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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years

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Under My Skin - Matthew Tkachuk

Word Count: 3,644

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, NSFW

Summary: Matthew can be a pest but what happens when your ex, Auston Matthews get under his skin.

Notes: So I’m having a sad bitch moment and thought, why not post this. I finally broke down and wrote for this boy. Who knows if it’ll happen again...haha! At any rate hope you guys enjoy. Happy Reading!

Matthew first met you over a year ago when you’d moved to Calgary for work. You had just finished your degree and a job opportunity had landed you in the same city where he was playing. You’d been out at the bar with some co-workers and had caught his eye immediately. You were everything that Matthew was looking for in a woman, smart, funny, incredibly gorgeous, with a charm that seemed to draw everyone around you in. You were like a magnet and Matthew couldn’t resist your pull.

That first night he’d barely been able to talk to you. You’d been besotted with people left and right, and it seemed as though every time Matthew worked up the courage to speak with you, you would get pulled away. Matthew finally ran into you on the way to the restroom. Like, literally ran into you. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Matthew apologized steadying you with a hand on your waist. His hand lingered a little longer than necessary but you weren’t complaining.

“It’s ok I wasn’t paying attention.” You held up your phone in defense. You’d been so distracted by a text, that you really weren’t watching where you were going. “Did you ever have someone text you that you hoped you’d never hear from again?”

It was an interesting introduction to a conversation but then Matthew would take any opportunity he could get to speak to you. “Actually, yes.”

“It’s so annoying, right?”

“Well, there is a way to solve that problem.”

Your eyes held his with rapt attention, and Matthew could tell you were clinging to his every word. It was then that it struck him that he never wanted that look to fade from your face. “How?”

“Come have a drink with me and forgot about whoever it is on that phone.” You smiled. It was a bright, brilliant thing of beauty that Matthew swore could light up the night sky on its darkest days. He was sold right then and there, and with just that simple gesture you had no idea that you’d swooped in and stolen his heart that night.

You forgot about that text message fairly quickly and just settled into an easy conversation with Matthew. The night flew by and before you knew it, your co-workers were calling it a night and you were all heading home. Matthew asked for your number which you gave in hopes that he would call you soon. Little did you know that after you left, Matthew debated with himself on how long to wait to text you. Every unsaid rule in the code of dating said to wait for at least forty-eight to seventy-two hours before making a move, but Matthew was never one to follow convention. As he lay in bed, he decided to send you a quick message.

Had a great time tonight.

It was short and to the point, and Matthew figured if you answered then he would ask you out again. Unfortunately, for Matthew, he wasn’t the only one texting you as you crawled into bed after taking off all your makeup. You were just getting ready to reply to Matthew when another text came in. It was the fourth of the night from the same person that had messaged you before, Auston Matthews.

You hadn’t spoken to him in months, back when you were in Toronto, and you didn’t plan on speaking to him now, though he seemed to be trying his hardest to get your attention, just as he had been for the last couple of months. Your relationship with Auston had been nothing short of toxic. Oh sure, at first it was all hearts and roses in the beginning. Auston swept you off your feet with that charming smile of his, but then you were young and the flashy NHLer said all the right things, at first.

You weren’t normally one to tumble into bed right after the first date, though that’s what happened with Auston. He made it seem like you were the only one, but after dating him for only four months you’d found out that wasn’t true. Oh, he tried to brush it off, make it seem like he wasn’t cheating. That the panties you’d found lying tucked between the nightstand and the bed were some old fling and not some random hookup he’d brought home. You wanted to believe him and so you let your heart overpower your head and stayed with him until you’d literally walked in on him in bed with another woman. There was no talking his way out of that one.

It was an easy decision to break things off with him, though he kept trying to win you back. You were good for his image and he thought that he could keep you happy while he had some fun on the side. The only thing was you didn’t want him back, even though his friends tried to helped his cause. That’s when you decided to take the job in Calgary. It was an easy decision six months ago. Which is part of the reason it surprised you when he texted tonight. He was in Calgary for a game and wanted to talk. You’d honestly were debating seeing him when you’d run into Matthew.

Matthew, you sighed. His curly hair and shaved sides gave off this bad boy vibe, but as you sat there and talked to him, you’d realized he had to be one of the sweetest men out there. You hadn’t realized at first who he actually was. Auston had turned you off to the NHL scene altogether, so you no longer paid attention to the games, even if hockey was Canada’s major sport. Honestly, you wish you didn’t know he was in the NHL. It was part of the reason you were debating about answering him. Maybe you would just sleep on it and decide in the morning.

Meanwhile, Matthew was having a mild panic attack. He told himself that maybe you lived close to the bar and had already fallen asleep before you got his text, or that you’d turned off your phone the minute you got home. He constantly kept checking his, looking for those three little dots letting him know that you were sending something back. It was torturous.

You laid there all of twenty minutes before you decided that you couldn’t resist the curly-haired man that had captured your attention tonight. Grabbing your phone, you shot off a quick, I did too. You typed and erased it three times, wondering if you should add more before finally pressing the send button. There it was done, if he said something back, you’d go from there. Fifteen seconds later, you knew you were in trouble.

Maybe we could do it again sometime?

Matthew was sweating as he hit send. He’d never been this nervous before about a woman. They either liked him or didn’t, but you, you were different. He knew that from the moment he saw you. It was even more prevalent now after he’d spent most of the night with you.

I’d like that.

Was your simple reply back. One that had Matthew ready to jump up and out of bed with excitement. And so the texting went on for the next ten minutes until he finally ended up calling you. The two of you talked for over an hour, almost as if you’d known each other all your lives, and you completely forgot about the texts from Auston.

Matthew took you out three days later to an exclusive restaurant in the city. This time you told yourself you’d not make the same mistake you’d made with Auston. So, when the night drew to a close, Matthew drove you to your apartment then very properly walked you to the door and only kissed you on the cheek. It wasn’t what you expected. You’d thought he’d go for more, but Matthew wanted to do things right. He knew you were special and he wasn’t going to mess things up by sleeping with you on night one. He was in this for the long run.

That was over a year ago. Sure, it had been difficult at first to give him your complete trust, but Matthew had earned it and over time you knew that although he may be a pest on the ice, he was anything but that in your personal life. Now the two of you shared a home and were on your way to making a life together.

You’d kept your relationship on the down-low, staying off of all forms of social media to keep the wolves at bay. Which meant that no one, including Auston, knew that you and Matthew were dating. That was until he and everyone else saw you in the background of Taryn’s video for Brady’s twenty-first birthday. The picture highlighted Brady but behind him, there was Matthew nibbling on your neck and ear. Fans picked up on it right away, wondering who you were and Matthew decided he was tired of hiding the two of you. A week later he was posting a picture of the two of you holding hands on your way back to Calgary.

That was dozens of posts and months ago. Your life with Matthew was nothing short of amazing, until the Flames played the Leafs. Matthew was in Toronto while you stayed back in Calgary for work. It was an early game and you joined the other wives and significant others in a small little watch party. Drinks were flowing freely, so you really didn’t catch the exchange between Matthew and Auston in warmups.

Matthew was minding his own business as he stretched near the centerline. That’s when Auston started with the little jabs. “Nice little piece of ass you picked up Tkachuk.” Matthew was used to guys talking shit about all kinds of things on the ice, though normally it was about him being a dirty player or how Brady was the better Tkachuk on the ice; all that shit he could handle. He wasn’t used to someone taking stabs at you.

“Shut the fuck up Matthews,” he replied then skated away. If Auston was looking for a fight, he’d get one if he kept up this banter, but not until the game started.

It wasn’t until the end of the first that Auston got a chance to chirp Matthew again. “Tell me, Tkachuk, does (Y/N) still make the same pretty moans…”

“Finish that and you’ll regret it,” Matthew told him. It was the only warning Matthew was going to give. Of course, Matthew knew that you’d dated someone in the hockey world and that he’d been a verifiable asshole. He’d never pressed the issue too much as he was trying to turn that stigma about hockey players around. He never liked Auston, he was always cordial to him in non-ice settings but now that he knew he was the cheating bastard who basically used you; he liked him less.

Play resumed before anything else could happen and Matthew was sure to get in a few good checks in before heading back for the first intermission. When he was back on the ice for the second Auston picked up right where they had left off. “So, you like my sloppy seconds, Tkachuk?” Matthew saw red at the insult, and before he knew what he was doing he dropped his gloves and hit Auston. Inwardly, you cringed at the fight, not wanting to let on to the other girls that you had an idea what the exchange was about. Auston went down easy, with Matthew barely touching him, and so off the penalty box he went, while the Leafs went on the power play. You could see him just sitting there stewing, though you weren’t sure if he was mad at himself for letting Auston get to him or mad at you.

The game ended up tied in the third, and little did you know that Auston took the opportunity to get a few more digs into Matthew. “Does she get as wet for as she did for me, or do you have to work for it?” Johnny had to hold him back from leveling him after that, but Auston didn’t let up. “She was such a fucking slut for me in bed. You know I fucked every hole…” That’s all he got out before going down hard as Matthew planted a right hook to his jaw. But Matthew wasn’t done and went after Auston as he lay on the ice. Matthew was ejected from the game and the Leafs scored on the power play.

There was no interview after the game with Matthew, so you had no idea what he was feeling or how pissed he was. As soon as you got home, you tried to call him but it went straight to voicemail. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything that maybe he never turned his phone back on after the game or maybe they were already on the flight back to Calgary, as the team played at home the following day, but you just weren’t sure. So, you laid in the king-size bed you shared with Matthew, wrapped up in your favorite old t-shirt of his, simply staring up at the ceiling.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep, for you didn’t hear the door open or Matthew dropping his bag like you usually did. It wasn’t until he crept into bed that you finally knew he was home. He was laying on his back, hands behind his head when you finally rolled over letting him know you were awake. You’d thought about what to say to him before falling asleep but waited for him to say something to you. When he didn’t you simply whispered, “If you want me to go I will.”

“Go?” Matthew questioned now rolling on to his side so he could see you. “Why would I want you to leave?”

“I never wanted to be a problem for you, Matthew, especially not with other players.” It was part of the reason you’d never told him that you’d dated Auston, though you should’ve known that Auston couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

You went to say more, but Matthew stopped you. “You’re not the problem (Y/N). You could never be one.” His fingers ran up and down your arms lightly, just caressing your skin. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” His lips found yours then, and you melted into the feel of him, savoring how his body started to relax against you.

“Auston’s an asshole.” Matthew finally said, when the two of you broke apart.

“Do I even want to know what he said?”

“Just shit to get me riled up, and it worked.” Your one hand went to the back of his neck, massaging the knotted muscles there. “I’m not stupid. I realize what probably happened between the two of you. I just don’t like hearing it.”

“We both have pasts, Matthew. We can’t change that, but you’re my future.”

He gave you a real quick peck to your lips. “And you’re mine. At least I don’t have to deal with him for a couple weeks.”

You pushed him onto his back before straddling his hips. “Don’t let him get under your skin, babe. When he starts to say something…” you looked him right in the eyes. “And you know he will. Just remind him how you’re the only one I want with me.” You flexed your hips before running your hands up his bare chest. “And in me.” Matthew’s hands went to your waist, where he played with the band of lace on your panties. “You’re more to me than he’ll ever be. Both here,” you taped your heart and then his. “And here.” Lifting your hips, you took your hand and cupped the length of him. His cock instantly hardened under your touch.

Your words spurred Matthew into action, for the next thing you knew he was ripping your panties, before shimming out of his boxers. His fingers went to your folds, where he found you ready for him. “Fuck you’re so wet.”

“Only for you Matthew. Only for you.” It was extra reassurance that you knew Matthew needed and tonight you’d give him as many as he needed. He guided your hips down onto his cock and you sighed out with pleasure as he filled you like no one else ever had.

As you grabbed the hem of your t-shirt Matthew whispered harshly, “Leave it on.” It was one of his Flames shirts; one that had both his name and number on the back. Leaning down you kissed him long and hard, before starting to ride him. It was slow at first, a pace meant to build you both up but not push you over the edge. His hands were everywhere, under your shirt caressing your breasts, wandering down your back to cup your ass, and moving up and down your thighs to quicken your speed.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and he flipped your bodies so that he loomed over top of you. His thrusts were deep and hard, almost punishing if your body hadn’t wanted him so bad. “You belong to me.” He said as he flexed into you, pushing you up against the headboard.

“Yes, baby. Only you.”

“Who?” He asked again and you realized that he was not in the mood to hear any pet names.

“You, Matthew, you,” you answered knowing that he owned you both body and soul, just as you owned him.

“That’s right, baby.” Matthew's thrusts were deep and sure, as he knew what would bring you pleasure, and with a few more flexes of his hips, he sent you spiraling out of control, screaming his name.

“MMMAAATTTTTTTTTTHHHHEEEEEWWW.”

That was all he needed to catch his high and follow you down, your name on his lips. He rolled onto his side taking you with him; your breaths mingling together as you both calmed. Your nails skimmed down his spine aimless, something you tended to do after sex. Matthew always said he loved the continued intimacy it brought, and tonight it felt like you both needed that. His lips found yours, the kiss loving and tender. “I love you, (Y/N),” Matthew whispered while brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “And I promise, I won’t let Auston get to me next time.”

“Good, because you’re the only man I love Matthew, and the team doesn’t need you getting ejected from games because of me.”

“It won’t happen again.” You truly hoped that it wouldn’t but with Matthew’s temper you never knew.

It was a little over two weeks later that the Flames were taking on the Leafs, this time at the Saddledome, where you were in attendance. Admittedly, you were a bit nervous on the inside as to what would happen between the love of your life and the once lowlife that you'd briefly called boyfriend. You tried to shake off your nerves with idle chatter with some of the girls, but your eyes always seemed to drift back to where Matthew and Auston were on the ice.

Matthew for his part stayed away from center ice for warmups, just like he told you he would. It wasn’t until the second period after a blown whistle that Auston finally decided to poke at him. “How’s that girlfriend Tkachuk? You know if I told her I wanted her back she’d leave you in a second.”

“I doubt that Matthews. She told me you couldn't satisfy her in the bedroom. Something about cumming too soon.” Anger started to radiate across Auston’s face. “You should see a doctor about that.” Matthew skated away, completely ignoring anything Auston would be able to say back.

The game was tied late in the third once again when Auston tried to rile Matthew up again. Considering he had two assists you understood why they wanted your boyfriend out of the game. “It wasn’t me who had the problem Tkachuk, (Y/N)’s pussy was wider than the Grand Canyon.”

“Hmm,” Matthew taunted back. “Must be your small pencil dick, because she’s so tight it’s like a vice-grip around me.” Auston took offense and cross-checked Matthew into the boards right as the play began, earning him two minutes in the penalty box. Matthew laughed at him as the ref took him over. Auston wasn’t there for long, as Matthew scored the game-winning goal forty-some seconds into the penalty. You jumped up out of your seat with the rest of the girls cheering and screaming.

Even though they pulled the goalie, the Leafs couldn’t seem to find the back of the net before the buzzer sounded ending the game. You made your way down to wait outside the tunnel with the rest of the significant others. Most everyone was gone before Matthew finally came out, scooping you up in his arms. “Did you see that baby?”

“I saw Matty,” you told him, kissing him on the lips. “That goal was impressive.”

He finally set you back down on your feet. “No babe, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t let him get to me.”

“Yeah, I saw that too. I’m so proud of you.”

“Well, he can’t get under my skin about you, when I get to be all over yours.” His hands slid under your sweater and inside your jeans to cup your ass. “Speaking of your skin…let’s go home so I can get you out of all these clothes and see you.”

You kissed him, long and languidly, before pulling back. “I like that idea. I like it a lot.” The two of you left the arena hands interlaced just as your bodies would be as soon as you got home.

#Matthew Tkachuk #Matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk imagines #matthew tkachuk smut #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl smut #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey smut #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction

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lunarflux · 3 years

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"i promised i'd forget, but you're all i see when i dream the night away"

bang chan x reader

genre — drama!au

suggested background music: x

note: like i said - i put a lot of my life into writing. something similar to this happened to me today, and i'd like to think that music is getting me through it. i wanted to add more of a "post credits" scene for chan and o/c, but this is how my day is going and how this situation ends.

The world never felt so heavy.

You'd never thought that scrolling through social media could create this bleeding ring in your ears, yet somehow here you are, unable to look at your phone. The photo you stumbled across had already been burned into your memory. There were times when you could forget what song you'd just listened to, and yet this one image had suddenly been burned, a permanent nightmare in your mind.

Your ex looked happy. It wasn't a bad breakup, but after a year, you couldn't expect him to stay single forever. You'd both agreed to move on, and while you swore you had, seeing the photo of him with a beautiful girl kissing his cheek made your shoulders heavy. Staring at your blacked out screen, it was like the photo was still there, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't keep yourself from seeing it. Every time you closed your eyes, there he was.

Happy.

You fumbled with your cell phone, placing it face down on your desk before your boss could catch you. It was hard to hide the look on your face. It was pain, sadness, and confusion. How was it that after all this time, you hadn't succeeded in moving on, but he had?

Was it you? Or was this girl really so special that you were worth forgetting?

The feeling of being forgotten - it's seeing the dust gather on photos and the doorknob that he will never open again.

It's over.

"Do you have the paperwork for the meeting tomorrow?" Chan popped into your office, placing a fresh mug of coffee on your desk. You'd started here only six months ago, but he already knew that you liked your coffee light and sweet. "Jisoo wants to make sure we're not missing anything before -"

"Yeah, I have it." You said curtly, looking back at your computer, typing away at your report. "I'll bring it to you later."

"I mean, I can wait for it if you have it ready."

"Chan," you looked up at him. "I said I'll bring it to you later."

Chan looked at you with mild concern. Sure, there were a lot of women in the office, and the men had eventually learned when not to step on toes in the case of any mood swings because of work stress. You weren't one of those people though. You were the type of person who'd rid the stress with a bar of chocolate and be done with it. You'd never snapped at him before.

"Okay." Chan backed out quietly. He ducked into the next office over. Knocking on Minki's office door, he peered in.

"Hey," Minki stood up. "I gotta bring these to the fourth floor, can you watch the phone for me?"

"Yeah, no problem." Chan smiled before taking a seat.

Ping

He knew that you and Minki were office best friends ever since you got hired. While he didn't mean to see it, Minki left his messenger open and slowly your messages came flooding in.

x: he moved on x: am i supposed to be upset? x: we broke up a year ago, so why do i feel so defeated haha x: maybe i'm just decomposing. why do i feel like this x: can we get drinks later? i know you hate it when i drink to drown out my sorrows, but i just can't be here right now.

Damn.

Chan swore he didn't mean to see all that. That would explain the mood though.

x: i didn't think i'd miss him this much. i just want to forget about it.

Taking in a deep breath, Chan pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Chan, why did you need me for this stupid client dinner? And who the hell has dinner at 4PM?" You continuously complained as he drove you down the road into the next district.

"Just relax, it'll be fine."

You rested your head against the passenger side window. As your breath fogged up the glass, you scribbled little hearts, peppered over the skyline as Chan drove. It wasn't until you started seeing signs that you realized you were at Banpo Bridge. Chan pulled into the empty parking lot.

"The client wants to have dinner here? What are we doing - getting takeout?" You jested.

Chan opened your door. "Go sit over there, I'll be right back."

You took your seat right by the edge of the water. The weather really was perfect today. The fresh air helped clear out your thoughts. Even though the breakup was a year ago, seeing that photo really made it feel like it just happened yesterday. Your heart broke twice, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to think that you hate him now. You loved him as a memory - a beautiful, happy memory, and it was time to let go now.

Chan re-emerged next to you, a bag with four bottles of soju and piping hot ramen in his hands.

"Um -" You nearly laughed at the sight of him struggling to carry everything. "Am I missing something? Are the clients your drinking buddies?"

"Sit, sit, please." Chan arranged everything down on the ledge.

"Not that I'm ungrateful, but I am confused."

"I, uh." He sat down next to you, removing his jacket. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me."

Stopping halfway from opening a bottle, you looked up at him.

"y/n, Minki had me watch over his desk, and I... I'm sorry, I saw your messages."

"Chan, that was private." You looked down at your shoes, feeling the heaviness in your chest again.

"I know. And I'm sorry." He grabbed the bottle from you and opened it himself. "Minki had to run to another meeting, and I saw how sad you were. I just figured I'd help you escape for a bit. I called in a favor from the interns to watch your stuff, so we could... do this, I guess."

You'd always known Chan was a softie. He was that guy in the office who never forgot about birthdays and important events. He was never late, and he would do everything he could to help out the new people. Even to you, he was a big help whenever you needed it.

"Again, I'm sorry." He poured two shots and handed you one. "But you looked like you needed it, so - cheers."

You watched him as you threw back your soju. You stifled a smile, "Pitiful, isn't it. Still feeling like you've been dumped even after an entire year."

Chan winced as the alcohol hit the back of his throat. "Not at all. Who said that a year was the right time to get over someone? There's no rule for that."

You continued to sip slowly, watching him open up all the snacks.

"I haven't had a girlfriend in years, and I swear, after my last girlfriend and I broke up, I couldn't stop thinking about her even because of the littlest things. It wasn't a bad breakup, but when you have so many happy moments with someone, you can't help but feel sad when you see that person making new moments with someone else. It makes you wonder if that could've been me, y'know?"

It couldn't be stopped. One deep breath and suddenly all the tears started pouring out. You couldn't control your breathing, and it felt like the weight of the world finally came crashing down on your chest, reminding you of every little happy memory that had to be released into the ocean like confetti.

Chan rushed over, placing his jacket on your shoulders. He hushed you, rubbing your arms to warm you up. Crouching down in front of you, he pulled you up and brought you into his chest.

"Wait, I'll get makeup on your shirt -"

He laughed at your childish worries. "It's just a shirt. Just go ahead, it's okay. I can get it dry-cleaned, and you're worth more than some shirt."

Feeling your tears soak up in the cotton, you just cried, and Chan let you until it felt like there was nothing left. You chest was still heaving, but you felt the weight lift slowly. The sea air started filling your lungs again like an icy burn.

"I'm sorry." You finally looked up, mascara stained on your cheeks. You smeared what you could from your face before sitting.

"Stop apologizing." Chan sat down beside you again. "Do you feel better?"

"A little."

Placing his hand on yours, Chan smiled. It was a warm gentle smile. He squeezed, "It will get better. I promise."

"I just feel like everyone keeps moving on, and I'm just stuck here."

"Where is 'here' to you? 'Here' to me is existing with a good job with good friends and a good life. 'Here' is anything you're doing happily without him." He reached up to cup your cheek. "I know you feel miserable, but your body won't let you feel this way forever. And neither will I. Please don't feel as if 'here' is an awful place. 'Here', you have me, and I'll stay until you're not sad anymore."

Peering up at him with red eyes, you smiled with whatever energy you had. Sadness still sat on your shoulders, but it didn't feel so awful anymore.

Chan nodded towards you.

"Until you're not sad or until you ask me to leave - I'll be here for you."

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potatoesandsunshine · 3 years

Note

Hi as a known fan of paladins being captured in upsetting ways my friend has sent me your post and now I’m here. I’d be delighted if you would elaborate on the situation 🥺

hi yes hello i would LOVE to elaborate on the situation. my paladin is named beatrice pyre and i tag things for her / general dnd posts if you're ever curious about it :) but this situation specifically!!! i am Losing My Mind!!! it's extremely good. literally feels like we just had some kind of midseason finale

so BASICALLY her uncle is the viceroy and now regent of her country, they're at war with the very pro-necromancy country next door, the party has been going around looking for evidence to get him out of power bc we think the whole war is a Suspicious Plot. so for the last three sessions we've been breaking into his suuuuper haunted estate (coincidentally the place my paladin grew up! haha! was it always like this? she doesn't know!)

it's been extremely rough!! we're level 8 so things really hit back now in very strong ways!! and my paladin is very... not to steal skyrim's thunder but when they call people doom-driven they are actually talking about bee pyre. she's just like... she doesn't think about stopping. she will throw herself against this problem until something breaks.

this session we managed to get down to the basement of the estate and Oh Yeah It Sucks Down Here. we're talking ghosts we're talking undead we're talking pit traps. the whole nine yards. a series of tunnels full of magical darkness that doesn't like it if you cast in it. i rolled a nat1 and it still ate my spell slot :( rude :( ANYWAY we used a lot of resources fighting our way down there and trying to put our oathbreaker paladin friend back together after an incident with a hallway full of like... i don't know what to call it, chompers?? when the ceiling and floor smash together like THUD THUD THUD. so we were kinda low on spells and healing and stuff.

so we decide, hey, we didn't want to do a long rest down here because it sucks but we gotta do one. this is what historians will call a Bad Idea. also we did it in kinda the hub room that the dark tunnels branched off of which wasn't the BEST strategic thinking we've ever done. so basically, we all got hit with a strong cone of cold and nobody made saves. oof.

and bee pyre :) definitely not feeling self-destructive after losing her friend the party rogue a few days ago, definitely not feeling useless as her lover is off fighting the war, definitely not feeling like a burner that the gods forgot to turn off, says Okay :) I can sense undead in the magically dark tunnel :) I Will Go Down There And Tank :) yeah the cone of cold came from there, what could that mean? who in the world would have TWO cones of cold? (we have previously fought someone who did cast it twice. this was foolishness.) anyway there was a strong necromancer down there who immediately downed her and said "your uncle will be so disappointed that you didn't listen to his advice" and bee said "he gives shit advice" and KO. death saves start.

and then, something bee would NEVER have considered, the party heard her hit the ground (thank you plate armor :/) and started GOING AFTER HER!! in the dark tunnel!!! with the necromancer!!! who did do another cone of cold that, again, nobody saved against. bla bla bla, my friends did cool shit fighting zombies but it was a losing battle, i was feeling p bad as a player like How Could I Do This To Us, there was some epic shit from our fighter before he went down, bee stabilized while everyone else was dying which made me INSANE because she takes protection fighting so seriously, it was like a carousel ride of death saves before our DM gently cut away.

but then we woke up in a dungeon without all our stuff which INCLUDES the in-character letters i've been writing for the last few months and aaaaah

cut to my best friend our DM like, :3c Did You Like It ? and of course i did i was obsessed w everything

#anna plays dnd #sword with a broken crown #i wish i made moodboards i wanna make a bee moodboard so bad #answering asks #thanks for the ask!!! sorry i rambled so long my hands are still SHAKING what a thrill. truly Everything Possible Happened tonight

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mizunetzu · 4 years

Note

iida 😍😍😍 that’s it that’s the request

LMAO WELL HAVE I GOT THE 3 PART 7K FIC FOR YOU-

Stay tuned y’all, I’m posting all parts + true ending all at once HAHA

——————

Iida x reader - Iida Tenya’s Imaginary Boyfriend (pt.1)

⚠️Warnings - um...idk but, a teeny weeny bit of ooc Iida bc haha

Pronouns - male, he/him

Part two can be found here!

The true ending can be found here! (Pt.3)

——————

Tapping your fingers on a surface repeatedly is a past time that Iida found rather irritable. Along with chewing or clicking on pens, bobbling your knee, fumbling with your hands, things like that.

Though, Iida couldn’t help himself from tugging and tapping on the light red watch strapped firmly to his wrist, checking it habitually.

Uraraka eyed Iida as he tiredly rubbed at the bridge of his nose, staring down the black clock hands as they moved too slowly for his liking. “8 more hours till I can see (L/n)-kun again...” he mumbled ever so quietly, pulling his grey sleeve back down.

He drummed his fingers on the side of his desk once more. Uraraka pursed her lips.

————

“Ne, Iida-kun, you look sort of...restless, these days. Did something happen?”

Iida looked up from his lunch. He hadn’t realized he was picking at his rice until Midoryia set a hand on his shoulder. He untensed and grasped his chopsticks correctly. “I assure you everything’s..alrig-“

“Who is ‘(L/n)-kun’, Iida?”

Uraraka butt in, both hands clenched and resting on the table. Iida stood silent for a tad too long.

“W-well I heard you mumble something about ‘8 more hours till I can see ‘(L/n)-kun’ again’ in class today a-and I was just wondering-“

“It’s no one you know.” Iidas voice was uncharacteristically dismissive and unstable. Two words that never would be used to describe Iida Tenya.

Iida abruptly rose from his seat. “I apologize. I need to do something.”

He briskly walked towards the exit of the cafeteria. Midoryia watched as he discreetly fumbled with the straps of a light red watch barely hidden by his blazer sleeve. He turned back to the table, to Uraraka and Todoroki.

“What do you think happened to Iida-kun? He barely seems like himself...”

“It’s been like that for about a month now, has it not?” Todoroki tapped on his chin with the butt of his chopsticks. Uraraka sighed.

“think it has something to do with this ‘(L/n)’ person?”

Todoroki shrugged. Midoryia sighed, bringing a forkful of rice into his mouth before stopping. “Actually, I think I remember Iida asking me about someone like, a month ago.”

“Was it ‘(L/n)-kun’?” Todoroki and Uraraka questioned, almost in unison. Midoryia let his fork drop back into his bowl. “I...I’m not sure. I think he was asking me about a name like...Ryota? No...Tadashi? No no, that wasn’t it...”

Midoryia rubbed at his chin, before a name popped into his mouth. “Oh! I remember! He asked me...”

———

“...Midoryia-kun, have you seen (L/n)-kun this morning? I haven’t seen him and he has my Quirk-Law textbook.”

Midoryia looked at Iida like he grew a second head. “...gomen, who?

It was Iida’s turn to look confused. He stopped eating his breakfast and faced Midoryia fully. “...(L/n)-kun. (L/n) (Y/n)?”

“Theres no one here named that, Iida-kun...” Midoryia awkwardly gulped down his water, filling his mouth to prevent him from accidentally saying something harsh. He wasn’t sure if he was in the wrong, or Iida was just plain on delusional.

Iida pursed his lips and turned to Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Todoroki. Perhaps Midoryia was just feeling a bit amnesic. Plus, (Y/n) was real close with Uraraka, even if it was slightly to close for his liking. So, she was bound to be able to answer Iidas inklings, right?

“Uraraka-kun, surely you’ve seen (L/n)-kun this morning, am I wrong? A-and what about you, Tsuy-I mean Tsu-chan. Todoroki-kun.”

All three of them gave him the same look of disarray Midoryia had gave him. Tsuyu shook her head while Todoroki grunted out a “no.” Uraraka pitifully set a hand on Iidas shoulder.

“Iida, are you feeling alright? There’s no one here named ‘(L/n)’...”

“Sure there is!” Iida was starting to get a little frazzled. Is this some kind of sick joke? If it was, he’d be willing to laugh it off right now. Surely any second, (L/n) would come running down, claiming he overslept and scarf down his breakfast. Where was he? He was waiting.

One by one, everyone surrounding Iida started to oogle at him, watching as their level headed class rep unraveled at the seams. “W-why must you all look at me like I’m crazy! Have you all forgotten about your own classmate?!”

Iida cursed himself for raising his voice. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding while Yaoyorozu silently counted all the people eating breakfast.

“...19...20. Yeah, no, everyone’s here. All 20. We have not forgotten anyone, Iida-san.”

Iida grit his teeth, a wave of worry piercing down his spine. “20? You can’t have counted 20 in this class if you have not counted (L/n)-kun!”

Everyone copied the look of confusion Iidas friends made. He broke into a cold sweat, grasping at the corners of the table. “(L/n)! (H/c) hair? (E/c) eyes? Accidentally stepped on Bakugou-kuns toe and had to be sent to the nurses office last week?”

People murmured and shook their heads amongst themselves. Some with genuine confusion and others with plain worry. Iida’s lost it, is what their probably thinking.

Iida stammered. “H-how can-“

“Iida-chan, don’t you think we would’ve known if we forgot someone? And don’t you think it’s weird we all collectively forgot this person you’re talking about? Sorry to say, Iida-chan, but this (L/n) person most likely isn’t real. Or we just don’t know him, kero.”

Iida opened his mouth to say something. Tsuyu looked at him with her blank stare, before subtly gesturing to everyone else with her head. He looked around the table.

Everyone either nodded tentatively or downcast their eyes as to mask their pitiful agreement. Everyone seemed to silently agree with her. Iida was stunned into submission.

He scrambled out of his seat. His voice cracked in disbelief. This was a joke. It had to be. “I-I’m going to go wake him up. He’s...he’s probably still sleeping. That’s all. You all are just being delusional.”

He walked as calmly as he could away from the common room, but once he turned the corner, he started sprinting. He hiked up the fabric of his pants over his calves as he ran, running up the stairs next to the elevator. The elevator would’ve took too long.

Running up to the fourth floor, he skidded to a halt in-front of (Y/n’s) dorm. Iida’s hand went up to grasp the doorknob, before hesitating and letting it rest flaccidly on the handle.

“(L/n)-kun?” Nothing was heard or called from inside the room. He really is a heavy sleeper. Iida swallowed the growing lump in his throat. Why was he so nervous?

Outside (Y/n’s) room, he knocked gently on the frame of the door. His voice wavered. “(L/n)!”

There’s no response.

“(Y/n)-kun!”

Nothing.

He really didn’t want to enter his room like this. It was a breach of privacy. What if he was just changing? No, if he were changing he could’ve surely heard him knock and call out his name. He has to be asleep.

He really left him no choice. Iida gently opened the door.

“...(y/-“

White.

He was face to face with an white, blank, empty room. The supplementary provided curtains were drawn closed and there was dust gathering around the bare floorboards. There was no trace of the dimly lit room, with papers strewn across the wooden desk and a bed that was never folded or made. There was no trace of the oddly sweet smell that came from his room, that never really bothered anyone, but no one ever knew was caused it.

There was no trace of (L/n) (Y/n).

Iida felt his knees buckle from underneath him. His legs promptly folded together, his engines digging into the skin of thighs. His jaw went slack. He heard footsteps echoing closer, eventually dying out with the assumption that that someone was behind him. He felt uneasy. He felt like throwing up.

“Iida...?” Uraraka’s voice was soft, like treading on thin ice. He heard Yaoyorozu hum softly, worry lacing her vocal cords. He panned his head slowly towards them, not wanting to look at the blank room once filled with life anymore.

“He’s...gone.”

“‘He’ was never here, Iida-San” Yaoyorozu crouched down, tucking her elbows in. “Do you need to talk to a professional...?”

“No! I need to speak with (L/...” Iida’s voice trailed off. There was no point in fighting a losing battle. He knew Uraraka and Yaoyorozu wouldn’t believe him. No one seemed to.

“...most likely...”

———

Uraraka’s eyes widened. “I...I remember that!”

Midoryia shoveled some food into his mouth. “Yeah, he seemed really out of it since then. He didn’t even notice when Kaminari-kun cheated on last weeks quiz.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd he still hasn’t gotten over this person even after a month? Iida isn’t the type to dwell on things. Whoever this (L/n) person is, he’s obviously important to him in some way.” Todoroki slurped up more of his soba. Midoryia and Uraraka silently agreed.

“Well-Deku said it himself-this person isn’t real!” Uraraka knitted her eyebrows together, slumping back in her chair. “And even if we tried asking Iida, he’ll probably blow us off again...”

“Still...he got me curious...I wonder what ‘(L/n)-kun’ looks like...”

Midoryia’s ears perked up. He shuffled around in his pockets, fishing out his phone and booting up a search engine. Typing vigorously, Todoroki and Uraraka leaned over the table and across his shoulder to see what he was typing. His screen turned pink, displaying a website.

“M-My mom was talking about this place a few days ago...I-we could get some information out of Iida-if he lets us take him-and know what (L/n)-kun looks like-!”

The bell rang, cutting Midoryia off promptly. He saved the address down in his notes, sending the web address to his two friends and pocketing his phone once more. Todoroki set his tray on top of the trash can, dusting off his blazer.

“It’s decided. We’ll go after afternoon classes. I’ll go get a permission slip from Mr Aizawa to leave campus. I trust you two can convince Iida to come along?”

Midoryia and Uraraka nodded. It was a plan.

———

The four stood in front of a small corner shop, it’s sign looking like it was made of cheap plastic, with the words “Art through words” written in dark pink cursive.

It was very off putting, but it had been gaining popularity through social media and other networking apps. Apparently it’s very popular with people who lost a loved one or police looking for a sketch of a villain.

“I...still don’t see why you two requested my presence he-“

“We just wanna know something.” Was all Uraraka said. Midoryia and Todoroki had a firm grip on each of Iidas shoulder blades, shoving him in through the narrow door while Uraraka strut in happily.

The doorbell gave a small jingle. A pale, soft-eyed woman looked up from her desk, her reddish-pink lips quirking up into a soft smile. Her wavy blond hair flowed as she stood up from her chair, leaning over the receptionist desk and resting her elbows on the surface.

“I take it you must be ‘Izuku’. Thank you for calling earlier.”

Midoryia hummed. The lady smiled warmly, leaving her desk to lead them to a door. “Well, follow me, kids. Sorry, my receptionist is on break-I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of scam arti-“

“No no, we’ve seen you around on videotube...and your quirk is amazing...”

“I’m sorry, may I ask who and what we are doing here?”

Everyone turned to Iida. The woman smiled gently, taking a seat behind a sketchbook propped up by an easel. The 4 took a seat across from her, sinking down into a pink couch. “I apologize. Let me give you my formal greeting.”

“My name is Kaitekina Byouga. I can illustrate anything someone describes with complete accuracy, as long as you aren’t lying about your description.” Iida pursed his lips.

“My business usually caters towards people who lose loved ones, so it’s strange to see such...young teenagers in my studio,”

Iida stiffened. He finally caught on. ‘Lost loved one’. It was obvious. He supressed a pointed glare at his friends, choosing to adjust his glasses instead.

“Alright,” Kaitekina flipped open her sketchbook, setting it back down on the easel. “Who’s going to describe something to me?”

Everyone gestured at Iida.

——————

Hahaha suffer

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angelicmichael · 4 years

Text

Willow

Michael Langdon x reader

Summary: Reader, who is a witch (not tied to the og coven) is best friends with Michael. They decide to spend Valentines day together in outpost three. Based on this post, and the 'willow' music video by Taylor Swift.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: mentions of rituals/covens (its vague tho), slow burn, light angst, mutual pining, gross fluff, plot heavy and VERY descriptive I'm sorry dhdhd, valentines day fic, mentions of food, friends to lovers

A/N: yall rlly liked my last Michael blurb so I made this kinda similar!! Also the idea of witch! Reader not being tied to the og coven is NOT my idea, others have done it before - I just did it cause it made sense w the music video this fic is based off of ✌🏻. This is mostly me self indulging ngl so if the fic doesnt make sense that's why haha. The v beginning is like Sojourn! Era and then the rest of the fic is somewhere between fire & reign and outpost era. this fic is rlly just me trying to say happy early mf valentines day !! 💖💖 okay bye

February 14th was always a day you dreaded; The idea and concept of a whole fucking holiday being dedicated to just love.. really put a bitter taste in your mouth. In your opinion, it was just a reason for couples to show a disgusting amount of PDA and get away with it.

However; due to a incredibly corny and cliché situation you found yourself in; you now were seeing the incoming holiday in a different light. When you thought of the holiday.. You first thought of Michael. Michael Langdon.

Meeting Michael at all was a complete accident - You met months ago in fall; on a dark cloudy night. Every detail from that evening was etched and woven into your mind as if it had just happened yesterday; and you could only hope that it would remain that way forever. After all; that was the night when you had met your favorite person. You even remembered the weather.. The bitterness of the cold wind making it seem as if it was seconds from storming.

You were part of a small coven which was meeting due to a full moon, it was a rather mundane and basic ritual you were preforming. One of which you had preformed more times you could even count on your fingers.. However; what made that ritual special is that your coven happened to be recruiting.

Full black outfits, including thin, long cloaks is what everyone wore to the occasion.. After everything was over and done with; you went to leave - the bitter coldness of the night urging you to leave rather quickly.

However; something.. almost a invisible force made you stop walking away from the crowd and made you physically stop. You slowly stopped walking; and turned around. You sharply gasped when you saw a figure directly in front of you - wearing a dark ensemble that matched yours nearly identically.

Immediately you grew weary. A sharp, nauseated feeling started to manifest inside of you.

"Were you following me"? You spoke with your voice raised, your hands which previously fell loosely at your side were starting to curl into fists.

You could feel yourself getting defensive. You quickly flicked your eyes over at the other coven members - making sure you weren't causing a scene; not wanting to draw attention to the situation until it grew necessary.

"Yes, but.. look. I just wanted to talk to you.. away from the others". The boy stated.

You bit your lip to suppress a groan. You rolled your eyes, not really caring that he could see how bothered you were.

"Fine. But c'mon, make it quick". You said, not trying to hide the irritation in your voice.

You turned around and walked a few feet away from the crowd, not looking back but merely expecting him to follow you. You were expecting he was just another newbie with dumb questions, or needed clarification on something.

You turned to talk to him, and that's when you noticed something you about him you seemed to overlook earlier - his beauty. You were completely taken aback and breath taken. Light blue eyes met your gaze as you stared blankly at him; momentarily stunned. He looked beyond ethereal; his pale cheeks flushed a light pink from the cold and his blonde hair looked as if it could be spun from gold. It was almost like he could sense how you were suddenly taken aback.. A smug smirk played on his lips; if you didn't know any better you would say he almost seemed cocky.

"There's something about you that's different from the others. I could sense it". He stated.

"How"? You stuttered.

You watched as he took a couple steps toward you and in one quick swoop, pushed the hood of his cloak fully back. He got even closer but you didn't dare move. You watched him curiously as he turned to the side, pushing his blonde locks of hair out of the way to show you something behind his ear.. Your blood instantly went cold once you saw three sixes; however you weren't scared. In fact you were really the first person that Michael met that didn't practically faint when they saw his mark. Looking back; you supposed that's why you and Michael bonded so quickly and became so close.

It didn't take long for him after that to confine in you that people either avoided him or became obsessed once they knew; both reactions ultimately stemming from fear. You were the first person to look past that and to just see him as a actual human being - not just a vessel for some fucked up prophecy to play out.

Even though Michael's beauty was undeniable to you; the relationship you two had was strictly platonic.. and in the past that was never something that bothered you. You supposed that he was tired of people throwing themselves at his feet and what he really needed more than anything was a friend - so you chose to be that for him, not daring to try and test the boundaries your relationship had.

However; the boundaries were seemingly starting to come down naturally - because your relationship wasnt entirely platonic anymore. Things between you two weren't exactly black and white as they used to be; a great example of this, was how you two were planning on spending Valentines Day together.

You and Michael agreed to spend it as friends. Neither of you had a date and spending Valentines alone when you had Michael seemed redundant.. and honestly just boring. Instead of making Valentines day an all day event; it started for you two as a 'date' at 6 pm.

In order to avoid having to confront putting a label on your.. situationship, the venue for your lavish Valentines date was at a more.. private venue. He only gave you a address and instructions, you didn't really know what exactly to expect but you knew you weren't going to his house. It was somewhere new.

It was nearly six pm, the sun had just set - leaving the sky a shade somewhere between navy blue and pure black. The air was cold on your skin as you stepped out of the car, wondering where the hell you even were.

The area you found yourself in was completely bare and void of any trees, the only object or building you saw was a giant, black, metal structure. The instructions Michael gave you had told you about this but.. seeing it in person was merely jarring, oddly unsettling. You approached it, trying to ignore the nerves and anxiety you could feel creeping in.

You couldn't help but wonder what the hell this place was and why out of all the places you two could have a 'date', it would have to be here?

As you stood in front of an elevator - stepping in, you felt very reluctant to do so. It definitely felt a bit weird that Michael wanted to meet you in such a secluded place but.. he was your best friend. He would never hurt you.. especially on valentines day.. Right?

The doors opened and you slowly stepped out, immediately taken back. You were now in a oval room, with a long hallway stretching out. You first quickly scanned your surroundings for Michael but, he wasnt here. Not in your line of vision anyway. You nearly forgot you were here for Michael at all for a second. The interior was breathtaking; resembling a old, Victorian style mansion. Even though you were still utterly confused; Michaels reasoning for choosing this venue was starting to become more clear to you.

It was the cozy, romantic vibe the 'house' seemed to radiate. The dim lighting also amplified this affect; seemingly giving everything in sight a subtle golden glow, otherwise everything remained relatively dark. You walked through the building; down hallways, looking for any sounds of life at all. Your witchy senses didn't always work on Michael, so you didn't even bother to try to use those. He was right about how you were powerful but, his powers still outshone yours unfortunately.

You finally heard something, something faint; soft music playing distantly in the background. You followed it swiftly, the music getting louder and louder until you found him - in what appeared to be the library.

The room was immense; books were lined on shelves that bordered the room. Couches, along with a decent sized fireplace and chandelier - and of course a record player, also resided in the library. Playing a tune that sounded similar but you couldn't quite remember what it was.. whatever it was, it sounded old and romantic - maybe from the 50s.

"Your not very good at hiding, you know. The music was a dead giveaway". You commented playfully.

Michael greeted you with a smirk, obviously holding back laughter. He stood up from one of the couches; approaching you. He looked incredibly handsome in the normal black ensemble he was wore but tonight he sported a long black coat. Making you fondly nostalgic of the night you two met.

He got dangerously close to you, almost in your face but you weren't intimidated. Plus, you knew he wasnt trying to actually intimidate you. Michael being the way he was; you knew he wouldn't have asked you to spend Valentines with him if he didn't tolerate you in some way.

"Its a good thing I wasnt trying to hide then, is it"? He spoke; his eyes pierced into yours.

The direct eye contact was starting to get unnerving and so was the.. apparent tension. You took a step back, looking away and laughing awkwardly - trying to remind yourself you two were strictly friends. Best friends, in fact. Nothing more.. and nothing less.

"So.. what even is this place? You don't own this or something.. do you"? You asked, slyly changing the topic.

"Actually I do. It's being saved for something I have in the works; but nothing's official yet. I wanted to get your opinion though.. what do you think"? Michael asked.

Even though you absolutely loved, whatever the hell this place even was, something.. felt off. Perhaps it was the fact it was completely secluded and private. Too private. You knew Michael was into some weird shit with the Satanists but; you figured he would atleast tell you by now if he was planning on something big with them.. Something that would require a huge fucking mansion underground.

"This place is beautiful, Michael. But what is it for"?

"Your too eager for your own good, (y/n). You will know in due time, I promise; but for now.. come sit with me".

He gently grabbed your wrist and guided you over to one of the bare, black couches; you followed - sitting next to him.

The hours continuing were filled with incredibly cheesy gestures that you only rolled your eyes at, and teased him for. The first being a few small, pink flowers he had conjured up and then tucked into your hair. At first you really thought nothing of it, they were just pretty flowers. However; you knew due to Michael's nature that he didn't just so happen to come across those flowers, he summoned them purposefully - specifically for you.. You didn't bother to try and hide how flustered this made you.

"Those are beautiful; what are they"? You asked, gesturing to the flowers.

"Thought you'd never ask. Wild roses. They hold many meanings; most agree they represent both love, suffering, beauty.. life. They're even said to protect the living from the dead".

You couldn't help but to laugh at his explanation.

"Will they protect me from you? You know your not exactly human yourself". You teased.

The corner of Michael's lips slid into a slow smile, one that you couldn't quite decipher whether it was an ironic or genuine gesture.

You nearly jumped at how quickly one of Michael's hands suddenly slid up into your hair; seemingly picking out one of the petals that had fallen from one of the flowers - he retracted his hand, holding onto the petal.

"No. Your going to need something stronger than that to keep me away". He said playfully, before crushing the already wilted petal in his hand - letting it fall carelessly to ground.

You could only roll your eyes.

Next came the food and well.. you were beyond impressed. Your not certain exactly how he managed to get your favorite food down who knows how many feet underground, but.. he did. And it was perfect.

You were both pretty quiet during that time; Michael didn't really have a reason to be but you couldn't help but to get lost within your thoughts. Sure; you two were best friends but.. that didn't necessarily warrant him to do all of this for you. Was it possible that he felt.. something else, like you did?

You couldn't help but to shut that thought down as quick as it came; that had to just be you projecting. There was no way in hell he could love you back..

Wait.. love?

It was like a involuntary reflex the way you suddenly jolted up and backed away from the table. Even though it was just a thought, the fact you just admitted to yourself that you loved him.. What the fuck did that even mean?

Michael looked startled at well, you could tell by the color of his knuckles that he now had a death grip on his silverware. His icy, blue eyes matched yours with a startled gaze.. As if he was trying to contemplate your next move or to get a good read on you. You were more than well acquainted with Michael's powers by now; you knew how he had the ability to read minds and that's partially why you found yourself, slowly at first, starting to take steps away from him. Wanting desperately to get the fuck away from him. You knew that if Michael even suspected what you were thinking or how you felt, that your friendship could possibly be over. That would be it, he would want absolutely nothing to do with you. You would be no better than the dozens of women and even men that threw themselves at Michael; Maybe even worse.

You made it down a random hallway until you found yourself physically colliding into him - fucking transmutation.

You felt a sudden urge to just turn around to try and escape again but you knew he wouldn't let you. Instead you let yourself be captive, you let him hold you. Gently encasing you into a hug. It was painful how hard you were trying to hold back your tears - blindly running away was already embarrassing enough, letting him see you cry would be too much.. Too much for one night, anyways. You felt him let go of you - stepping back a little bit in order to make eye contact with you.

"What has gotten into you-" He started.

"Michael- I'm so sorry but I just need to go. We can talk about this tomorrow but for now I just really need to be alone-"

You tried to turn around in order to make another (more calm) attempt at leaving but you felt something grab at your wrist, yet again. His grasp, along with his hand were achingly soft. You hated how much you enjoyed him making physical contact with you - even if it was something just as docile as this. You also couldn't help but to hate the spark of electricity you felt when his skin touched yours - and you couldn't help but to wonder whether he felt it too.

"No. I need to know what I did wrong. I'm not letting us end today like this". Michael said, his voice was strained with emotion.

His words were spoken urgently, his voice unsteady and even threatening to break.. That's when you knew you completely fucked up. He totally misinterpreted your actions.. the sudden realization hit you, piercing your heart like a knife.

"No, your right. Can we sit"? You asked.

He let go of your wrist coldly, sauntering out of the hallway you two were in. You would be lying if you were to admit that his sudden cold actions didn't hurt you; it definitely stung but you couldn't help to feel in this moment that you kind of deserved it.

The walk over was quiet and even a bit awkward. When you two sat; he looked at you expectedly.. waiting for you to talk first and explain your sudden, impulsive actions.

"It wasnt you.. that's not why I tried to leave at all, Michael. You did everything right. I mean that's really the 'problem', even though calling it a problem still isn't the right word but.." You paused before carrying on.

"What you did tonight for me was perfect, and I'm so thankful for that, truly. But I just feel like I'm starting to interpret your actions in a different way than in which you mean them and that's not fair to you. I know you just want a friend-" Your words continuously came out faster the longer you spoke, you were completely rambling at this point but Michael stopped you.

"Hey, stop". He said softly.

You felt as if you were dreaming when you saw him start to move closer to you.. it happened so quickly it almost felt fake. Michael gently pushed you back onto the couch, so that you were basically laying down flat on your back. You pulled him back with you so that he was on top, your hands automatically going to his shoulders.. feeling the sudden urge to yank his black top off and to feel his skin under your palms. The feeling was tempting; you could feel how hot his skin was even with his shirt on. You assumed your hands were cold by the way Michael shivered and even groaned when you touched him, that had to be the only logical explanation for him acting like that..

The manner in which he bent down, his lips getting closer and closer to yours was nothing but diabolic. He stopped until the point where his lips were just ghosting above yours - maybe only really a mere centimeter away from touching. It felt entirely far too tempting to just - barely tilt your head forward and stop whatever game your friend Langdon was trying to play, but.. you didnt. In reality; the teasing was far too delicious for you to want it to end so soon.

"Who said I just wanted to be friends"? He whispered.

You could taste his breath as he spoke, you felt trapped.. But if you were to be honest with yourself, you wouldn't rather spend Valentines Day any other way than in this manner.. Trapped with your absolute favorite person, with nothing else in the world to do but to get lost in each other.

His lips roughly collided with yours with such passion that you really haven't ever felt before. It threw you off guard for a moment, but you figured there was no sense in shying from it. You had been craving to be loved by him for so long; craving for him to touch you like this and now that it was finally happening.. you only relaxed and embraced the feeling.

Time slipped away from you far too quickly but after all; time didn't really feel real at all when you were underground in a bunker. No windows or clocks to help ground you back into reality..

You knew it was atleast passed midnight now; hours had passed and you two were now residing in one of the random rooms that you had come to learn was of 'Outpost Three'. It was apparent how careful he was with his words when he told you about the place; almost like he didn't want to tell you too much. He told you most of everything, like the cooperative and how this building was for some type of event that would be taking place in the summer but you didn't probe farther. You knew he would tell you in all due time.

You two were lying on a random, spare bed. It was luxurious and dangerously soft, but if you were honest - the sheets almost seemed scratchy in comparison to Michaels bare skin. Your head wasnt on a pillow but instead on Michael's bare chest, his rhythmic heart beat nearly lulling you to sleep. Almost putting you in some type of odd trance.

You both watched the movie that was playing on his laptop; propped up on a few sparse pillows at the end of the bed. Although you really weren't trying to keep up with what was happening or what the actors were even saying. Instead, you chose to be fully present with Michael, almost entranced in his presence. You two weren't talking but, just being surrounded by him - feeling his fingers lazily playing with your hair was heaven to you.

You still felt as if you were in a dream. After all in what timeline would you ever be so lucky to call someone like Michael, yours?? Even though you two weren't exactly official, you really didn't mind at this moment. Labels only seemed to really complicate things and in your opinion; you felt more than privileged to just sit here entangled with Michael, and to escape the rest of reality for a while.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon

#michael x reader #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs fanfiction #my fic #i hope yall like this 🥺 its kinda odd i feel like but.. idk. im proud of the ending lmao #will post to ao3 in a few hours or so #lemme know if u would like to be on the taglist #I almost cut out the backstory of how they met but i just feel like it overall adds to the fic??#ALSO the timing of this fic is probably not accurate at all like canon wise loll but idc

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aalissy · 3 years

Text

Poetry

Anddd day 9 is doneee!! Plus, it includes a bit of post-reveal, pre-relationship which is one of my faveee tropes <3. I don’t think I’ve ever written it for Ladrien either haha. Lemme know what you think :)

AO3

“Do you remember that poem you wrote?” Ladybug asked, leaning towards him with her chin in her hand as she blinked at him with a pair of big, innocent sapphire eyes.

“W-what poem?” Adrien choked out, still wondering how he was even able to talk to her. This was Marinette. Who was also Ladybug. The love of his life. That fact made it almost even more impossible for him to function around her. He was the luckiest cat in the world.

They had revealed their identities a few months beforehand. Fortunately for him, they had both stumbled into the same alleyway to detransform and didn’t have time to stop before they became their civilian selves again. To say that it was a joy to have Marinette be Ladybug was an understatement. It was practically heaven to know that the girl sitting behind him every day was the love of his life. Of course, it only reaffirmed just how out of his league she was. Marinette was much too perfect for him.

That hadn’t stopped him from sneaking out of his house to meet up with her as Chat Noir, though. At least, until his father started to get suspicious somehow, keeping him under a tighter lock and key. Thus, Ladybug began to sneak into his room so that they could continue their late-night talks. It was still hard for him to fully believe it. Adrien was still determined to keep her as close to him as possible, however. If he would never be able to kiss her and hold her hand as he had always dreamed, he could at least be her best friend.

“Valentine’s Day a few years ago,” Ladybug giggled nervously, pulling at a loose thread on his couch. “You wrote a poem about a girl whose hair was dark as night and who had pretty bluebell eyes.”

Adrien tensed up, his eyes widening in horror. She had read that?! He had thought he had thrown that stupid poem away after he couldn’t quite get the words out. Clearing his throat, he winced as he voiced his concerns, “You read that? I thought I threw that stupid poem away.”

She stopped pulling on the loose thread, whipping her head up as she blinked at him in surprise. Ladybug laughed awkwardly, waving her hand in the air as she began to stutter and stammer. “Y-you did... really? Huh, I-I wonder how I did find that poem then. M-maybe I had accidentally read it over your shoulder in class or something. Pfft, who knows. J-just forget I asked, okay?”

As she turned as red as her mask, Adrien smiled at her fondly, watching as her eyes darted from side to side. How had he missed it earlier? It was so obvious who Ladybug was. She and Marinette both shared so many similar qualities. With a small chuckle, he nodded his head. “Yes, I do remember writing that poem.”

She squeaked but lifted her head back up to meet his gaze again. Clearing her throat, she tapped her fingers together nervously, “A-and do you remember who you wrote it about?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Adrien frowned. “I figured it was pretty obvious that it was about you, Ladybug. Especially now that you well... know who I am.”

He gestured to her as his cheeks turned a light pink. Scolding himself, he wondered why he was even telling her any of this. It wasn’t like it would change anything. Ladybug’s eyes grew wider as she pointed at herself. “R-really?” she asked. Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, he nodded his head.

“Wow,” she murmured, leaning back on the couch as she blinked up at the ceiling. “I guess the response poem that I wrote back wasn’t for nothing then.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Adrien’s frown got deeper. “Response poem? What response poem?”

Ladybug turned an even darker red, ducking her head back down as she giggled shyly. “Yeah, I-I kind of wrote a response to that poem a while back. I don’t think you ever got it, though, because I forgot to sign it.”

Worrying his lower lip, he scanned his memory, trying to remember if he ever got a poem back. It was then that he remembered the time Plagg had brought out all of his Valentine’s Day cards. Adrien's eyes widened as he blinked in surprise. He distinctly remembered comparing the handwriting to Marinette’s and then brushing it off. Smacking a hand to his forehead, he groaned to himself. He had been so close.

“That was you?” he whispered, “Really?”

“Mhm.” She hummed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Adrien leaned closer to her, scanning her eyes for something. Ladybug simply stared back at him, her lips slightly parted in shock. Running a hand through his hair, he asked, “But why? Why did you write a response poem?”

Ladybug flushed, rubbing her arm as she gave him a small, almost nervous smile. “W-well, I-I may have, sort of, kind of, had a bit of a crazy crush on you back then. D-don’t worry though! I know you don’t feel that way about me anymore! I don’t even know why I brought this up. We should just forget about it.”

She turned forward stiffly, staring resolutely at the TV which was still playing a show that he had forgotten about a long time ago. Ladybug in love with him? The idea was too laughable to even consider a reality.

Carefully, Adrien reached out, placing a hand on her arm. Ladybug stared down at it before meeting his gaze again cautiously. He shook his head slowly, staring at her desperately. “I don’t understand... Ladybug, I’ve been in love with you for years. Why would you think that’s changed? It’s you who's always said you’ve been in love with someone else.”

She chuckled but it was more of a scoff. “That’s because I’ve been in love with you, Adrien. I thought it was obvious.”

“Not to me,” he moved his head from side to side, feeling like his entire world was crashing down around him. How had he missed this? “Never to me.”

“But your feelings have changed, though, right?” Ladybug asked, her blue eyes searching his gaze.

“No,” Adrien breathlessly responded. Unable to help himself, his eyes darted down to look at her lips after she licked them. “A-and you? Did your feelings change?”

Instead of responding, she simply shook her head. Feeling bold after that declaration, he swooped forward, capturing her lips in a sweet kiss. Tilting his head, he deepened their kiss, determined to make certain they both remembered it this time. After this, he was never letting Ladybug go again. They needed to make up for the lost time they had spent dancing around each other. Smiling into their kiss, Adrien tangled his fingers in her hair, wondering just how long they could have been doing this if they weren’t such idiots.

#ladrienjune2021 #ladrienjune #ladrien #adrinette #adrienette #post reveal #pre relationship #post pre #post reveal pre relationship #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml #mlb

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mypersonmyg · 3 years

Text

crash and learn | myg, kth, jjk

pairing: yoongi x reader ft. maggie x taehyung, dani x jeongguk

genre: fluff, college au, the misery chick au

rating: pg15

wc: 2.3k

warnings: swearing, not really edited

summary: you and yoongi just want some time alone OR maybe jeongguk and taehyung will finally stop crashing your dates

a/n: haha i bet you thought i forgot but i didn’t! its drabble week and i will be posting one every day this week (weekends debatable)...this one is a part of the misery chick universe but also you don’t have to read it to get it because...

this is for my FAVORITE CUTIE MAGGIE @kimtaehyunq!!!! who asked me to write a cute tae and jeongguk request ft herself and yours truly <3 and i think its fun to have one universe with all the members being with one of my friends so,,,maybe more coming?,,,either way i might write another drabble or two to sort of bring this one full circle, maybe not this week but yeah

[drabble masterlist]

[the misery chick]

One date turned to two and two to three, needless to say that months later and Min Yoongi still finds room to swoon for the girl who thought him puffing smoke before the start of the period. The misery chick isn’t gone, but the words are forbidden within a radius of the two of you, more likened to prolonged stares and the occasional glares of those wondering about the developing development of your arms locked and stares stopping on your respective pupils dilated in the glare of the midday sun.

Though those passersby who let Yoongi pass by for too long without a positive step in the direction of his natural charms hold their tongues, the boys that fill the round of the courtyard picnic don’t hesitate to gag into half eaten sandwiches and dribble the purple fizz from the cans perched at their lips.

“This is a little excessive, no?” Taehyung, the least bothered of the present, pipes up. He slurps from a straw that traces the length of his arm, wrapping the sleeve of his half buttoned button up. No one dared ask about his latest purchase, Jeongguk who was slurping from his juice box even eyeing with envy the can perfectly placed atop a tuft of grass, feeding into the straw at Taehyung’s lips. “When you invited us on a picnic I was hoping for a little more ‘we time’ and a little less ‘you time’.”

“To be clear, we didn’t invite you.”

“I like to think it was an open invitation,” Jeongguk shrugs, falling back against the blanket spread beneath you.

Yoongi kisses his teeth, his own position resting against your chest, the perfect avenue for the pass of a grape from your fingers to his lips. He’s too content to bother with the bothersome nature of his uninvited roommates, both found minutes before his departure scavenging the lunch he’d spent the better part of the morning putting together. It was only the delighted pitch of your giggles that stopped him from scolding the two and sending them on their way when they followed you out of the door. He even caught you sneaking a few extra snacks into the basket for the fiends.

“The point is, I will not hesitate to press my face to Yoongi’s because this is supposed to be a date.”

“Press your face? That’s fuckin’ weird can’t you just say kiss?” Taehyung snatches the grape from your hand midair, sending Yoongi a smug smirk when he pops it past his geometric lips humming along with the satisfactory burst of the skin against his tongue.

“No, because it makes you uncomfortable.” You tut, quickly replacing the grape to remedy the pout pulling at Yoongi’s cheeks. “This’ll teach you two to stop crashing our dates!”

Dates is, in fact, plural because the tag along of your spritely comrades has been less and less few and far over the course of just a few weeks. You aren’t blind to the odd trend, not missing the attachment of Jeongguk specifically with each expected visit. Only recently had Taehyung begun to fill the void at Jeongguk’s side, previously partnered with any member of the house available at the time.

What you’ve failed to account for with every impromptu double date is Jeongguk’s wise up with each stand in. He began to worm his way with Hoseok, clear that Yoongi would never turn down his best friend and you would never turn down Jeongguk. He would then try his hand with each member of the house, the worst of them being Jimin who had them sent away without even a morsel of the pizza you and Yoongi planned on sharing that day.

It was that evening that Yoongi stood barefoot in his doorway, scratching at his brows toeing the reason behind Jeongguk’s sudden interest in you to which Jeongguk sputtered and blushed Yoongi out of the door with the assurance that his interest in you still remained platonic despite your commonalities and attraction.

Jeongguk would never disclose the reason for his sudden interest in the almost daily escapades of Yoongi and yourself for fear that the blush painting his cheeks would be due to the teases and pressures of his friends, much the way he heard his hyungs pressuring Yoongi just months ago. He reasons that the position served Yoongi well, his eyes often traveling to the trace of your hand against Yoongi’s and frequent pecks to his forehead, his cheeks, he averts when you ‘press face’.

He wouldn’t dare admit the lift of his heart when you utter a defeated ‘I’ll just call Maggie and Dani, we can all catch a movie or something’ or when you plan ahead, which you’ve been doing more often, and the two meet you at your destination. The assumption of his appearance for the consumption that is often his source of a meal was accurate at the start. Your weekly dinners increasingly put on hold in place of a date with Yoongi, a point that Jeongguk used to his advantage the first night he beat Yoongi to the front seat of his own car while you snickered on the passenger side and Yoongi grumbled his way to the rear.

His tactic had been to spend more time with his friend busied by love’s intoxicating hold, but his routine was struck by the catch of his own wrist in the hold of the bug. It was subtle before all at once, just an insignificant flutter passed off as a change in the weather, allergies. It was the not so subtle jab of Hoseok’s elbow into Jeongguk’s ribs after a particularly festive frolic through the spring festival that hipped him to his blind intentions.

“Dude, you’ve been eying Dani for like three weeks and I’m tired of going on dates with you.” Suffice to say that was the last time Hoseok was glued to his side and Jeongguk only hoped the few feet between him and Dani just ahead provided a gap gaping enough to save her ears from Hoseok’s assail.

It was a constant trial and error leading up to the night just a week ago that conjured Taehyung in stride, far too dressed up for casual with a confident glint in his eye.

“You made the right call, I don’t know why it took you so long to make it, but I’m here now. The doctor is in.” Taehyung surveyed the small span of the restaurant's front entrance that day, confident in his abilities to nudge Jeongguk ever closer to the girl he’s been crazy about for the past few weeks. He found it endearing that the youngest was having a hard time, especially when he was often the target of straying gazes and the not-so-subtle flirtations of all shades.

It didn’t take long for all involved to realize that the doctor inconveniently called in sick from the moment Yoongi showed up with three ladies en route, one familiar from a photo Jeongguk scrounged and the second filled with a familiarity not quite familiar to Taehyung. You were quick to introduce her as Maggie, and Taehyung couldn’t form a sentence coherent enough for the rest of the night.

If it weren’t for the quickened explanation on the drive home, Jeongguk would’ve been a lot less forgiving about his botched date, but here they are two weeks later, both lovestruck idiots jumping with each sound of crumpled grass while you and Yoongi are none the wiser to their intent.

“So, what are we doing tomorrow? Aside from watching you two be all lovey dovey.”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi’s head tilts, eyes squinting in the face of the sun’s rays. “What are you two doing tomorrow? I personally plan on spending the day with my girlfriend, preferably alone at some point.”

“Huh, well there’s this horror marathon at the drive-in tomorrow and I was thinking we could all go!” Taehyung nudges Jeongguk’s leg, the younger immediately onboard with the suggestion.

“Yeah! We could even invite Maggie and Dani so we have someone to talk to when you two inevitably claim the backseat for making out or whatever.”

You eye the two, eyes as wide as fresh puppies and smiles spanning the length of their cheeks. You aren’t completely blind to the trend of the past few weeks, but you haven’t been keen enough an observer to call them out on it until now. You’ve joked with Yoongi in private about your impromptu triple dates, most of the time brushed off with the shift of his lips to your own, too exhausted to think about anything but the moment he finally has you to himself.

You nudge him with your knee, catching his eye with the minute dip of your head and the draw of your brow.

“Ya know, you guys could always just go yourselves. I could give you their numbers,” You don’t miss the exchanged glances and tinted cheeks, Jeongguk’s eyes averting to the opposite end of the grass, one hand lifting to tug at the lobe of his ear. “I know Maggie is really into horror and Dani will def tag along if you ask nicely.”

“Oh...they’re your friends though, I don’t think they’d wanna hang with us.” Taehyung sputters, nearly knocking the can at his side. Yoongi scoffs, head lolling from its place on your thigh.

“You’re kidding right? The way those two act around you is not exactly subtle.”

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk’s body leans forward, pupils doubled in hopeful curiosity.

“I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.” Yoongi shrugs.

“And there’s no time like the present!” Your hands flag at something beyond the scope of their heads, Jeongguk freezing on the spot, but Taehyung’s neck craning to capture the bodies bounding over and moments later plopping in the convenient spaces between. Maggie squishes herself between you and Jeongguk while Dani takes the spot beside Taehyung.

A panic flashes in both of their eyes when they note the unmatched arrangement of bodies. There was no specification as to who Maggie or Dani harbor unspoken feelings for, or what kind of feelings they are, and the time to question has since vanished.

The group falls to routine, broken conversations and voices piping in, Taehyung notes the lack of attention the girl that has a grip on his bursting appendage has paid in the past twenty minutes. A simple nod of the head or half smile is the only acknowledgement to his thoughtfully witty remarks.

He doesn’t miss the drop of her hand to Jeongguk’s arm when he tells a funny joke, her head thrown back with exaggerated laughter and he fights to send a glare his way but thinks better as Jeongguk is too entranced by Dani who has barely said a word since sitting.

“So, Tae was just telling us about this horror marathon they’re having at the drive-in tomorrow night. He and Guk wanna go.” You fill in once the six of you fall to comfortable silence. You catch Maggie sending a smirk Taehyung’s way, recovering at once when she peeks your gaze out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Yoon and I could use some alone time so I thought you guys might wanna go with them.”

“Horror?” Dani speaks up, gently shifting to shield herself from Jeongguk’s wandering eyes. “That’s cool, but I don’t know that’s not really my thing.”

“That's okay!” Jeongguk startles himself with his words, lowering his voice with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, we don’t have to stay the whole time, I wouldn’t mind leaving early. We could get some food or something.”

“Hey, not all of us are chicken. I wanna stay the whole time,” Maggie pokes her tongue in Dani’s direction, earning the same in return.

“I’m not chicken. There’s just only so much nuclear family, last girl blah blah blah that I can handle.” Dani shrugs, turning her attention to Jeongguk for the first time that he’s aware of, since she arrived. “It’s okay, you guys should just go without me.”

“No, I wanna hang with you. We could go to this new pizza place in town if you’re interested?” Jeongguk is pleased to note that you and Yoongi have gone back to your regularly scheduled program, pretending as if your date hasn’t been crashed for the millionth time. Taehyung and Maggie, on the flip, are watching you two as if they’re already tucked into the boot of a car with popcorn between their fingers.

“Um...I mean, if you really don’t mind. I don’t wanna steal you or them away from the movies.”

“I’ll stay...ya know, Maggie and I. We could stay and watch the movies and you two could go after the first one or two.” Taehyung glances at Maggie whose eyes are already taking him in, flashing away the moment pupils meet.

“Yeah, that’s always an option.” She agrees, flashing you a thumbs up.

“Great!” Four heads snap in your direction, Yoongi is finally sitting upright and you’re all smiles, neatly folding your blanket to pass off. “So it sounds like you guys have a lot of planning to do and we have a lot of kissing to do, so we’ll be seein’ ya!”

“Wait, don’t you guys wanna finish your food?” Maggie gestures to the half eaten meal left resting in the basket.

“No no, you guys have it. I’m actually in the mood for pizza now so we’ll probably grab some on the way home.”

“Okay...bye, I guess.” Dani watches with scrunched brows and Jeongguk and Taehyung send Yoongi the same look he’s been sending for weeks for a completely different reason. He sends them a smirk, arm slung around your shoulders as the two of you leave your date crashers in the dust with potential of their own.

“Have fun!”

#bts scenarios #bts drabbles #taehyung drabble #jeongguk drabble #bts x oc #the misery chick #yoongi x reader #yoongi drabble #taehyung x oc #jeongguk x oc #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook x oc

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janeofcakes · 3 years

Text

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again Chapter 4

Hello, my lovelies! It is Saturday and I actually have some time to post now. YES! I don't have to wait until the final hour on Sunday night. Hats off to my brother for distracting the children. Haha.

I can't wait to see what you all think of this chapter. Editing it was a tooth-gritting experience. Enjoy!

---

John cannot help the grin spreading across his face as Gracie drags him through Regent’s Park to the appointed place they have met Olive for nearly a month now. Her face is screwed up in determination, her feet marching swiftly along and she tugs him behind by the hand. John shakes his head slightly and huffs a quiet laugh. He should have known his idea of a leisurely stroll on the way to meet Olive and her father was not in the cards. Gracie had informed John that, barring some emergency case, they would be in the park in the usual place before he had even taken his coat off after arriving home the night before. Candace had laughed and said Gracie had spoken of nothing else since leaving school. John even had a hard time getting her settled for bed. Gracie kept detailing the playdate plans she had made with Olive. She finally stopped and committed to sleep when John told her she would be too tired to go and have to stay home.

The morning had been a buzz of activity as they made and ate breakfast, and did some household chores. Gracie didn’t even argue about cleaning her room. They watered the plants in their small courtyard together. Gracie pulled a few weeds and, before they knew it, it was lunchtime. John made something quick so he could make afternoon snacks along with it, and so Gracie could get started eating. Weekends usually see her at the table for at least an hour, talking and eating as slowly as humanly possible. Today, however, she ate in record time and was waiting by the door anxiously when it was time to go.

“Come on, Dad,” Gracie growls, yanking John’s hand again. John grumbles when their snack-toting shoulder bag slips down his free arm to his elbow. Fortunately, he catches hold of it before it spills open or hits the ground.

“Gracie, slow down,” John commands tersely. “They aren’t going to leave before we get there.”

“We’re nearly ten minutes late,” Gracie insists without looking back at him, tugging him ahead again.

“I knew that watch was a bad idea,” John mutters to himself and sighs. Suddenly, Gracie stops in her tracks and John nearly walks right into her. The shoulder bag slips again, stopping only because its length adjustment clip catches on the fabric of his thin spring cardigan. John scrambles for the bag before it tears a hole and scolds his daughter, but his voice is completely drowned out by her squeal.

“Oh my god, they’re here!” Gracie drops John’s hand and runs at full speed toward the two figures twenty yards ahead. John huffs as he steadies the bag on his shoulder. He let her get away with that three times during the story last night, but is not about to this time.

“Gracie, language…” the word dies in John’s throat as his eyes follow his daughter to where a tall man sits on his knees in the dirt with Olive. It’s Sherlock Holmes.

“Oh my god,” John says slowly as shock overtakes him.

Sherlock and Olive are studying something in her hand that they must have pulled from the dirt and are deep in discussion. They haven’t even noticed Gracie running for them yet. John, unlike his daughter, cannot move. It’s Sherlock. Sherlock is right in front of him. John has not seen this man in ten years and he looks… exactly the same. Tall and fit and thin. Hm. Thin instead of skinny and not so pale. Sherlock looks healthy, which is not something John ever thought would cross his mind.

John watches as Gracie reaches them and shouts a greeting. Olive drops whatever she was holding to throw her hands in the air and cry out Gracie’s name. Sherlock reaches toward Gracie and laughs as he says ‘hey’. He is smiling. It’s the brightest, happiest smile John has ever seen on Sherlock’s face and it. Is. Beautiful.

So not everything is exactly the same with Sherlock Holmes and yet, doesn’t feel that far off. He is wearing one of his dress shirts, as John would expect, but his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he is wearing jeans. Jeans! And an ordinary pair of brown shoes. His curls are still dark and tousled. John can’t help but think of his own hair, more grey now than blonde. At least, that’s how he sees it. Still, the years have been kind to John too. He’s only a little fuller in the middle and the lines on his face have grown very little. John wonders for a moment what Sherlock will see when he finally lays eyes on John again.

“Dad!” Gracie calls and waves, jarring John from his reverie. His gaze comes into focus to see Gracie and Olive motioning to him frantically. John’s eyes shift to the detective and, oh god, Sherlock is looking at him.

Sherlock’s eyes are wide with surprise, his lips parted. That brilliant smile he had just worn fading away as the realization that his former flatmate and best friend is standing a few yards away takes hold. The detective rises slowly as Olive and Gracie dart for John, reaching him in seconds. They each grab one of his hands and start flapping up and down, Olive saying hello and Gracie urging him to come along. John cannot tear his eyes away from the tall man staring back at him. Neither man can believe his eyes or the coincidence of it all. Speaking of which, how the bloody hell does Sherlock Holmes have a child? One he obviously fathered because she looks just like him.

“Dad, come on. Come on,” Gracie interrupts John’s bewildered thoughts again, tugging hard on his hand. “Come meet Olive’s dad.”

“He’s right there,” Olive is saying while pulling John’s other hand. “We were just studying the soil. You’re not interrupting. He really wants to meet you.”

“Dad,” Gracie raises her voice and John finally responds with a slight shake of the head as he puts one foot in front of the other. Gracie rolls her eyes and continues to drag him along. Fortunately, she and Olive don’t have to pull him far because Sherlock begins to walk toward them. When they all meet there in the grass, the two girls start jumping around excitedly and shouting about how great it is that it’s finally happening.

“We’ve been waiting for this for so long!” Gracie exclaims, her feet never on the ground for more than a second at a time.

“And now we can have our playdate,” Olive declares. Whenever Gracie is touching the ground, Olive’s feet are in the air. It looks rather like a mad seesaw. “Maybe next weekend too!”

The two girls gasp and suddenly stop moving, frozen in time. They stare at one another, each thinking the same thing.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Gracie speaks first in a high voice and then lets out a little giggle. She often does when she is very excited, along with a quick dance. Olive nods frantically, saying ‘Yes, yes, yes’ and they both turn to their fathers for introductions

“Dad,” Gracie grabs John’s hand again and jumps in place, “this is Olive’s dad, Will.”

“Actually, Sherlock Holmes,” Olive pipes up. She turns to Sherlock with a bright smile. “This is John.”

“H-hi,” John stumbles over the word like an idiot. There are a couple of lines around Sherlock’s eyes and two or three on his forehead, wisps of grey hair at his temples and maybe a few mixed into his curls, but they are harder to see. He is much the same man John left behind ten years ago and his heart aches with how much John missed him.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock replies in a soft, warm tone and damn him for collecting himself again so quickly. Damn him again for still having that same silky baritone John had finally gotten used to not hearing. It’s almost too much. John had to completely rearrange his life and way of thinking when he and Mary left London. He struggled in silence because Mary wanted nothing more to do with the detective. She was done and insisted John finish with him as well. John learned quickly that Mary did not want to hear about, or even see, his difficulties with forgetting Sherlock. He used to slip out of the house periodically to phone Greg and find out how Sherlock was, but stopped after only two months. Hearing about his best friend and not being able to see or help him proved to be too painful. Shortly thereafter, something else happened that required all of John’s attention and nearly broke him. That first year in Bath had been hard.

John swallows hard and shoves the memories down. He can’t do this. Seeing Sherlock again… It’s too much. Sherlock’s brows are raised, worry creeping onto his face. Damn it. John must be broadcasting every thought and emotion going through his head. Sentiment, Sherlock would say with disdain.

“There,” Gracie says loudly with glee and John blinks from the shock of it. “Now you’ve met. Can we have our playdate tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes,” Olive echoes her friend’s excited tone. “Can we?”

“Olive, you know we have plans tomorrow,” Sherlock tuts and reminds her when she frowns quizzically. “A certain birthday party.”

“Oh! I forgot,” Olive turns to a disappointed Gracie to explain. “It’s my uncle’s party. We’re going to make a cake tonight and put the frosting on in the morning. What about next Sunday?”

Both girls are looking at Sherlock expectantly. He glances at John, who still cannot seem to get himself together and function normally.

“We’ll talk about it while you’re playing,” Sherlock assures them. They don’t seem satisfied with this answer at first, but another idea occurs to Olive quickly enough.

“Come on,” she says to Gracie suddenly. “I’ll tell you about the party while we swing.”

“Hurry, before they beat us to them!” Gracie shouts, spying two other girls heading that way. Just like that, they’re off across the playground. John and Sherlock are alone.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice is soft. A small smile plays at his lips and John feels a surge of nerves coarse through his gut as he remembers how Sherlock smiled on the tarmac after that stupid joke.

Sherlock is really a girl’s name.

John inhales quickly, but deeply and lets it out of his nose slowly, trying not to appear panicked. God, he missed this idiot.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asks, concern plain on his face now.

“Yes,” John croaks, cursing himself silently and clearing his throat. “I’m fine. Just surprised. I had no idea.”

“Nor did I,” Sherlock agrees, relaxing his stance a bit. “Olive always said ‘Gracie’s dad’.”

“Yeah, exactly,” John smiles slightly in spite of himself. “She mentioned you work with the police, but I never would have made the connection. Of course, she also said your name was Will, come to think of it.”

John is rambling now. Goddamn, just shut up, Watson. His eyes rove over Sherlock’s face, taking in every detail. Every angle and line, reacquainting himself with those ridiculous cheekbones. It’s like coming home.

“You look good,” John says before he can think better of it. His cheeks flush and he can feel the warmth of it, but he doesn’t look away.

“You do too, John,” Sherlock answers, almost looking a touch bashful. It is certainly a different look for Sherlock Holmes, John muses. “Bath suits you.”

“Ah, not well enough,” John tilts his head and smirks. “Not like London. I’m back for good.”

“So I hear. You’ve taken over a practice,” Sherlock remarks conversationally. “How is it?”

“Yeah, Andrew Collins, an old friend. He’s taken early retirement,” John tells him, resting his hands on his hips casually. “It’s good. I like it. Different patients, occasional emergency.”

“And you’ve been at it…” Sherlock pauses to let John fill in the blank. John feels a bit apprehensive. Sherlock is fishing. He wants to know how long John has been in London without trying to contact him once. He knows it has been longer than since Gracie started school. Of course, he does.

“A couple of months,” John finishes the sentence and wets his lips. “I wanted to make sure it suited me before moving Gracie.”

“Of course,” Sherlock says with a nod. Oddly enough, he does not seem at all put out. “Perfectly planned.”

“You’re still at 221B?” John asks in an easy tone, even though the question has been burning in his mind.

“I am,” Sherlock’s shoulders angle back minutely.

“From what I hear, Olive is in…” John stops, suddenly not sure how to phrase it.

“Your old room, yes,” Sherlock says without hesitation. John knows it shouldn’t, but his gut clenches at how easily Sherlock says it. As if he doesn’t mind at all that John is gone. Then again, why should he? It’s been ten years and so much has changed. They have both moved on. They are both fathers and have their own lives. Until five minutes ago, John thought they would never cross paths again.

“It’s good of you to meet us today,” Sherlock begins. “Olive has spoken of little else. Is Rosie with you too?”

John’s smile fades in a second. He should have known it was unavoidable. Sherlock seems so changed, but is apparently just the same. Why should their past friendship spare John from his ruthless bite and deductions?

“No,” John replies curtly. “She’s not here.”

“Ah,” Sherlock answers pleasantly enough. It’s a good show and cuts John to the bone. “At home with Mary then. It is Rosie? Mary said she liked the name.”

“Do we have to do this?” John snaps, the muscles in his jaw contracting as his anger builds. Yes, John had left with a word. Yes, he hadn’t tried to contact Sherlock even once over the last ten years, but that didn’t give Sherlock the right to drag him back through the despair and heartache.

“Uh...no,” the detective responds apprehensively. He watches John with uncertainty, as if he doesn’t understand what he has done wrong. John remains silent and glares daggers. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“What, Sherlock?” John interrupts, his blue eyes cold as ice. “You’d rub salt on the wound?”

Sherlock’s lips part and he shakes his head shallowly as though he does not know what to say or what is happening.

“Unbelievable,” John mutters and then snaps again. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Mycroft still has his minions watching me, even after all this time. Don’t pretend he hasn’t told you everything.”

John’s fury boils strong in his blood, but he reigns it in for the sake of the girls and other children around them. None of them need to witness him shouting at Sherlock today, or any time for that matter. He glares up at his former friend and feels a fresh wave of anger sweep over him when Sherlock continues to look at him in confusion. The taller man raises his hands to placate John and actually takes a small step backwards. He shakes his head again, opening his mouth to say what? Play the fool? No, absolutely not. Sherlock is not going to deny this and trick John into apologizing. Not this time.

John raises his left hand to point an accusatory finger, but Sherlock beats him to the next word.

“I’m sorry, John. I don’t know…”

“She’s dead,” John cuts him off a little too loudly for a woman nearby. She gasps and moves away quickly. Feeling a shade self-conscious, John lowers his hand slowly and glances around to see if anyone else heard. The other men and women sitting on blankets in the grass or on park benches around them give no indication that they heard a thing. Every one of them continues looking on as their children play or read a book without a single look in John and Sherlock’s direction.

“I had no idea Mary had been killed,” Sherlock begins as John turns to face him. He appears appropriately contrite, in spite of the fact that Mary had nearly killed him months before they left London. “I am sorry.”

“Not Mary,” John shakes his head, suddenly very tired. “Rosie.”

“Rose…” Sherlock’s jaw drops in utter shock. He can’t even say her name and his voice fades into a quiet strangled sound. His face has gone very pale indeed and John almost asks if he is okay as his doctor’s nature kicks in, but then the anger surges back. Sherlock can never just let things be. He always has to poke the bear. He did it on every case. Every deduction, no matter how painful for those involved, announced with flourish so he could show off. Everyone had to know Sherlock Holmes was a genius, a magnificent, bloody genius and John had played right into it.

Now the detective turns it back on John. Now he is the interesting case and must be dragged through the mire, forced to remember another event that nearly tore him apart. First Afghanistan, then Sherlock and finally, Rosie. John is being punished. Punished for leaving Sherlock in the same way John had punished him upon his return from the dead. John deserves this. He knows he does, but fury rises up in his throat regardless and his hands clench at his sides.

“Oh god,” Sherlock’s voice almost startles John. It is small and so full of pain. John jerks his head back in confusion at the unexpected sentiment, his mind reeling with anger and perplexity in equal measure. Sherlock reaches for him and he is suddenly in the detective’s arms. John’s eyes are wide, his body stiff with shock. He has no idea how to react to this. Sherlock was never big on touching people and, while it had always been different with John, he could count the number of times this had happened on one hand, and most of them were at his wedding.

John remains still and tries to sort through all of the thoughts and feelings in his mind. One surfaces again and again, though he pushes it away. The feeling that he just wants to let go and melt in this man’s arms. How much did he want this very thing when they lived together in 221B? How many times had he wanted it over the years while he was in Bath and now here he is resisting it. John’s mind spins, unable to pick a direction until he hears Sherlock’s next words.

“I’m so sorry, John.”

It is a whisper in John’s ear and it sets every nerve ablaze. John pulls himself from Sherlock’s embrace and backs away, shaking his head from side to side. His body quakes with anger as he glares at his former friend.

“You don’t get to do this,” John growls, keeping himself in check in this public setting. Sherlock looks stunned and John’s mind gives a mirthless laugh. It was probably by design that Sherlock planned they meet here in a park within full view of their daughters. John could never haul off and punch him here. “You bastard.”

“John, no. That’s not what this is about,” Sherlock begins, the surprise falling from his face as he deduces John perfectly. Damn him.

“Then what is it about, Sherlock?” John bites out, keeping his voice down. “You want me to suffer because I left. I chose Mary and I left you and you want me to pay.”

“No,” Sherlock insists, his arms out now and palms out.

“Bullshit,” John snaps, his hands in fists again. His jaw is tight in a furious smile and his eyes flash. He takes a step toward Sherlock that can be interpreted as nothing less than aggressive, a warning. “Your damn brother has said it all before, but it’s not enough. You have to make me explain it all.”

“No!” Sherlock interrupts with a quiet urgency in his voice. He takes his own step forward so the two men are nose to nose, not more than a foot between them. “Mycroft tried to tell me where you went and what you were doing, but he didn’t, John. I wouldn’t let him. I don’t know a thing about the last ten years of your life. Not one thing.”

“What?” John’s brows furrow and he grimaces. The anger tries to push back and take control, but Sherlock’s words have a foothold and won’t back down. John searches his eyes for deception where there is none. “But his men. I’ve seen them.”

“He will always have spies. He can’t bear to not know everything,” Sherlock says like it’s a bad taste in his mouth. He meets John’s eyes and his expression softens. “But I don’t. I don’t know anything.”

“Why?” is all John can think to say. It doesn’t make sense. Sherlock always had to know, especially if it was something Mycroft knew. That competition surpassed all others in both their minds. How could he avoid the temptation? Unless it wasn’t one, and that thought turns John’s stomach.

“It was too much,” Sherlock mutters, lowering his eyes. He bites his lower lip and his gaze loses its focus as he recalls the past. “Two days after you’d gone, Mycroft came to the flat to tell me you’d gone by train. I stopped him before he even said where.”

Sherlock raises his silvery eyes that look just a bit glossier than usual. He sighs and tilts his head slightly, the corners of his lips angling downward.

“I knew he would tell me whatever I wanted to know, but…”Sherlock pauses to wet his lips and swallow. He continues slowly: “It hurt too much.”

John’s lips part at the revelation and all the anger drains from his body. He has never seen Sherlock more vulnerable and human. Even at the wedding during his speech or when he uttered those words through the hotel door to stop James from committing suicide.

We wouldn’t do that to John, would we?

“Sherlock…” John tries to find the words and fails.So many thoughts race through his mind. All the feelings he’d had when big things happened and he didn’t hear so much as a whisper from Sherlock. He assumed Sherlock didn’t care and simply continued on as if he had never known John. It made him furious until he reminded himself that he had made no effort to contact the detective either. Now he knows that Sherlock knew nothing of it. He knew nothing and for all these years. God, John was such a fool.

“It’s fine, John,” Sherlock’s voice, now at normal volume and sounding very collected. “It’s all fine. I’ll keep my distance. We don’t have to interact simply because our daughters are friends.”

“What? No,” John blurts when Sherlock starts to move away. “No, Sherlock, that’s not… Look, I’m sorry.”

Sherlock’s brows raise in quiet surprise and he opens his mouth to speak, but John continues before he can utter a word.

“I shouldn’t have…” John presses his lips together and inhales deeply, struggling to find the words. “I just assumed… I shouldn’t have done.”

“It is a fair assumption, John,” Sherlock straightens, his tone matter of fact. “It follows logically given your experience and knowledge of me.”

“Yeah, well, maybe my knowledge of you is incomplete,” John says. He glances down and shifts his weight. “Let’s...sit down. Over there. That one’s empty.”

John points to a bench and looks up at the detective. His cupid’s bow turns up into the beginnings of a smile and he nods, taking the first step.

The two men spend the rest of the afternoon on that bench. Olive and Gracie interrupt periodically for snacks and drinks of water. The girls regale them with stories of their adventures in the park or events from school and then run back to play. John and Sherlock talk almost non-stop when they are on their own; stories about the girls as babies and toddlers, and as they started school. It is clear that neither Mary nor Sherlock’s...wife? was in the picture from the very beginning, but neither man says why or even behaves as though it should be explained. Still, John cannot believe the woman, whoever she is, has been entirely absent. So where is she? He does not ask Sherlock though, not wanting to nose in and after a while, John stops wondering where Olive came from and just accepts that it has always been she and Sherlock in 221B.

Naturally, John asks after his other friends. Greg is the head of the whole crime division now and actually assigns his Chief Inspectors to work with Sherlock. He has never remarried, but has cohabited, as Sherlock puts it, for the last five years. Molly runs the morgue, so Sherlock still sees quite a bit of her too. She married a bloke named Alex a couple of years after John left and has a four year old Olive adores. Unfortunately, Sherlock doesn’t see much of Mike Stamford, but he was well and happy the last Sherlock knew. Mycroft is as irritating as ever and that’s all he will say on the subject. Mrs. Hudson is still rattling around 221A and would love to see John, who just nods and asks if she’s still stuffing Sherlock with biscuits.

Before they know it, the afternoon has slipped into evening and the girls have returned with demands of dinner.

“I’m sorry to keep you for so long,” John says, hurriedly glancing at his watch. “We meant to leave an hour ago. I’m sure you have plans.”

“We’re having dinner with Mrs. H,” Olive rubs her hands together and licks her lips. “She’s making a roast with potatoes and then we’re going to make the birthday cake.”

“Oh, dear,” John remarks playfully. “We can’t have you missing out on all that.”

“Dad,” Gracie pulls on his hand impatiently, “did you schedule our playdate? Is it next weekend?”

“Uh… Well, no,” John replies, suddenly off balance. Seeing Sherlock is one thing, catching up has been fantastic, but going back to the flat.. John isn’t ready for that. He’s honestly not sure he will ever be.

“Dad,” Gracie complains.

“It would be no trouble,” Sherlock tells him and Olive nods emphatically. “We’d love to have her.”

“No,” John answers on impulse before he can think better of it.

“What? Why?” Gracie demands.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” John continues looking at Sherlock and then turns his attention to his daughter. “I’d like to get to know Olive’s dad a little better.”

A man he used to know so well, John thinks sadly. Was it his imagination or had Sherlock flinched at that? Damn it if the man can’t still read minds.

“But you talked all afternoon,” Gracie states with irritation and stomps her foot.

“Gracie,” John says sternly and she stops, looking at him in frustration. “We’ll talk about this later. Say goodbye to Olive.”

Gracie watches him a moment and then sighs in resignation. She steps forward and hugs the taller girl, who wraps her arms around her. They both say goodbye, Gracie in disappointment and John swears he hears Olive whisper ‘We’ll have a playdate soon enough, if I have anything to do with it’. The two girls part, Sherlock and John bid each other farewell, and each pair heads off in opposite directions.

Given the time, John and Gracie stop for takeaway on the way home. Gracie does not ask about the playdate or John’s decision until they are at the table with steaming plates of food. Once she does broach the topic though, she jumps in without preamble.

“So why can’t we have a playdate?” Gracie asks around a mouthful of nargisi kofta.

John lets out a deep sigh from between his lips and looks up at the ceiling for a moment. He really does not want to explain the whole situation and past with Sherlock Holmes, but has to say something that will satisfy her. He needs time to work through this. John had decided never to see Sherlock again and, up until a few short hours ago, would have upheld it. That is no longer an option and so many memories still flood back, but not things they did together. He thinks about those often enough, whenever he tells Gracie one of his bedtime stories for one. No, these are sensory memories. Sherlock’s smooth voice and ever-changing eyes, his scent and what it feels like to touch him, his sense of humor and his laugh. John is awash with feelings and sensations that he cannot possibly explain to Gracie right now. He can’t even make sense of them himself at the moment.

“You can, eventually,” John answers lamely. He would roll his eyes if he could keep Gracie from seeing.

“You said you needed to meet Olive’s dad,” Gracie says in her voice of logic. “Now you’ve met him.”

“I didn’t say you could have a playdate immediately after I met him,” John tells her. It’s true, but definitely a technicality.

“Don’t you like him?” Gracie chews on some naan.

“I like him just fine, Gracie,” John replies quickly.

“Then what’s the problem?” she picks up her glass of milk and drinks.

“I just need some time,” John finally says, unable to think of anything else. Gracie frowns and looks at him. Obviously not the response she expected and John rushes to say something that makes more sense. “I know we’ve been here a while, but it’s still all so new. Just give me a chance to get used to things, yeah?”

“Okay,” Gracie says easily after some consideration and John sighs with relief internally. She replaces her glass on the table and scoops up a forkful of matar paneer. “Having Olive for my best friend helped a lot. Maybe her dad could be your best friend.”

John sits motionless as she stuffs the fork in her mouth and begins chewing. He blinks once and the corner of his mouth lifts in the barest of smiles.

“Maybe,” is all he says before changing the subject.

***

“Dad finally met Gracie’s dad today!” Olive hoots as soon as she bursts through the door to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. The older woman throws up her hands, one holding a spoon, from where she stands in front of the stove.

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Mrs Hudson declares. She bends so Olive can give her a kiss. “Do you have your playdate all scheduled then?”

“No. Her dad didn’t want to plan it yet,” Olive answers only a little disappointed now. “But we’ll have one. Mark my words.”

“I don’t doubt it, dear,” Mrs. Hudson laughs as the girl runs to the loo to wash her hands. Mrs. Hudson glances in Sherlock’s direction as he silently walks into the room. “So you met someone new. He as charming as he sounds?”

“Rather,” Sherlock says with suspicion and Mrs. Hudson looks at him directly, knowing the tone of voice well. “Has Olive mentioned Gracie’s surname to you?”

“Well, no,” Mrs. Hudson raises her eyes to the top of the door frame in thought and then rests her hands on her hips. “I don’t think she knows what it is. Surnames aren’t exactly important to children.”

“Watson,” Sherlock states plainly.

“Gracie Watson?” Mrs. Hudson asks, astonished. “And her father is a doctor. John?”

“The very same,” Sherlock nods. Mrs. Hudson stares in silence for a moment until she clasps her hands together, the spoon clutched between the two of them.

“Well, isn’t that just wonderful?” she beams at Sherlock. “After all these years. Fate has pulled you two boys together again.”

“Mm. Is it?” Sherlock mutters, ignoring her last comment and moving past her. He begins picking up glasses to fill with beverages.

“Sherlock, why on earth would you say that?” the old woman asks in disbelief.

“It wasn’t exactly a happy reunion,” Sherlock pours milk in Olive’s glass.

“Even so,” Mrs. Hudson stops abruptly at the sound of Olive’s footsteps running for them. The woman glances to see her coming and quietly scolds the younger man. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Dinner passes quickly enough with story after story from Olive about playing in the park with Gracie and how they started making up their own Nancy Drew mystery to act out. In no time at all, Sherlock and Olive are headed up the stairs to make Mycroft’s birthday cake. Olive brushes her teeth and changes into pajamas once it is in the oven and is asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.

Sherlock pours two glasses of scotch and waits for his landlady to appear. Mrs. Hudson may doze off in front of the telly half the time, but never when she has promised Sherlock a talking to. It gives him some time to sort through his thoughts and he shudders as he begins to re-examine the afternoon’s conversation. John believed Sherlock knew all the details of his life and chose to ignore him. Sherlock is not the least bit surprised John noticed Mycroft’s spies. The doctor was always more perceptive than he was given credit for, even by Sherlock. Given the circumstances, John’s initial reaction makes perfect sense.

Sherlock sighs heavily. Part of him wishes he had let Mycroft inform on John. Surely giving John the chance to spurn his efforts to contact him would have been preferable to the feeling of being ignored. Sherlock certainly would have preferred his own rejection to inflicting it upon John, even unwittingly. His shoulders sag the more he thinks and he leans into his chair. John and Gracie are alone. There is no Rosie, no Mary and Sherlock has no idea why. John wasn’t exactly forthcoming either. What could have happened? Sherlock could guess, but he doesn’t want to. The same way he didn’t read it all off John the moment he saw him, despite the temptation. He wants John to tell him himself. He wants John to want him to know, and to trust him again.

Sherlock blinks once and tries to focus on something else, like all the stories John shared about Gracie growing up, but he keeps coming back to the thought of John believing himself rejected. If Sherlock had known, if he had known any of what John had been through, he would not have been able to stop himself from reaching out. He knew Mary was the reason John had left. She was finished with London and the surgery, but mostly with Sherlock. She had enough of John running off on cases once they were married. She knew she couldn’t escape Mycroft watching her movements, but she could get rid of Sherlock. Shooting him didn’t work, so she left and John went with her. He had never acknowledged Sherlock after that. Sherlock thought it was pride or maybe that John was tired of him too. Now he knows that John thought Sherlock didn’t want to hear from him and it breaks his heart.

A noise from the hall reaches Sherlock’s ears and he shifts his gaze to the doorway as Mrs. Hudson appears. He gestures to Olive’s, formerly John’s, chair with the hand not holding the scotch. Mrs. Hudson walks to it silently and sits opposite him. She plucks up the glass he placed on the side table for her and takes a sip. Smiling and closing her eyes, Mrs. Hudson leans back against the soft red cushions and exhales deeply. She does not speak, which surprises Sherlock until the oven timer sounds. He rises, sets down his glass on the desk and heads for the kitchen. He checks the cake with a toothpick as he promised Olive, knowing she will investigate its surface for the holes. He picks up the pan with oven mitts and places it on a cooling rack.

When he returns to the sitting room and picks up his scotch glass, Mrs. Hudson looks at him and motions for him to sit this time. He smirks slightly and does, stretching out his long legs and crossing his ankles.

“All done, is it?” his landlady asks companionably, referring to the cake. Sherlock nods once in reply. “Good. Did you know he is Gracie’s father?”

“No,” Sherlock says with shame. “I should have worked it out. Olive told me they just moved here, but that her father lived here before. I knew he was a doctor. It’s just… I never thought he would come back. I never thought I’d see him again and didn’t even consider the possibility.”

“It’s okay, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson smiles at him kindly. “Life surprises us sometimes. Even the ones who are brilliant.”

They pause a moment, sipping their drinks and marinating in what has been said.

“Now what’s all this about John’s return not being good news?” Mrs. Hudson sits up a little straighter. “Is it Mary?”

“No. He wouldn’t be here if she was with him,” Sherlock said ruefully, taking another drink.

“Where is she?” Mrs. Hudson asks curiously while swirling her glass absently.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replies. “He didn’t say anything about her. Not even in the context of raising Gracie. She may not even be Mary’s child.”

“Well, what about their baby?” Mrs. Hudson brings her glass to her lips. “Gracie has an older sister.”

Sherlock sighs and looks at the floor. This might be the thing that hurts the most. He obviously had no concept of parental love or the joy a child brings before Olive, but now he can easily imagine John’s pain at losing Rosie.

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson says slowly, her eyes reading his every movement. “Oh, Sherlock, no.”

“Yes,” he says simply. “I don’t know when or how, but she is gone.”

“Oh, dear. Poor John,” Mrs. Hudson whispers.

A few minutes pass and Sherlock suddenly finds himself telling her all about their afternoon in the park. He starts with the moment he saw John across the way, standing like a statue and Gracie running for them. Not a detail is left unsaid and by the time he is finished, Mrs. Hudson is leaning forward in her seat with rapt attention.

“So you only talked about the girls,” she states hesitantly as if testing the water. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” Sherlock answers, placing his empty glass on the floor next to his chair. “Well, he asked after Greg and Molly. I told him about you and Mycroft as well.”

“I hate to think what you said about him,” Mrs. Hudson mutters almost to herself. She looks at her wayward son with caring eyes. “Did you mention Jessie?”

“No,” Sherlock says quickly, rising to his feet and pacing. He stops at the window and gazes out over Baker Street.

Able to tell after all these years when her boy has shut himself off, Mrs. Hudson sighs and places her glass on the side table where she found it as she stands. She walks over to the tall man and puts a hand on his arm.

“You’ll have to eventually, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson tells him gently. “He’ll have to know where Olive came from sometime.”

Sherlock’s gaze darts to hers and asks why, but he already knows the answer. There is no avoiding it. Mrs. Hudson gives him a squeeze.

“Good night, dear,” she says and walks out of the room. Sherlock hears the door to the flat open and close quietly. He turns back to the window and watches the movement on the pavement and streets. Soon he is playing his violin, the music like a soundtrack to his life. Sherlock closes his eyes to listen and consider what to do next. The image of John’s face is the only one he can see.

---

What did you think?? They finally meet and sparks fly, both in fury and fondness. Throw in a little fear, a little angst and you have the perfect Jane Johnlock story. A friend suggested I call my works Jane's Addiction, but I'm pretty sure that's under copyright. Lol. Apt description though.

Thank you all for your love and support and encouragement! I love you all. Keep you pants dry and your dreams wet, and remember, hugs not drugs. Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #sherlock loves john #John loves Sherlock #Johnlock fanfic #johnlock #Mystrade

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justlookfrightened · 4 years

Text

Birthday surprises

For the prompt: Jack secretly loves surprise parties

“So how did you celebrate Canada Day when you were growing up?’ Bitty asked, carrying the pie to the table. “Was it like the Fourth of July, with parades and fireworks and red and white bunting everywhere?”

“Sort of,” Jack said. “It wasn’t such a big deal in Montreal, because, y’know, Quebec. A few years ago they made it moving day in Quebec just to screw with the government in Montreal.”

“Moving day?” Bitty asked. “Wait just a second.”

He turned to the counter behind him and picked up a small Candian flag, which he stuck in the middle of the pie.

“Happy Canada Day!”

“Euh, thanks,” Jack said. “Moving day is when everyone’s leases end and their new leases start. So thousands of people are moving on Canada Day. There were always fireworks over the harbor, though. Sometimes we’d go see them if we were in town.”

“Well, then, happy moving day,” Bitty said. “So not much like Madison on the Fourth of July?”

“Bits, nothing is like Madison on the Fourth of July,” Jack said.

“I’m sure the fireworks aren’t as good --”

“I have very fond memories of the fireworks in Madison,” Jack said. “Best fireworks of my life. Are you okay staying here for the Fourth this year?”

Bitty shrugged.

“I guess so,” he said. “The shop’s just getting on its feet, and I can’t really take much time off yet, and that would mean flying down on the morning of the fourth and back the next day. And Mama and Coach said they’d come up to see us for a weekend before school starts down there. We can still go to the fireworks and all here on the Fourth, right?”

“Your parents are coming up?” Jack asked. “Do you know when?”

“Beginning of August,” Bitty said. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure their visit doesn’t conflict with your big birthday celebration.”

“My … what?”

“Your birthday?” Bitty said. “You’re turning 30 a little over a month from today. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“No, but a big celebration?”

“Oh, no, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “I meant ‘big birthday,’ like turning 30 is a big deal. Not a big celebration for your birthday. I know you don’t like that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Jack said, looking down at his pie. “Okay. That’s good.”

“Unless you want my parents here for your birthday?” Bitty said. “I was thinking your parents might come, but … I’m sure my folks would be happy to.”

“No,” Jack said. “No, that’s fine.”

****

“I’m so glad you and Bits decided to do this,” Shitty said, taking another drag on his joint. “You guys aren’t usually around on the Fourth, but the rest of this summer looks crazy for me, and then you have the season coming up. I wouldn’t want it to be too long between visits.”

“Crazy this summer?” Jack said. “What’s up?”

“Work stuff,” Shitty said. “It looks like we’re going to trial against that chemical plant at the end of August, and it’s gonna be like seven days a week getting ready. I already told Lards to prepare for work-widowhood.”

“Yeah?” Jack said. “How’d she take that?”

“I’m not sure,” Shitty said. “You think I’m crazy enough to say shit like that when she’s awake?”

“Haha.”

“No, seriously, she’s leaving next week for a six-week residency at some artist colony in the Berkshires, and then she’s got a show to mount for the gallery at the end of August. I’m not sure she’ll even notice.”

“Come on, Shits,” Jack said. “You know she will.”

“I know,” Shitty said. “It’s just fucking hard sometimes, you know? I mean, it seemed like all the lawyers I knew when I was a kid had lunch and played golf all day. Plenty of time for fucking around. Too late I learned it doesn’t work that way in the public interest sector. And who knew being a successful artist was so time-consuming? How do you and Bits make it work?”

Jack shrugged. It was difficult, with his life consumed by hockey and Bitty’s time taken up more and more by a successful career in -- baking media? Jack wasn’t even sure what to call it, since Bits wasn’t just a baker, just a cookbook author, just an Internet and TV personality. He somehow did all of that, and just this summer had lent his name, personality, and talent to a new shop that sold both baked goods and baking equipment (toys for bakers, Bitty called them) in Providence.

“Remember Bits’ birthday in May?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Shitty said. “The big two-five. Remember how you wanted to throw him a surprise party? That was never gonna happen. Like that boy would ever let anyone else control the menu.”

“I guess you're right,” Jack said. “But I like surprising him. Remember Betsy II?”

“That was sweet,” Shitty said. “And the proposal at Faber, too, you romantic son of a gun.”

“Who told him about the surprise party in May?”

“Uh --”

“Was it you?”

“No.”

“Was it Lardo?”

“Um, she maybe told him not to make plans for that day? Because he was telling her he wanted to plan an overnight getaway because it was the only time it would work with your schedule?” Shitty said. “He took it from there. My understanding is that you caved under questioning.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I guess I did.”

“But don’t worry, brah,” Shitty said. “If I heard about a plan for a surprise party for you, I would totally warn you. I know you’re not into that.”

“Euh, okay?” Jack said. “But --”

“I got your back, brah,” Shitty said, giving Jack an exaggerated wink and nod just as Bitty and Lardo pushed open the sliding door and carried trays of drinks and snacks to the terrace.

“So what did we miss?” Bitty said. “Fireworks haven’t started yet, have they?”

“Nope,” Shitty said. “You’re just in time.”

****

“Jack?” Bitty asked, looking up from his laptop. “Do you know where you want to go for your birthday dinner?”

“Birthday dinner?” Jack said. “We’re not having it here?”

“Well, since I know you don’t like parties, and thirty is kind of a big deal, I thought maybe we should go out.”

“Who said I don’t like parties?” Jack said, pausing the tape of the last game of the Stanley Cup final.

“Please, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “I used to have to beg to get you to show your face at a kegster, and your mama’s told the story about you hiding under the bed to get out of going to that banquet more than a dozen times.”

“I was six,” Jack said.

“I know, sugar, and you haven’t changed a bit,” Bitty said. Then his eyes dropped to Jack’s chest, and lower, and Jack suddenly felt warm. “Except in the obvious ways. I was thinking Hemenway’s for seafood or maybe Waterman Grille or Al Forno with your parents. But it might make more sense to go the night before. Hemenway’s at least is closed on Mondays. Then on the night of your actual birthday, we can eat at home. Steaks on the grill, maybe? Do you want to invite your parents for that, too, or have it be just the two of us?”

Jack wanted to protest that he could want a party even if he didn’t want the debauchery of a kegster, and he shouldn’t be judged by his six-year-old self not wanting to go to a stuffy banquet (even if he still didn’t like stuffy banquets). But the moment seemed to have passed, and really, what Bitty was planning was fine.

Maybe he would get a surprise party for his fortieth, when he wasn’t playing and his friends’ careers were more stable and everyone had more time.

“Any of them are good, but Papa really likes Al Forno,” Jack said. “And I guess they can come on Monday for dinner, as long as they leave early.”

“Now, Jack, that’s not very hospitable of you,” Bitty said with a smirk. “I almost think you have plans. Maybe once I finish making this reservation you can give me a preview.”

He pecked at the keyboard for a few more moments and then closed the laptop.

“Ready when you are, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack clicked off the TV and followed Bitty to the bedroom.

****

“Maman?”

Jack had put off this call until Bitty left for the market.

It wasn’t like his husband was a busybody or nosy. It was just that, what with Jack’s schedule, and the wedding, and Bitty’s career, they were still in the condo Jack bought for himself in Providence when he signed. It wasn’t really small -- it probably had almost as much square footage as the Haus, and only two of them living there -- but it was mostly open-plan and Bitty would know if Jack was hiding in the office to call his parents. Which he was supposed to have done two weeks ago.

“Jacky!” his mother said. “It’s been ages. I saw those pictures you posted from your beach excursion last weekend. It looked like the two of you had fun. But I didn’t know you got a dog.”

“We didn’t?”

“But Bitty --”

“Was playing with a dog in a lot of the pictures?” Jack said.

The dog had run up to their picnic blanket when they moved off the beach proper, into the shady park, for lunch. Jack wasn’t sure exactly what kind it was. It was black and brown, like he thought of a German shepherd being, but much smaller, with long, skinny legs, a pointy nose and floppy ears.

Bitty had immediately started cooing over and petting the creature, despite Jack pointing out that they didn’t know who it belonged to, if it belonged to anyone, where it had been, if it was friendly.

“You don’t know if this dog is friendly?” Bitty had been incredulous. It was pretty ridiculous, given that the dog was more or less washing Bitty’s face with its tongue while Bitty giggled. “And she has a collar. And a tag. Stand still, girl.”

Bitty had still been trying to read the tag, and Jack was still taking pictures, when a teenage girl ran up, a leash in her hand.

“There you are, Eleanor! I’m so sorry! She just jumped out of the car and took off as soon as I opened the door. Eleanor, come!”

“No worries,” Bitty had said, holding the dog while her person clipped the leash to her collar. “We’re always happy to visit with a friendly puppy.”

Jack had been thinking about adopting a dog ever since, if only to see Bitty giggle so much. A dog that could go on runs with him, and keep Bitty company when Jack had to be gone … it might be a good idea. But it wasn’t something to surprise Bitty with. If they adopted a dog, it had to be a joint decision.

“That was just a dog that got loose and came to visit,” Jack said. “Although now that you mention it, I wonder if Bitty might like to have a dog around. I’ll have to ask him.”

“Judging from those pictures, I’m pretty certain he’ll approve,” Alicia said. “Now, did you need to talk about something?”

“Euh, the plans for my birthday?” Jack said. “Bitty wants to take you and Papa to Al Forno on the second, and then cook dinner here on the third.”

“Bitty wants to?” Alicia said. “What about you?”

“I’m not sure why we need to do both,” Jack admitted. “Either would be fine with me. But he seemed set on going out to celebrate because it’s my thirtieth, and a lot of restaurants are closed on Monday. And he was equally set on celebrating on the day of. But he has to work early the next day, so it’ll be an early dinner.”

“You never did like a lot of fuss,” his mother said, not calling him on what he thought was an obvious … not untruth, exactly, Maybe more of a manipulation? “Grumpypants. Of course your father and I will be there for both.”

“I don’t mind fuss,” Jack said.

“Jack, mon coeur, when have you enjoyed people getting together to focus on you?”

“They had a birthday dinner for me at the Haus,” Jack said. “Before my senior year. Bitty made a pie and everything.”

“Were you part of the planning for this dinner?” Alicia said. “Did you even know about it?”

“It just sort of … happened,” Jack said. “But it was nice.”

“Jack, dear, was that the first time Bitty made a pie especially for you?” his mother asked. “Forgive me, but that might have more to do with your fond memories.”

****

“Jack, what kind of pie do you want for your birthday?”

Bitty was sauntering between the farmer’s market booths while Jack trailed along, watching Bitty more than looking at the produce.

“Pie?” Jack asked. “Don’t most people get cake for their birthdays?”

“Do you even know me?” Bitty asked, then turned to examine at a table full of cherries.

Jack accompanied Bitty to the farmer’s market almost every Saturday in the summer. It was an errand, sure, but some weeks it was also the closest they got to a date.

Bitty would probably scoff at that. What did they need with dates, now they were an old married couple? Neither of their schedules permitted a regular date night most of the time, anyway. But in the summer, at least, they had Saturday mornings at the market.

“If you know me, you know what kind of pie I want,” Jack said.

“Maple-crusted apple,” Bitty confirmed, then shook his head sadly. “Have you seen these cherries, Jack? Or the blueberries? There will even be decent peaches up here by the beginning of August. Apples won’t be in season for another six weeks or so.”

It was a familiar argument with no heat in it.

Jack shrugged.

“I like what I like,” he said. “And there are always apples available. You know you’ll make it for me. And something else for whoever wants it.”

“See, you do know me,” Bitty said. He stopped in front of the booth with honey soap but paid it no mind. “Jack, are we becoming old and boring?”

“We always were old and boring,” Jack said. “From the beginning of time.”

“First, speak for yourself, old man,” Bitty said. “Second, I’m not sure whether that was a chirp or flirting. Don’t you know you had me at ‘Eat more protein’?”

“That’s not what you said then.”

“Hush,” Bitty said. “I mean, you don’t have to have the same thing for your birthday every year. Branch out a bit. Maybe a pear tart?”

“I wanted to do something different for your birthday, but then everyone went and told you,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “I would have gone along with it and pretended it was a surprise, but I had to get out of other plans somehow. And people did want to eat. Good food.”

“By which you mean your food,” Jack said.

“I like to think I have a reputation to uphold,” Bitty said, stopping to examine some melons. “Truthfully, I kind of wish I hadn’t found out. You give good surprises.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on, you moose. You know I would have married you after you bought me Betsy II,” Bitty said. “Too bad parties aren’t your thing. Could you imagine a party with all your mom’s A-list friends and your hockey uncles, plus your team and Kent and all? It would be the talk of Providence.”

Jack shuddered.

“Definitely not my thing,” he said.

“I know, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “Besides, celebrating on our own has its advantages. Catch.”

He tossed Jack an eggplant with a smirk

Jack groaned. “Really, Bits?”

“Sorry,” Bitty said. “That was bad. I have what I need. Ready to head home?”

****

Jack was set up and sitting at his computer, half-listening to Bitty going on about whether his deadlines for the next cookbook were remotely reasonable, when the call from Tater came through.

“Zimmboni!” The image of Tater on the screen waved. “Hey, Tater,” Jack said.

“Is that little B?”

Tater’s face moved, like he was trying to see around Jack.

“Yeah, Bitty’s here,” Jack said, waving a hand to get his husband’s attention. “You want to say hi?”

Bitty leaned over his shoulder.

“Hey, Tater! You look good. How’s the family?” he asked.

“Everyone is good,” Tater said. “My mother and my sister Tatiana want to visit this year, so they can meet the baker I’m always talking about.”

“I’d be honored and delighted,” Bitty said. “Don’t forget those recipes you wanted me to try, alright? We can work on them together. You translate and I bake.”

“You speak better Russian you think!” Tater said.

“That’s what you think,” Bitty said. “I have to go to the shop. ПοКа!”

“Bye, Bits,” Jack said. “So, Tater, how’s the conditioning? You keeping up with it?”

“Of course,” Tater said. “Russian training every day.”

“And Russian home cooking every night?”

“Of course,” Tater agreed, grinning.

“How’s everything else?” Jack said. “When are you heading back?”

“Not long now,” Tater said. “No plane ticket yet, but early August, probably. We have dinner then, yes? To celebrate you becoming an old man.”

“Uh, we can have dinner,” Jack said. “But it doesn’t have to be for my birthday. Just to celebrate getting ready for a new season is enough.”

“Why don’t you celebrate?” Tater said. “I hear from Marty, Snowy, Thirdy, all the guys, that Jack is having a big birthday and didn’t invite them to the party. I say, ‘You know Jack. He probably isn’t even having a party.’ And they say, ‘You’re right, Tater. Jack hates parties.’”

“I don’t hate parties,” Jack said.

“You were not at Marty’s daughter’s party,” Tater countered.

“That was a kid birthday,” Jack said. “And Bitty had to go to New York for work that day, so I went with him.”

“Right,” Tater said. “But Bitty would be here for your party.”

“I’m not having a party,” Jack said.

“But you could if you want,” Tater said. “So you don’t want. So why do you hate parties?”

Jack ignored the question in favor of saying, “Just let me know when you're coming in, and I’ll pick you up at the airport if you want,” Jack said. “As long as you shut up about the party.”

“What party?”

****

Jack put on the new blue suit that Maman and Bitty had agreed (insisted, more like) that he should buy. He hesitated over the tie: stripes? paisley? miniature hockey sticks that Papa would find amusing?

No. If he couldn’t be sentimental on his birthday, when could he be? He picked up his pale blue tie, the one Bits told him brought out his eyes on his graduation day, and slid it around his neck.

Bitty was already ready, he knew, in a charcoal grey suit that he got from Jack’s tailor. Getting to see Bitty all dressed up almost made it worth it to Jack to put on a suit on a Sunday in the summer. Well, that and the look that Bitty gave Jack when he emerged from the bedroom.

“You always did clean up nice,” Bitty said. He picked up two boxes of baked goods -- a pie in one, and a couple of kinds of cookies in the other.

“You’re taking food to a restaurant?”

“No, of course not,” Bitty said. “The cookies are for Lauren downstairs. She has a shower to go to and she wanted to bring something. They’re shaped like … you know.”

“Babies?”

“No, a bridal shower,” Bitty said. “A lingerie shower.”

At Jack’s blank look, Bitty muttered something under his breath and said, “A party where they give the bride-to-be sexy underwear and tell naughty jokes.”

“So the cookies look like underwear?” Jack said, all innocence.

“No, Jack,” Bitty said. “They look like dicks, okay?”

“What about the pie?”

“That’s for your mom and dad,” Bitty said. “We’re supposed to meet them at the hotel. They can drop the pie off in their room and then we’ll go to dinner.”

That meant going inside the hotel, probably. Which meant parking and then retrieving the car, and pleasantries in the hotel lobby, and …

“Are you sure we’ll make our reservation?” Jack asked. “I’d hate to get all dressed up for nothing.”

“Aw, sweetpea, I think I can guarantee that won’t happen,” Bitty said, reaching up to pat Jack’s face and give him a peck on the lips. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

Jack pulled up at the hotel valet stand, and when he got out, said, “We’ll only be a few minutes. Keep it close, eh?” with a twenty-dollar bill folded into his palm.

“Your folks said they’d meet us down here,” Bitty said, heading into the lobby. His head swiveled and stopped when he caught sight of Jack’s parents at the hotel bar. Both had drinks in front of them. Great. They’d want to finish, and there might be a bill to settle, too.

He followed as Bitty picked his way across the lobby, exchanged a half-hug with his father while his mother swept Bitty into her arms, and then traded places.

“Jack, you look wonderful,” Alicia said, finally letting go and holding him at arm’s length. “You both do. This summer has agreed with you.”

“Thanks, Maman,” Jack said. “You look great too. Um, are you two almost ready to go?”

“The pie, Jack!” Bitty said.

“Oh, and I have something upstairs to show you, Bitty,” Alicia said. “Come up with me and we can leave the pie in the room.”

“Fine,” Bob said. “That’ll give me time to watch the end of this round.”

Jack looked at the TVs above the bar. He couldn’t mean the golf tournament? Who knew what time that would end? But it was that or … competitive cornhole?

“Only a couple more tosses,” Bob confirmed. “If this one pushes that bag in, they’ve got it.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Jack said.

“Oh, come on, Jack, relax.” Bob said. “It’s fun. Sit down and tell me about your summer.”

“It’s been more Bitty’s summer than mine, with the shop and this new book he’s working on,” Jack said. “He’s been busy.”

“I remember those days,” Bob said. “When I’d finish the season so tired I didn’t know how I’d even haul myself upstairs to the bedroom, and by the time I was ready to face the world again, your mother would be on location on the other side of the world somewhere. I always wondered why our schedules couldn’t align.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Jack said.

“Of course not,” Bob said. “Any more than it was mine. Hockey season is hockey season, and filming schedules are filming schedules, and cute little shops on streets popular with tourists open during the summer.”

“No, I know,” Jack said. “I wasn’t complaining.”

He stopped at the look his father gave him.

“Okay, I was complaining, but not about Bitty,” Jack said. “Just the way things worked out this summer. I was thinking we could maybe have a party for my birthday this year --”

“You haven’t wanted a birthday party since you were eight!”

“Not a big party,” Jack said. “Just a few people. But Shitty’s in the middle of preparing for a big trial, and Lardo’s off being an artist in residence somewhere, and Tater’s not back yet. Bitty’s too busy to plan anything anyway, and no one would let me plan it.”

“Get it all out, son,” Bob said. “Before your mother and your husband get downstairs. Even if Bitty didn’t plan a party, he did plan this evening for you, and it doesn’t do to feel sorry for yourself on your birthday. Especially when you have someone who thinks the sun rises and sets on you like he does.”

“I know,” Jack said, then caught sight of the time on one of the TVs.

“Oh, no. We’re late for our reservation.”

“We’ll make it.”

“No, we’re late. Already. Maybe I should call them?”

He was picking up his phone when he saw Alicia, carrying a large shopping bag, and Bitty crossing the lobby from the elevator. Bitty was on the phone. Of course he had it handled.

Bitty did not have it handled.

He hadn’t said anything about the reservation to Jack on the way to Al Forno, just squeezed Jack’s hand on the console as they pulled away from the hotel.

“I really hope you enjoy tonight,” Bitty said.

They left the car with the restaurant valet and headed straight into trouble.

“Bittle-Zimmermann, party of four,” Bitty told the maitre d’. “We have reservations.”

The maitre d’ scanned his sheet, made a face, and looked up at Bitty.

“This reservation is for thirty minutes ago,” he said.

“I know,” Bitty said, “And I’m sorry we’re late.”

“Surely half an hour can’t be a problem,” Bob said, trying to shoulder his way into the conversation, folded bill just visible between his fingers. “We promise not to linger. It’s my son’s birthday.”

“Papa!” Jack hissed, tugging at his father’s sleeve like he was eight years old again. “Let Bitty handle it.”

“Yes, Bob,” Alicia said, drawing herself up to full height and looming over the desk. “My son-in-law, Eric Bittle-Zimmermann, has this under control.”

Jack took a moment to be pleased that his mother knew Eric’s name would have more clout than theirs in a restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” the maitre d’ said. “But we gave that table away not five minutes ago. We didn’t think you were going to show up.”

“We can wait for another table,” Bitty said.

“Not tonight,” the maitre d’ said, looking truly regretful. If Bitty had liked the dinner and mentioned it on his vlog, that would have been very good for the restaurant. “We have a large private party coming in. I’m afraid it won’t be possible.”

Bitty’s face fell and Jack’s heart clenched.

“It’s fine, bud,” Jack said. “We have the food for tomorrow at home. We can go make dinner, and then head to the store in the morning. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Bitty said. “It’s your birthday. I planned this dinner, and it’s my fault it got screwed up. Your mother wanted to show me your present and I got to rambling on … and why can’t I pay more attention? I’m sorry, Jack. I spoiled your birthday dinner.”

“Bitty, it’s okay, really,” Jack said.

“Perhaps next week?” the maitre d’ suggested.

“But then it won’t be Jack’s birthday anymore,” Bitty said.

“Perhaps the gentlemen would take a coupon for their next meal here?” the maitre d’ said. “For the inconvenience.”

“That’s not necessary,” Bitty said. “It was my fault.”

“I insist,” the maitre d’ said.

Jack took the offered envelope and slid it into his jacket pocket.

“Come on, Bits,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

He ducked closer and whispered, “At least we can get out of the suits, eh?”

“Jack!” Bitty said, giggling through his frown. “Your parents are here!”

“Not what I meant, bud,” Jack said, but he grinned, because he’d gotten a laugh from Bitty.

“Need anything before we go home?” Jack asked while they waited for the car. “Or do you want to just pick up dinner on the way?”

“I think we have all the food we need,” Bitty said. “Maybe a bottle of champagne? Shoot, no, it’s just after six.”

“Just after six?” Bob said.

“Rhode Island law,” Jack said. “No packaged liquor after 6 p.m. on Sundays.”

“So unless you want to drop me at home to get started and drive to Attleboro, a champagne toast will have to wait for tomorrow,” Bitty said.

“We don’t need champagne,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s head home.”

Jack drove again, Bitty in the passenger seat next to him, his parents in the back. It was completely normal, and that thought struck him as odd. Here he was, 30 years old tomorrow, married to Eric Bittle, the love of his life. His parents loved Eric, too, and were here to celebrate with them, and in a few weeks he’d be getting ready for training camp for next season. He wished his 18-year-old self could have seen this future. It was better than anything he’d ever expected.

He would have liked to celebrate with Shitty and Lardo, Tater, maybe Marty and Gabby and Thirdy and Carrie, but this was good, too. Better than he had any right to expect.

He stopped at a red light and glanced at Bitty, who was also looking at him, a sly grin on his face.

“What?” Jack said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s your birthday,” Bitty said.

“Not until tomorrow,” Jack said.

“You know what I mean.”

Jack took Bitty’s hand in the elevator when they got back to the building and held it for the whole ride up. He was still holding it when he got to the door and opened it.

He dropped it as the crowd shouted “Surprise!”

“What the --”

“Surprise, sweetpea,” Bitty said, reaching up to whisper to him. “You can still change out of your suit if you want.”

“Jackabelle!” Shitty was there to claim a hug. He wasn’t dressed in a suit, but he was dressed. Jack probably should thank Lardo for that. And there she was, hanging back, talking to Gabby.

So Marty was here somewhere -- by the pool table, talking to Tater while Snowy lined up a shot. Thirdy was in the corner, deep in conversation with Coach Bittle, and there were Suzanne and Carrie bringing more napkins in from the kitchen.

The island was covered with catering trays from … Al Forno, and Jack could see a maple-crusted apple pie among a selection on the kitchen counter. There was also a cake and some cake pops (for the kids? Were they here?) and it looked like someone (Shitty, probably) had been serving drinks from the bar. There was a bottle of champagne chilling.

Jack’s mother slipped past him to deposit the gift bag on the hall table with the other gifts.

“Happy birthday, Jacky,” she said. “When Bitty said our job was to help distract you, I wasn’t sure we could pull it off. I thought you might insist on leaving for the restaurant too early.”

“You were in on this?” Jack said.

“Everybody was,” Bitty said. “Even the maitre d’ at Al Forno.”

“But the gift certificate …”

“A gift from me to you,” Bitty said. “For when we can have dinner, just the two of us.”

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of conversations and congratulations. Marty and Thirdy’s kids were there, hiding in the guest room, watching gamers play Animal Crossing on YouTube and coloring, but they came out to help blow out his candles.

“What about your trial coming up?” Jack asked Shitty. “And your residency?” he asked Lardo.

“Those are both real,” Lardo said. “But a funny thing about being an artist in residence: They don’t lock you in. And Shits needed a break for a little while.”

Coach Bittle looked tickled to be sharing a room with so many professional athletes, and Suzanne helped Bitty shuttle food and dishes in and out of the kitchen.

“Told you they’d want to celebrate your birthday,” Bitty said. “They flew in this morning and Shitty picked them up at the airport. They were waiting around the corner for us to leave.”

“You do like parties!” Tater boomed at Jack before leaving. “I knew it! But it took your husband to invite me.”

“That’s because it was a surprise, Tater,” Bitty said. “Jack didn’t know.”

Once everyone was gone -- not too late, because it was a Sunday -- Jack helped Bitty stow the leftovers and wash the dishes.

“How’d you know?” he asked Bitty.

“Know what, hon?”

“That I wanted a party,” Jack said. “A surprise party.”

“Jack, sweet pea, you’ve been moping around this house for weeks,” Bitty said. “All woe-is-me because your friends were busy this weekend. Of course you wanted a party. And you wouldn’t have tried to plan a surprise party for me unless you at least didn’t hate the idea.”

“How did you do such a good job planning it?” Jack said. “I really didn’t know.”

“You don’t have a suspicious mind?” Bitty said. ”Now come on. It’s nearly midnight. Let’s get to bed and you can have another birthday surprise.”

****

Jack groaned when he opened his eyes the next morning. It was late, later than he usually slept anyway. But he’d been up late the night before.

He could hear Bitty in the kitchen, opening drawers and moving plates and cookware around. Coffee was ready, probably.

He got up, dragged a T-shirt over his head and tugged on a pair of shorts, and wandered down the hall.

“Morning, bud,” Jack said.

“Jack, happy birthday!” Bitty said. “Breakfast’s almost ready, and I put all the cards and gifts from last night on the table.”

Jack worked his way through them, shaking his head at Shitty’s selection of boxer briefs emblazoned with the logos of female superheroes and grateful for the small painting from Lardo. There were restaurant gift certificates and a tie from Papa (“You always wear that old blue one!”) and reading glasses from Marty.

Then he opened his mother’s gift. It was a flat box, and it held a red leather leash and collar, along with a gift certificate for adoption fees from the animal shelter.

The enclosed note said, “I think this will be a good gift for both of you, but of course I’m not about to surprise you with a puppy. Take your time deciding which dog to adopt. In the meantime, know that there was also a $10,000 donation in your name to help support all the animals.”

“Bits,” Jack said. “Did you have any plans this morning?”

“Nothing in particular,” Bitty said. “Maybe see my parents at some point. D’you mind if they come for dinner?”

“Of course not,” Jack said. “But do you think we could go to the animal shelter?”

#jack zimmermann turns 30 #zimbits #omg check please #omgcheckplease #my fic

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