An COD au for the series How I met your mother, the boys are civilian in this and live in London. Reader is described as plus sized Tw: Author only knows sh*t about London from vacation -------- James and Sophia sat on the couch in the living room, bantering about what they should watch today. It was usual for the kids to start World War III over TV privileges. Sophia won and settled for a romance movie. “Mom, how did you and Dad get married?” “It was the summer of 2021. Your Uncle John and Aunt Holly had finally gotten engaged. They were searching for their own apartment in London, which led me to move in with Johnny in a shoebox apartment in Ealing. He was working as a gym instructor at that time—hard to believe, I know—but he needed that extra money for his law studies. I was still working at the investment banking firm where I met Kyle. We spent most of our time at a pub in London called The Swan near Hammersmith.” “Are you getting to the point?” “It’s a long story, sweetheart.” “I wish I never asked.”--------- ---------------- Price and Holly had been all over each other since their engagement, his hands never leaving her hips, her lips never leaving his. You were glad for your best friend, but the urge to settle down yourself grew every day. That day, Simon came into the pub. You had never seen him before, but you were mesmerized instantly. He was the biggest man you had ever seen—bulky, handsome and dressed in a black turtleneck. “Bonnie, are you even listening?” Johnny complained, tugging on your arm as he always did when he tried to grab your attention. “That guy at the bar? I’m going to marry him and have a bunch of blonde-haired mini-versions of him,” you declared. He was the definition of your dream man. Kyle eyed Simon and smirked. “I can understand that. I’d f*ck him—both of you at the same time if you’d let me, babe.” That earned him a swat from Price. “You f*ck everything that has two legs and is above 21.” “If you look this good, it would be unfair to settle down.” “Yes, what would the girls do without a Kyle Garrick by their side?” Holly replied sarcastically. Holly and you had known each other for ages, even before her transition. You were there for her during the hardest time of her life, supporting her when her parents kicked her out. You found a small apartment in Brent and moved in with her. One day, Mrs. Miller from downstairs forgot to take out her roast, and the apartment complex was engulfed in flames. You thought it was over, but that’s when you met John Price. He was very new to firefighting then—not the imposing captain he is now. He was just John. “I think everything will be better now,” Holly said, and she was right. She got together with John a few weeks later. As for you, you met Johnny in college. You were hurrying down the stairs when you ran into him. You were ready to hear, “Watch where you’re going, cow,” but instead, he helped you up, and just like that, you became inseparable. Johnny and you spent every day together—shopping, studying for exams, cooking. You even held his hand when he got his nipples pierced, and he was there when you got that terrible UTI from a one-night stand. At one point, you were sure John MacTavish was your soulmate, but you were content with being his platonic soulmate, playing the role of the funny friend. You motivated him to go to law school even when no one believed he could do it with his ADHD. Johnny had his first internship at the investment banking firm where you got your job in HR. Everything was perfect, and then you met Kyle. Kyle could be a supermodel. He won the genetic lottery many times over—he had the prettiest face, a perfect muscular body, and, according to half the office, the biggest dick you could wish for. Despite the odds that he would even notice you, he spent every lunch with you and became one of your best friends, much to Johnny's chagrin. “He’s not that good-looking, Bonnie. You deserve better.” “Are you blind?” Even John could appreciate a handsome man when he saw one, and the blonde, scarred guy was beautiful. “He’d probably crush you. He looks like the type who’d f*ck you and never call you back,” Johnny protested. He knew what he said was unfair, but he just wanted to protect you. “Are you implying I’m only good for one night, John Callan MacTavish?” “Full name, Johnny—you better run.” John laughed as if you weren’t close to telling Kyle that Johnny’s middle name was William. Kyle had offered you £1,000 for John’s middle name. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, Bonnie. He’s just not good enough.” “I can decide that for myself, Johnny.” “Before you start World War III, maybe find out if he’s actually single,” Holly suggested, and she was right. So you looked at Kyle with puppy eyes. “Don’t worry, babes. I’ll handle it.” Kyle was the perfect wingman, though Johnny always declined his offers. “Hey, mate, mind if I actually sit down?” Kyle asked, not waiting for Simon’s reply and already sitting down. Simon only replied with a gruff hello, not in the mood for the overly cheerful man. He was here because he had to be. His brother’s wife had organized a blind date for him. He had half a mind to stand her up but didn’t want to disappoint Beth. “So, you’re waiting for someone?” “I missed the part where this is your business.” “So, no date? Single?” “I have a blind date.” “What’s her name?” Simon just stared at him. If he left now, he could watch the Manchester game against Tottenham. “I’m just asking because my friend has a blind date and wasn’t sure if it’s you.” Simon could detect a lie from a mile away, but he was interested in where this was going, so he lied, “Rachel.” “Oh, that’s great. I’ll show you, Rachel.” f*cking liar, Simon thought, but then he saw you. “f*ckin’ hell,” he muttered as he stood up, walking towards you. His blind date was forgotten—sorry, Beth—but you were exactly his type, shorter than him with the right amount of curves. You had a beautiful smile and a face that almost made him forget about your soft chest that pushed against your shirt and the belly pouch he wanted to grab as he rutted inside of you. Concentrate, Simon. He extended his hand, and you shook it, looking at him with big eyes. “Hi,” you said, your breath almost stuck in your throat. His smirk grew wider, noticing the effect he had on you. “Simon.” “Simon?” “Simon.” You wanted to punch yourself for being so awkward, but all the confidence left your body. You wanted to run back to Johnny and beg him for help, but if you had looked back, you would only see anger in his baby-blue eyes. “Let’s go to the restaurant. I have a reservation.” You looked confused but only nodded. How did he have a reservation if he didn’t even know you four minutes ago? But that’s a question for another day. The Italian restaurant was beautiful, far from the tourists. It looked authentic, and the staff was overly nice. “So, what do you do, Simon?” you asked, pushing your fork into the pasta. “I was a lieutenant in the army but got discharged. I’m doing tattoos now.” His voice sounded gruff, and you weren’t sure if it was just his voice or if he was annoyed by you. You didn’t even know what major lies Kyle had told him about you—hopefully not something like the time, he told a girl he was Lewis Hamilton. He did look like him, though. “Do you have many tattoos yourself?” Curiosity piqued, you couldn’t see much behind his long black pants and the turtleneck. The only evident body modification was the piercing on his tongue you noticed. He pulled his sleeves up, revealing tattooed sleeves covering some scars. You wouldn’t have noticed them if your manicured finger hadn’t instinctively traced the fine lines of the beautiful artwork. “You like them?” “Yes, a lot.” “I have a few more.” “How many is a few?” You didn’t have the guts to ask where. “About 23. Do you have any?” You remembered how you wanted to get one the day Johnny got his piercing, but you chickened out as usual. “I’m afraid of needles.” “It only hurts like this,” he replied, tracing the outline of his jewelry on your skin, giving you goosebumps and shivers. Embarrassing—you were acting like a schoolgirl because an overly handsome man gave you attention. “Tell me what you do for a living, love.” You didn’t have a cool job like him or John, a well-paid one like Kyle’s, or as sexy as Johnny’s. “I’m just an HR coordinator.” “Leave the ‘just’ out of that sentence.” The server rolled out a TV, starting the Premier League game. You desperately wanted to watch it—oh god, you promised Johnny you’d watch it. “What’s so interesting there?” He looked around. “Into football?” His caramel-colored eyes lit up, and he seemed smitten. “Yes, I love Tottenham.” “Do you want to send me to an early grave? My date is a Tottenham fan?” “Hey, they’re good! Are you a Manchester fan?” “Of course, born and bred there.” “Tottenham will win.” “In your dreams.” You watched the game in anticipation, screaming your lungs out when Tottenham scored. Even if he wanted to be disgusted, he could get used to this—a soft little thing watching football with him. Maybe he’d even get lucky today. He still needed to work on your taste, though. You walked outside the restaurant, too distracted by cheering and laughing to notice his big hands around your waist as he walked with you towards his apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was above his shop in Camden. “We’ll win next time,” he said, his thumb kneading the flesh of your hip. “Sure you will.” He stopped at an ice cream shop next to his apartment. “What’s your favorite?” “Honeydew melon.” “You’re f*cking with me, right?” “What’s wrong?” “Say something normal like strawberry.” He laughed, flicking his thumb over your lips. You automatically parted them and stopped pouting at his ice cream insult. He ordered your ridiculous ice cream choice and for himself, dark chocolate ice. “Want to try?” “No.” You licked the ice as some of the remaining cream stayed on your lips. “Not even now?” “Cheeky little minx.” His burly hands cupped your full cheeks as he placed his lips hungrily on yours. He could curse that you were right again—the ice cream was delicious. His hands drifted down to your hips, groaning as they filled his big hands. He wanted more, needed more, so he pushed you against the wall, placing his hand behind your back to protect you from the cold. The kiss was perfect, but when you felt his way too big bulge against your stomach, overthinking thoughts bombarded you. You didn’t shave, what if he didn’t like your body, you had on a pink thong and a grandma bra, what if he was a serial killer? You panicked, and before Simon could address your panic, you were already running to the next tube station. “That’s a first,” he muttered. You walked inside, finding Johnny half-naked as usual on the couch, glaring at you. “You missed the match.” “I’m sorry, Johnny. I’m an idiot.” “You ran away again?” “Mhm.” He sighed as he walked to the fridge, his six-pack glistening with sweat, probably from a workout. You should be used to that sight after six years, but it still made you breathless. “Got a tub of honeydew ice cream and vinegar crisps.” You planted yourself on the small couch and dipped the crisps in the ice as Johnny listened to everything you had to say.
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