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onemeangreenbean · 4 months

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Anything Ch 4

SUMMARY: On the precipice of death Wynter does the only thing she can think to do to save herself. Something that is forbidden in her practice….to summon a demon and make a deal. The demon that answers her call ask what Wynter is offering and in her delirious state she answers with the only thing she can think of “Anything”.

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x BlackWitch OC

GENRE: Demon AU, Mystery, Strangers to Lovers, Soulmates, Smut, Fluff, Angst, slowburn

WARNINGS: violence, gore, death (maybe), eventual smut, panic attacks, fighting, possessive Yoongi, jealous Namjoon

WORDCOUNT: 4,608

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Anything Masterlist | Masterlist

Namjoon barely caught Wynter, her body slamming into his as she shook violently. Gently and swiftly he laid her convulsing body on the floor. He tried his best to rack his brain on what to do, how to help. He had never felt so useless before. He could hear Taehyung behind him asking him questions about what potions would work best or a spell that would at least stabilize her. Namjoon was trying to focus on what Taehyung was saying but all he could focus on was Wynter’s body shaking and the viscous blood that seemed to be pouring from her body. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and a wet gurgling coming from her throat as she tried to breathe.

All Namjoon could think about was how he was so stupid to never ask her out and to tell her how much she lit up his world every time she smiled. With every ragged wet breath she tried to take in, Namjoon was watching that image fade away - the ringing in his ear becoming deafening. A strong but firm grip on his shoulder stopped his spiraling thoughts before they could go any further. Namjoon looked up to see his older brother Jin staring down at the way he was clutching Wynter’s body close to his. “Hyung, please,” Namjoon voiced cracked, filled with unshed tears. He had no idea when he picked her up or when she stopped seizing. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m here and we are going to heal her. I’m not going to lose her to whatever this curse is,” Jin pried Wynter’s rapidly cooling body out if his brother grip and back onto the ground and began to do a quick assessment, unsure of if, or even when, the seizing would start back up again. Jin knew it was a curse but he didn’t know what it was, meaning he wasn’t trained on how to heal it. All Jin knew was that he needed to get Wynter stable so that he could figure out next steps.

Jin, moved all of his spiritual energy to his hands as he hovered them over her life points, trying the gauge where the curse was rooted at. Easier said than done as every point he went over was engulfed by the curse, gelatinous black energy coated everything like tar. Jin had never seen anything like it.

Sparing a glance at his brother, he had never seen Namjoon look so lost, defeated. When Taehyung pulled him from the restaurant and through the portal frantically trying to explain what was going on through tears he saw Namjoon clutching onto Wynter’s body like she was his whole world and it had just come crashing down all around him. “Whatever it is, is coming in waves. We need to try to mitigate it’s effects when she’s not seizing. We need to make sure that she’s not hurting herself,” Jin calmly explained.

“Namjoon!” When his brother didn’t response Jin looked up to find his gaze unfocus. Snapping his fingers in front of his face he regained his attention, “Namjoon, I need you to hold her still, especially her head and -” Grabbing a cloth from the table beside him he rolled it into a tube and placed it in her mouth. “We don’t need her biting her tongue off. She would kill us if we let her get disfigured.” Namjoon slide her head into his lap, making sure she was slightly on her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own blood. Her curls spilling over his thighs and around her head, clinging to her forehead with sweat. Jin was working as quickly as he could to heal her, but every place he would clear of the tar like curse as soon as he moved on it would reattach thicker. He needed something to prolong the effects. “Tae! Make me a sta-”. Jin didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before the most malevolent and oppressive energy he had yet to encounter came over him.

Yoongi had felt the soul bond light up and then flicker while he was finishing up in the temple. A searing pain pierced his unbeating heart before it faded into nothing. Not only was something wrong but Wynter was in danger. His hand still clutched his chest as he stumbled up and around the table. Waving his hand he returned the ancient library to it previous setting, hiding all the research that he did. He had been looking more into soul bonds and soulmates, while he didn’t want to believe what he was reading he couldn’t deny the tugging he was feeling in his chest. The thought that he, of all people, had a soulmate felt like a cruel trick from fate. He wanted to learn everything he could about it before he brought it up to Wynter, in case it was true.

She didn’t seem to keen on having a demon as a master, Yoongi really doubted that she would like one as a soulmate. Tucking the thought into the back of his head he apperated to Wynter, or a least as close as he could. She was so fucking good at wards it threw him back a few blocks from the bookstore. Another flare of pain radiated through his chest as whatever was happening to her flared up again. This time he pushed through her protection wards and made it to a scene he was not expecting.

Wynter’s head in the lap of another man. Her pretty yellow dress covered in blood and sweat as another man placed their hands over her body. Her small body convulsing as the men yelled at each other trying to find a way to stop it. She looked ten times worst then when she summoned him to save her the first time. Yoongi had a feeling the curse would come back, just not this soon and not this bad.

The man that was holding her head in his lap looked up and locked eyes with Yoongi. His dragon eyes narrowing into slits as Yoongi racked his brain for how he knew this shaman. Only for it to click at the last possible minute. “Oh fuck me.” A wave of spiritual energy blasted Yoongi across the room and into a bookcase. He recovered quickly and ducked behind another bookshelf as another blast hit the wall where he had been standing.

No wonder Wynter didn’t want Yoongi to accompany her to work. She worked for the Kim Clan. The ones who ripped him apart limp by limp and tossed him down into the deepest pits of the underworld without so much as a backward glance. It would be just his luck, but at least he was now sure that the shaman didn’t curse her. The Kim’s moral high horse would never allow them to use such a crass method to kill someone.

“Taehyung, take Wynter and get out of here.” Yoongi peeked around the corner and saw the two brothers who were taking care of Wynter when he got there pass her over to the youngest one. Seeing that this was an opportunity Yoongi struck throwing blast of razor sharp energy that struck the one with glasses in the thigh making him stumble dropping Wynter’s limp body a bit. Yoongi would apologize to her when he got them out of there in one piece.

Yoongi hated fights using just spiritual energy, he much rather preferred devices like swords, but he didn’t have enough power to summon them at this point. He didn’t even have enough power to keep up with the two shamans he was fighting currently. But he was holding his own against the two as blast of power and energy whizzed through the air like bullets destroying most things in the small shop.

He saw Taehyung headed over to a large antique mirror. If that little shit got Wynter through that portal there was no telling if Yoongi would be able to track her down before she died. Yoongi needed an opening and he needed one quick. He racked his brain as he continued to dodge the two brothers attacks. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he mumbled to himself. Steeling himself Yoongi took a deep breathe before coming out from behind his makeshift shield. The oldest, Jin, Yoongi gathered from the brothers yelling, sent a arrow of spiritual energy directly towards Yoongi’s face.

Channeling all of the demonic energy he had into his right hand Yoongi caught the shamans attack. He could feel the power crackle and lick at his skin as it tried to consume him. Glad he still remembered Jimin’s old trick. Yoongi looked up at the two brothers who were staring at him with varying looks of disbelief, and smirked. “Fire magic?” Thankfully that was also Yoongi’s specialty. Siphoning a small amount of spiritual energy from the attack for his own reserve, he added his own demonic energy before throwing it back at the two.

They jumped out just before the attack hit, incinerating the desk that was behind them. “How is he able to that?” Jin screeched. Staring wide-eyed at Namjoon who was tucked behind wayward bookcase.

Shaking his head Namjoon peered around the corner at the demon, who seemed to be struggling. That much was clear from his sluggish movements and lack luster attacks. He saw Taehyung finally get the portal to work. It was difficult to open with out the use of his hands as he was carrying Wynter bridal style.

She looked dead to Namjoon, hanging limply in his younger’s brothers arms. Her blood dripping down her arms and onto the floor. If she died Namjoon was going to make sure that Yoongi wished he never crawled up from whatever shitty pit he was in. He wasn’t going to get her no matter what. “Tae, go!” Namjoon yelled as he resumed attacking with all he had. Using his telekinesis to fling his strongest potions from the shelves at the demon.

Yoongi watched at Wynter disappeared through the portal with the young shaman. Trying and failing to reach her before it closed. “No!” She was going to fucking die if he didn’t get to her but even at this rate he was depleting what little energy he had in the useless fight. “Fuck it,” he mumbled as he absorbed all of the energy from Namjoon’s last attack transmuting it to manifist his corrupt device, his sword. Did it deplete everything he had to do it? Yes. Did he also need to hurry this fucking fight along? Also yes.

He knew he needed to find Wynter soon. The tightening in his chest was becoming worst letting him know that her condition was worsening, which considering what he saw wasn’t great. Between deflecting the Kim’s attacks with his sword, Yoongi was trying desperately to relocate Wynter. It was like every time he felt he had a lock on her location it would suddenly move.

An attack flew past his face grazing his cheek, he barely felt it as he kept fighting. Splitting his attention between two very different task. Another nicked the side of his calf causing him to stumble and lose his balance. He couldn’t find her and she was going to die without him. Yoongi couldn’t let her die. He had too many questions that needed answers. And what if she really was his soulmate. How shitty would it be to find her and lose her all within a week.

He was getting desperate. A being desperate was never a good thing to be in battle. Swing his sword in an arch in front of him sending a wave of spiritual energy careening into the brothers throwing them back several feet. Giving him enough breathing room to focus solely on locating Wynter. Taking a deep breathe he closed his eyes and followed the fading string connecting them until he found her on the other end. “Found you, gongjunim.”

Taehyung crossed through the portal and into his clans ancestral home. The hanok was large enough to house the entire clan on the rare occasion there was was a threat that called for them the circle the wagons. He tried not to think about how cold Wynter was in his arms as he rushed through the halls to Namjoon’s workshop. Adjusting her body in his arms along the way because the amount of blood was causing him to loose his grip on her. Shouldering the door open to the room he located the bed that sat against the wall.

A small whimper left Wynter as Taehyung laid her in the bed. “Shh, it’s okay,” He soothed as he walked over to the cabinet with all the ingredients. Taehyung couldn’t tell if he was trying to soothe her or himself but what he did know was that he needed his hands to stop trembling long enough for him to grab the stasis potion that Jin wanted him to get. Great thing about being able to peek into peoples minds is that people don’t ever have to finish their sentences.

The potion acquired, he went back to Wynter, saying the stasis incantation and kneeling next to the bed before carefully pouring it into Wynter’s mouth. He tried to make sure it all went in but a little dribbled down the sides of her mouth. Taehyung waited for the spell to take effect, going to run his hand through his hair only to stop after seeing all of the blood coating it, he sat it down beside him on the ground. He wanted to break down at the sight of one of her curls, ruffled by the slight breeze blowing though the open window, slow down and stop.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed out as he stood up. He just needed to keep it together long enough for either Namjoon or Jin to get here and fix whatever this was. Taehyung clamored back to his feet when he felt the same ominous presence from the bookstore fill the room. Barely able to turn towards the demon before he was flung into the wall.

Yoongi stood sword in hand expecting to have to put up another fight only to find that the youngest Kim stayed down on the ground. He wasn’t knocked out by any means but he also wasn’t rushing to get up to fight Yoongi like his brothers. Keeping his sword trained on the dark haired man Yoongi made his way over to where Wynter’s frozen body was laying. Her usually warm brown skin was beyond ashen, covered in a sheen of sweat and splotches of blood.

A stasis spell was smart on the shaman’s end as it suspended Wynter in time, and in turn the curse. While not actually trapping her in time, just significantly slowing the the progression of it. Yoongi felt his chest constrict at the sight of his “alleged” soulmate. The sound of running feet informed him that the other two had caught up to him.

He called forth a collar of fire that wrapped itself around Taehyung's neck raising him in the air until his feet barely scrapped the floor. Placing himself between Wynter and the two brothers as they stumbled into the room spells at the ready. Their hearts dropped as they saw Yoongi had their brother Sword at the ready, Yoongi stared them down, eyes dark, daring them to move.

Both Jin and Namjoon both dismissed their active spells putting their hands up. Namjoon’s brain was running through the different scenarios and outcomes of this, none of them were ideal. They could either save Taehyung or Wynter, but not both. “Back up,” Yoongi voiced in a low growl. His voice slightly distorted as he tried to reign in his demonic energy.

“Okay,” Namjoon said in a soft voice. “We’re not gonna do anything. Just let Taehyung go.” Their brother’s face was beginning to turn red as he tried and failed to stand on his toes. Namjoon could see that Tae had been able to get the stasis potion to her in time, so he could focus on saving his younger brother for now.

“How stupid do you think I am? Why would I let the only leverage I have go?”

“Valid point, but out of the two you’ll let him go before Wynter, correct?” Namjoon, questioned. He didn’t understand why the demon was guarding her so fiercely but he did see the way that Yoongi’s eyes narrowed when her name was mentioned. Moving ever so slightly to block their view of her. Namjoon could see Jin in peripheral trying inch his way towards the bed, so Namjoon needed to keep the demon talking. Before he could even utter another word, Yoongi’s gazed locked on the eldest.

“Back up before I removed his head from his body.” Yoongi closed his hand slightly, tightening the collar around Tae’s neck, the heat digging in and burning. Both Jin and Namjoon yelled at the younger mans struggle to intake air. His face becoming redder at the sudden loss of oxygen. Yoongi loosened the ring up a bit, he had no problem killing any of them in order to save Wynter, but had a feeling that she wouldn’t want it that way.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on or your interest in her, but what I do know is that Wynter needs help and us fighting isn’t going to solve anything. So please let us help her,” Namjoon pleaded with Yoongi. “The statasis spell won’t last forever and the longer this stand off last the less time we have to save Wynter.”

Yoongi lowered his sword slightly, chancing a peek behind him to her unconscious form lying on the bed. He knew logically that the shaman was correct, at most what Yoongi could do was expel the curse from her again, but clearly more was needed. Her countenance too weak and the curse too persistent for her to be able to naturally repel it. Wynter needed a long term healer to help rebuild her strength and a master of charms and potions to keep it away, and Yoongi was looking at two in front of him.

He was going to have work with them to help her and while it went against everything in him he needed to do it. The tightening in his chest was threatening to snap the thread the bound them together, reminding him of the urgency of her situation. “I agree.” Yoongi dropped his hand and the collar around Taehyung’s neck disappeared. The boy dropped to the floor coughing and gasping for air. The skin around his neck bloody and burnt from the fiery collar. “What business I have with Wynter is mine, but all you need to know is that I need her alive.”

Keeping his sword level and at the ready, Yoongi moved out of the way to create enough space for one of the men to get beside the bed. “You, healer,” pointing his sword at the broad man, Yoongi nodded for him to make his way of to the bed. Jin slowly crept to Wynter’s bedside until he could kneel beside it. The room was tense as Jin worked to heal Wynter, the spell helping to slow down the effects of the curse so that it wasn’t overtaking the sections he was healing. He worked methodically down her frail body until he was satisfied with his work.

The whole time Yoongi kept his unwavering gaze pointed at the two remaining brothers in the corner. As the healer worked on her could feel the tightening in his chest lifting making it easier for him to breathe, bring him back from the edge of completely losing it. If this is what having a soulmate entailed then he wasn’t sure he wanted it. “All done.” Jin murmured. “I healed her as best as I could given the circumstance,” Throwing a sideways glance at the demon, “But once the stasis lifts the curse it just gonna undo all of my work.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Yoongi backed up until te back of his legs hit the bed. Making the quick but stupid decision to let his guard down so that he could give Wynter his full attention, uncalling the sword so that he could use both hands. Trusting that the shamans wouldn’t attack him at the risk of injurying her. A little of the color had come back into her face as she laid there unmoving. Gently placing a hand on her forehead, Yoongi brushed some of the curls away from her face. “Can you hand me a vessel or container?”

Eyes never leaving Wynter as he heard rustling behind him. A clay jar was handed to him. He needed to moved quickly once the stasis was gone or all this would be for nothing. His gaze traveled to he plush lips, his own tongue coming out to lick his own. Ever so gently he slotted his mouth against hers, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue. He than slowly began drawing the curse up until it rested in her throat. “Reverse the spell.”

“What?” Namjoon stood by, jaw clenched, as he watched the scene unfold. Watched the tenderness that Yoongi took with her.

“You heard me undo the fucking stasis spell.”

Taehyung could see that Namjoon was going to argue some more, hearing the whirlwind of thoughts spiraling through his mind, so he just reversed it himself. He could see that there was something connecting both Yoongi and Wynter, but couldn’t tell what it was as the demon was keeping the connection shrouded. But from what he could feel it didn’t feel malicious. Once the spell was broken Wynter’s rolled to her side before violently throwing up in to the jar. The black tar like substance burning her throat as it came out.

She could hear Yoongi’s soft praises in her ear as he rubbed her back, encouraging her to get it all out. It felt like forever until the retching stopped. Tears gathered on her eyelashes from the force of being sick, body trembling as it tried to process the adrenaline that her body was producing. Through blurred eyed she could make a out a three figures in the corner, one stepping up to hand something to Yoongi. The coolness of a damp rag wiped her face clean of any black goo that was on it and cooled her over heated body.

Collapsing exhausted onto bed Wynter fought her eyes falling shut again. Trying to get her bearings and figure out what was going on. The last thing she remembered was speaking with Namjoon, and now she was here with her demon in some unknown room. “Yoongi,” her voice raspy and frayed from vomiting. “What’s going on? Where are we?” It took all of her strength but she needed answers. Yoongi’s brows furrowed as he regarded her.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Go to sleep.” Placing a hand on her hand he gentle pushed her under. She fought it not want to go back into unconsciousness. The neverending darkness suffocating in the way it surrounded her in her mind. The searing pain that accompanied it was enough for Wynter to grasp Yoongi’s wrist and try to stop him.

“Please, I don’t want to. It’s scary.” Tears spilled out of her eyes as she tried to sway him. Yoongi wanted nothing more than reassure her that she was safe and climb in that bed with her and hold her until she slept on her on.

He couldn’t though. Wynter needed to rest, a task that she was not going to do on her own at the moment. “Gongjunim, you need to rest.” Yoongi watched her big brown eyes search his, slightly hazy from fighting the compulsion. “I’ll be right here, I promise.” Once she deemed that Yoongi wasn’t going to leave her she went under.

Yoongi could feel the hole being stared into his back as he watched Wynters features soften with sleep. Hardening his own face Yoongi stood up to his full height. “You need to make a amulet for her, that’ll keep the curse away.” He spoke to Namjoon. The younger man looked at him as if he would rather rip Yoongi’s head off, but taking a quick look at his brothers decided against it.

“Explain.” Namjoon’s tone was hard and left no room for argument. He was uneasy by the way that Yoongi had put Wynter asleep against her will.

“You can listen and work can’t you. I didn’t think you were incompetent.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes but began collecting the various item he would need. “Who summoned you?” Yoongi gaze flickered towards the oldest, Jin, when he spoke. His arms were crossed making him look broader and slightly more intimidating.

“Wynter did.” Yoongi noted there was a pregnant pause after he gave the revelation. “In her defense though she didn’t know she was calling for me specifically. She was dying and desperate I just happened to be curious.” A half truth but one that seemed to satisfy.

“So you didn’t place this curse on her?” Jin continued his questioning.

“Clearly not.” Quirking his brow Yoongi challenged Jin to continue. To his surprise the shaman didn’t show any signs of backing down. Instead he watched as Jin fortified himself.

“Okay.” Namjoon was still standing at the cabinet trying to gather supplies. “What type of curse is it then?”

Yoongi hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, as Namjoon peered at him from over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Never seen one like it before.”

All three men turned their attention to him. “You’ve never seen it before?” Taehyng rubbed a healing ointment on his neck as he stared at the demon. Most curses were accounted for and well documented so Yoongi understood their confusion. He explained that he exhausted the resources that he had available to him and that it seemed to be a combination of two separate curses.

The Kim Clan listen patiently as he explained what was going on and his theories. It was times like this that Yoongi was happy to be able to see into peoples minds. He didn’t need to guess how they would react to what he was telling him, but knew that while they seemed to believe what he was saying none of them trusted him with Wynter. Particularly Namjoon.

“Well, that’s all fucking concerning, but,” Namjoon’s glared up at Yoongi from the amulet he was working on. “None of that explains why you seem so interested in Wynter.” Yoongi knew that this was coming, with the way the man’s thoughts of her were tinged with a hint of yearning. He knew that they knew that he didn’t really need to be here any longer than necessary unless he was choosing to.

A scratching in his mind alerted him to one of the men trying to gain access to him mind. Leveling a glare, the youngest ones cheeks were dusted pink as he got caught. Scoffing Yoongi answered the clearly thought probing question. “We made a contract.”

“What did she offer you that could enticing enough to cause you to stay?” Namjoon inquired in a condescending tone.

“Anything.” Yoongi smirked. The air seemed to leave the room at that. The three brothers freezing in place as they tried to wrap their head around the fact that the woman laying soundly asleep would offer that. “Plus someone is actively trying to kill her and until I can be assured that I’m not going to loose this frankly delicious soul I’m going to be here.”

#bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts x black reader #yoongi x black reader

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sterekchub · 10 months

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So @chubby-derek-and-friends used the amazing sentence: “He ends up with a fetish for Stiles and greasy fingers…"

Which….made me spiral to a Derek who happily uses his werewolf abilty to just....show off. When he hears Stiles is into gainers, Derek takes it a little too far like "Yeah? I'm going to just drink straight grease with my fries and dip this donut in butter!"

Proving Stiles is VERY easy to flirt with because - hell that will work for him! Their first date Derek kissing him and burping in his mouth because he's eaten too much? There goes his " no putting out on the first date, rule."

Derek answers the door with his belly hanging out of his shirt, grease from the pizza slide he's holding dripping down.... Stiles is handing him his house key.

It gets inconvinent. Derek is gassy and so stuffed he doesn't want to think about moving and all Stiles can think about is dragging Derek to the bedroom.

People see Stiles distracted at work and joke, "hot text?" and Stiles shows them the text...which is just a long list of of his lunch- with typos abound as Derek struggles texting with grease-slicked fingers.

Derek's "I'm going to get you hot and bothered" is the same as Stiles telling Derek "I'm going to make you gassy and fit to burst"

Stiles keeps getting Derek "gifts" that are sort of just challenges. The bucket of lard. The soft-serve machine mixes that are calorie black holes (and they don't have a soft-serve machine...) The white-button down shirt that Stiles can't wait to see look stain splattered and button-less before long.

***

Derek gasping and wheezing to get down another shake.

"Too much of a workout for you?"

"*huff* N- never. *burrrrp*"

Or Stiles putting a tube in Derek's mouth, so he can use both hands to try and hold up part of his belly, enough that Stiles can actually find his dick under all that fat, and Derek is sucking harder than Stiles, belly getting heavier and heavier and he hopes that Stiles finishes him off and takes the tube out of his mouth....shake dribbling down his chin and he comes with just...a loud groan and earth shattering *fffffrttt*

Stiles who has to take the time (occasionally) to clean all his folds and under that massive belly (because Derek is 100% turned on and leaking alll day and always just...sweating trying to exist with all that mass) and while he's doing it....Derek is just gorging himself and making another greasy mess on his moobs and the shelf of his belly and chins that Stiles has to clean again...

'Don't know *fffrt* why you bother."

"You're not the one who has to suffocate in your fatpad!"

Derek grin proudly, shake dripping from his chins. "You....love it."

***

teases Derek with “can’t believe you were so *skinny* Derek, what happened?” As he puts another bucket of fried chicken in front of him.

Or watches Derek waddle his way to the kitchen, panting a little and struggle to catch his breath “Sure you’re a werewolf?“

Derek ends up grunting a lot “shut up and *wheeze* feed me.” And Stiles is happy to oblige

Derek starts looking almost disappointed when Stiles is able to find his dick- (even if it takes a lot of work) and starts eating with a frantic pace, both hands shoveling food into his mouth, getting so gassy even Stiles is reaching to open windows and telling Derek to slow down…

He loves watching Stiles sputtering and gasping, pulling himself out under Derek’s boulder sized belly and fat rolls, “you did that on purpose!”

And the first time maybe he can get away with the fake apology “don’t feed me so much first *frrrrt*”

And Stiles figures Derek is getting kinda gassy the fatter he gets, because it means his stomach can just hold that much more greasy junk….

But two times is chance- 3 is intentional and Stiles figures out quickly “oh my god you get off on it don’t you!”

Not much else Derek can do to get back at Stiles for all his little tricks when he can barely get off the couch (like the milkshake that was mostly cheesecake. Or the meal where everything was fried and Derek was sure he was going to split open) so he definitely gets off demanding Stiles around, crushing him with or suffocating under his blubbery…and hotboxing Stiles any chance he gets (or making out and as soon as Stiles leans into his super stuffed belly? *Buuuuurppppp*)

#I’ve been in a MOOD guys #for fat Derek or Stiles #send me thoughts or prompts would loveee to do more #chubby!derek #sterek #wg story #feeder!stiles #fat slob

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cieloclercs · 1 year

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sliding doors , chapter two

pairing: joão félix x fem!oc part: 2/? warnings: swearing, fluffff just lots of fluff, kind of dumb esperanza word count: 4.8k

SLIDING DOORS, "Seemingly inconsequential moments that nonetheless alter the trajectory of future events."

02. in which they both fear their newfound feelings are unrequited

previously: chapter one

read it on wattpad!

"UGH, THIS IS so confusing."

The sound of Esperanza Cabrera's head hitting her desk caused at least a dozen eyes in the lecture theatre to snap towards her curiously - but she didn't care. Her brain was a muddle of unfamiliar thoughts and feelings, all centred around one person: a certain dark-eyed Portuguese footballer to be specific. João Félix, and the lingering feeling of his lips on her cheek, was haunting her.

"I don't understand why you won't just ask him." Doutzen Van Aalsburg huffed in her seat beside Esperanza, growing increasingly frustrated with her friend's dramatics, "You have his number, right? Just text him!"

It was true, she did have João's number. Only hours after they had parted at the tube station following their kind-of-but-not-really coffee date, he had texted her, just as he promised he would. That had been three days ago. For three days his text had remained unanswered in her otherwise empty inbox. Esperanza simply didn't know what to say. She must have planned out hundreds of responses in her head, but none of them ever felt quite right. If it weren't for the fact she'd seen him briefly a couple of times since (nothing beyond waves across the road and fleeting 'hello's' as they passed each other in the hallway, though), Esperanza was sure the guilt would have eaten her alive. She just had to hope that João wasn't offended by her thus far lack of response.

"You're overthinking it, Anzi." Doutzen told her with a tired sigh. She felt like she'd repeated those words a million times over the past three days, since Esperanza had recounted to her, breathless and with flushed cheeks, the events of that morning with João. "From what you've told me, it's pretty fucking obvious that he's into you. What more do you want me to say? Now text him before I lose my mind."

Esperanza groaned, slumping down into her chair in defeat, "I can't do it, Doutzy. I'm too scared. He's famous for fuck's sake! How do I know he's not just looking for a friend to show him around London - or worse, he's playing with me? I mean, have you seen him? He could have any girl he wants, so why would he possibly be interested in me?"

Doutzen could tell Esperanza was beginning to spiral. It had been like this for three days - she would get herself worked up, and start to question João's motives; over-analyse every little thing he had said or done whilst they were together. Then she would descend into a pit of self-deprecation and doubt. That was where Doutzen drew the line. She was perfectly happy to entertain Esperanza's crush (Lord knows the poor girl needed to spice up her love life a little bit), but not when it put her in such a state as that, convincing herself she would never be good enough or pretty enough for someone like João. Doutzen knew she either had to get rid of this guy once and for all, or help her friend overcome her self doubt. And considering it sounded as though Esperanza genuinely liked him, she chose the latter option.

"Do you want me to text him for you?" Doutzen offered. Almost immediately, the Argentinian woman shook her head.

"No, I need to do it myself." she spoke gravely, "I just need to figure out how."

Once again, her friend let out an exasperated sigh, "Anzi, I really think you're stressing about this too much. It's just a text."

"But it's not!" Esperanza shot back. She dropped her head into her hands in despair, "I need to know what he wants before I do anything. I need to know if it was a date or not! I can't go getting my hopes up that he wants to be more than friends until I know - imagine how embarrassing it would be if I flirted with him or something, and it turns out that he doesn't even see me like that. I would genuinely die."

It didn't really help Esperanza's predicament that in the short time she'd known João Félix, she'd grown to really like him: much more than she'd ever liked any other man. So while her struggle to contact him may have seemed dramatic to some people (aka Doutzen) to Esperanza, it was a kind of method of self-preservation. If he rejected her, she would be much more upset about it than she'd like to admit. Besides, genuinely having feelings for someone, however fleeting and fanciful those feelings may have been, was exciting. Esperanza didn't want to give that up just yet.

"Well if you won't ask him, you're just gonna have to take the risk." Doutzen shrugged, as if the solution to her problem was obvious (to her, it really was), "But it's no use asking me whether he saw it as a date or not. I'm not exactly very qualified in that area."

She certainly wasn't - Doutzen had had her fair share of admirers in the time Esperanza had known her, but beyond a casual hook-up or two at parties, she'd never given any of them the time of day. She had too many years of liberty ahead of her to even consider the idea of committing to one person: that was what Doutzen always argued, anyway. Esperanza thought it was bullshit.

"Or you could ask Millie what she thinks." the Dutch woman went on when her friend fell silent, "She has a boyfriend, doesn't she? If you don't trust my word, hear it from her instead - João Félix is definitely into you."

Hours later, after their international law lecturer had finally let them go, Esperanza found herself doing exactly that. Milagros Vallejos, or Millie as she had been affectionately named by her best friend's family ever since they first met at age five, was the kind of person who always seemed to know exactly what to say, no matter the situation. As well as being her closest friend, Esperanza was convinced she doubled up as some kind of therapist or life coach - she honestly wasn't sure what she would have done without her growing up.

It had been hard for Esperanza to leave Millie behind in Bariloche when she moved to London. They'd barely spent a day apart for thirteen whole years, after all. But Millie had a different path already laid out for her. She'd always wanted to give back to the community in some way; to help improve the lives of young, disadvantaged children like she had once been, so that no one would ever feel abandoned in the way she had growing up. Who was Esperanza to stop her from doing that? Though it meant they'd been apart for the past three years, neither of them would have changed anything for the world - Millie was fulfilling her dreams and making a difference in Bariloche's most disadvantaged communities, and Esperanza was finally seeing the world (even if it was only London for now).

"I know this probably isn't what you want to hear right now." the voice of Millie Vallejos sounded through the tinny speakers of her best friend's laptop. Their face time call read two hours; that was, two hours of Esperanza explaining all of the ways in which she could have misread João's signals, whilst Millie tried to get a word in edgeways to convince her she was being stupid, "But I think Doutzen is right. You just need to text him."

Esperanza groaned loudly. That wasn't the answer she'd been hoping for. She'd been hoping for a clear solution, some kind of step-by-step guide illustrating exactly what to do in the event of either situation: rejection, or reciprocation. Unfortunately, Millie couldn't give her that.

She remembered, a year before she had left Bariloche, having a similar conversation to this one with her best friend on one of their weekly sleepovers. The roles were reversed in this conversation, but the message was eerily akin to their first one years prior. Millie had recently met who would become (and still was to this day) her boyfriend, Cruz Muñoz Acosta. For a while, their relationship had hung in the strange limbo between friendship, situationship and something more - that was, until that conversation in Esperanza's bedroom in which she encouraged her to simply take the plunge and be honest with Cruz about her feelings. She probably should have taken her own advice in her situation with João. But the difference between Esperanza and Millie was that Millie could put herself in such a position of vulnerability and bounce back from it if it didn't go her way - Esperanza couldn't.

"I don't know why this is so hard." the young woman sighed, rubbing her temples in exhaustion, "He's just a guy! I've dealt with loads of those before and I've never been so stressed about something as simple as a text message. What is wrong with me?"

"Oh cariño, there's nothing wrong with you." Millie smiled sympathetically at her through the screen, "You just like him. That's all. It's normal to be scared when you genuinely have feelings for someone."

"How can I, though?" Esperanza shot back, "I met him what, a week ago? I barely know anything about the guy."

"Feelings don't have a time limit, Anzi." came her friend's swift reply, "Sometimes it only takes a few minutes, or even a few moments to form a bond like that. And from what you've told me about him, I can kind of see why. He seems like he treats you well. Isn't it worth taking the risk if you think there's a possibility he could like you back?"

In an ideal world, Esperanza would have just been honest with João. He'd been stuck in her head, whether it was on the periphery or right in the forefront, invading her thoughts to the point where she couldn't even focus on her university work because of him, for as long as they'd known each other. It was driving her crazy.

"I don't know, Mils." The young woman sighed, "It's not just because I like him – yes, I'm admitting it, you don't have to look so shocked – I really don't understand what he could possibly see in me that would interest him. Don't say I'm being self-pitying here, because I'm not. Just think about it. He's famous and good looking; I know pretty much for a fact that he has a lot of girls chasing after him. He could quite literally date supermodels if he really wanted to. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

It was something that had been weighing on her mind for a while. Though Esperanza didn't view João any differently just because he happened to be good at football, she did fear however that João would view her differently.

"Do you know what would be even worse than him rejecting me?" the young woman asked; mostly rhetorically, but Millie prompted her to elaborate anyway, "If he took advantage of me. You know what I mean, right? If anything did happen between us, I think I'd always be scared that he'd find someone better than me – a model, or an actress or something. I wouldn't even blame him, that's the awful thing. I wouldn't even be surprised." Esperanza trailed off sadly. Her gaze dropped to the floor, "But it doesn't matter anyway. We're not together. I don't even know why we're having this conversation, it was stupid to think he would ever –"

"Esperanza Ines Cabrera Ríos!" Millie interrupted her with a sharp hiss. Esperanza's head snapped up, her eyes widening in shock, "Stop saying things like that! He would be lucky to even have you speak one word to him!" she sat forward with her phone in her hand, bringing her face closer, furiously furrowed eyebrows and all, to the screen, "I know I can't pretend to know what he's thinking right now – but he is clearly interested in you. Isn't that enough to tell you you should at least give him a chance? I think you'll regret it if you don't."

Esperanza fell silent. Her gut instinct had told her, when João had kissed her cheek and left standing in a daze outside the tube station, that he wasn't just humouring her for the fun of it. She'd felt a genuine connection with him, and at the time, she'd been almost certain he felt it too. With the benefit of hindsight, Esperanza had been able to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't quite so simple. But maybe Doutzen and Millie were right; maybe she just needed to take the plunge. Personal pride be damned — sometimes the best things came when you took a risk to attain them.

Never mind that he was her neighbour. She'd just have to find a strategic way of avoiding him if things went pear-shaped.

"Maybe you're right." Esperanza spoke up after what felt like hours. Her best friend internally rejoiced, "I'll end up dying alone if I don't learn to take some risks."

Millie frowned, "Well I think that's a little bit dramatic, but —"

The sound of the doorbell ringing cut her off. Esperanza's head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing. She listened out for a second ring for a few moments, but it didn't come.

"Are you expecting someone?" Millie questioned. The young woman shook her head.

"It's probably just the postman. I ordered some stuff last week. I didn't think it would be arriving until Sunday, though." Esperanza shrugged, before swinging her legs over the side of the couch and standing up. She padded softly in her fluffy white socks to the door, bringing her laptop, and by extension, Millie, with her.

It was lucky Esperanza didn't bother to take a look through the peephole at the person on the other side of the door. If she had, she may have been tempted to run and hide, or simply pretend she wasn't home. Instead, Esperanza opened her front door completely unprepared, mid-yawn, and with eyes that widened to the size of dinner plates as soon as they caught sight of the person waiting for her outside.

"João!" Esperanza squeaked. She flushed bright red, cleared her throat, and tried again, "Uh — João. Hi. What are you doing here?"

João opened his mouth to speak, but a high-pitched screeching noise coming from Esperanza's laptop caused the words to die in his throat.

"Oh my God, is that him?!" Millie squealed excitedly. Her friends eyes — if such a thing was even possible — widened even further. Esperanza slammed the laptop lid shut in a split second.

"Sorry." she mumbled sheepishly, "That was my friend from back home — uh, Millie. I think I mentioned her when we...uhm." she trailed off. João nodded in understanding, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Esperanza had mentioned her briefly; and part of the problem for him was that he remembered that fleeting mention perfectly. In fact, João remembered every single word she had spoken to him three days ago like they had been etched with a hammer and chisel into his brain. How could he possibly forget?

Ever since he'd left her standing outside the tube station, João had been unable to get her out of his mind: the faint pink flush in her cheeks, her shy smile, the way she'd looked at him, even if only for that moment, like they were the only two people on Earth. He was surprised his teammates weren't losing their minds with him — João had barely been able to concentrate on the ball beneath his feet for more than two seconds at training recently, because, though football should have been the only thing occupying his brain, he'd found himself coming back to her over and over again. Like some kind of broken record stuck on the same old melody; Esperanza Cabrera was stuck in his daydreams.

At first, when she hadn't replied to his text message, João had begun to worry he'd done something wrong. It was surreal: normally, he wouldn't even consider such a thing. Every girl he'd met since becoming João Félix, young football prodigy had practically fallen at his feet anyway. But with Esperanza he was conscious of everything he did, fearing that just the slightest wrong move would scare her away. Seeing 'read' by the text message he'd sent her three days ago filled him with dread. He all but convinced himself she must have changed her mind.

That was, until he began to see her more regularly. João couldn't lie — he'd taken to setting off on his morning runs a little later than usual, just so he might by chance intercept Esperanza on her way to a class. Sure enough, they'd passed each other in the corridor a few times since then. She would always stop to say a quick 'hello' or, if she was in a rush, shoot him a little wave and a shy smile as she hurried past. João noticed, her eyes were the same as when he'd kissed her cheek three days ago. Their bright, intrigued spark hadn't faded in the slightest. They didn't, to him, seem like they bore the look of someone who wanted to be left alone. He couldn't describe it — they looked wishful, yet sad and reserved at the same time. Try as he might, João simply couldn't decode what exactly that meant.

It was only due to that half-baked optimism that he found himself standing outside of her apartment door, fresh out of the shower after training, his heart beating like a drum inside his chest. Once again, it was purely impulsive. João had checked his phone (for what felt like the millionth time) in the hope that she might have replied to his message, just as he had done every night since it was sent. When he found nothing but 'read' staring back at him, something had changed, like the flip of a switch. He wasn't the kind of person to back down from a challenge easily. João was sure Esperanza had felt the spark he had felt when his lips touched her skin. He was sure of it. It had been so long since he'd felt anything remotely like that, anything that could give him the kind of nervous butterflies he felt now, standing outside of her apartment — that had to be worth fighting for. He needed to at least try.

"Uhm, is there something you needed?" Esperanza asked, prompted by his sudden silence. She picked nervously at the stitches of her jumper, thinking that, if only she'd had some warning he would be turning up at her door, she would have changed into something a little nicer.

"Oh, right. Yeah." João cleared his throat awkwardly. He hated it, but he turned into some kind of teenager with a high school crush whenever he was around her. The words he felt the need to express simply wouldn't come to him, and he'd end up speechless; looking like an absolute fool. Esperanza was stood still, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate. He cleared his throat again.

"I was wondering if you'd like to maybe go out for dinner some time?" João rushed out. The words tumbled over one another like a waterfall crashing over a cliff face, but she heard him loud and clear, "With me, I mean." He flushed crimson. Why he felt the need to clarify that (as if it wasn't obvious), he would never know – João decided to blame it on her. She looked like an angel in the faint golden hour glow of late afternoon. He couldn't focus on anything except the way it lit up her eyes.

Esperanza was all but losing the ability to function. She only became faintly aware of her long silence when João's hopeful face seemed to fall just a little. Like it had three days ago. There were a thousand words on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill out; a thousand ways she could have said yes, of course, I'd love to, yet none of them were voiced. Esperanza couldn't fathom why. She blamed it on him: his slightly damp hair, like he'd just got out of the shower, and his obsidian eyes, which looked more like melted chocolate in the golden sunlight. João Félix left her – for the first time in her life – utterly speechless.

"Dinner?" she repeated in a barely audible whisper, "You want to go out for dinner... with me?"

The absurdity of it all baffled her. A famous footballer, a national team's golden boy, on her doorstep, fidgeting nervously as he awaited her answer to his proposal. João's brow furrowed for a moment in confusion.

"Yes..." he nodded slowly.

"Like – as a date? A date date?"

Again, he nodded. Esperanza fought of the urge to laugh out loud. It wouldn't have surprised her if she'd woken up in her bed in the next moment and realised it was all a dream; a lovely, yet very much fantastical dream. As if things like this ever happened to girls like her. She wasn't Taylor Swift – her life wasn't embroiled in romance and tragedy. Yet it felt a little like it was now.

"Ok, good. Thank God." Esperanza sighed, pressing a hand to her chest in relief, "Sorry, I just had to ask – you know I've been trying to figure out if last time was a date since Tuesday? It's honestly really stressed me out. So uhm... thank you for clarifying that."

João eyebrows raised a little, "Did you want it to be a date?" he asked suddenly, without really thinking too much about it before the words were leaving his mouth. Esperanza looked away shyly.

"I mean... kinda." She shrugged, then seemed to rethink, "No, not kinda. I did. But I wasn't sure you did."

His lips parted in surprise, "Do you think I ask every girl I meet out for coffee?" a faint chuckle escaped from them next, "Of course I wanted it to be a date. I was just – I guess I was scared you didn't."

The realisation hit them soon after. They'd been skirting around each other for the past three days, afraid of exactly the same thing, when the reality was the opposite of those misplaced doubts. They shared a quiet, tentative laugh. Esperanza's cheeks flushed pink, but she held his gaze this time. She knew what he wanted, finally. Her hours of fretting and debating and doubting had been pointless, and she never would have thought she'd be so happy about something turning put to be such a waste of her time.

"Is that a yes, then?" João prompted with a raise of his eyebrow. Esperanza giggled.

"Yes, it is." she smiled shyly, "What day did you have in mind?"

"Are you free tomorrow?"

That was a lot sooner than she had been expecting. João didn't want to have to experience the agony of waiting any longer than was absolutely necessary — he'd been left on tenterhooks by her unanswered message, after all. He would have taken her out at that very moment, fluffy pyjamas and all, if logistics and common sense hadn't made it implausible. Tomorrow night was his best bet after that.

"Yes, I am." Esperanza returned with another faint smile, "What time?"

Again, booking a restaurant in advance would have been a smart idea, but what with his recent impulsiveness, João hadn't even thought about it, "Uhm... I'll text you the details. Let's say... around seven thirty?"

"Sounds good."

"You won't leave me on read this time, right?" He teased. She rolled her eyes playfully in response.

"No, I won't." Her feigned annoyance didn't last long — it simply couldn't have, with the way he was beaming down at her. They stayed like that for a minute, comfortable, familiar silence engulfing them, like how João's eyes engulfed Esperanza's when he looked at her. He knew he should leave her in peace, but he was rooted to the spot.

"So... I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he asked, reluctantly breaking the silence. She answered yes, breathlessly, as if he’d stolen all the air from her lungs with his sweet smile. They laughed in unison, and João took a single step away from her door. “I’ll come to you – pick you up out here, yeah?” he confirmed as he began to walk backwards.

“Ok. Just text me when you’re outside.” Esperanza agreed. She was pulled in too deep when he ducked his head shyly, before looking back up at her through his long eyelashes. It gave her goosebumps, the way he watched her. João was reluctant to leave, but he knew he had to at some point. His lips turned upwards into a soft smile, in the hope she’d answer it with one of her own – the one that made his heart race.

“Alright, well – uhm…” João stammered. He felt his cheeks burn as they no doubt turned a very obvious shade of crimson, “Until tomorrow then, I suppose.”

Esperanza giggled lightly, “Until then.” She returned. Her smile blossomed into something more, something as bright as the sun; and something utterly beautiful, in João’s eyes. He had to force his feet to move along the ground, or he would have been stood there, at a loss for words, for all eternity. Esperanza whispered a faint goodbye as he turned to leave. This time, when he glanced back, unable to stop himself from taking one last look before retreating to the solitude of his apartment, her eyes were still fixed on him. João beamed.

As soon as he was around the corner and out of sight, he punched the air. This victory tasted sweeter than almost any he had experienced on the football pitch before. Perhaps that should have scared him. Or perhaps he hadn’t realised the implications of it yet.

Esperanza shut her apartment door, and placed her burning forehead against the cool wood. She could hear her heart beating. It seemed to come from every part of her body; thrumming inside her veins. She grinned widely, feeling nothing short of delirious – what had just happened? Esperanza knew it wasn’t a dream, because she’d pinched herself the moment João had turned the corner out of sight to check. No, this was very much real. Completely unbelievable, perhaps, but nonetheless, real.

The panic would set in later, no doubt (despite now being twenty-one years of age, she’d never actually been on an actual date before), but for now, all Esperanza could feel was a mixture of shock and delight. If Doutzen or Millie had told her even yesterday that João Félix would turn up at her apartment and ask her out on a date, she would have told them to, in much less polite terms, get lost.

Picking up her discarded laptop, she opened the it in a daze, having almost completely forgotten the face time call she’d been on prior to João’s surprise visit. Millie’s expectant face stared back at her through the screen.

“That was so fucking adorable.” She blurted out. Esperanza’s lips parted in surprise.

“You heard?” she asked.

“Yep. Every single word.” Millie smirked back at her, “Can you admit now, I was right? The poor boy’s completely whipped already! And you left him on opened for three days!”

“Mils,” Esperanza groaned, “He’s not whipped. He barely knows anything about me.”

“Yet.” Her friend countered with a sly wink. She blushed furiously.

“I swear to God. Stop teasing me!”

But no matter how much Esperanza complained, she couldn’t deny that the thought of João feeling as strongly about her as she did him already made her feel fuzzy inside. The thought of him laying awake at night, unable to sleep because the only thing on his mind was her; or the thought of him talking to his teammates about the situation, asking them what they would do in his shoes – it scared her a little how much she hoped that was the case. Yet still, it felt like nothing more than a silly fantasy. If only Esperanza knew he’d done all of those things in the past three days, and more.

“I don’t think he’s the only one who’s whipped you know,” Millie went on again after a pause, “You really like him, don’t you? Really like him. Much more than you ever liked Antonio.”

Esperanza’s gaze dropped to the floor. It never ceased to amaze her how easily her best friend could read her. Even when she thought she was subtle, nothing ever got past Millie.

“Maybe I do.” She shrugged, “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

The woman in the computer screen smiled, almost sadly, but not at the same time – a strange kind of smile that was difficult to read, “Give him a chance, ok?” she murmured, “He seems like he could be good for you.”

“I will.” Esperanza nodded. She intended to stand by that promise, too. There was just something about João Félix that pulled her in, and she didn’t think she could break out of that now – even if she tried.

— author’s note

first date timeeee

#joao felix #joao felix imagine #joao felix x oc #joao felix fic #football imagines #football fic #atletico de madrid #chelsea fc

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karizard-ao3 · 8 months

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That is so very Eren to just quietly and comfortably run the idea past her. Like of course he wants to marry her but he needs to see where she’s at mentally and emotionally, so if she was happy with the conversation of their friends getting married and also the topic in general, maybe them getting married isn’t a far off dream. And yeah she’s still a little tense about it, but she thinks about all those secret Pinterest boards and she can practically already see the ring on her finger so she gives him her queue that it’s something she’s into. Just very simple, both on the same page.

How do you imagine he did the actual proposal?

(I'm going to try to be better about linking related posts. This is the first ask about Anamnesis Eremika getting engaged.)

I have two proposal scenarios for you, because Anamnesis Eremika never do anything the straightforward way when it comes to their relationship.

Fitst proposal: I think they're at home watching TV. Maybe even one of the shows Mikasa worked on. Two characters get married and Eren is like, "You know, I think I'd like to marry you," super casual and low pressure. Still, this is the most direct he's been about the subject since he first brought it up at Historia and Ymir's a few months ago.

Mikasa is quiet for a long time and he's not sure she heard him, and then, blushing like crazy, she says, "I'd be okay with that."

Eren grins down at her, thrilled. "I'm going to start planning the proposal."

Mikasa starts to look nervous. She's looking forward to seeing what Eren comes up with and she doesn't want to miss out on it, but she's starting to realize there's a lot of time in between now and the proposal and the ceremony in which to spiral. For her, marriage is a really loaded topic, given that she had been kidnapped to become [redacted]'s child bride and if it was anyone but Eren suggesting it she would be out the door and changing her name in a heartbeat. She chews her lip. "Is it crazy that I kind of wish we could just get married today and then do all the other stuff after?" she says.

"What, like you want me to marry you, then still propose to you?" Eren clarifies.

That sounds so ridiculous when he puts it that way. "Nevermind," she says. "I was just... It just sounded... It's fine."

"I think it's a great idea," says Eren.

"You do?" says Mikasa.

"Yeah!" says Eren. "I'm so fucking impatient, I'd be dying waiting to marry you. I wouldn't be able to enjoy the process at all."

Mikasa's eyes light up. "Really?"

"Yeah!" says Eren. He slides off of the couch and down onto one knee, taking her hand in his. "Mikasa, would you like to elope with me today?" He doesn't have a ring so he kisses her on the finger where the ring would go.

"Let me get dressed and then let's go," she says. "I mean, yes!"

They pack an overnight bag and get on the tube to one of the states where they can get a quickie wedding, then get a room for the night because they might as well sightsee while they're out of town. Later, once they're officially husband and wife, Mikasa shows him the Pinterest board of non-traditional engagement rings she's been curating as a hobby ever since she met him.

Second proposal: They don't tell anyone they're already married, which is fun because it feels like they're being bad but they really aren't. Mikasa's parents invite them and Levi and Eren's parents over for Christmas. Eren's gift for Mikasa is huge. It almost doesn't fit in the tube's luggage compartment with their bags and there's a very real possibility they're going to have to pay for a second tube just to transport it. He's wishing he'd asked Levi to take it in his car for him. Luckily, they manage to rearrange everything and get it in. Mikasa can't imagine what he got her but she's thinking it might be some kind of kitchen appliance. She hopes it's an air fryer while also knowing she'll be disappointed if her gift is something so practical.

When it comes time to open presents, Mikasa doesn't think much of it when she peels off the wrapping paper. She doesn't even notice that Levi has started recording on his phone. She opens the lid of the box and finds... Another wrapped present. She shoots Eren an amused glance, then unwraps that one, too. It's another box. She unwraps that one, too, and then the next, box after box. She's laughing, Ryu is cracking up, her parents are making jokes, Levi's telling her to hurry up and open it, and Eren's parents are groaning good-naturedly about how difficult he can be when he wants to be. It's a really beautiful moment for her, to be here with both of their families and to feel like she actually belongs and is wanted by all of them.

When she finally gets down to the last box, Eren interrupts. "Let me open that one for you," he says, reaching in among the cardboard and wrapping paper and taking out a velvety ring box. He cracks it open and, on one knee, holds the engagement ring out to her. "I've loved you from the first moment I saw you, when you turned around in line at that coffee shop and told me I stank. I haven't stopped loving you for a moment since. I will never stop loving you. I love you so much that it echoes across universes, through every version of me I've ever met. I can't imagine the emptiness of a life where I can't be with you." He starts to tear up a little bit. Mikasa is staring at him, spellbound. The moms are trying not to squeal and the dads are nodding their approval to each other like, this is how a man proposes. Levi is stoic but inside he's an absolute blubbering mess because his scared, sad little girl is smiling at Eren like she doesn't have a single ounce of fear left in her and, when Eren says, "Please, Mikasa, will you let me be your husband?", she throws her arms around him and says, "Yes!"

Of course, he is already her husband but that's just a formality. He feels like it doesn't really count until after they say their I dos at the wedding and he can tell everyone he's got a beautiful, actress wife.

#anamnesis #eremika #ask me things #eren jaeger #my asks #answered asks #fanfic #mikasa ackerman #eremika fanfic #fanfiction #they get a happy ending

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kaitidid22 · 1 year

Text

Fanfic: What Ifs and If Onlys (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: It's Conrad and Billie's first date, and Gigi isn't feeling well. (Canon-friendly & set immediately after ep 611.)

A/N: A gift for Sakura8589 on AO3. It's a little different than what you asked for, but I hope this satisfies the craving!

Brown eyes stared back at Billie—the same brown eyes that had always been part of her face—but they looked… lighter somehow. Her whole face was subtly different. Her skin was glowy, the curve of her lips more pronounced.

Maybe her face and eyes were merely reflecting back the lights that lined her mirror. But she kind of thought it was the happiness fizzing through her veins like bubbles in champagne.

She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She had tried a few times to school her features back into the calm, cool, stay-at-least-six-feet-away-from-me expression that she had honed over a lifetime and perfected overseas. But the familiar arrangement of her features suddenly felt unnatural and off.

She was accustomed to her expression not matching how she felt inside. That was life—or, at least, the life Billie had experienced. A constant balancing act between staying true to herself and taking others’ feelings into account. Tempering how she felt to make it manageable from the outside.

But, as she remembered the feeling of her fingers sliding against Conrad’s, his palm settling against hers in a skin-to-skin kiss, the idea of hiding that amount of joy just felt wrong.

Billie glanced down at the tube of mascara in her hand, and her brow furrowed. Had she put any on yet? She couldn’t remember. She leaned forward and studied her lashes. Left, yes. Right, no, she realized, and set about fixing the issue.

She was keeping her makeup simple—mascara, eyeshadow, tinted lip balm—less out of a stylistic choice and more because she was terrified at the prospect of needing to touch up during the date. Her hands were already shaking, and Conrad hadn’t even arrived yet.

She tapped her phone screen to check the time, and butterflies sprang to life in her stomach again. Conrad had said he would pick her up at eight. She had less than thirty minutes to get dressed, do her hair, and sit down for some deep breathing exercises.

Crap. Should I just tie it back? she wondered, scrutinizing her hair. It still looked mostly okay from when she had styled it that morning. She could just brush it and leave it. But it wasn’t perfect. And she wanted everything to be perfect.

She knew it was only dinner. She and Conrad had eaten dinner together hundreds of times over the past five years. Dinner, lunch, brunch, breakfast, afternoon snacks, midnight picnics—they had experienced every type of meal imaginable together. She had no reason to be nervous, or afraid that she would forget which fork to use or run out of conversation for the first time ever.

Conrad wasn’t even the type to take her to a fancy restaurant on a date. Besides, she would never forget the right fork. She had drilled it into herself as sternly as the names of all the bones in the human body.

And Billie was thankful that she could assume Conrad was going to pick somewhere on the more casual side. Maybe even Waylon’s—though maybe not since they could run into friends there. Regardless, he was far more likely to pick somewhere with sawdust on the floor than somewhere that relied on multiple forks for a meal.

Billie rubbed her forehead to stop the stream-of-consciousness rant. She was stalling. And spiraling. But mostly stalling.

Dress, she told herself, stern, and forced her feet to move back into the bedroom.

The problem was that Gigi had almost always been a buffer, literally sitting between Billie and Conrad’s bodies. And the few times Gigi hadn’t been physically present, the two of them had been in a group of friends, or Marshall had been with them, or they had been in the hospital café. They had never been alone.

Except for once: the day after the medical board hearing; the only day she could remember as just the two of them, alone. And that had been… different. She barely remembered that day, more worried about Trevor than she was about herself, and terribly tongue-tied telling Conrad the whole, horrible tale.

Trying to condense twenty-seven years into a manageable story was hard. She started and stopped and restarted so many times that she was terrified Conrad would get impatient. But he never did. He barely even asked questions and only let himself do that much after she had gotten through the whole thing once.

She knew they had eaten—they had spent nearly fourteen hours together—but she would never be able to tell anyone what they had eaten or where.

Luckily—or unluckily maybe—she had spent the entire day leading up to their date mentally sifting through her wardrobe. So, she knew exactly which dress she was going to wear. She had decided black would be too stark, too fancy for the type of place Conrad was likely to choose. She had opted for a slate blue a-line dress that hit just below her knee, with a sweetheart neckline and fluttery little sleeves. Paired with small jet studs, the delicate necklace she wore every day, and ankle boots with the tiniest of block heels, Billie thought she managed to look understated and modest, casual enough for a pub and yet elegant enough that she was obviously dressed for a date.

Standing in front of the mirror, Billie smoothed her hand down her hips, feeling the silky fabric of the dress, and scrutinizing every last detail of the outfit. Satisfied and disproportionately proud of herself, she gave her reflection a smug nod and went downstairs to tell herself she wasn’t nervous in a different room.

She was getting a glass of water in the kitchen when Conrad’s knock sounded through the first story of the house. Billie hesitated at the sink, glass hovering, and wondered why she was surprised. Had she really thought he would use his key? He always had before when picking Gigi up, or the two of them were coming over for movie night, but things were different now.

Were they? Of course, they were. Right? Yes. They were different.

For God’s sake, move, she told herself, when she realized she had left him standing at the door for far too long.

She straightened her shoulders and set the glass down in the sink. Then she turned and walked to the door, head as high as she could get it and not be looking down her nose at anything.

His bashful smile was firmly in place, eyes on the wooden boards of her porch, as she opened the door. “I almost used my key,” he admitted to the porch. He looked up, shaking his head “But then I thought—”

His words seemed to dry up as he took her in. She knew she was smiling too wide. She probably looked like she was having a manic episode. But he was so adorable. How was she supposed to resist grinning at him?

“Wow,” he said on an exhale.

Billie’s cheeks heated. She wanted to say Come on, Hawkins. You’ve seen me dressed up before. But she bit the teasing back, recognizing that this was one of those moments they would never get to have again, and she didn’t want to ruin it out of nerves. So, she took a beat to absorb his expression.

“You clean up well, yourself,” she said.

And he did, but she already knew that. Despite the fact that his preference was to live in jeans and a Henley, she had seen him dressed up on a number of occasions. Kit and Bell’s wedding, of course, but other times, too. Forcing tense conversation with him at the first-year residents reception. Flipping through photos from his wedding to Nic. Seeing him leave for a date with Cade straight from a shift. Catching his eye across the room at fundraising events Kit drafted them both to attend.

But Conrad had never dressed up for Billie. His black button up, grey pants, and shiny leather boots were wreaking havoc on her poor heart, which was now beating three times faster than it should be. And he was still staring, lips slightly parted, having not seemed to register her words at all.

She tilted her head. “Do you want to come in?”

He pointed vaguely over his shoulder to his car at the curb. “Reservation.”

Her nerves spiked again. Reservation? But she forced out a nod and held onto her smile. “Let me get my jacket.”

Her hands were shaking again when she pulled open the coat closet. Her hand floated for a moment between her leather jacket—what she had assumed she would wear—and a light shawl collared coat—something more appropriate for the places Conrad’s pants were implying. She didn’t know which to choose. Since when did Conrad Hawkins make reservations?

“You okay?” he called to her.

He couldn’t see her from his vantage point. Between the front door and the door to the closet, his view was entirely blocked. But she knew she had hesitated too long—again. She grabbed the leather jacket and shut the closet, snagging her purse off the entryway console on her way back to Conrad.

“Peachy,” she said and stepped through the front door and into her date.

What is happening? Billie thought to herself as they pulled up to the valet stand.

She knew exactly where they were, even though the restaurant (rather famously) lacked any type of signage. Instead, the entire front of the building was a glass wall, encouraging anyone from the street or sidewalk to look in at the patrons.

The nerves that had been strumming along in her chest—eased by the conversation in the car—flipped on an amplifier and began slamming out power chords. Her fingers spasmed around the seat belt before she forced them to relax, unhook the clip, and open the door. Conrad handed the keys to the valet and then held his hand out to her. She slid hers into his grip readily, but she was so flummoxed that she barely felt the contact.

Le Ciel was not where Billie had expected Conrad to take her.

Le Ciel was so famous that The New York Times had written an article solely about how famous it was.

Le Ciel was a prix fixe menu that used words like “truffle foam” and “deconstructed.”

And Le Ciel was a sea of two-top tables lit with candles. No four-tops in sight, and definitely nothing larger. Not at Le Ciel. Because Le Ciel was widely considered the most romantic restaurant in Atlanta.

How had Conrad even gotten a reservation? Le Ciel booked up months in advance. James had once idly mentioned that the waitlist for a Valentine’s Day reservation was running three years out.

“I treated the owner’s son when I worked concierge,” Conrad murmured to her as he held open the door. “I called in a favor.”

She stared at him, lips parting, and he gave her a modest, half-shrug in response. Then he tilted his head towards the coat person, and she nodded, slipping the leather jacket off. He took care of checking their jackets and then put a hand on the small of her back to approach the hostess stand. The young woman nodded when Conrad gave his name and led them to a table in the corner by the massive windows.

It was very clearly the best table in the house, and Billie was abruptly certain she would not be able to eat anything. She couldn’t even remember if the fish fork was the one placed randomly on the righthand side with the spoons or if that was the seafood fork.

“Can I interest you in our signature cocktail?” the hostess asked.

“Um…sure,” Billie said, then shook her head. “Actually, no, just water for now, please.”

“Water would be great,” Conrad added.

“Of course,” the hostess said. “Your server will be right over with an amuse bouche. Bon appetit.”

“Thank you,” Conrad said, as Billie managed a faint smile.

As soon as the hostess was gone, Billie’s eyes locked on Conrad’s face. He was watching her, alert, as if he could sense something was off. And maybe he could. She had been quieter than usual in the car, shocked at the mention of a reservation, which didn’t fit inside her expectations for the night at all.

Confused. She was confused. And slightly shaken. She had mentally prepared for a pub. She had even worried her dress was too fancy for whatever Conrad had planned, and now she was sitting in Le Ciel feeling underdressed. She wasn’t—her dress was a silky, flowy fabric, and the coat check hadn’t even blinked when Conrad had handed over their leather jackets.

She licked her lips. “This is nice.”

His eyes crinkled, but he managed not to laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“Did you give this guy’s son your kidney?” she asked.

“No,” Conrad said, eyes still dancing in the candlelight. “I didn’t do anything special. I think his son just liked me.”

“This is the nicest table in the place, Conrad,” Billie said, feeling herself relax the more they spoke. “You clearly went above and beyond.”

“No organs were involved,” he said. Then he stopped to think. “No organs from outside his body, anyway.”

She chuckled, then looked around self-consciously. “It’s so quiet.”

“It’s like a library,” Conrad said.

“Good evening,” their server said, seeming to materialize out of nowhere next to them.

Billie grabbed at the edge of the table, while Conrad jumped a little and then smoothed the motion out to look like he had just been leaning back in his chair. They both murmured something along the lines of good eveningback and listened as the server introduced himself, and then verbally prepared them for the menu they were about to eat, which sounded amazing but included seven courses and complicated wine pairings. When he was done, he gestured to someone behind him, and another person came forward with two ceramic spoons that they set on the table in front of Conrad and Billie.

And in the center of the table, they placed a basket of…leaves?

The server stepped forward again. “In front of you, you’ll find salmon roe atop roasted octopus brined in watermelon juice. We recommend chewing the mint leaves between each course to truly cleanse the palate. Bon appetit.”

As the server faded into the dimness around them, Conrad braced his hands on the table, palms flat on either side of the ceramic spoon.

“Are you going to eat it?” Billie asked. “Or challenge it to a duel?”

Conrad’s bashful grin spread across his face. “I didn’t understand what half of that menu meant.”

“Me, either,” Billie said and lifted her spoon. “Bottoms up, Hawkins.”

“Bottoms up,” he muttered back.

They clinked their spoons together and tossed the spoons back at the same time. As weird as the combination sounded, the effect was delicious. Billie chewed as she watched Conrad nod thoughtfully and swallow.

“Chewy,” he said.

She nearly spit out her own octopus in laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth at the last second. She managed to swallow and took a sip of her water to clear her airway.

“So, you loved it, huh?” she asked.

God she loved him. The feeling was overwhelming, and so familiar after the past two years that she very nearly shoved it down like she always had before. She was so used to hiding it that she fidgeted at the knowledge that it was out there for everyone to see, for him to see. But she loved Conrad so much in that moment that she let it all shine through her eyes.

But he looked away from her, sending her stomach into freefall. A month ago, she would have retreated. She would have set her walls firmly back in place, reminded herself that Conrad wasn’t hers, picked a nice neutral topic to distract them, and then avoided him for a day while she got back on course.

But Conrad had kissed her and brought her out to the fanciest restaurant in town. Both very clear signals that he returned her feelings. So, Billie set her hand on the table and tentatively slid it forward along the tablecloth towards the middle. He met her halfway, his fingers gently tangling with her own.

He opened his mouth, leaning forward, and she heard buzzing. They both furrowed their brows, letting go of each other to seek out their phones. As doctors, they didn’t have the luxury of letting the call go to voicemail.

“It’s me,” Conrad told her, pressing the button to answer. “Devon. Everything okay?”

Billie’s breath caught as fear spilled into her chest. Gigi.

“Does she have a fever?”

Immediately, Billie started looking around the restaurant, trying to spot their server through the dimness. She listened with one ear as Conrad continued his conversation with Devon.

“…wasn’t herself earlier, but she’s been in a mood the past couple of days. I didn’t think she…”

Finally, she spotted the server, lingering at the hostess stand near the better-lit foyer. Billie narrowed her eyes at his back, willing him to turn around.

“…be there soon.”

“Go,” Billie said, as soon as she was sure Conrad had hung up. “I’ll get the check. Call me and tell me how she is, okay?”

She felt Conrad’s gaze on her face, but she was still busy trying to catch their server’s eye. He was still leaning against the hostess stand, had barely moved in the fifteen seconds Billie had been staring. The hostess was gorgeous, of course, tall and willowy.

But good grief, Billie thought, eyeing the server.

After a moment, Billie realized that Conrad hadn’t budged, and she looked back at him, confused. He was gazing at her.

“You’re not leaving,” she pointed out.

“I…” He shook himself. “Yeah, I just… Why don’t you—No, I mean, can you come with me?”

“Yes,” she said, telling herself not to stop and think. “Hold on.”

She stood, setting her napkin on the table, and marched across the restaurant. Smile, she reminded herself. Easy. Your server is a glorified child likely trying to put himself through college. Do not eviscerate him for something he had no part in. Deep breaths. In and out. That’s good.

But Gigi needed Conrad, and their server was still flirting with the hostess. Gigi wasn’t well. And Billie shoved the panic down deeper in her soul.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, smoothly stepping in front of the server so that he would have no way of ignoring her. “But we need our check.”

Nerves flashed across his face. “Is everything all right? Is your food—”

“The food is fine,” she said. “But our sitter just called, and my date’s daughter isn’t feeling well. So—”

“No problem at all,” he said, face clearing and empathy stitching a frown onto his face. “I can bring the card reader to the table.”

“Thank you,” Billie said, relieved.

“I’ll get your coats,” the hostess offered.

“Thank you,” Billie said again, this time a little more sincerely.

As soon as Billie buckled her seat belt, the car was moving with Conrad tense and restless in the driver’s seat. She should have offered to drive, but she never drove when she, Conrad, and Gigi went anywhere. Even if she had thought to offer, it would have felt entirely foreign to be behind the wheel while he sat in the passenger seat, leg jumping up and down as his brain ran through all the possible medical explanations for his daughter’s symptoms.

“I heard you tell Devon that she’s been off the last few days,” Billie said.

His swallow was audible across the car. “I was going to talk to you about that.”

Her gaze sharpened on his profile. “Talk to me about what?”

Billie had known when he spoke to Gigi about them dating earlier that week. He had murmured it in her ear one morning while they were waiting for the screens to load with scans in the CT room. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, since Devon had barged in, and then they had each been called on separate critical issues. And her OR had been so busy the rest of the week that she hadn’t had a chance to see Gigi since the conversation.

She had been a bit surprised that Conrad had already spoken to his daughter. Particularly since Billie and Conrad never had the conversation. It had all been vague and implied, and they had each known what the other meant—we’re together now—but it hadn’t been said per se.

Part of her was disappointed. She had wanted to be there when he told Gigi. She didn’t know how Gigi was going to respond. She knew Gigi would understand the basics after her father’s relationship with Cade. It was different with Billie, though, and she had wanted to be there to reassure the little girl.

But it wasn’t her place to ask, only to be invited, and Conrad hadn’t, so Billie hadn’t said anything.

“When I told Gigi about us, she was excited, but I don’t think she really understood,” Conrad said. “She just seemed to think it would mean sleepovers like…”

He trailed off, and she stifled a laugh at his discomfort. “Like Cade used to?”

“Yeah,” he said on a groan. “I tried to explain the difference. I told her you would be coming over more, and, yes, there might be sleepovers and, no, you wouldn’t be sleeping in her room.” He paused to grin as Billie laughed, then continued, “But everything I mentioned you already do with us, everything Cade did, aside from the sleepovers. Like going on our weekend outings or coming over for movie night. And you take Gigi for an overnight once or twice a month. So, none of it was helpful.”

He sounded frustrated with himself again, frustrated again about how much time he had let lapse by running from his feelings. Billie ran a hand down his bicep, a swift gesture of comfort. Then she pulled her hands back into her lap. She told herself not to ask, but she had to know.

“But she was excited, right?”

“Yes,” he said, firm. “Ecstatic.”

“Good,” Billie murmured, pleased.

“Did you expect different?” Conrad asked, tone teasing. He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “She did ask if I would kiss you like I did Cade.”

“She did?” Billie asked, surprised.

Conrad nodded. “I told her yes and asked if she wanted to talk about that. But then she asked about dinosaurs because they’re doing a unit in school. So, I thought she was fine.”

“Since then she’s been off, though?” she prompted.

“It started a couple of days later. She’s been complaining about a stomachache the last two days, wheedling to stay home from school.” He shook his head. “I let her yesterday, and she spent the whole day in bed, but I couldn’t find anything medically wrong with her. And she’s done this before when she was nervous about something. So, I thought sending her to school was the right thing to do, and she seemed fine when I left tonight.”

“What’s she nervous about?” Billie asked.

She wracked her brain, but they were in a quiet period in terms of Gigi’s afterschool activities. No holidays. No events. She was excited to start day camp when school let out for the summer, but that didn’t start for a couple of months, and her next belt wouldn’t be for at least four.

“I’m not sure,” Conrad said on a sigh. “I thought getting a night with Devon might be so exciting that it would shake her out of whatever this is. But it’s been two days, Billie. I don’t…”

He trailed off, and she heard everything that he wasn’t saying.

…know what to do.

…know if I did the right thing.

…know how to help her.

“You’re a great dad,” she reminded him. “Maybe she just needs some time to tell you what it is.”

He shook his head. “I think she tried, and I just didn’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last night at dinner, she talked a lot about Cade,” he said.

“Cade,” Billie repeated in surprise. She turned to stare out the windshield, brow furrowed. “I didn’t think she and Cade were close.”

“They weren’t,” Conrad said. “I’m not even just telling myself that. They weren’t close. They liked each other fine. But Gigi never asked for Cade to tuck her in or read her a book or anything like she does with you and Devon and AJ.”

All of which was the impression Billie had gotten of their relationship from Gigi herself. And she had always thought that was due in equal measures to Conrad shielding Gigi from his first relationship since Nic and Cade having trouble opening herself up to people.

“But Gigi’s asking for Cade now?”

None of this was making sense to Billie. And clearly not to Conrad if his frustrated tone was anything to go by.

“No, not really asking for her,” he said. “Gigi had a lot of questions about the breakup, and what it meant. Why weren’t we seeing Cade anymore? When were we going to see her again? That sort of thing.”

He stopped, gathering his thoughts, and Billie waited. She wished she could ease his frustration with himself, but all she could do for him was listen.

“I think she was trying to ask me something else, not about Cade at all, but it wasn’t making much sense,” he said, as though admitting a sin.

“Okay,” Billie said slowly. They were getting close to Conrad’s and running out of time. “How did you explain the breakup to her?”

He shifted restlessly as they stopped at a red light. “I told Gigi that Cade and I were going to be friends, but that Cade wouldn’t be around as much because we weren’t dating anymore. So, she wouldn’t be spending the night or going out with us anymore. And that it had nothing to do with Gigi, and that we both still cared about her. I tried to make the conversation about Cade and the conversation about you separate. I spaced them out over a few days. I don’t know if that helped.”

Billie’s brow was still furrowed. “It sounds like you handled it right,” she said.

Conrad blew out a breath. “Apparently not.”

The light turned green, and Conrad drove the last few blocks to the house in silence. Billie turned everything over in her mind, trying to find an explanation for Gigi’s anxiety, but she came up blank. She would have understood if Cade had meant a lot to Gigi, but she hadn’t. Could it just be the change? Kids didn’t do well with change, right?

As they stepped from the car, Conrad came around to her side, gently shutting her door. She grasped his jacket, pulling him close. Without prompting, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, exhaling shakily into the night, hands cupping her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about all of this?” Billie asked.

Conrad always talked to her about Gigi things and not just Gigi—everything, really, even Cade. She shoved down the hurt that he hadn’t this time. She could feel the tension vibrating through his body into hers. This hadn’t been about Billie; it had been about Conrad, and she needed to understand.

“I wanted tonight to be about us,” he said, voice gravelly and low.

Oh, she thought.

“Conrad, Gigi is part of us,” Billie said. She let go of his jacket and cupped her hands around his face, pulling him far enough away that they could see each other. “Nothing is ever going to change that. Always talk to me about Gigi.”

His eyes looked wet as she ran a gentle hand down his jaw to rest against his neck. Before she could tell for sure if it was just the moonlight playing tricks, he blinked and looked away.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

He shrugged, smiling at the driveway. “Loving us.”

“You really need to stop thanking me for that,” she said, injecting a little levity into the conversation. “You’re going to give me a complex. I’ll expect it daily with my cup of coffee.”

“God forbid,” he murmured.

Then he took a deep breath and stepped back. Her hands trailed from his cheek and neck, falling to her sides. But he held out his hand for hers milliseconds later, and she interlaced her fingers with his. She loved that he seemed to want to hold her hand as much as she wanted to hold his. She would take any excuse.

He gave her a wry smile. “Let’s go.”

When they stepped through the front door, Devon was slowly pacing the living room with Gigi cradled in his arms. Her face was buried in his neck, and Billie’s heart twisted.

Devon caught sight of them as he turned to begin pacing in the opposite direction, and his eyes lit up with relief. “Hey,” he said. “I think she’s out again.”

“Let’s put her back in bed,” Conrad said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Devon said, brow furrowed with worry.

“Talk to me,” Conrad ordered, hot on Devon’s heels.

Billie followed behind Conrad, doing a deep breathing exercise to quell the pounding of her heart.

Conrad thinks it’s just nerves, she reminded herself.

But the sight of Gigi looking so small in Devon’s arms, her little face hidden from the world, was branded across Billie’s brain.

“She seemed fine when you left,” Devon said as they got to the top of the stairs. “We played with the telescope for a while, then got ready for bed. I tucked her in, read a book, but then she asked for another one. And I know you said only one, but—”

Conrad cut him off. “It’s okay. So, you read a second book.”

Devon settled Gigi on the bed, and the little girl rolled over into a fetal position. Billie felt the tension ratchet up in the room.

“We read four,” Devon said. “She tried for a fifth, but I told her it was too late, and she needed to close her eyes and try to sleep. I offered to stay with her, but that’s when she started saying that her stomach hurt. No fever. Pupils are fine. I palpated but didn’t feel anything off. I took her downstairs and gave her some ginger ale. But then she asked me to pick her up…” Devon stopped to swallow, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

“Like she used to,” Conrad finished for him.

Devon nodded. “So, I tried walking her like we did when she was a baby, and that seemed to work better than anything else. She had only been asleep for a few minutes by the time you got home.”

Billie had been watching Gigi’s face and saw the little girl’s eyes blink open. She was kneeling next to her before she consciously told herself to move.

“Hi sweetie,” Billie murmured to her. “Everything’s okay. You can go back to sleep.”

But Gigi was already sitting up, little face crumpled, arms held out to Billie. She slid next to Gigi and pulled the little girl into her lap, holding her close and making soothing noises as Gigi started to cry. Conrad came to sit next to Billie, and Devon hovered with an anxious face, clearly at a loss as to what his role was.

“Bubble, talk to me,” Conrad said, his voice a thousand times softer than when he had said the same to Devon.

To Billie’s utter shock, Gigi squirmed away from her father and cried harder as her arms squeezed around Billie’s neck. A deep hurt spasmed across Conrad’s face, and Billie wanted to reach out to him, but her hands and arms were full of Gigi, whose tears were so profound that Billie could feel the skin of her neck getting wet. Billie caught his gaze with hers instead, trying to send him love and strength through just that contact.

“Sweetie,” Billie murmured, rubbing a hand on Gigi’s back. “You have to talk to us. Is it your stomach?”

Gigi nodded, hiccupping against Billie’s neck.

“Can you sit up for me?” Billie asked. “We need to take a look at you.”

Gigi shook her head.

“You don’t want us to examine you?” Billie guessed.

Gigi stayed still against her.

“Okay,” Billie said. “We’re not going to do that, okay?”

Gigi’s arms loosened slightly.

“Do you want to talk to me about why you’re mad at your dad?” Billie asked gently.

She kept her eyes on Conrad’s face, and she saw the words hit him like a physical blow. But it was the only thing that made sense, and, knowing Gigi and how much she idolized Conrad, Billie could definitely see the unfamiliar feeling tying Gigi’s stomach in knots.

Billie felt Gigi shake her head, and Billie ran a soothing hand down Gigi’s hair. “I think you’d feel better if you talked about it.”

“I’m going to go downstairs,” Devon said. “I’ll give you guys a minute.”

Conrad stood and walked with Devon to the door. “You can go home,” Billie heard him say. “We’ve got it from here. Thank you for…”

Their voices trailed off as they got further down the stairs. Gigi let go of Billie’s neck, and the little girl sat back in Billie’s arms. Her face was streaked with tears, big eyes miserable.

“Baby,” Billie said, cupping Gigi’s cheek. “What’s going on?”

Gigi’s small fingers reached out to play with the ends of Billie’s hair. In the end, Billie had decided to leave it down, and it was damp from Gigi’s sobbing. But Gigi gently curled one lock around her tiny finger and held onto it.

“You and Daddy are dating?” Gigi asked.

They both knew it wasn’t a question. Conrad had explicitly told Gigi that he and Billie were together. Billie knew that she should have Conrad handle this conversation with his daughter. But Conrad was downstairs, and Gigi was asking her. So, Billie nodded slowly.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Gigi’s face crumpled again, and Billie pulled her close. Heart shredded, Billie told herself Gigi was only five-going-on-six. She couldn’t possibly know how deeply she had just hurt Billie, and it wasn’t Gigi’s fault. But Billie just didn’t understand the reaction. Conrad had said Gigi was excited when he told her. Billie had thought Gigi adored her; she had thought they were each other’s favorites.

“Baby, if your dad and me dating bothers you this much—” Billie took a deep breath, swallowing down the words she wanted to offer. Then we won’t. I promise. Curious that her heart was still beating when it was dead in her chest. “Why don’t we talk about this with your dad?”

Billie caught the movement of a shadow and looked up as Conrad appeared in the doorway. She knew her face was a wreck, and she saw the fear on his, but she wasn’t sure how much he had overheard. And, so, when he started forward into the room, she shook her head at him.

Gigi was sobbing hard now, and her words were barely intelligible. “No…away…Cade…”

“What?” Billie whispered. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t hear that.”

Gigi pulled back again, with her hand still tight on the curl she had never let go of. “You’re mine,” she said, and the words were not only clear but fierce.

A very inappropriate flash of amusement swept through Billie, and she recognized it as giddy relief. She swallowed it down as she saw Conrad lean against the doorjamb out of the corner of her eye, something about his body loosening like a rope that had been stretched taut and then released.

“I am yours,” Billie assured her. “And I will always be yours, no matter what happens with your dad.”

Gigi’s face was still screwed up into a stubborn moue, but Billie saw something ease in the little girl, too, and the tears slowed. Her fingers worried the curl still tight in her grip.

“Cade went away,” Gigi said simply.

And, abruptly, it all made sense to Billie. Part of her brain wondered if this made it click for Conrad, too, but she was focused on Gigi and didn’t want to spare him a glance. They needed to have this conversation, and she didn’t want to clue the little girl into the fact that he was there since all of this seemed to be aimed at her father.

How in the world was she going to explain this to Gigi? How could she possibly explain the confidence she had in her relationship with Conrad? They still had never been on one complete date, and somehow Billie was one hundred percent sure that he was it for her. He and Gigi were Billie’s home. But even if he wasn’t, if—God forbid—he left her and decimated her heart, they would all still be okay.

Gigi has to come first. The words reverberated through Billie’s brain, and they weren’t hers. They were remembered from a long-ago conversation with Nic about how to do the hard things after Gigi was born.

Nic had licked her lips and continued, “Before me. Before Conrad. Honestly, sometimes I think I would shove him in front of a bus to save Gigi. Does that make me a bad person?”

And Billie had laughed and said, “Don’t worry. If someone needs to shove Conrad in front of a bus, I’ll do it for you. That’s just the kind of friend I am.”

“Oh my god,” Nic had said, but she had been laughing. “Just save Gigi, okay? If it’s a choice between me and the baby. Pick the baby.”

“Like you even have to tell me that,” Billie had said, genuinely offended.

Billie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, Nic’s face flashing through her mind with that reassuring smile—the one that always said I adore you, Billie Sutton, you maniac.

Taking a soothing breath, Billie did her best to save Gigi. For Nic, sure, of course. But mostly for Gigi because, well, Gigi was the best thing that had ever happened to Billie.

“Breakups are really hard, sweetie,” was how Billie began. “Sometimes, after a breakup, one of the people needs to… to not see the person they were dating. Because it hurts too much to see them and making that hurt a little less is all that matters. Grownups call it getting space.”

Gigi still wasn’t looking Billie in the eye, and Billie felt like she was floundering. But she steeled her spine and kept trying.

“Cade needs space right now. She cared about your dad and you,” she said, stressing those last words, “a lot. It’s hard for her that she and your dad aren’t dating anymore.” She hesitated before saying the next, sending a silent prayer out to the universe that she was right. “Cade and I are not the same.”

Gigi’s eyes flicked up to Billie’s and then back down to the curl.

Bingo, Billie thought.

“We’re family. You, me, and your dad. But you and I are different,” Billie said. “And I don’t think I can explain that to you. And I know you hate it when we tell you that you’ll understand when you’re older, but, baby, I didn’t get it until I was close to forty.”

Gigi rolled her eyes, but her lips were pulling into a little smile at the corners.

“I didn’t get it until I met you. Nothing in the universe could make me stay away from you,” Billie said. “If your dad decided to break up with me, that wouldn’t change. You and I will never change. I will never need space from you. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Forever and always.”

When Gigi wrapped her arms around Billie’s neck again, her body was loose, and her grip was easy. Billie knew they hadn’t solved the problem. One conversation wasn’t going to be enough, but it was a start. The rest would take time.

She cleared her throat. “Can you talk to your dad? He loves you so much, and he’s really worried about you.”

Gigi nodded and slid from Billie’s lap to sit cross-legged on her unicorn sheets. Billie pressed a kiss to Gigi’s hair and whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Gigi said.

She stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress out of habit, and met Conrad’s gaze. As Conrad stepped past her, his eyes looked bruised. He paused as if he wanted to say something to her, but she tilted her head towards Gigi.

“Later,” she murmured and stepped into the hallway.

Conrad and Gigi didn’t say much. Gigi was too sleepy. And Billie couldn’t see what was happening around the door that she had pulled halfway shut, but she imagined they did a lot of cuddling.

She was leaning on the wall outside Gigi’s room, hands braced behind the small of her back, when Conrad stepped out and eased the door shut behind him. She tilted her head to the side and studied his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, beating her to the punch.

“Not really,” she said, knowing her smile was wan. “But I feel better knowing what’s wrong. You?”

His face collapsed. “I really messed this up. With Gigi.”

“No, you didn’t,” Billie said.

“With Cade,” he continued. “With you.”

“No,” Billie said again. “You didn’t.”

He stared at her. “How can you say that?” he murmured. “We could have… If I hadn’t been running from this, then I never would have dated Cade—”

“You don’t know that,” she interrupted him. “I can’t speak for Cade. But I can speak for me, and I feel like I can speak for Gigi. We’re going to be fine, Conrad. It’s just going to take some time.”

“But—”

She gathered both of his hands in hers. “The choice you made when you started to date Cade was what you needed at the time. A casual relationship with someone you were attracted to and liked as a person, with the potential for more. Someone you could build a future with, one step at a time.”

“Back up. You think I still would have chosen Cade if I had known how you felt about me?” he asked, studying her.

“I don’t know,” Billie said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Well, I do. And I would not have.”

“Okay,” she said. “But maybe that would have been a mistake.”

He stared at her, mouth working.

“We,” she said, stressing the word, “are full of stakes. We have so much to lose here. There was no way to make us casual or ease into something real over time. We were going to be serious from day one. That’s just how it is. Maybe you weren’t ready for that.”

He started to speak again, and she cupped his cheek to still him.

“If so,” she said, “that is completely understandable. Did I like it? No. Did it hurt me? Yes. Did it make me unreasonably angry at the time? Hell yeah. But do I hold it against you? Absolutely not.”

Annoyance flashed across his face. “We’re going to argue about this later,” he said, stubborn. “Because I definitely would have chosen you, and I’ve been thinking about it for a few days now, and I’m slightly pissed that you didn’t tell me how you felt.”

She sighed quietly. “Okay, we can argue about that tomorrow night.”

“Saturday,” he muttered. “You have three surgeries tomorrow.”

But he had never let go of her hand, and he was absently playing with her fingers in his. And she was so far gone on him that the fact he was scheduling an argument with her—with thoughtful consideration for her stress level, no less—made her want to rise on her tiptoes and seal her mouth to his. But they weren’t done with this discussion.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “My point is that we’ll never know what would have happened. We only know what did happen, and where we are now. Thinking through what ifs and if onlys will never help us. Remember?”

She saw the moment he remembered their conversation from four years earlier.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Billie had said.

Conrad’s beard had been soaked with tears. Her arms had been wrapped around him, trying to hold all the broken pieces of him together as he wept. Both of his hands had been pressed to his mouth so that Gigi wouldn’t hear from her crib upstairs.

Billie had been on a date—half-heartedly going through the motions of trying to reenter normal life—when Conrad had called. Gigi had taken her first steps. And Nic hadn’t been there to see it.

Billie had barely explained the situation to poor Dave—a setup that Kit had only convinced Billie to accept by assuring her Dave wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, just someone to take around while he got to know Atlanta. But making polite conversation without talking about the defining moment of her life—losing Nic—had been exhausting, and Billie had quickly realized she hadn’t been ready. She had driven like a bat out of hell to Conrad’s house and had found him an absolute mess on the floor.

He had sputtered out what Nic would have done, what Nic would have given to see Gigi’s first steps. He had talked about the things they would have been doing—he and Nic—if she had been there. He had outlined all the ways they would have celebrated, the next steps, what Nic would have thought and said and done. And Billie had wrapped her arms around him, trying to fill the holes she could feel in both of them, despite knowing it was an impossible task.

She had waited until the tears stopped to say it. And Conrad had barely even looked at her.

“Doing what?” he had asked, hoarse from the crying jag.

“Wondering what could have been,” she had whispered back. “Nic isn’t here, and I hate that. Torturing ourselves with the what ifs and if onlys is—”

“I can’t just stop thinking about her, Billie,” he had snapped, pulling away from her entirely.

“I know that,” she had snapped back. “I never said that, Conrad. But what if Gigi came downstairs right now, or heard you crying?”

He had looked away from her, stubborn and angry and silent.

“You want to be mad at me?” Billie had snarled at him, trying to keep her voice at whisper level. “That’s fine. Be mad. I can take it, Hawkins. Yell at me. Call me names. I’m still not going anywhere. I loved her, too, and I will never stop missing her. But we have to stop torturing ourselves. She isn’t here, Conrad. We have to live with that and find a way to move forward. Find a way to remember her and honor her that doesn’t leave us paralyzed.”

His throat had worked.

“For Gigi,” Billie had added. “If not for yourself. Gigi has to come first.”

“I know,” he had snapped, but some of the heat was gone from his voice.

Billie had taken a chance and reached out to grasp his wrist. She had kept her grip strong, a reminder that he could lean on her, and not too soft because she had thought he might shake her off if she tried that. He hadn’t moved, letting her touch him.

“You’re doing great,” she had said. “Nic would be so proud of you and the father you’ve become. But you are all Gigi’s got, and she has to come first."

At that, his head had fallen back against the wall with an audible clunk. Billie had forced herself not to wince in response, telling her neuro-self to shut it. But then he had nodded his head.

“No more what ifs,” he had agreed.

They had both known she was making it sound too easy. And Billie had known he was only agreeing to try. But agreeing had been enough. Trying had been enough. And, together, they had muddled through.

Standing outside of Gigi’s door, five years hovered around them. All of the rough moments that Billie and Conrad had muddled through together had shaped them into the two people standing there staring at each other, able to show each other their raw, unfiltered selves. Their history had grown like a living thing between them, each hard decision and uncomfortable conversation and touch of solace and piece of advice and kick in the ass had become a vine that entwined around them, through them, pulling them tighter and closer until Billie had no longer been sure where her world began and where Conrad’s ended.

Finally, Conrad nodded his head, just as stubborn and reluctant to concede as he had been four years prior. Her hand slid from his cheek down to rest against his chest. His heart thudded under her palm as they stared at each other.

“Where did you come from?” he whispered. He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Her eyebrows knit together. “You’ve asked me that before,” she murmured back to him.

“Have I?” But he didn’t really seem to be paying attention. “I’m really sorry we had to cut our date short.”

She blinked at him. “Who said it was over? What, because we changed venues? You’re not getting off that easy, Hawkins.”

He didn’t laugh, like she was expecting. Didn’t even smile. But he did lean forward.

He moved so incrementally that, at first, she didn’t think he was moving at all. Then he braced a hand on the wall next to her head, and she realized he was easing into her body and closing the gap between them. Sweet anticipation spun through her chest, gathering up like cotton candy.

His second kiss was as slow as the first had been. She was better prepared this time, though, for the dueling waves of tenderness and heat that swamped her body.

His lips were soft, barely a whisper, brushing against hers once, twice, a third time. Then he settled in and pushed closer, mouth opening over hers. He still tasted like the mint leaves from Le Ciel.

Time seemed to stretch and lengthen as his lips moved against hers. Billie wasn’t sure she had ever been this happy. She had yearned for this with an acute ache for so long—the feeling of Conrad against her, of him wanting to be in her arms—that a part of her honestly couldn’t believe it was really, truly happening. But here he was holding her with soft hands, lips languid against hers—half comfort and half desire.

She felt a lump rising in her throat, and he seemed to sense that she needed a moment. Maybe her lips had started to tremble. He eased his mouth away, trailing soft kisses across her cheek. Her head slowly tilted to the side of its own volition, and Conrad followed the silent directive with more gentle kisses.

As his lips brushed down her neck, she let out an involuntary hum of pleasure that made his hand clench at her waist and pull her closer to him. She realized then that he wasn’t quite as relaxed and languid as she had thought. His control was on a tight leash.

But the sound had also reminded Billie that they were standing mere feet outside his daughter’s bedroom.

“Conrad,” she whispered. “Gigi.”

He pulled his mouth away from her skin but rested his forehead in the curve of her shoulder on a groan. “Right.”

The feeling of his fingers still clenched at her waist made her bold. “Change venues again?” she asked.

“God yes,” he muttered, and she stifled a giggle.

But as they both turned to put distance between themselves and Gigi’s door, they found the darkened doorway to Conrad’s bedroom staring back at them. Billie froze, immediately going rigid.

Conrad settled a hand in the curve of her lower back, radiating calm and soothing energy. “Not tonight,” he said.

Every muscle relaxed in Billie’s body. “Not tonight.”

“We go slow,” he said, using the hand on the small of her back to urge her body closer again.

A wide, brilliant, happy smile spread across her face as she rested both hands against his chest. “Slow,” she agreed.

Conrad smiled back, and they stood there in the hallway, simply smiling at each other for a long time. Heat simmered in his eyes, but the lines of his face were easy. She wondered what he saw in hers.

“Making out is slow,” Conrad said.

“True,” Billie said. She considered and then said, “As long as no clothes come off, that’s slow, right?”

Conrad paused, as if thinking this over, and he said, “I think there need to be hard lines, though. Tonight, first base. No further.”

“We just did that,” Billie said, pointing towards where he’d had her pressed against the wall.

“But I don’t think we’re ready for second,” he said.

“Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Not ready, or too ready?”

He didn’t respond to that but took a deliberate step backward. “Why don’t we get a snack? That octopus thing was not very filling.”

“Yes, please,” she said. “Though, honestly, if all the courses were that size, we would have been in serious trouble even if we hadn’t been called away. Thank goodness we stuck to water.”

“I thought you loved places like that,” Conrad said, as he followed her down the stairs. “You donate to the ballet. You took Gigi to the opera gala last year. James took you to that experimental menu…thing.”

“Pop up,” she supplied, surprised he remembered that.

She glanced at Conrad as they moved into the kitchen. It had never occurred to her that he might be comparing them with her and James. But his face was calm—serene really—and she couldn’t discern a clue to his thoughts.

“Every once in a while, it’s nice to get dressed up and do something different,” she said, partly agreeing with him.

He nodded, back to her as he opened the fridge. She watched his muscles move under his button-up as he pushed things around inside, then let her eyes glance down at the grey trousers and dress shoes. He had looked almost foreign to her when she opened the door earlier that evening, so out of character.

It had been bugging her all night—until the distraction of Gigi’s crisis—that he had taken her to Le Ciel of all places. Why? Conrad was Waylon’s, through and through. He was shots of whiskey and always in motion. She had assumed there would be some sort of activity followed by a burger, with Conrad dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. Instead, she had gotten Ultimate Romance Ken Doll on her porch, and now he was mentioning James and saying he thought she liked—

And it clicked into place for Billie.

Billie would have happily gone axe-throwing because Conrad would have enjoyed axe-throwing. She would have been terrible at it, fighting the nagging urge to remind him that beer and sharp weapons should never be paired, but she would have loved it because he would have been happy. And Conrad had happily pulled the few strings he had at his disposal to get a reservation at the nicest restaurant in the city because he thought she would enjoy it, even if it was entirely outside of his comfort zone.

She reached out and snagged the waistband of his pants as he passed her. He glanced down at her hand with clear surprise but tossed the bag of bread he was holding on the counter and crowded into her personal space. He settled a hand on the counter on either side of her body, caging her in with his full attention locked on her. Exactly how she liked it.

“If I had to pick the perfect date,” she said, palms finding his waist. “I’d pick you in jeans and a Henley any day.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, though he looked pleased anyway. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, suddenly remembering to be embarrassed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly.”

#fanfic #the resident #conradbillie #conbillie #cobillie #billie sutton #gigi hawkins #conrad x billie #billie x conrad

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