in Gold. To have him with you all the time, just a little longer.

You love him. You don’t know how you’re going to tell him, when you see him. You might not.

He deserves more than to be loved by something wrong and dark and sick. That doesn’t stop you from loving him, but it does remind you that he’s been through enough, and you don’t need to give him the extra burden of gently turning you down.

And it would make things awkward, between everyone.

It might be better if you just never-

A low hiss pushes between your teeth, and the Spiderweb is straining at the thought of Dean turning you away, making the Silver flicker and weaken, and the wound opens up-

Shit.

Only good things. You’re going to see Bobby again soon, and you’ll make him slightly burnt pancakes as an apology for leaving, which he’ll accept it with a grunt when you bring out the whipped cream. You can tell Sam about all the monsters you found in South America, and talk to Jo about anything but hunting so you can both feel a little more normal, and Dean-

You’ll be able to touch him. And there will be color in his cheeks and heat in his body, and he’ll look at you. After months of nightmares, Dean will look at you. And he’ll say your name, and everything will maybe be okay.

You love him.

And if you have to, you’ll learn to do it in silence.

But you’ll still love him. The Silver will bloom until there’s a jungle of flowers and vines and shimmering water living along all your vital organs, and they’ll all be illuminated by the Spiderweb, and made of Dean. You love Dean. He’s alive, and you love him, and you can keep a small, secret world safe for him in your body because you love him, and there should always be something beautiful for Dean.

The wound stops bleeding—your skin and tissue mending itself with a slight sting—but doesn’t heal, yet your head drops back against the wall.

You need sleep. Proper sleep, where you’re not tied to a chair and you don’t know you’re going to wake up to annoying accents and more insane fancy people, trying to get you to be something you’re not, that you’ve never been.

You barely even know what or who you are now.

The world begins to fade in and out, catching you right between restless, pained sleep and real peace, and a voice you don’t recognize says your name.

Your full name.

With the proper, given last name.

Your eyes shoot open, your body bracing for the blur to kick in, but it never comes.

But there’s still a strange man in your motel room.

He’s tall—just an inch shorter than Dean—and dark haired, pale skinned, blue eyed, and his soul-

Your mouth falls open.

This man doesn’t have a soul. He’s not possessed, either.

He’s concentrated. Made of packed down, shimmering, nuclear power. Millions of eyes molded into two, a thousand hands made the same, and an unnamable amount of colors—shifting, wrathful rainbows that run over his body like flames licking along his ribs—all being burned into a neon, electric blue.

But the other colors aren’t hidden. They’re more like television static. Turning and flowing over the blue, which is simply the strongest color among the countless others.

It’s like staring at lightning, being fractured through a prism.

And he’s just staring right back. Watch you carefully, like you may explode.

When you find your voice. It’s soft. Hoarse.

“You’re…” You swallow, holding his gaze and curling a little further into your own body. “Colorful.”

The man blinks. “You can see me.”

“I- Yes?” You take a slow breath, hugging your knees to your chest. “Should I not be able to?”

“I am not sure.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long moment of silence as you only watch each other, and you finally clear your throat with slow, careful words.

“Can you see me?”

The man tilts his head at you. “Yes, I am looking at you right now-“

“No, I mean me.” You tap your chest, right over the core of the Silver. “My soul.”

“Yes.” The man says, a small frown on his face. “Although you are… brighter. Then any other human I’ve encountered.”

You sit up a little straighter at that. “So I am human-“

“There is part of you that is human, yes.”

Part.

That’s not helpful.

“But you do know who I am?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t offer anything else, and silence falls once more. The longer you look at him, the more certain you are that you recognize him. Not the man, but him. The thing inside the vessel, powerful and furious and-

“You.” Your eyes widen as it hits you, and your hand moves to your knife—resting at your feet—on instinct alone. “I- I’ve seen you before, you were in Hell.”

The man doesn’t seem fazed. His frown only deepens. “You remember.”

“Yeah, you- You fucking, you attacked Dean-“

“I saved Dean.” His correction is gentle, but firm as you push to your feet. “I was given order to raise him from Hell, and I executed them.”

“Orders-“

“From heaven.”

You blink at him. “What?!”

“I- Oh. My apologies, I forgot you didn’t know.” The man dips his head slightly, still holding your gaze. “I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord.”

This has been a long fucking day. Maybe whatever you were shot with had a hallucinogenic. Maybe you’re just finally fucking losing it.

But it makes sense. You can see him, and he can see you, and fuck, that means angels are real and they-

They’d wanted Dean.

And you don’t trust it.

“Why?”

Castiel frowns at you. “I am not sure. It is simply how I was made-“

“No,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean why did raise Dean from Hell?”

“Because that is what I was ordered to do.”

You pause, spinning your knife in your hand as you turn over his words. Ordered. He hadn’t saved Dean by personal choice, he was simply the angel ordered to. That implied a hierarchy, that there was someone or something that-

“Did…” You let out a long breath. Stranger things. “Did God order you to get him?”

Castiel shakes his head. “God has not been seen of thousands of years. I was instructed to retrieve him by my superiors.”

“Your superior… Angels?”

Castiel nods, and you rub your face, scratching slightly at your skin.

“Sure,” you mutter. “Why not.”

“I do not understand the question.”

“It’s not a question.”

Castiel hums, watching you with an almost curious frown. “You are reacting better than Dean did. Have you met one of our kind before?”

“No, I just- Might as well be, right? I’ve seen stranger shit, and I guess-“ You cut yourself off as a lot of thoughts slam into you at once.

You had met him before. In Hell. And he remembers it, so that was real. You’d really seen Dean in Hell, every night, and-

Oh, God.

You stumble to the bathroom, and over the sound of your own retching, you don’t hear Castiel following you.

“Dean is in good health.” He says from the doorway. “My resurrection was successful.”

“I know.” You mutter, wiping a little bile from your mouth. “I just- I wasn’t sure it was real. What I saw.“

“Of course it was real. It caused many angels to be quiet… concerned.”

“Huh.” You take a long, shaking breath. “Have you been ordered to find me, then?”

“No. That is not my division.”

You glance up at him, trying to focus on the man rather than the angel burning inside of him. “Then why are you here?”

“It is… I am not sure.” Castiel frowns at you, but it’s not the under the microscope frown the Doctor gave you. It’s almost openly, innocently curious. “You are nothing I have seen before.”

“Yeah, I know I’m not human-“

“It is more than that. You are unique. I have never seen my brothers and sisters unable to find someone, let alone one woman.”

You pause, twisting to fully face him, but staying near the toilet. Just in case. “Then how did you find me?”

“I did not find you.”

“Wha-“

“You are covered in the stains of Dean’s soul.” Castiel mutters, and you feel your face heat. “I am the only angel who has touched him, and it has given me an… extra affinity. To locate him.”

You nod slowly. “Like a hound dog?”

“I- Yes, actually.” Castiel mirrors your nod. “Like a hound dog. It is not exact, I had to… comb the Gulf of Mexico to locate you.”

“Oh.”

“I am not here to harm you.” He adds. “I do not believe I would be able to. My superiors, they have forbidden us from allowing you to interfere, but they have also told us no harm may come to you.”

“Awesome.” You mumble, and Castiel takes a careful step forward.

“You are also very important to Dean.”

“I-“

“You are embedded in him. More I have ever seen any human bond with another.”

That wakes you fully up again. Embedded. You’re embedded in Dean, and you’ve seen all the additional, flitting colors on other people’s soul, but Castiel says you’re embedded in Dean-

“I don’t-“

“I cannot stay.” Castiel continues like he’d said nothing at all. “I simply wanted to… see you. I have never heard of any being simply walking in and out of Hell by whim, let alone remaining undetected-“

“I wasn’t really there-“

“You touched Dean.” Castiel says, the words sounding almost simple. “I could sense it, as I touched him. It felt like life.”

You swallow, and before you can ask what the fuck that means, Castiel continues.

“You do not seem to be the damnation my siblings fear you to be. You are remarkably human, incredibly flawed-“

“Gee, thanks-“

“You are welcome.” Castiel incline his head, and part of you wants to laugh. “But you are not only human. You are bright. It is- You may be all we have been waiting for.”

There’s another long second of silence, and you can’t think of a single possibly word or response. It’s been too long a day. Week. Month. Year.

And you really don’t fucking care about the angel and Hell and damnation, you’re only looping around embedded. You embedded in Dean but that may have hurt him, what if you had hurt Dean-

Castiel scans over you—frozen on the floor and blinking up at him like an idiot—and lets out a slow breath. “If you do not go with Dean, and I trust you will not understand this to be an insult, I hope that I never hear of you again. And in the likely case that you do, I will see you soon. I would wipe your mind of our interaction, but I do not think it would take.”

Your eyes widen again. At this rate, they might pop out of your head. “Wipe my mind?”

“It is better for both of us that we pretend this never happened. As I said, I have brothers who are not fond of you, and I am… bending many, many rules to even speak to you. Be careful,” Castiel says your full name once more, offering you a slight nod, and before you can ask even one question, he’s gone with a rush of wind through your hair and a heavy beating sound in the air.

You’re left alone on the cold bathroom floor, and you need rest but your head is turning too fast because, at the end of the day, you’re nothing. You’re not the damnation or salvation Azazel called you, you’re not what the angel have been waiting for, and you’re not a good addition to any forces or possible partner to anyone-

But Dean.

You’re his partner. That had been the first deal. Safer together.

And you’ll be a lot of other things for Dean before this—whatever this is—is over. You’ll be bright if it guides him home. You’ll be the fucking monster to keep him alive, and you’ll be the answer if it keeps him from ever being locked in Hell again.

You’ll be damnation for anything that tries to take him away from you again, and you’ll be salvation if he lets you.

You’ll take him any way he allows you to. You’ll grow so sick you rot into the dirt, and it will be the earth that keeps Dean always on steady feet. If Bobby burns your body, you’ll become the flame to keep him warm. If you’re frayed and snapped and disintegrated by something nuclear, you’ll follow Dean around so he always has some air to breathe.

If you drown, kept in another warehouse or in a cage, tied with chains that aren’t Dean’s—although he would never bind you like that, he doesn’t have to, you’re wired to have him refracting and strong in your body—until you suffocate, you’ll turn yourself into his blood so that his heart keeps beating.

You love him.

And he can never know. Nothing can ever hurt Dean again, nothing can ever use him or tell him what to do like a dog, because he’s more than that. Smarter. Better.

Dean’s the best thing in the world.

You won’t let yourself be the thing that makes him feel more pain. Not for you.

So you’ll go back to him, but if he turns you away, you’ll go without a fight, and if he lets you stay, you’ll grab him and never let go, in the name of a silent love he’ll never have to hear-

There’s a knock on your door. Cutting through your thoughts and stilling your heartbeat for half a second, because the world is technicolor.

And when you push to your feet and stumble to the door, the Spiderweb is leading you more than your brain. Pulling you like a magnet until you’re fumbling with the handle and yanking it open, not balking at the blast of hot air because-

He’s more Golden than before. He was always so gold, but this is…

Every gash and cut and scar and bubbling wound that had been ripped and carved into him in Hell is gone. Replace by more gold, stronger and harsher but also more Dean. Protective and resilient, and you could move it if you touched it right. It still starts to the right of his heart and spreads out, and it’s still underlaid with that glowing river of Silver from before, and the sealed, firm, new parts of him see to wrap around the river. To shield it from the world. And he's not made of any element you’ve seen before, but you don’t care because it’s Dean, he’s here and alive and in front of you-

He grins at you, crooked, a little soft, and amazing. “Hey, Princess. You miss me?”

A weak, choked sounds escapes your throat, and Dean’s eyes widen right as your legs give out.

You don’t know if you throw yourself onto him, or if he catches you before you hit the ground. It doesn’t really matter. The end result is the same.

Dean half carries you to the carpet of the motel room before sinking down to the floor, and you wrap yourself around him like maybe, if you really fucking try, all the gentle and healing parts of you—the bits that had been the White—will move into him, and he’ll never have to hurt again.

If he minds how you’re holding him, Dean doesn’t show it. His arms are tight around you and his fingers brush through your hair, and he’s muttering likely soothing words over your sobs that you can’t really hear, because everything in you is fixed in on the sound of Dean’s heartbeat.

Right by your ear.

Steady.

He’s alive.

“Dean-“ Your voice is soft, when you finally find a breath to speak. “I- I don’t-“

“I know.” He mutters, and you don’t ever want to hear another sound but his voice again. “I- I’m gonna explain it all when we get home, but there’s a lot going on. Got pulled out by angels, and they’re kinda assholes, but it’s we’re handling it. You’ll see.”

You don’t tell Dean you know he got pulled out by angels. You don’t want to lie to him—it’s always only made you sicker—but Castiel said it would be better if no one knew.

And you’re going to go with Dean. Anything that tries to take you away will have to kill you, and even then, you think you’d work out how to let the Silver raze through the world until there was a strong, clear path back home. Back to Dean.

So you’ll see Castiel again.

And some instinct in your body, designed and forged from years of knowing what to say and who to attach yourself to in order to survive, is telling you that it will be important to keep him near you. It’s the very same, nameless, often thoughtless instinct that told you trail after Sam and Dean when John was trying to kill you—separate from the pull to Dean’s gravity, made more of this is a safer place than most to be favored—and that allowed you to not run when Bobby found you on the highway.

So you just lean back, and offer him a small smile. “I’ll see?”

“Yeah, you’ll- son of a bitch.” Dean’s eyes are trained between your bodies.

On your not-fully-healed gunshot wound, and the blood seeping through your shirt.

“What the fuck- Up.”

You blink at him. “De, I’m okay-“

“No. Up.” You don’t move, and Dean scowls. “C’mon, Princess, just-“

He hauls you up his body with a grunt, moving you to the edge of the mattress and setting you down with slow, almost precise ease.

“Shirt.” He orders, frowning around your motel room. “You got a kit in here?”

“No, it’s in my car-“

“Mine probably better stocked.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “Stay here.”

You gape as he stands straight up. “Dean Winchester-“

“I’ll be right back.” He grunts, and when he glances over his shoulder, his face makes it look like he’s the one in pain.

“De-“

“I missed you.”

The door closes behind him, and he’s gone a total off three minutes, but you miss him every fucking second, and he looks so handsome when he stomps back inside with a medkit, but God, you’re going to strangle him-

It’s about halfway through your stitches—your back flat on the mattress as he kneels at the edge of the bed, and his knuckles brushing against your bare skin and leaving little, soft fires in their wake and that’s really not the fucking point—when Dean breaks the silence.

“What happened.”

“I got shot.” You mumble, and he lets out a long, audible breath.

“I got that, Princess. Who shot you.”

“Same people who bashed my headlights.”

“I’m not kidding around,” he says your name, and his voice is firm and deep and commanding, and he’s mad but you want to crawl back around him and never let go. “Who did this.”

You let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “Hunters.”

It’s not technically a lie, so Dean doesn’t catch it. His fingers still curl slightly against your skin. “Who.”

“Nobody you know.”

“So why-“

“They were hunting me, De.” You mumble, and his movement stills all together.

“What.”

“I- You know what I am.” You squeeze your eyes shut, even as one of your hands moves to hold Dean’s against your body. “That I’m not… You know. And some other people found out, and. Yeah.”

Dean’s words are slow. “So you’ve been out there, being hunted.”

“Dean-“

“Why the fuck did you leave.”

You squeeze your eyes tighter, the Silver rolling around through your body. Not to hurt Dean. Never to hurt Dean.

Maybe to hurt you. Maybe to hurt the Sky for not saving Dean before, or for watching you but never fucking doing something.

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t. If you used your goddamn head for a second instead of just running off, nothing would’ve been fucking hunting you-“

“It’s-“ You shake your head, biting on the inside of your cheek as the stitches resume. “I couldn’t stay there, I-“

“You didn’t have to stay there! You just had to be fucking- God, at least in the goddamn states!” Dean’s jaw is clenched when you risk a glance at him, but the last few stitches are remaining neat. Careful. “I couldn’t protect you when you were in fucking Brazil-“

“You couldn’t protect me at all, Dean!” You’re screaming, and this isn’t even a real fight, but you’re so tired. You’re being sealed and remolded and cared for and picked apart all at once, and you’re too much and it’s all Dean’s and you can’t tell him that and he was- “You were fucking dead! You were gone, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t fucking stay anywhere that reminded me of you, and everywhere-“

You let out a loud, pathetic sound like a wounded animal, and Dean says your name softly, but you just keep going.

“I- I couldn’t stay. And I had to do something, because I promised you I wouldn’t die, and I- I just- I wasn’t good, Dean. I went to Brazil, and Peru, and Bolivia and Columbia and Argentina and Panama because I couldn’t be here, and I wanted to learn. I fucking tried, I tried so hard to bring you back, and I- You couldn’t have protected me. Not from this. Being hunted is what we do.” You let out a shaky, dry laugh. “And I’m the prey, Dean. They’re hunting me because I’m the prey.”

He’s finished the stitches. And when Dean speaks his voice is rough and strained. “Did my dad tell you that?”

You blink at him, a lot of the world seeming to do a stutter-stop, halting then speeding up, everything flipping upside down, because never in a million fucking lifetimes would you have guessed that to be Dean’s response.

“Did he?” Dean repeats, hold your gaze. There’s that floodlight. The one that’s showing you all the world, kept and vibrant in Dean’s eyes, and a little darker than the last time you saw it, but as if it’s being covered by a storm.

Storms always pass.

And you said all the way down.

So you nod, your voice barely a whisper. “He was right-“

“No, he wasn’t.”

This might be worse than getting shot. A least with being shot, you know what to expect. “Dean-“

“No. We all did things in these past few months, Princess. Bobby got drunk off his ass, and Sammy started hanging out with Ruby all the damn time, and I wasn’t exactly a boy scout while I was hanging out in Hell.”

You open your mouth to protest—what, you’re not really sure—and Dean gives you a firm look that shuts it in a second.

“Dad wasn’t a fucking saint. None of us are. That’s not this life, this world, and he never-“ Dean shakes his head, bowing it until it’s rested on your knee. “You’re- You’re the fuckin’ best, Princess, and if you run from me, I’ll catch you.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“I dunno. Sounded less creepy when Bobby said it.”

“Bobby said he’d catch me?”

“No it’s- Never mind.” Dean props his chin up, his hands moving to hold you by your waist, and this is worse than getting shot.

And better. And more. And Dean-

“Stop running.”

“I-“

“I ran first, Princess. I know I fuckin’ did, but I’m asking you to be better than me. You’re always fucking better than me-“

You sit up, until you’re sitting right at the edge of the bed and Dean’s knelt between your legs. “Dean-“

“And I never should’ve left you, ever, on that first hunt or any of the times when it was just us, and I should’ve grabbed you when Dad made that shit fucking deal with Azazel and told him to shove it up his ass cause you were staying with me, all the way down. You shoulda always stayed with me, and I- Son of a bitch, I don’t want to you to go. Never want you to go, just, I like it when you’re here. Stay here, this time. I’m so fucking sorry, for dying and leaving you, and letting you think you’re not- I’m sorry.”

You have too many things to say to him. That you’re not better—you’re mostly just his—and he wasn’t a boy scout in Hell but that wasn’t his fault. That you never want him to go either, and you didn’t even know that you going was an option on the table, but he deserves something simpler and easier and stronger. That if he’ll have you, you’ll stay all the way down, and you need him, and you want him, and you love him.

But it’s easier to slide off the bed. To sink to your knees until you’re right on Dean’s lap, and wrap your arms around his torso until you folded into his body.

And it’s hot outside, and Dean’s a fucking furnace, but you could die of heatstroke, and you’d be happy, because it’s Dean.

He holds you back, and you can hear his heartbeat again.

You might split the Sky in half to keep it near you. To keep Dean.

“How did you know about Azazel?” You mumble into his body.

“You’ve missed a lot of stuff,” Dean mutters, his voice rolling through your whole body. “Sammy’s gonna have a field day catching you up.”

“Dean-“

“Come home.” He says your name, and you fall a little further down. “Just- come home.”

“Okay.” You whisper, burying your face deeper in his shirt, and you could swear he lets out a small sigh of relief.

You’ll follow him back down to hell, then further.

But you don’t need to go home.

Dean’s arms tighten around you, and you’re already there.

End Note: They did it. They resolved a fight with a conversation. They’re so strong.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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