#Boston loft hotel

[gaytravelinfo]

The Revolution Hotel - Boston, MA

ONE OF A KIND urban boutique hotel celebrating Boston’s revolutionary spirit. The Revolution Hotel is inspired by the great city of Boston and the innovative spirit of its people. They are one of a kind and don’t take no for an answer. Breaking the norm is The Revolution Hotel’s norm and it starts when you walk through their doors. The hotel’s lobby bleeds Boston with a 65ft masterwork in spray…

[thatrickmcginnis]

SAM RIVERS, Toronto 1989

That Sam Rivers was born just over a hundred years ago is a reminder that the avant-garde tradition in jazz is an old one. The son of a gospel singer, the Oklahoma-born Rivers moved to Boston where he studied at the Conservatory, which helped build his command of music theory and composition that would make him stand out in his career. Briefly a member of Miles' Davis legendary quintet, he recorded his first album for Blue Note Records in 1964, working as a sideman on albums by Blue Note artists such as Tony Williams, Andrew Hill and Larry Young. His work would often straddle bebop and free jazz, and he would perform and record with influential artists such as Anthony Braxton, Dave Holland and Cecil Taylor. In the '70s he and his wife Beatrice opened their NYC loft to performances, and Studio Rivbea became the most famous of the venues in the city's "loft scene".

I met and photographed saxophonist and flautist Sam Rivers when he came through town with Dizzy Gillespie's Big Band - the trumpeter hadn't been part of the jazz avant-garde for many years, but he frequently hired musicians like Rivers for his band. (Latin jazz trumpet star Arturo Sandoval was also in Gillespie's band when I saw them at Berlin, a club in midtown Toronto.) The perk with playing with Gillespie is that touring conditions were more than decent, and after I talked Rivers into doing a shoot with me, he told me to meet him at the old Sutton Place, a luxury hotel downtown where I did a lot of shooting, as it was the home of the film festival and frequently used to put up big stars by the movie and record companies.

I found a decent spot for my shoot with Sam Rivers in the mezzanine lobby of the Sutton Place, where an antique couch had been placed in front of a big tapestry. (The spot would become a favorite one for shoots.) The light wasn't brilliant but I put high speed Kodak film in my camera and managed to elicit a good range of expressions from Rivers as I coaxed him through our brief but - in hindsight - very productive portrait session. My live photos of Rivers playing in Dizzy Gillespie's band weren't as successful, as the spotlights were mostly on Dizzy and Rivers stuck to his spot downstage from the bebop star. Rivers and his wife moved their Studio Rivbea performing space to Florida in the '90s, where he was able to put together a larger band, and his private recordings have been mined to produce a series of records documenting his work at Studio Rivbea. Sam Rivers died of pneumonia in Florida in December of 2011.

[creatiview]

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[fizzycherrycola]

Any headcanons about how many homes America and Canada have?

Yes! They have many homes.

⭐ America ⭐

In New York City, America spent decades jumping from place to place. As the city grew, he moved from a house in Manhattan, to a Brooklyn apartment, to a flat in Queens, etc. Now, despite his best efforts, his current apartment is just a box with an AC unit sticking out the window. He wishes he could have a nicer place in NYC, but the market is too hot even for him.

In Los Angeles, he managed to snag a gorgeous Santa Monica house in the early Hollywood days before prices exploded into the stratosphere. Just a short walk to the Pacific ocean, he never sold it and it’s worth its weight in gold by now.

His spot in Washington D.C. is the one he most uses; a stately, historical home that would probably be turned into a small museum if he ever decides to sell it (but he never will). Sometimes, the place can get a bit messy, with papers, file folders, and take-out containers scattered about, but he’ll tidy up when company is coming.

A farm in Ohio that has seen better days. In the early 20th century, he used the barn as a workshop to tinker with automobiles and flying machines. As a result, the barn is quite damaged, but America won’t repair it. He thinks the oil stains “add character”.

A lively hotel in Louisiana with a restaurant on the first floor. Yes, he owns the whole thing. It’s been managed by humans for generations within the same family. They cook massive Creole feasts whenever America drops by.

America doesn’t seek solitude often, but when he does, he goes to his mountain home in Colorado.

He stubbornly hangs onto his Texas ranch even though he doesn't raise cattle anymore.

Once he owned a beachfront property in Florida, but sold it after the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Unfortunately, through no fault of his own, his childhood home in Boston caught fire after the Revolution and burnt down. The land it was on is now a popular public park with swing sets, monkey bars, and a huge curly slide. Many local children say it’s their favourite park in the city.

There are many more, of course, but those are some of his standout homes.

🍁 Canada 🍁

Of all his homes, Canada stays at his Ottawa house most often. The backyard is filled with a rainbow of tulips and it’s within cycling distance to Parliament Hill. He keeps several pairs of ice skates for himself and whoever visits during the winter, so they can go skating over the frozen Rideau Canal.

Canada’s Toronto flat is the most modern-looking of his dwellings, but that isn’t saying much. It’s an industrial loft with mismatched furniture still stuck in the 1980s. It really isn’t his favourite place, but he likes the view of the skyline at sunset.

One of his childhood homes is still standing; a humble, stonework Montreal house. It’s been restored by historical societies; fresh paint on the door, a tidy lawn, and black soot swept away. He made an arrangement to lease it as a museum, but has the opportunity to return and stay there whenever he chooses.

There’s a ramshackle log cabin he built himself in Algonquin park, many years before it was designated as parkland. To quote my NedCan fic: “... a stone base decorated in moss. Turn-of-the-century windows and an amber-stained porch pleasantly frame the main door, while the modernized roof and chimney stack create a mishmash of different eras... like a favourite worn blanket; too beloved to be discarded, and so instead is repeatedly patched.”

On the east coast, he has a home in Halifax proper. Sadly, his original was destroyed in the Halifax Explosion and was rebuilt to the standards of the 1920s. He misses his older house, because it was where Scotland would visit during his childhood.

In St. John’s, he has a very colourful building, painted bright red with white window frames and small gardens in both the front and back.

A simple, suburban bungalow in Red Deer, Alberta. Perfect for business and relaxation, because it’s halfway between both Edmonton and Calgary and keeps the Rocky Mountains within reach. Piles of hiking gear are stored in the attic, basement, and the garage. When he can spare the time, he’ll drive out to the Rockies for weeks of camping, climbing, hiking, or skiing.

His British Columbia home is surrounded by old-growth trees.

Overall, Canada tries to have at least one home in each of his provinces and territories. If, at the time of travel, he doesn’t, he'll try to lodge in a wildlife research centre. The scientists, who usually work for the government, don’t mind his presence at all.

Thank you for the ask!! 💜

[apiratewhopines]

Double Dealing

Chapter 5/22 (updating daily)

Story Summary: When his brother’s best friend calls in desperate need of help, mercenary Killian Jones will stop at nothing to save the woman from his old enemy. Flying halfway across the world to meet Emma Swan was all part of the plan, falling for her not so much.

Between deadly inventions, criminal masterminds, and his feelings, he soon realizes he may be in over his head.

That’s just the way he likes it, really.

Rating: M

Thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper for reading this over and making it better!

“So go ahead and tell me lies

I wanna hear”

-Beautiful Liar, X Ambassadors

Emma collapsed back against her front door the second she made it into her apartment. Indulging herself, she groaned for a full ten seconds before pushing off the flat surface hard enough to propel into the galley kitchen directly off the entrance.

Killian Rogers would be the death of her.

The evening had not gone according to plan. For one thing, her sexy new client hadn’t been joking when he said they would hunt down his cousin together. She had pictured a civilized exchange of information, a few professional ride-alongs, maybe a low-key interrogation or two. The point was he would feel like he was an integral part of the arrangement, but she would do most of the heavy lifting far from his flirty smile and haunting eyes.

Unfortunately, Rogers had other ideas that included invading her space, getting under her skin, and making her want things she usually found in dive bars. Even the way the man used chopsticks made her all hot and bothered.

She had told him to wait in the loft, but she should have known better than to think he would actually listen. The worst part was that if he had, she would probably still be lying in a cold alleyway trying to regain control of her muscles.

When she cornered Henry, she had done her best to be non-threatening, consolatory even. Emma remembered exactly what it felt like to be alone when the darkness settled over the city like a blindfold. She knew what horrors caused the cagey look in the young man’s eyes. So she probably shouldn’t have been surprised when the kid pulled out a taser he likely had no clue how to use. Torn between completing the job and possibly hurting the kid, she had frozen in a rare moment of indecision.

Cue the handsome stranger who had a talent for showing up out of the blue. With a motion so fluid it should be illegal, he had Henry disarmed without harming a hair on the boy’s head. He had hung around, engaging the kid in whispered conversation until his caseworker and a nearby patrol showed up. She had no idea what they talked about. Still, she felt herself softening when she saw Henry give the older man a small smile as he was handed into the passenger side of the police car.

Of course, he tried to play off his part in their little adventure, teasing her that she would have to split the bounty with him, an idle threat seeing as she took the case pro bono. It was the warm admiration creeping into his gaze, a look of thorough understanding like he actually saw all the way to the depths of her soul, that had her brushing him off and retreating to her place as quickly as her terrified feet would take her.

She wasn’t even sure how Killian would make it back to his hotel.

Shaking away her worry—because any man who could move like a ghost shouldn’t have any trouble finding his way home—she poured some milk into her only saucepan to warm it on the stovetop. It had been cold out there tonight, and her bruised ego and aching head could use some hot chocolate.

With Henry back where he belonged, she could devote her entire schedule to finding Mrs. Belle Gold. Anyone who lived in Boston had heard of the Golds, a mixture of praise and censure split into two parts for the widely different spouses. She had to admit her attention had always been drawn to the darker side of the couple, the infamous Mr. Gold.

Grabbing her ancient laptop from the coffee table in her living room, she absentmindedly stirred some cocoa powder and sugar into her warm milk with one hand. The other scrolled through search results for Belle. As she expected, the images of the brilliant inventor matched the brief glimpse she had of the laughing woman on Killian’s cell phone. Since her arrival in town a couple of years ago, the younger woman had done wonders for the Gold family image. An image that at best was tarnished by cutthroat business deals and at worse was tinged with scandals and whispers of criminal activities.

It seemed Belle was destined for sainthood, though. Winner of numerous scientific and humanitarian awards, she led the R&D team at Olympus Enterprises. She secured enough patents during her time there to make the Golds rich for several lifetimes. Various photos of the woman in evening gowns and lab coats loaded on her screen, even some of her at a local group home teaching kids how to code and launch their own video games. Her work with underprivileged youth had earned her as many accolades as her professional accomplishments.

Several minutes of digging while sipping her drink had yet to unearth anything of use in the way of personal information on the missing woman. If she had a private email or phone number, neither one was used to establish any online accounts or apps. Bank accounts all seemed to be joint in nature. Though she wasn’t opposed to tiptoeing through Gold’s finances, she would need someone far better at finding a way around the security measures to get anything useful.

Having struck out on all the usual searches, she settled onto her couch and started her secondary ones. Going with the assumption that Belle was a woman fleeing rather than a murder victim, she expanded her net. Women escaping bad relationships typically had some cash hidden away and a go-bag ready. That would mean she could have lasted a few days without stopping for basic necessities.

It would be worth canvassing the area around Gold Towers and the swanky neighborhood where the Golds lived to see if any local shop owners had seen her since the call she made to her family. She would also float a description of the late model sedan registered under Belle’s name to her contacts to see if anyone had noticed anything.

Satisfied she had a plan of action for the morning, her feet encountered the waxy plastic of the FedEx envelope she had been toting around all day as she shifted on the couch. Remembering the way Killian had rolled it up and stuck it in his back pocket made her feel flushed as she pulled it out from under her foot and examined it.

Jewel of the Realm was not a name she was familiar with. At first, she thought it was an online order she didn’t remember making. However, all her personal packages came straight to her apartment. She was strangely reluctant to open the thing, some flash of intuition telling her once she did, there would be no going back.

Instead, she typed the sender information in her search bar. She was treated to a bevy of news articles and a website that showed the business had been closed years ago. The owner of record was Liam Jones, an elusive man who must have taken advantage of European privacy laws to bury any images of himself. After several minutes of going through the results, she was no closer to figuring out why they would have sent her a package. All in all, it seemed like a legit, though now defunct, company specializing in global logistics.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Read the rest on AO3

@teamhook @jrob64 @kmomof4 @klynn-stormz @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @tiganasummertree

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

[atlafan]

Office Neighbors - Part Twelve

a/n: a lot going on, but a happy time all around, enjoy! (reblogs and feedback are super helpful!) not proofread, sorry!

warnings: angst, fluff, smut...the word “homo” is used negatively. If that makes you uncomfortable, then please don’t read, or skip over that scene, you’ll be able to tell it’s coming. 

words: 16K

masterpost

Harry made love to you, quickly, before Andy got home. You both were just getting yourselves cleaned up when you heard the front door open and close.

“Hello?! I thought you guys were going to the pub.” Andy says and you both hustle out of the bedroom. “Did you say yes?”

“I said yes!”

Andy beams at the two of you and rushes over to give you both a hug.

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks, buddy, thought we all could go out and celebrate together.” Harry says. “Wanna go wash up?”

“Yeah!”

The three of you all go to the Thai place for dinner, and then head home to enjoy the ice cream cake. You were beyond excited, and you promised yourself you’d call everyone tomorrow to give them the good news.

“When are you gonna tell Mum?” Andy asks Harry with a mouth full of cake.

“Um, m’not sure yet. I’d like to tell my own mum first.” Harry chuckles. “I’ll have to FaceTime her when I first get up tomorrow.”

“I’m sure we’ll tell your mom soon, Andy.” You smile at him.

“What kind of wedding do you wanan have?”

“Small.” You and Harry say at the same time.

“Just close friends and immediate family.” Harry says.

“I thought girls liked big weddings, though?”

“Not all girls.” You laugh. “I think it’s more special when it’s intimate. When you have giant weddings you care more about making everyone coming happy when the days is supposed to be about you and your partner.”

“What did Phil and Julian do?” Andy asks.

“Oh, they’re not married. They’re in a civil union. They were rings, but they’re not married.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “It just wasn’t something they wanted to do. Not everyone needs to get married. I think it depends on your values and stuff. Your dad and I both really like the idea of marriage, so we’re getting married.” You smile.

Andy nods and continues on with his cake. Later on, after Andy goes to bed, you and Harry find yourselves having a little make out session in bed. You were straddling him, and he had his arms wrapped around you.

“Can I ask you something?” You breathe.

“Yeah.”

“I love the ring, I really do, but…” You bite your bottom lip.

“But what?”

“I just wasn’t expecting it to be so big.”

“That’s what she said.” He bursts out laughing and you roll your eyes with a sigh. “Sorry, I had to.” He strokes your cheek. “I figured that since we won’t be spending a lot on a big weeding that I could go a little extra on the ring.” He pecks your now swollen lips. “I thought you deserved a nice, big rock to go along with my nice, big co-“

“If you finish that sentence I swear to god I will pack up and leave.” Harry laughs and grins at you. “You’re in a goofy mood tonight.” You run a hand through his hair.

“I’m giddy, babe.” He kisses you again. “I’ve never had a fiancé before.”

“Hmm, me neither.” You smirk.

“Look at us, having a real first together.” He boops your nose and you can’t help but giggle. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

You lean back in and lightly bite down on his bottom lip. You suck on it before licking into his mouth. He squeezes your hips before sliding his hands to your ass. One of his hands traces around your stomach and inside your leggings. He tugs on the band of your panties and slips his hand inside there as well. You grunt against his lips, but let him continue. His fingers slide between your folds, and you tug at his hair.

“Sure you’re not too tired for this? You’ve had a long day…” He says as he looks up at you, still feeling around.

“Yes.” You groan. “Then when we’re done I’ll be about ready to pass out.”

“Okay.” He cranes his neck to kiss you, and he slides two fingers inside you.

You gasp into his mouth from the feeling. He drags his fingers in and out of you slowly and rub his thumb over your clit. You rock your hips back and forth at the same pace as his fingers. You grip at his shoulders as it becomes more intense.

“Put one of your hands back in my hair, babe.” He grunts. You were soaking his fingers and he was trying to not lose it in his pants.

You do as he says and get a good grip on his locks and he moans softly. You press your lips back to his, not wanting to be too loud, and continue to ride his fingers. He curls them up and pets them against your front wall and you gasp again. You continue to moan into each other’s mouths as you get closer to your breaking point. The hand you have on his shoulder slides down his torso, and you tug on his jeans.

“No, it’s okay.” He tells you. “This is just about you, Y/N.”

“But it’s gonna hurt if I don’t.” You whimper.

“It’s fine, baby, just wanna get you off.”

He bites your bottom lip and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You come around his fingers and ride out the shocks. He slowly removes his hand from you and he sucks his fingers into his mouth as you catch your breath.

“Harry, are you sure you don’t want me to-“

“No, sweetheart.” He pecks your lips. “You were gone for so long, just missed you.”

You kiss him again and get off of him to go clean yourself up. Truth be told, even if Harry had let you rub and tug at him, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come. He was fine earlier, but the conversation during cake was distracting him. How was he going to tell Paige has engaged, and more importantly, how was he going to tell her she wasn’t invited?

//

Harry had sworn Andy to secrecy. He explained he wanted Paige to find out from him. Anne and Gemma were overjoyed with the news, as were your family and friends. You sent them all pictures. You even had Andy take a few pictures of you and Harry together in the backyard as a makeshift engagement shoot, it was fun. Andy blew bubbles to add some aesthetically pleasing effects.

“I swear if he doesn’t go to a college for art, it would be a damn shame.” You say as you look through the pictures. “Might post this one on my insta.” You show Harry a photo of you and him, he was holding you from behind and you both had big smiles on your face.

“Whatever you want, babe.” He kisses your cheek.

“So, there’s something I wanna run by you…” Andy was over at Caroline’s today so it was the perfect time to chat about wedding stuff. You were outside with him as he was gardening.

You enjoyed sitting in a chair while he would tend to the flowers. He always looked so cute with his bucket hat and tools.

“What’s up?” He says, turning to look at you. He takes his hat off and wipes some sweat from his forehead.

“How long do you wanna wait to actually get married? I mean…there’s not rush, but I don’t know if I wanna wait that long.” You look down at your lap and twiddle your thumbs. “I’m one-hundred percent sure about us…”

“So am I.” He scoots over to sit in front of you and he takes your hands in his. “Wouldn’t have proposed if I wasn’t. I just figured we’d be engaged for a while so we weren’t planning while you were working. This is a big year for you.”

“I know…but planning a wedding could be a good distraction for me. It’s like you’re always saying, I probably don’t have a great work-life balance. I could carve out time to work on both.”

“Alright, when are you thinking, then? This spring?”

“I was actually sort of thinking later this fall.” You mumble and look at him. His eyes widen and his mouth suddenly feels dry. “Like beginning of November? I was thinking maybe we could have a really small ceremony at the Boston Commons, and then Julian mentioned on the phone he could get us a deal at the hotel. It would be perfect for your family and whatever friends you’d want to have fly in. He said we could use one of the smaller function rooms for the reception. It’s still warm enough in Boston in November to be able to do something outside too.”

“Would…would just a couple of months be enough time for you to get an outfit together. I know you said you weren’t sure if you wanted to wear a dress, but fittings take time regardless.”

“Honestly, I was thinking of just taking a trip down to Macy’s with Nora and looking at some stuff there. I might wear a dress, but if I see a pantsuit I like I may go for that. I’ll wear white still, I think, I don’t really like the blushes or the peaches…” You try to read his face, which could be very difficult sometimes. “Are you having an internal freak out? Is this all too soon for you?”

“No, not at all…um, people just might think you’re, uh, pregnant since we’re rushing a little.” He swallows. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What? No, I would tell you if I was, babe.” He nods at that. “I just, I mean, it’s nice to be your fiancé, I just can’t wait to be your wife, that’s all.”

His features completely soften. He felt like a puddle of mush. He was so fucking in love with you, and that love, for the first time in his life, was actually being reciprocated. Truth be told, he’d take you right to the courthouse now if he could. He definitely didn’t want a long engagement, he just didn’t want to add to your stress. He stands up and cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

“But you’re gardening.”

“I’ll get back to it in a minute. Let’s go grab my planner and see what weekend could work best in November.”

“You’re serious?!” You nearly squeal as you stand up.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I wanna be your husband as soon as possible too.”

You wrap your arms around Harry’s neck, and he hugs you back briefly before you go inside. He grabs his planner from up in the loft and you both go into the kitchen to sit at the table to look at it.

“Here.” He taps on a date. “November 6th…”

“Oh, and it’s a Saturday, that’d be perfect, baby.”

“You really wanna get this all together by then? It’s gonna be a lot.”

“Julian’s got my back with the hotel, and Phil said his restaurant could cater the buffet. We’ll save a ton of money. Also, Mark’s part-time job is a DJ, so music is covered too. We just need to get your family here, essentially.”

“What about a honeymoon? Do you wanna take a trip or something?”

“Andy usually goes to Paige’s for Thanksgiving, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So what if we just take that entire week off? We could go somewhere warm if you wanted…or, I mean…I’m sure I’ll be spending the holidays in London with you, we could go on a trip then?”

“No, that’s a family thing, and yeah, you’re definitely coming.” He ponders for a moment. “I think a trip during Thanksgiving week could be fun, actually. You won’t miss your family?”

“I mean, I will, but we’ll see them at the wedding.” You shrug. “I’d much rather take a little vacation with you.”

“Where would wanna go?”

“On a gigantic level if money was no object? I’ve always wanted to go to Greece, but I know that would be tough to swing, especially on such short notice…”

“Hmm.” He puckers his lips in thought. “Yeah, that’s something we should really plan out…maybe we could save that trip for another special time.” You nod at him. “Somewhere warm…oh! What about Florida? That’s a perfect time of year to go, and hurricane season will be over. We could go to Miami or something.”

“I’ve never been to Miami! That would be a lot of fun, there’s so much to do there.”

“Alright, it’s settled then.” He slaps his hand down on his planner playfully. “We’ll get married in on the 6th, and then we’ll go on our honeymoon during Thanksgiving. I’m a master at planning flights, so let me take care of that, yeah? If Phil could get us a menu or something I’d like to do a tasting…”

“Agreed.” You were smiling ear to ear. “Oh my god, we just set a date!” You squeal and throw your arms around him. “I love you.” You kiss him. “I love you so much.” You kiss him again.

“I love you too, baby.” He kisses you. “Now, let me go back to tending to my flowers, I’ll be pissed if my roses get fucked up.”

He gets up and you can’t help but giggle at him.

//

It was time for the annual back to school shopping trip. You stayed back since it was a tradition for Andy to go with just his parents. You didn’t mind. Andy not only needed new school supplies, but he needed some new clothes as well. He had grown another few inches over the summer. His doctor thinks he’s going to be about six feet by the time he’s a sophomore in high school. Harry and Paige decide to meet up at Old Navy for the shopping spree.

“Okay, Mum and I are going to hang by the changing rooms. You can go around the store on your own, look for sales, and then you will try on the clothes for us.” Harry says firmly.

“Fine, but no coming into the room with me.” Andy mutters. “It’s embarrassing.” His voice cracks slightly and then he clears his throat.

“So you want me to tug on your jeans out in the open? Alright.” Paige shrugs.

Andy makes an exasperated noise and walks away, making Harry and Paige laugh. The two make their way to go sit at the chairs outside the changing rooms.

“I’m surprised you’re not looking around yourself.” Harry says to her.

“I have plenty of clothes.” She chuckles.

“Listen, uh, while he’s busy looking at clothes, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He takes out his phone and shows Paige his lock screen, which was now a picture of you two kissing, and you were cupping Harry’s cheek with your left hand to showcase the ring. Andy had given you about two seconds to stage the photo.

“Um…why are you showing me a picture of you two kissing?”

“Look closer, at her hand.” He sighs.

Paige squints and then gasps, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Oh! You…you proposed to her already? That’s great! Congratulations.” She moves to hug him, but he shakes his head no.

“We’re in public.” He mumbles. “Anyways, yeah, we’re engaged now.”

“That’s incredible, I’m really happy for you.” She gives him a sincere smile. “Andy knows?”

“Yeah.”

“When did you do it?”

“A week or so ago.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“No offense, but you weren’t exactly top of my list of people to tell immediately. I was waiting until I saw you for this. We’ve been busy figuring things out. What Andy doesn’t know is that we’ve set a date already. We plan to tell him later. We wanted to make sure everything could happen where we want it before we started telling people.”

“Holy shit, you already set a date?” She puffs out some air from her lips. “Well, that’s great. When is it? I’ll put it in my phone now.”

“You don’t need to do that.” He puts his hand over hers to stop her from taking her phone out. “We’re keeping it really small.”

“So?”

“So…immediate family and close friends only at the ceremony and then a few extra friends at the ceremony.” She gives him a confused look. “You…you’re not invited.”

Before she has a chance to react Andy comes over holding a pile of clothes.

“Do I need to try every little thing on? Or is one outfit okay?”

“One, um, one outfit’s fine.” Paige says. “Go on.”

“Mum, are you okay, you look pale?”

“The, uh, leather from the shoe section is wafting over here and it’s giving me a headache. I’m fine, baby, go try your things on.” They watch Andy go into the dressing room, and she turns to look at Harry. “Alright, run that by me again.”

“You heard me the first time.” He says quietly. “You may have wanted me at yours, but I don’t want you at mine. Do you know how embarrassing it was to be put at the old college buddy table?”

“I thought you’d feel more comfortable there! Where did you want me to put you?”

“How about with my son?!”

“Okay.” Andy says coming out in a tee shirt and jeans. “Tug away if you must. They fit really well, though.” Paige huffs and stands up to check out the clothes. She tugs on the waist of Andy’s jeans and nods. “Can we go to the shoe store after? I was thinking I could get some boots for fall.”

“What kind of boots?” Paige asks. “You have two sets of snow boots, and rain boots already.”

“Like…like the boots Dad wears.”

“I can order you some online, I get them from a shop in London.” Harry says. “I like this outfit on you, go ahead and change and then we can check out.”

“I don’t know why you thought now would be a good time to bring this up to me.” She says. “You’re really hurting my feelings, Har.” She says quietly as Andy goes to change.

“I knew I’d be seeing you.” He shrugs. “I…I can’t keep doing this with you.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending like we’re best friends who hooked up once and accidentally got pregnant. We were in a relationship for two years, and then you decided to walk away. Fine. We see each other and do this co-parenting for Andy. I feel like I leaned on you for a long time because you were around, but I have someone else in my life now to fill the hole you created.” He runs a hand through his hair and blinks a couple of tears away. “You have no idea how hard it was to sit there and watch you walk down an aisle that didn’t lead towards me.”

“Harry, I-“

“Okay, all set.” Andy says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s my allergies, let’s go checkout.”

“Can we get lunch before we go to Staples?” He asks, and Harry and Paige look at each other.

“I don’t have time for that, honey.” Paige says. “Um, are you starving? I could get you a pretzel for a snack?”

“Okay.” Andy shrugs.

Paige and Harry split the payment for the clothes. Andy carries his bags out of the store, and Paige pulls Harry to walk next to her, behind Andy.

“This conversation isn’t over.” She says quietly to him. “Clearly you’ve been keeping some things buried and we need to hash it out.”

“Fine, but I’m not changing my mind about the wedding.”

The rest of the afternoon Harry and Paige said about two words together. She hugs Andy goodbye before she gets into her own car. Andy climbs into the back seat of the car.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“When can I start sitting in the front seat?”

“Hm, I don’t know, they change the safety ages all the time. When you’re thirteen I think? I can check when we get home.”

“Okay.” Andy picks at his bottom lip, a habit he picked up from Harry. “Is everything okay between you and Mum?”

“Never better, why?”

“Things just seemed weird with you both today.” Harry sighs at that. He’s not sure how honest he should be with Andy about all this.

“I told her about my engagement, and she was really happy for Y/N and I…but then I told her we set a date.”

“You did?! When?!”

“A couple of days ago, please act surprised, Y/N and I wanted to tell you together.”

“Okay.”

“So, Mum wanted to know when the date was, and I told her she didn’t need to worry about it because…I wouldn’t be inviting her.”

“But she invited you to hers, how does that make sense?”

“Andy.” Harry sighs again. “I only went to hers because of you. I wanted to see you all dolled up and walk her down the aisle. I also knew she just needed a little extra support because of Gramp not physically being there.”

“I’m…really confused…I thought you were, like, friends.”

“I know, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Mum and I are friends, but sometimes she acts like we’re best friends, and it makes things difficult for me. I think she forgets that she…that she broke my heart, and that since it’s been so long it shouldn’t matter anymore, and I should just be over it, and I am, in a way, but I don’t like getting too comfortable with her.” Harry pulls into the garage and turns the car off. He turns to look at Andy. “I know you don’t know the full story, and you don’t really need to. Mum and I are okay, you don’t have anything to worry about, alright?” Andy nods at him. “Good, now, let’s go inside, Y/N will want to see all your new things.”

Andy acted as surprised and excited as he could when you and Harry told him about the date for the wedding. He was shocked that it was happening so soon, but happy for the both of you. He was excited to be a part of another wedding since his mother’s ended up being so much fun.

“Will I be allowed to bring friends?” Andy asks.

“You can bring one friend.” Harry says. “That’ll be fun, a little sleepover in a hotel.”

“Yeah! Wait, the Ariana Grande concert is in November…”

“No worries, Andy, it won’t conflict with anything.” Your assure him.

“Okay good.” He sighs with relief. “Caroline’s coming with me to that, so I guess I’ll invite Brandon to the wedding.”

“We’ll make sure to put you both in a suite with Grammy and Auntie Gem. You, Brandon, Ritchie, and Lizzie can all have your own party.”

“Cool.” Andy smiles. “I’m really happy for the both of you.” He gives you both a hug, and then goes into his room to put his things away.

“Well, he’s certainly handling things better than when Paige got engaged.”

“I think this is different with him. He had her to himself his whole life, and then all of a sudden he didn’t. I’d probably be resentful too, but he said he had a really great summer with Noah and Rachel, and that’s all that matters to me.” He looks back towards Andy’s room. “Can we go chat up in the loft?”

“Yeah.” You follow Harry upstairs.

“Just wanted some privacy, um, I told Paige we were engaged today.”

“Oh! How did she take it?”

“Good…at first.”

“What happened?”

“I told her we had set a date already, and she wanted to know what it was, and I told her it didn’t matter because she wasn’t invited.”

“And you thought a good time to have that conversation was while you were clothes shopping with your son?” You ask flatly.

“Everyone’s always telling me to rip the band aid, so I did.” He huffs. “We’re meeting tomorrow to talk more, she’s not happy with me right now, I sort of started to tell her off, but she just wasn’t understanding.”

“What else is there to talk about?”

“She seems to think we need to hash some things out, or whatever.”

“Well, there’s clearly some unresolved shit buried between the two of you. Where are you going to meet her?”

“For coffee in the morning…are you alright with that?”

“Yeah, I can hang out one on one with Andy for a bit. We can watch TV and eat pancakes.” You smile.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He takes your hands in his. “I hate that I even have to deal with this bullshit.”

“Harry…” You nuzzle your nose to his. “It’s okay.” He pecks your lips and sighs.

“Thank you for always being so cool about all this. I don’t know I’d do if you were a classic psycho.” He laughs.

“Oh, I’m plenty psycho, just not about stuff like this.” You smirk and kiss his cheek as he laughs more. “This isn’t something I have much control over, you know? It is what it is.”

//

Harry wasn’t really looking forward to coffee with Paige, but he gets up and goes like he said he would. She was there waiting for him already, sipping on a piping cup of tea. He sees that there’s a second cup on the table already.

“Hi.” He says.

“Hey.” She says. “I got yours…black coffee.”

“Thanks.” He sighs and sits down.

“Okay.” She sighs. “I don’t want this turning into something heated, I think we can both have a mature discussion, we’re adults.”

“Right.”

“What you said to me yesterday, I…I didn’t realize you were still harboring those kinds of feelings. It’s been so long, Harry, I thought you were over all of it.”

“I am.” He says as he sips his coffee. “But I can’t help it when memories come back and I’m reminded that I wasn’t good enough to be the one to put on a wedding for.”

“We would have just gotten divorced, and you know it.”

“Did you ever even love me?”

“Of course I did! I just thought it was puppy love, infatuation…lust.” She chews her inner cheek. “I didn’t think I’d be spending the rest of my life with you, I was twenty-one years old! I still wanted my life to be my own. We had an accident, a happy one, and I don’t regret a thing, I love Andy with every fiber of my being, and I’m happy you’re his father.” She looks away and then back at Harry. “We wanted different things, Har.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“You wanted to get married and have more kids, did you not?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t.” She says bluntly. “I certainly didn’t want to have more kids.” She scoffs.

“But you’re such a good mum!”

“It’s my choice! I never wanted to have kids!” Harry’s eyes widen at that.

“Then why did you?”

“Because…because when I looked at all of my options, I just couldn’t…I don’t know, I looked at it as fate or something, like I was meant to have Andy or something. It was a perfect storm, Har, the condom broke, and it never had before, and I gotten off the pill. I was supposed to be Andy’s mom, and that was plenty. You deserve to be with someone who wants the same things as you. Part of why I ended up with Noah is because I knew he didn’t want more kids either. I also like that he’s older, but that’s a whole mixed bag that I won’t get into.”

“Right, because I’ll always be the immature punk?”

“You’re a fucking year younger than me, get over yourself.” She rolls her eyes. “You really don’t want me at your wedding?”

“No.” He sips his coffee. “The last thing I want to think about that day is you. It was nice of you to invite me to yours, and because of Andy and Y/N I went. If I didn’t have her I honestly don’t think I would’ve gone. I’m sick of carrying around all of this baggage, Paige. I’ve known you for fifteen years, or at least close to it, and I feel lucky that we don’t fucking hate each other, but we need to distance ourselves more.”

“How do you want to do that?”

“No more family vacations.” She frowns at that. “You can use the cabin whenever you want, I don’t care about that, but Andy’s not a baby anymore, we don’t need to do every little thing together like we were doing. Unless it’s his birthday or a holiday, we don’t need to do something as all of us together. I feel like we lean on each other for things more often than we should because we were such good friends at one point, but you have a husband now…you don’t need me.” He swallows. “And I don’t need you.”

“I see.”

“Do you? I feel like you live in a fantasy world sometimes, and I enable it to not make waves. You never ask if something is awkward for me, or-“

“So if we have a party or something on the boat for Labor Day, you wouldn’t come to something like that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I’d have to ask my fiancé about how she would feel.”

“I just think it’s important to make memories with Andy with the two of us so he has that when he’s older.”

“And I agree with you. I’d like to continue doing our annual back to school shopping spree, and similar traditions. I think we’re really good co-parents, Paige, but that’s where it needs to end with us.” She blinks some tears away and then she chuckles.

“Feels like you’re breaking up with me. Must feel good.” She smirks.

“It does, in fact.” He smirks back at her. “You do understand where I’m coming from, though, right?”

“Yeah, I do.” She sighs. “I’m so sorry if I’ve been making things difficult for so long. I felt like because I left I needed to make sure you were okay, and that’s why I made sure to keep you so involved with everything. I wanted you to feel like family since yours is so far away.”

“And I appreciate that! Really, I do. I think for a while that worked for us, and maybe I was sort of relying on it because I was so focused on work, and I wasn’t really meeting people I wanted to date for long periods of time, but Y/N…she’s changed everything for me.” He takes a deep breath. “For so long I felt like I was never going to fall in love again, and that I somehow fucked up and missed my chance at having the love of my life, but I don’t believe that anymore. She’s the absolute love of my life, Paige.”

“I’ve never wanted anything more for you, Harry, please know that. I never wanted to hurt you, and I know it hurt like hell when I ended it. I knew things would work out for you eventually. I’ve loved seeing you so happy. You’ve got a pep to your step again.” She smiles. “Just like you used to.”

“So, we’re on the same page then…about us sticking to more boundaries?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “I think it’s for the best all around.” She sips her tea. “Will you at least send me pictures? I wanna see what Andy’s going to wear and all that. Oh!” She goes into her bag. “I don’t know if you want these, but I have some photos from the wedding. Ones with all of us, our friends, and a cute picture of you, Y/N, and Andy.” She takes out a baggie of pictures for Harry.

“Thank you, I do want these, actually. And I’ll make sure we send you pictures.” He smiles.

“Okay.” She smiles back. “Well, I’m glad we could just get it all out there and clear the air a bit.”

“I’m sorry I brought it all up while we were shopping with him, it wasn’t great timing.”

“It’s alright, I would have probably done the same thing if I were in your shoes.”

“While I have you…Andy asked me when he could start sitting in the front…”

“He did?!”

“Yeah, I told him I’d look it up. It’s thirteen, right?”

“I have no clue, those safety regulations change all the time. I’d say thirteen is good.”

“He’s gonna be so annoyed.” Harry chuckles.

“Just wait for him to bring it up again, and then tell him we said thirteen.” She crosses her arms. “And if he pulls some bullshit with you like he did with phone, you just send him to me and I’ll straighten his ass out.” She smirks.

“We’re excellent parents.”

//

With everything officially smoothed over with Paige, it was easy living for Harry. He was proud of himself for finally just laying it all out there. It made him much more chipper during syllabus week. It took your classes about two minutes into your lectures to realize the rock on your finger was an engagement ring, and many of your students squealed and congratulated you. Many that came by to see Harry congratulated him as well.

“Hey.” You say as you slip into his office, closing the door behind you and leaning against it. “Got a second?”

“Course, darling, what’s up?”

“Are we inviting our colleagues?” You whisper.

“To what?” You roll your eyes at him. “Ohhhh, our wedding.” He smirks.

“You’re not funny.”

“And yet, here we are, engaged.” He grins.

“Not for long.” You cross your arms.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Would you like to invite them?”

“I mean…maybe to the reception? I really do want to keep the ceremony small.”

“I think we should invite them to the reception, yeah. They’ve been a part of our love story since the beginning, babe.”

“Especially Janette.” Harry nods at you. “Okay, so it seems like we’ll need to order some very specific invitations.” You chew your bottom lip.

“Y/N.” He hums. “This is supposed to be fun, remember?”

“It is!”

“You’re getting stressed.”

“I’m not!” He gives you an unconvinced look. “It’s the good kind of stress. The more we do, the more we get to check off, and then there’s no stress. I’m going shopping with Nora in a couple of weeks, I can’t wait.”

“Are you going to have a bach-“ There’s a knock on his door, and you open it.

“Oh…sorry to interrupt.” Andre blushes.

“You’re not!” You say. “We were just discussing, um, something not work related, I’ll just go.” You slip out.

“She can be a bit squirrelly sometimes.” Andre chuckles and Harry hums his response.

“What’s up?”

“Got an overload request from one of my students, and you’re his advisor so I need your signature.”

“Ah.” Harry waves him over and he signs the form. “They should really make these paperless so it’s les work.”

“I know, an email could easily suffice, thanks.”

Harry gets up and goes into your office, he closes the door and sits down in one of your chairs.

“Yes?” You chuckle.

“Has your hand been hurting at the end of the day?”

“No, why would it?”

“Well, it’s got so much extra weight on it now, I wanted to make sure.” He smirks, and you sigh heavily as you look at him. “Anyways, I was going to ask you if you plan to have a bachelorette party.”

“Oh, of course I do. Nora’s gonna plan the whole thing. We were thinking over Indigenous People’s Day weekend since most people will have that Monday off, do a long weekend type thing.”

“What do you think you’ll do?”

“Bar hop most likely.” You shrug. “Dance, drink, that sort of stuff. Are you going to have a bachelor party?”

“I don’t know who I’d have it with…” He twiddles his thumbs. “My two best mates live overseas, and I don’t want to ask them to fly twice, that would be insane.”

“So have them fly in a few days early and do something fun with them then. Our parties don’t need to be on the same day, you know? I’m sure we’ll be having lots of little parties between now and then.”

“True, Lucas sent us two different calendar invites.” He chuckles as he stands up. “Just promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“No strippers.” You burst out laughing at that. “Or exotic dancers.”

“What century are you living in?!” You wipe a tear away. “Harry, the only man I want giving me a lap dance is you, okay?” He nods as you bite your bottom lip.

“What?”

“Would you ever give me one? Do a little strip tease?”

“Maybe on our honeymoon.” He turns to walk towards your door, and then he looks at you over his shoulder. “And only if you’re a good girl.”

A chill goes up your spine as he leaves your office.

“What a fucking menace.” You say to yourself as you try to shake his words off.

//

Seventh grade was off to an interesting start. Harry annoyed Andy by taking first day of school pictures before he dropped him off. It was a new hallway and a new locker to get used to. Mostly everyone he had homeroom with the year prior was in his homeroom again. He noticed that some people had gotten taller, some voices had gotten deeper, some people’s skin had started to break out, and some of the girls looked…fuller. Andy hadn’t really noticed the changes amongst himself or his friends. Caroline was still as sweet as ever, but she did tell him in confidence that she started getting her period, so if sometimes she got snappy with him that may be why. Andy knew he had gotten a little taller, and he knew his voice was starting to crack, but he was thankful nothing else had really seemed to change.

He walks into his new homeroom, and sits down. Every year it was the same thing. The teacher would ask everyone their named, they’d give out locker information, and then the school handbook. Brandon comes in and sets next to Andy. This year Andy’s homeroom teacher was a science teacher, so it was all bench seating with two to a table.

“Hey.” Brandon yawns. “It’s crazy, every year I think I can get up early for school no problem, but here I am, running late.” He rolls his eyes.

“My dad makes me go to sleep and get up early at least a week before school starts. It’s annoying, but it helps.”

“It’ll only get worse, too.” Caroline says as she sits down with Tyler at the bench next to him. All of the tables were set up around the perimeter of the room. Andy was happy he’d be sitting next to his two best friends. “My sisters get up at 5:30 in the morning just to get ready for school.”

“Shit, why that early?” Brandon asks her.

“Shower, hair, makeup, and breakfast that my mom forces us to eat.”

“Luckily, we don’t have that problem.” Tyler says. “We can just roll out of bed.”

“Speak for yourself.” Andy scoffs. “I have to get up early to do my hair.” He runs a hand through it. Brandon smirks and ruffles Andy’s hair. “Quit it!” Andy giggles, and does the same to Brandon.

“You quit it.” Brandon giggles, and the two smile at each other.

After homeroom, it turns out Andy and Caroline have math together, and the teacher says they can sit where they like. They sit next to each other, and she smiles at him.

“What?”

“You know, you never told me what happened with you and Brandon after I left the wedding.”

“That’s because nothing happened.”

“So you didn’t dance with him?”

“No, we danced, but that was it…his dad called to tell him to be ready.”

“And nothing happened later on? I mean you both hang out all the time.”

“The timing just hasn’t been right.” Andy shrugs. “Playing basketball and skateboarding isn’t exactly romantic, Caroline…” He mutters.

“Sure it can! Remember when you were showing me? You had to put your hands on my hips and hold my hands.”

“That was so you wouldn’t fall!” He blushes. Andy remembers that day really well, and even though he asked Caroline first if he could touch her, he definitely enjoyed being able to show her a thing or two.

“Mhm, sure.” She smiles. “All I’m saying is, anything could be turned into a date.”

“Well…you know how my dad and Y/N are getting married in a couple of months?” She nods yes. “It’s gonna be in Boston, and I wanna invite him. They said I could have one friend come.”

“Oh, that’ll be great! I bet-“

“Alright, class, settle down. I’m hoping you all did your summer math work as we will be going over that after I take attendance. Welcome to pre-algebra.” The teacher says and everyone gets quiet. “Once we’re done with that, I’m going to give you all a pre-test to see what you remember.” The majority of the class groans. “I know, I know, a test on the first day, but it’s just for me to see how I can best help you.”

Andy takes his planner out and flips through a few months.

“What are you doing?” Caroline whispers.

“Counting down the days until art starts.” He side eyes her and she has to bite back a laugh.

After school, Brandon and Andy stand together as they wait for their rides. It was only a half day, but they were both exhausted.

“I’m really glad we have science and history together.” Brandon says to him.

“Me too. I have some classes with Caroline and Tyler too.”

“Same here. And there’s gym too for all of us at least.”

“I’m just glad we’ll still be able to call each other to do homework. I’d be really lost without you, B.”

Brandon smiles at Andy, and before Andy can say something else, he sees your car pull up. The boys say goodbye, and Andy climbs into the backseat.

“How was your first day?” You say to him.

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I think math is gonna be tough this year.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m pretty good at math, so don’t be afraid to ask me for help.”

“Thanks, Y/N. Is Dad teaching?”

“Yup, he’s in the middle of class. He’ll be able to get you tomorrow.” She grins. “I thought we could be a little adventurous and go to McDonald’s for lunch.”

“Dad doesn’t let me go there…”

“Well, you’re not with Dad, are you?”

“Can you even get anything there?”

“There’s a flurry and a large fry calling my name.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best.”

//

Harry comes back from his class to see Andy sitting in his office. He was munching on some apple slices.

“Hey, buddy, how was school?”

“Good.”

“Did you have anything for lunch, or do you need some money?”

“No, Y/N took me to get something to eat quick.”

“Yeah?” Harry smiles. “What did you have?”

“Um…well…I don’t wanna get her in trouble…” He swallows his last apple slice as Harry furrows his brows at him.

“What do you mean?”

“She took me to McDonalds.”

“Andy.” Harry sighs. “Why would you ask her to take you there when you know I don’t want you eating that stuff?”

“She asked me! I told her you didn’t really like it, but she said it would be fine. I didn’t even get fries! I got a happy meal with apple slices.”

“That burger is gonna sit like a rock in your stomach.”

“I got chicken nuggets.” He mumbles.

“Whatever.” Harry huffs and sits down. “Your classes went alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Later that night as you were getting ready for bed, you could tell Harry was a little tense. You brush your teeth and look at him through the mirror.

“Any particular reason why you’re staring?” He asks as he spits the mouthwash he was swishing into the sink. He turns around to look at you.

“I’m just trying to read you. You’ve been sort of quiet today. Are you alright?”

Harry crosses his arms and looks at you intensely. You hated it when he looked at you like this. His features were hard, and he just looked intimidating.

“Why did you take Andy to McDonalds after he told you I don’t like him eating there?”

“Are you serious?” You laugh. “I just wanted to have a little fun with him.”

“By undermining me? Didn’t we have a chat about this, like, a long time ago when I did it to you? And that was by accident, you did this on purpose.”

“You act like my intention was malicious. What’s the big deal? We eat out all the time?”

“Yeah, we get pizza from the place downtown that uses locally sourced ingredients, or we get Thai food. Not fucking-“

“He got chicken nuggets and apple slices, it’s not like he pigged out.”

“Because he knows better.”

“You know, you never exactly told me he couldn’t eat there.”

“Well, he told you, and you went anyways.”

You had a couple of options here. You could easily argue with him. You could tell him how stupid it was to be upset over something like this, but if you did that you wouldn’t be validating his feelings. So, you swallow your pride.

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” He scoffs.

“Harry.”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t want me to be upset anymore.”

“You’ve been keeping this bottled up all day.” You sigh.

“Because I didn’t want to talk about it in front of him.” He looks away.

“Say it, Harry.”

“Say what?” He looks at you again.

“Tell me he’s your kid and not mine, and that I had no right to just change the rules.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s okay, that’s what you’re thinking, right? It’s not like that’s false. He’s your kid, and I’m his buddy. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be to him, but someday you and I are gonna have a baby, and I’d like to treat that eventual kid once in a while with some fast food.”

“I guess we can cross that bridge when we come to it.” He plucks at his bottom lip. “You’re more than just a buddy to him, you have to know that. That’s not what I was trying to say, I just wished you had asked me first.”

“You were in class! I just, ugh, I had a craving for fries and ice cream, I really am sorry.”

“A craving, huh?”

“Don’t even go there. You never crave food?”

“Sure, I crave things all the time, doesn’t mean I always indulge.”

“I won’t take your son there again, okay?”

“Stop it.” He puts his hands on your shoulders. “He’s yours too. And maybe I should have told you I didn’t want me ingesting that crap.” You roll your eyes at that. “But I know he sees you as a mom.”

“I mean, one time he told me I’d make a good one, but-“

“He referred to you as ‘Mum’ once.”

“He did?! When?”

“When we went to Boston over April vacation, when I had to put him to bed…he said he was having fun with me and ‘Mum’…he was like half asleep, but still.”

“Maybe he just got me confused with Paige.”

“No, baby, he knew who he was talking about.” Harry hugs you, and cups your jaw. “He loves you and he knows you love him too, and I love knowing that you two are bonding. Take him to Sub Way next time, yeah?”

“Okay.” You smile and he kisses you. “I really am sorry, I didn’t think you’d be so upset.”

“It’s alright…we’re on the same page now, right?”

“Yeah.”

He nods and lets you go. You both get into bed and curl up with each other. You turn over to face him, and you nuzzle into his chest. He holds you close to him and strokes your back. He kisses your forehead and basically lulls you to sleep. Times like this you didn’t mind being babied at all.

//

“Look at that size of that thing!” Nora exclaims when she meets you at the mall in Manchester to go shopping. “Makes sense that he got you something so massive. Big dick, big ring.”

“Nora!” You squeal and nudge her. “Shh, come on, let’s go look at clothes.”

“Still thinking you might wanna do a suit?”

“Yeah, I feel like I’ll be the most comfortable in that. I feel like I’ll just look classy, you know?”

“You’ll look stunning.”

You both walk through Macy’s and look at all of the options. The pants were the easiest part. A high-waist pair of slacks would look gorgeous, it was finding the right top. You didn’t want to wear a body suit or a corset.

“Oh! What about this?” Nora says, waiving you over. “It’s lace, so it’ll add some texture.”

“It’s beautiful. I like the spaghetti straps. Let’s see if it works with the pants and blazer.”

“And the heels. You’re gonna be a show stopper.” You both giggle and go into the dressing room. You try everything on and step out. “It’s gorgeous, it’s so you in every way.”

“You think so?” You bite your bottom lip. “I think a bun and a veil will look great with it. I love it.”

“Harry really doesn’t care you won’t be in a dress?”

“Nah, I was actually thinking of changing into a short dress for the reception. Something simple.”

“Oh! I saw a cute short, white dress out there. Let me go grab it. It had a high neckline, but it was open in the back.”

“That sounds perfect!”

You buy everything, and have them put into nice dress bags. You and Nora decide to grab a bite to eat.

“So…can I ask you something?” Nora says to you.

“Of course.”

“Not that I’m not over the moon happy for you, but is there a reason you’re getting married so fast? I know you’ve known for a couple of years, and things are different at our age, but…you’re barely going to enjoy your engagement.”

“I’m enjoying it plenty, trust me. I just didn’t want to wait until after I got my doctorate, you know? I…I wanna start trying for a kid as soon as I get my degree, and I told him I didn’t care if we were married or not, but I think I do care. I wanna be married and have that extra security if I’m going to have a baby with someone. We love each other, why wait?”

“And he’s okay with all this?”

“Yeah! I think sometimes it’s tough for him to accept how much I wanna be with him because of his ex, but he’s coming around. He’s really excited. I mean, I am too. I’m finally going to meet his family in person, and his two best friends.”

“Maybe one of them will fall in love with me, and I’ll have my own British man to sweep me off my feet.”

“One of them’s Irish.”

“Mm, even better.”

You both laugh and continue eating before you part ways. Harry had taken Andy out for the day, so you were able to slip inside and hide your new things in the back of your closet.

//

“Dad, today was awesome!”

“Yeah, wasn’t too embarrassing going bowling with your old man?”

“No way, we haven’t gone in forever, it was fun. And I broke my high score on the pinball machine.” Andy was biting into a slice of pizza while Harry was sitting across from him smiling, resting his chin in his palm. “It’s kind of like when I used to just see you on the weekends.”

“Yeah, I really was your classic weekend dad, huh?” He chuckles.

“No, weekend dads let you eat candy until your teeth rot out and let you stay up really late. You still made me follow all of Mum’s rules.”

“Because I respect her, and she respects me.” Harry sits up straight. “Listen, there’s something I wanna ask you.”

“What’s up?” Andy wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks at Harry.

“Well…I was chatting with Uncle Niall and Uncle Louis the other day about the wedding. They’re itching to know who my best man is going to be.”

“That’s gotta be hard to choose between the two of them. You guys are like the three musketeers.”

“We are! But my choice is pretty easy because I don’t want it to be either of them. See, there’s this other man in my life I think would make a lot more sense to be my best man.”

“Really, who?” Harry grins at Andy and his eyes widen. “Me?!”

“Yes, you. No one else felt right.”

“So, will my suit be different that the others?”

“Of course.”

“Can I have my nails done the same as you?”

“You really want to?”

“Yeah…I wanna get into painting them more. I think it would be cool if we matched.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m really excited, Dad, thanks…this means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me that you wanna do it. You’re really becoming a nice young man, Andy.”

Andy gets up and hugs his dad. Today was a really good day. He can’t wait to tell you the good news when he gets in.

“Babe! We’re home!” Harry says as him and Andy get inside.

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite guys.” You smile as you come down from the loft. You kiss Harry’s cheek and give Andy a hug.

“I take it the shopping went well?” Harry asks.

“Very well, so no snooping through my closet.” You say firmly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Y/N, guess what?” Andy says.

“What?”

“I’m gonna be Dad’s best man.” He beams at you.

“That’s amazing!” You hug the both of them again. “It’s all coming together.”

//

“Andy, if you move, I’m gonna mess it up.” You tell him as you paint his nails black. He asks you to leave his pinkies purple.

“Sorry.” He watches you. “You don’t think I’m gonna get made fun of, do you?”

“Lots of guys are painting their nails nowadays. Just look at your dad, no one makes fun of him.”

“Yeah, but he’s big and strong, and could knock someone’s lights out.”

You swallow at that. It was true. Harry was a boxer, and if he really wanted to, he could beat the shit out of someone.

“You know violence isn’t the answer.”

“I know…I’m just not as intimidating as he can be.”

“You have his eyes, you just need to learn how to stare someone down the way he does and you’re golden.” You wink at him and he chuckles. “Are you really nervous about someone making fun of you?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Wearing a bandana or clipping back my hair is one thing, I just don’t wanna come off…girly.”

“I take offense to that. I’m a girl, what’s wrong with looking like me?”

“I guess nothing.”

“I’ll paint mine just like yours, would you like that?”

“Yeah, thanks, Y/N.”

You and Andy had gotten into the habit of nail time. Harry would sometimes join in, which was fun, but it was something the two of you could do together. It was a Sunday evening ritual. Andy’s friends loved the different combinations he would go with. Andy blushed when Brandon held his hand to look over a design you had managed to get on his thumb one day.

Then one day during locker break, Andy was switching some books out that he wouldn’t need for the afternoon. There weren’t a lot of people around.

“Hey, Styles.” A boy, Greg, and some other boys come over to him.

“Oh, hey, Greg.” Greg slams Andy’s locker shit. “Um, I wasn’t finished in there…” He goes to turn his combination but Greg grabs his hand. “You better not have this when basketball season starts back up.”

“What do you care?” Andy yanks his hand away. “Don’t like it, don’t paint your nails.”

Greg looks at his friends and laughs before shoving Andy up against the lockers.

“What are you, a girl now? Is Andy short for Andrea?” Greg smirks.

“Obviously not, you idiot.” Andy huffs. “Let me go, Greg.”

“Make me.” He shoves Andy harder against the lockers. Andy tries to give him his most intimidating gaze, but it’s not doing much for him. “You know what else makes you a girl? You like boys, Andrea.”

“Don’t call me that! And who even told you that?”

“It’s so obvious you have a thing for Brandon. You two are always all over each other.”

“What do you care?!”

“It’s annoying to watch.”

“Hey! Let him go!” Brandon comes racing down the hall and yanks Greg away from Andy. “What is the matter with you?!” He shoves Greg.

“Oh, look, your boyfriend came to your rescue, how nice.”

Before he has a chance to say or do anything, Andy watches as Brandon’s fist connects with Greg’s jaw, causing Greg to fall to the ground.

“Boys! What is going on out here?!” One of the teachers says as she rushes to the scene. “Principal’s office, now!”

Andy and Brandon look at each other, and then make their way down the hall. They sit on a bench outside the principal’s office to wait their turn. Greg had to be brought to the nurse.

“Why did you do that?” Andy whispers.

“He was being an asshole, obviously. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…he was being really…homophobic…” He shakes his head. “I didn’t think people were still like that.”

“Well, they are, and it’s scary.”

“Maybe I should stop painting my nails.” Andy looks down at his hands.

“No!” Brandon puts his hand over one of Andy’s. “I really like it on you. You rock it. You’re, like, so cool.”

The boys are both called in to give their side of the story, and then Greg is brought it. When they all come out, Andy’s eyes widen when he sees everyone’s parents in the lobby. You, Harry, Paige, and Noah were all trying to keep cool as you chatted with Mr. and Mrs. Stewart. Greg’s father was keeping to himself.

“Andy!” Harry yelps and rushes over to him. “Are you alright?” He puts his hands on Andy to check him over.

“I’m fine, can you stop?”

“Honey, what happened? We got a call that you were in a fight.” Paige says.

“Excuse me.” Principal Morrison comes out of his office. “If all the adults would like to come in.” He sighs. You and Noah start to walk forward. “Just biological parents please.”

“Principal Morrison, that’s my step-dad, and my almost step-mom, they can both go in.” Andy says.

“Andy, it’s fine, we’ll wait out here with you.” You tell him.

Harry nods at you and goes into the office with the other parents.

“Right, well, it seems that Greg picked a fight with Andy, and Brandon stepped in when he saw what was happening. Greg said some hurtful things to Andy.” Principal Morrison explains.

“Like what?” Harry asks.

“Apparently he started calling him Andrea, and was making fun of his nail polish.”

“Well, there you go then.” Mr. Foley, Greg’s father, says.

“Excuse me?” Paige says.

“What’s a boy wearing nail polish for?”

“Um…” Harry holds up his hands. “It’s pretty common, mate.”

“It’s not like Brandon to be violent.” Mrs. Stewart says.

“He seemed to be defending Andy.” Principal Morrison says.

“It’s not common, actually, it’s odd.” Mr. Foley says. “Boys shouldn’t be painting their nails. I see how your boys are at basketball, it’s inappropriate.”

“They’re best friends.” Mr. Stewart says. “They’re close, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“They seem a little too close if you ask me.” Mr. Foley scoffs.

“Well, none of that should be any of your concern.” Harry says. “What my concern is,” he steps forward, “is that you seem to be teaching your son it’s okay to bully other people for being a little outside the box, and it’s borderline homophobic.”

“Maybe don’t raise a homo then.” Mr. Foley says bluntly.

“Gentlemen, please.” Principal Morrison says.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Paige says, also stepping forward.

“I said, don’t raise a homo and my son won’t have a problem.”

“Right, that’s what I thought.” She smirks, and lunges at Mr. Foley. Harry hooks an arm around her waist to hold her back. “You piece of shit, you think you’re this big tough man, teaching such awful values to your kid? You’re a piece of shit, and your son is following suit!” She struggles in Harry’s arms. “How fucking dare you!”

“Paige, settle down.” Harry says and she takes a deep breath as he lets her go. “Clearly Greg instigated things. Andy wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone. He knows how to use his words if he has a problem with someone.”

“Didn’t learn that from his mum now did he?” Mr. Foley smirks.

“Fuck you.” Paige spits.

“What can we do, um, moving forward? Are the boys going to be suspended?” Mrs. Stewart asks.

“Greg will be given in house suspension for instigating, and putt his hands on Andy. Unfortunately, because Brandon did hot Greg, he will be suspended for the rest of the week, and when he returns we have to give him a week of in house suspension.”

“So, even though he was just defending his friend, he’s going to get punished more?” Mr. Stewart asks.

“That’s the policy.” Principal Morrison sighs.

“What about Andy? Who’s to say that little fuck won’t bother him again?” Harry says. “I won’t have my son being afraid to go to school.”

“Andy wasn’t fighting so he won’t have to face suspension. His teachers will be alerted, and an eye will be kept on him. We have a zero tolerance policy for this kind of thing.”

Harry and Paige look at Mr. Foley.

“Tell your son to stay away from ours.” Harry says.

“No problem there. Don’t need any of what Andy’s got going on rubbing off on Greg.” He scoffs. “Are we done here?” He says to Principal Morrison.

“Yes.”

All of the adults leave the room, and everyone waiting looks at them. Mr. Foley grabs Greg’s arm and pulls him out of the room entirely.

“Brandon.” Mr. Stewart sighs. “You’re being suspended for the rest of the week, and then you’re gonna have in house suspension.”

“What?!”

“I know it doesn’t seem fair.” Mrs. Stewart says. “We’re proud of you for standing up for Andy, but you really shouldn’t have hit that boy, okay?”

“I’m really sorry, Brandon.” Andy had tears in his eyes.

“Don’t be.” Brandon says to him. “I’d do it again.”

//

The car ride home was quiet. You and Harry had to cancel the rest of your classes for the day. Paige and Noah were coming back to the house. Everyone sits down at the table when they get inside your home.

“Andy, I’d like to hear the full story, if you feel comfortable.” Paige says, putting her hand over his.

“I was at my locker, minding my own business, when Greg came over and he started up with me. He slammed my locker door shut and shoved me up against it. I told him to stop and he wouldn’t. Then he asked me if I was a girl, and I called him an idiot, and then Brandon ran down the hall and pulled him off of me, and then….ugh, then he called Brandon my boyfriend and that’s when he hit him.” Everyone looks at Andy with sad eyes. “I’m not gonna stop painting my nails, I’m not changing anything. Greg can go fuck himself.” He huffs, and you crack up first laughing, and then everyone else has a chuckle.

“I’m so sorry that happened.” Harry says to him. “Kids your age can be so mean, and he seems to be getting a negative influence from his father.”

“I wanted to slug him.” Paige says. “What a prick.”

“I feel bad that Brandon’s being suspended.” Andy says.

“I know.” Harry sighs. “Something tells me Principal Morrison won’t be putting it on his permanent record, though.”

“Do you all mind if I go lay down? I’m a little tired.”

“Of course, honey.” Paige hugs him and kisses the top of his head.

They all watch as Andy stands up.

“Um…it was nice having all four of you there…thanks.”

“What exactly is going on between him and Brandon?” Paige asks quietly.

“Nothing.” You say. “He would have told me if anything serious happened between them. I think something’s bound to happen at some point. I think they’re both still figuring it out.”

“It’s good Andy has such a good friend in his corner.” Noah says. “Everyone needs someone like that.”

Paige and Noah eventually leave to go be home in time for Rachel. Andy was asleep when they said goodbye. Or he was pretending to be. He was texting Brandon under his covers. He wanted to make sure he was alright.

“Andy?” You coo as you go into his room. “Dad made tacos if you’re hungry for dinner, honey.”

“Yeah, okay.” He sighs and gets up. “Thanks, I’m just gonna wash up.”

You nod and go back out to the kitchen.

“Is he coming out?” Harry asks as he gets everything on the table.

“Yeah.”

Dinner is mostly quiet, but Andy seemed to be doing okay. You and Harry cozy up on the couch with separate books, and Andy comes out.

“Can I watch TV?”

“Sure.” Harry says, handing him the remote.

“Can I…sit between you two?”

“Of course!” You say and scoot away from Harry to make room.

Andy plops down between the two of you, and puts on some show on Cartoon Network. You and Harry keep mindlessly reading. You were half expecting Andy to lay in your lap, but about twenty minutes in you look over and see Harry watching the show with him, his arm around Andy, and Andy’s head nuzzled into his chest. It was so sweet you thought it was going to give you a cavity. Harry was eating it up too. Even though he knew this was a really tough day for Andy, he was happy to be having this moment with him. He knew as Andy got older they would just become fewer and farther between.

“Andy, if you don’t wanna go to school tomorrow, it’s okay to stay home.” Harry says to him.

“It’s okay, I’ll go. I’m not scared.” He yawns. “I’m gonna go read before bed, goodnight.”

“Night.” You say as he walks off. “I hope he’ll be alright.”

“He will be, he’s tough. Come on, we should go to bed too.”

You nod and follow him into your shared bedroom. You both go through your nightly routines and get into bed. He holds onto you a little tighter than he normally does. You knew he had have been worried about Andy, but he was trying to keep it cool for everyone else’s sake.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“How about I be big spoon tonight?”

“Alright.” He rolls over and you wrap yourself around him. He’d never admit it, but he needed this tonight.

//

Harry’s alarm goes off at five in the morning. You groan and roll onto your back to let him get up, only he turns it off and turns on his side to look at you. He reaches to stroke your cheek, and he takes your out stretches hand to his lips. He kisses on your palm and wrist.

“You’ll be miserable if you don’t do your yoga.” You mutter with your eyes closed.

“Don’t feel like it.” He mumbles as he continues to kiss on your hand.

You turn your head and open your eyes to look at him slightly. You move your fingers to his mouth and he sucks on your pinky. A small whimper leaves your lips and that’s when he knows he has you. He lets your pinky go with a pop and shifts under the blankets to get on top of you. You were naked, since that’s how you slept, and he only had boxers on. He mouths at your neck and licks up to your earlobe. He grinds his hard length against your center and he groans.

“Can feel how wet you are already.” He says into your ear. “I wanna fuck you.”

“You do?” You say innocently as he continues to grind himself against you. You move your hips up to meet his and he moans.

“Yes.” He kisses on your chest and sucks on one of your nipples. You push his hair back for him and you bite your bottom lip as you watch. “Can I?”

“Can you what?” You smirk.

“Fuck you. Please? I really want to.”

”Yes, Harry.”

He sighs with relief and rips the blankets away. He gets his boxers off and grabs a condom to roll on. He quickly gets back between your legs and you grind yourself against him.

“Like feeling me between your folds?”

“Yes.” He bites his bottom lip as he slowly pushes inside you. You moan out as he comes down to you, chest to chest. “Love it when you’re like this.” You pant. You move in sync with his thrusts and it has your eyes nearly crossing.

“Love it when you’re so good for me.” He moves to sit up on his knees, and pushes your thighs together. He grunts and his head rolls back. You take great pleasure in watching him lose himself. “You’re so fucking tight, Jesus.”

He lets your legs fall open and grips your sides as he continues to fuck in and out of you. You so a slight glute raise to give him a better angle, and you start rubbing your clit.

“Fuck, Harry.” You groan.

“Oh fuck, Y/N, oh god, shit.”

You both cry out and come at the same time. Your orgasm was so strong it just about brought you to tears. You cling to him as he falls on top of you. Your aftershocks cause you to clench around him a few times, but he continues to stay inside you. He kisses your forehead and you wince as he pulls out.

“Can we cuddle for a bit?” He asks as he throws out the condom.

“Yeah, let me just pee.”

You get up quickly to clean yourself up and then you get back into bed with him. He rests his head on your chest and you scratch his head, running your fingers through his curls.

“I should have Andy stay home today…I know he said he’d go, but…”

“Harry, if he doesn’t go the bullies win. If he really didn’t want to go he would tell us. If he doesn’t go today it’ll just be more difficult to later.”

“I know, you’re right.” He sighs. “I just…I admire him so much. When I was his age I just dressed like everyone else, I never did anything out of the ordinary because I didn’t want to get made fun of. I didn’t become myself until uni. People still gave me looks, but I was old enough not to care. He’s only twelve. He may be brave, but he’s only twelve…I’d hate for any of this to break his spirit.”

“Well, luckily for him he’s got a great dad for a role model. He’s able to be himself because he sees you doing it every day.”

“I…really don’t know what I would do without you sometimes.”

You kiss the top of his head and use your other arm to hug him close to you.

//

Andy was very brave at school. Some of Greg’s friends glared at him, but he had Caroline and Tyler by his side. When Brandon returns to school, and into the actual classroom, Andy feels overjoyed when he sees him sitting in homeroom.

“Hey, B.” He says as he sits down.

“Hey.”

“Did you get all your work? They wouldn’t let me be the one to drop off the worksheets because of Greg.”

“Yeah, I’m all caught up, thanks.” He rests his chin in his palm and puts his other hand over Andy’s. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Andy’s cheeks were on fire.

“Let’s see what we’ve got this week.” He looks at Andy’s nails. “Dark green?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…that’s my favorite color.”

“I know.” Andy smirks, and now it’s Brandon’s cheeks that are on fire. “Are your parents mad at me or anything?”

“What? No, not at all. They were pretty cool about everything, actually.”

“Oh, good…”

“Why?”

“Because, um, when my parents get married, I mean, when my dad and Y/N get married, they said I could invite a friend for the weekend. It’ll be really fun since we’re staying in a hotel suite. We’ll be with my cousins Lizzie and Ritchie.” He swallows. “Would you want to go?”

“Are you serious? Yeah! I’ll ask my parents when I get home. When is it?”

“November sixth.”

“Cool.” Brandon smiles.

“Cool.” Andy smiles back. “My dad asked me to be his best man, too. It’s gonna be awesome.”

“Makes sense since you’re literally the best.”

“Brandon.” Andy giggles as he blushes.

“What?” He giggles too. “It’s true.”

//

“Have loads of fun, babe.”

“I would, but you won’t let go of me.” You chuckle.

This weekend was your bachelorette party, and Harry was hugging you goodbye out at your car, and he hadn’t let you go yet.

“Sorry.” He clears his throat and steps away from you. Then he steps closer to you again to kiss you for the millionth time.

“Har.” You giggle.

“I know, I’m being clingy, I’m sorry. I thought I’d have Andy for the long the weekend…I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with myself.”

“Why don’t you hang out with Andre?”

“Yeah, I might catch a movie with him.”

“Good.” You smile. “I have to go or I’ll be late picking Janette up.”

“Alright.” He kisses you one last time and lets you get into your car.

You pick up Janette and you both squeal as you make the trek down to Boston. You were extremely excited. You’d be sharing a hotel suite with your friends, and the best part was Nora graciously planned the entire thing for you. You couldn’t have asked for a better maid of honor. Next weekend would be your bridal shower, which would be more casual than anything because you and Harry didn’t even put a registry together, you just had a honeymoon fund. You two really didn’t need anything since you were already living in a home together and bought what you needed. So the bridal shower would just be a casual luncheon in the back room of a grill in town.

The second you and Janette get inside the hotel room, Nora starts making frozen margaritas. You look around and see that the theme would be cinco de mayo, very cool. She puts some beads around your neck and hugs you.

“I hope you’re hungry because we’re eating at Fagitas and Ritas tonight.” Darcy says.

“Thank fucking god, I love it there. Everyone, this is Janette.”

“It’s so great to meet you!” Nora says. “Nice to finally meet the work bestie face to face.”

“It’s great to meet you all too. Y/N’s told me wonderful things.”

Janette gets acquainted with Claudia and Mark as well. You weren’t worried about anyone not getting along. Janette reminded you a lot of your friends in general, it’s probably why you clicked with her off the bat.

“Y/N, is Harry doing anything fun this weekend?” Mark asks.

“I’m not sure. He thought he had Andy this weekend, but it’s Paige’s weekend, so he may make plans with his other friends.” You shrug. “He can’t do his bachelor party until right before the wedding when his friends fly in.”

“Paige couldn’t have just switched up the weekends?” Darcy asks.

“She’s supposed to get him for long weekends since Harry has him during the school year. That’s how it used to be when she had him during the school year, so he just wants to do what’s right. He’ll make his own fun, it’ll be fine.”

You all get ready, take a few pictures, and head out. You take the green line to Park Street, and then head down the alley to the restaurant. It was an incredible place. They served liter pitchers of frozen margaritas for groups to share. Your friends would come often, and would get sneaky, often taking an entire liter to the face, and that was the plan for you tonight. You got your tequila lime shrimp tacos, and you all told stories as you downed your drinks. You lean into Nora.

“You’re not taking me to a strip club or anything like that, right? Harry was pretty adamant that he didn’t want me doing that.” You slur.

“No, babe.” She chuckles. “I was thinking a drag show at first, but you always hear about how they can’t stand bridal parties, you know? And then I was thinking of asking Phil and Julian about that gay bar you go to with them, but again I didn’t want to be annoying. We are going to a club for a bit, and we are going to see some men dance, but I wouldn’t call them strippers.”

“Exotic dancers, if you will.” Claudia says. “They stay on the stage the whole time, so you don’t have to worry about a lap dance.”

“And we already took out plenty of cash to throw their way.” Mark says. “I’ve been before, it’s fun.”

“Harry doesn’t need to know.” Janette winks.

“Would you care if he went to a strip club with his friends?” Darcy asks out of curiosity.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He’s really not the type to ogle women, he’s too shy for that I think. He’s a bit possessive in that I don’t even think he would enjoy going somewhere like that because none of the women would be me, you know?”

“Jesus.” Mark says. “Got yourself a good man, I have to say.”

You all raise your glasses to that, and when you’re done you head out, thankful for the cool October air hitting your skin. You hop back on the T to get to the place Nora had set up reservations for. Watching the men dance made for a lot of squealing and blushing on your part, it was all good fun. They showed a little skin, but weren’t stripping, and they really did stay on the stage.

Four men come out dressed in slacks and cummerbunds. I Wanna Sex You Up begins playing, and the choreography looks oddly familiar. Your jaw drops when it registers.

“Nora, you didn’t.”

“I had to.” She chuckles.

“I’m very confused…” Janette says. “Delighted, but confused.”

“In the first season of Glee a few of the guys get together for an all-male acapella group, and this was a memorable scene for Y/N.” Nora explains. “I requested it in advance, let’s tip well.”

You sway back and forth in your chair and sing along with the song as the men continue to dance essentially for you. You were laughing so hard you were crying by the end of it, and you hug your friend. Once you all have had your fill you head to a club so you all could dance.

Now you really felt like you were in your element. Nora had reserved a VIP sections at one of your favorite clubs so you could all dance freely without bumping into a bunch of sweaty strangers. You were sticking with tequila tonight as to not get sick. You were having loads of fun, but you couldn’t help but wonder what Harry had gotten up to, so you tell your friends you need to use the ladies room quickly. The ladies room in the VIP section was actually clean, you were shocked. You may pee just for the hell of it. You take out your phone and call your fiancé.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, baby!” You slur. “Just checking in, whatcha up to?”

“Well…it’s one in the morning, so I was sleeping.”

Oh, shit, you think to yourself. You hadn’t even checked the time on your phone before you called. Now you felt like a proper dick.

“Shit, Har, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize how late it was, and I was thinking of you, and-“

“Babe, it’s alright.” He chuckles. “I went to a movie with Andre and Sandra and then we went out for drinks and a bite to eat. It was fun.”

“Oh, good! Any plans for tomorrow?”

“I’m hoping to get up and go for a run, and then I’m gonna work on my manuscript. Then I may have dinner with Lisa and her husband, but we’ll see.” He yawns.

“I’m really sorry I woke you…”

“I’ll fall back asleep don’t worry about it. What did you all get into tonight?”

“Drinking, dinner, more drinking, we went to, um, a show, and now we’re drinking more at a club.”

“Ah, so you’re still out?”

“Mhm.”

“Go be with your friends, baby.”

“I know, I just…wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

“Mm, well I’m glad you called, then.”

“I love your sleepy voice.” You pout, not that he can see it.

“Y/N, you’re gonna give me a stiffy if you keep talking like that, so, please, go back out and have fun, yeah?”

“Okay, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You sigh and go back out to continue dancing with your friends. You all get back to the hotel around three in the morning, and everyone crashes. The next day was all about recovering cozily. Room service was ordered and many movies were watched.

“Do you think things will change much once you and Harry are married?” Mark asks as you all do face masks.

“Nah, the biggest change will be going onto the same insurance plan.” You laugh. “We’ll start having kids, I know that much.”

“Do you have any big plans for after you get your doctorate?” Darcy asks.

“Mhm, we’re going to take Andy to Disney World as a combined celebration. Harry’s been dying to take him there for, like, and end of middle school thing, but we really wanna go before we have an infant on our hands, so he’s gonna say it’s for his thirteenth birthday instead.”

“That’s the perfect age to go.” Janette says. “He’ll remember way more, plus I bet he’ll enjoy the alone time with the both of you.”

“He’s gonna be so surprised.” You say. “I love that kid.”

“Any tea to spill about him and his friend?” Claudia asks.

“He hasn’t told me much recently.” You shrug. “Which is perfectly fine. He’s coming to the wedding with him, that I know for sure.”

//

Harry wasn’t home when you got back from your bachelorette weekend, so you take the opportunity to have a long shower and get into some comfy clothes. You hear the front door open and close, and go out to see Harry coming in with Andy.

“Hey, guys!” You say brightly.

“Y/N!” Andy says and comes to give you a hug. “Did you have a good time with your friends?”

“I did, yeah. How was Mum’s?”

“Good, we went shopping for a Halloween costume.”

“And what are you planning to be this year?”

“A rock star, so, so she got me a blow up guitar that has a strap, and I’m gonna wear all black. It’s gonna be sick.” He heads down the hall into his room.

“Is he going trick or treating?” You say as you wrap your arms around Harry’s neck. He hugs you for a moment before giving you a lip smacking kiss.

“Yeah, he’ll go out for a bit with his friends, and then I guess Caroline is having a little party at her house.”

“Oh, my…a boy-girl party, huh?”

“I know.” Harry sighs and grips your hips. “He’ll be picked up at 9:30 and not a moment later.” He kisses you again. “How was your weekend?”

“It was a lot of fun, it was so good to get away with them for a bit. Just another reminder of how excited I am to marry you.”

He squishes his nose to yours before letting you go. The evening is cozy as the three of you decide to play a board game before Andy goes to bed. It was an incredible game of Scrabble. Harry tugs you into your bedroom about twenty minutes later, and gets you undressed. You giggle as he kisses on you. You shift to get on top of him, and you pin his wrists to the pillows. You suck on his bottom lip and he groans before you lick into his mouth.

“God, I wanted you so bad this weekend.” You say to him as you kiss down his body. “Miss me?”

“Course I did.” He holds your hair back as you wrap your lips around his throbbing dick. His breath hitches as he feels your tongue run over his slit. “Fuck.” He breathes.

You bob up and down on him for a bit before he has you on your stomach. He pulls your hips back and starts fingering you from behind. You clutch at the pillows. You feel him open your cheeks up and his free thumb starts rubbing on your other hole. He hadn’t done this in a while, you almost forgot how good it felt.

“Shit, Harry.”

“Like that?”

“Feels so good.”

He was knuckle deep inside you, petting against your g-spot, and he gradually starts to work his thumb inside you. You gasp, but let him continue. You suddenly feel…full! It was sending you. You fuck yourself on his fingers while he continues to work his thumb into you.

“Alright? Still feels good?” He grunts. His tip was leaking just watching you.

“Yes, fuck, don’t stop.” You moan out into the pillows so you’re not too loud. You completely lose it around his fingers, and he gives you a moment before retracting himself. You wince a little when you feel his thumb leave you. You stay in position for him while he rolls a condom on.

“You good like that, babe? Your knees don’t hurt?”

“No, I’m good, please, give it to me like this.”

He nods and leans down to kiss you before getting back behind you. He grips your hips and pushes his thick tip inside you. Your back arches once he bottoms out. His pace is slow at first, wanting to ease in and out of you. You start moving on and off him at your own pace.

“Impatient.” He grunts as he lets you use him.

“You weren’t going fast enough.”

“So just tell me to go faster.”

“Thought you liked it when I used you.” You smirk at him over your shoulder and he bites his bottom lip.

“Will you get on top?”

“Yeah.”

He pulls out of you and gets on his back. You swing your leg over and sink down on him. You pin his wrists against the pillows again, and bring yourself down chest to chest. You lick into his mouth as you move on and off his hard dick. Your fingers intertwine and he squeezes your hands.

“Let me rub your clit.” He groans.

“Ask nicely.”

“Can I rub your clit?”

“Yes.”

You let go of one of his hands, and he snakes it between the two of you. You gasp into his mouth as he rubs circles into you. Sweat pools between your bellies, and you both lose it. You rest on top of him for a few moments before getting off. Once you’re both cleaned up you snuggle up to him in bed and lay your head on his chest.

“Slept like shit without you, if I’m being honest.” You tell him and kiss on his tattooed collar bones.

“I had to use my body pillow for the first time in forever.”

“I wrapped myself up in my little blanket burrito like I used to, but it just wasn’t the same. I enjoy your heavy body way more.”

“I’m always afraid I’m gonna crush you.” He chuckles.

“Oh, like when you lay fully on top of me? I fucking love that.” You smirk and he shakes his head.

“You’re suck a little freak.”

“Yeah, but I’m your freak.” You kiss his cheek. “I’m also not the one that enjoys giving people rim jobs, so I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I didn’t even do that tonight!”

“You still got in there.”

“And you liked it, so don’t kinkshame me.”

“I’m not! I like that you’re a little kinky.” You giggle.

“Just so you know, I don’t do that with just anyone…” He mutters.

“Aw, well don’t I feel special.” You say sarcastically. “It’s so good to know you’ve only had your tongue up a few people’s asses.” He blinks at you and you start laughing. “Chill, I’m just teasing.” You peck his lips and turn over, and he turns with you to wrap himself around you.

“You’re lucky I think you’re incredibly cute, you know that?”

//

Trick or treating was fun, but short lived. Andy his friends hit up the houses they knew that had the best candy, and then made their way to Caroline’s. You and Harry were at a Halloween themed game night at Mateo’s. Caroline’s house had a finished basement, so it was the perfect spot for a little party. Most of Andy’s homeroom was there. Her sister’s had helped set up donuts on strings for a little contest. There was music playing, and everyone was having a good time. There was even a wall with decorations for people to take pictures. Andy takes plenty with his friends.

Once Caroline’s sisters go upstairs, the kids all get into a game of truth or dare. They all sit in a circle on the floor, and put a bottle in the middle. The dares were lighthearted at first, someone had to cluck like a chicken, someone had to chug a can of soda, someone had to see how many marshmallows they could fit into their mouth, normal kid stuff. Then it got a little more serious. Some were daring others to go into the closet for seven minutes, others had to admit to having crushes.

“Okay, Brandon…” A girl named Maggie says, “truth or dare?”

“Dare.” He shrugs.

“Alright, I dare you to go into the closet with Andy for seven minutes.”

Andy nearly chokes on his drink, and looks wide eyed at Brandon.

“What exactly do you want us to do in there?” Brandon asks.

“Doesn’t matter, whatever happens is between you two.” She shrugs.

It wasn’t like they were the only same sex people to be asked to go into the closet. Some kids were out already, but things weren’t as obvious for Brandon and Andy.

“Do you want to?” Brandon asks him.

“I guess.”

They both get up, and go into the closet. Someone starts a timer for seven minutes. Andy leans against one of the walls of the closet. It was roomy.

“It’s too dark in here.” Brandon says as he turns the flashlight of his phone on. He sets it on the floor so it’s not blinding. “There we go, now I can see you.” Andy gives him a small smile. “Have I told you how cool your costume is?”

“Thanks, my mum helped me put it together. Although, Y/N helped with the eye liner.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I like yours too.”

“I don’t know, I thought it was kind of lame.” He chuckles. “A baseball player isn’t exactly original, but my mom wanted to make sure I was wearing pants.” He sighs.

“I know! Parents are always so worried about us being cold. It’s not like we were out that long.”

“Hey, remember when we were thing one and thing two in elementary school? We had to meet up like every weekend to make sure everything matched!”

“Yeah! I’m so glad we don’t have to do that anymore.” Andy stands up straight. “How long do you think it’s been?”

“Just a couple minutes.”

“This is such a weird dare…feel like I’m in an eighties movie.” Andy scoffs.

“I know, it feels like a force.” He sighs. “M’not gonna kiss you in a closet. That’s just what everyone wants. Then we’d have to walk out of here all awkward.”

“I don’t want you to kiss me in here either.” Andy chews his bottom lip. “But I do want you to kiss me, Brandon, really bad.” So many things had been left unsaid between them, and this was the first time Andy really said it to his friend.

“Maybe we can find somewhere else to go, somewhere less obvious.”

Andy nods, and the door opens. A few people frown as they can tell nothing happened between the two. It was getting closer to 9:30, and neither Andy nor Brandon wanted to get interrupted by a call from a parent again. Brandon watches as Andy goes over to Caroline.

“Is there somewhere private he and I can go?”

“Weren’t you two just alone?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, but it would have been so obvious…”

Caroline looks around. She thinks to tell them to go to the bathroom, but that would be obvious too. Her basement was a walkout, and the outside portion had been screened in for bugs. They could go out there for a few minutes. They could just say they’re getting some air.

“Go outside for a few minutes.” She nods over to the sliding door. “I’ll standby to keep watch.”

“You’re the best.”

Andy and Brandon go outside unnoticed by anyone else.

“You’re okay out here…like this?” Brandon asks.

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “I need to know something before we do this, though…I mean, how do you feel about me? Because I like you, Brandon, like really like you.”

“I really like you too.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know when it started exactly. I just know that I do.”

Andy smiles at him and backs up to the siding of the house as Brandon walks towards him. Andy reaches up and turns Brandon’s baseball cap around so it wouldn’t get in the way. They both chuckle out of nerves. Brandon cups one of Andy’s cheeks and leans in.

“You’re sure?” Brandon asks.

“Yes.” He breathes.

Andy closes his eyes, and braces himself. Brandon’s lips press against his. The first thing he notices is how soft Brandon’s lips are, but he wasn’t surprised because he was always using chapstick. The second thing he notices is how he feels warm all over. He had butterflies in his stomach, but they were the good kind. He reaches up to cup one of Brandon’s cheeks so he won’t pull away. They stay like that for a few moment, kissing innocently. Brandon pulls away to get some air and presses his forehead to Andy’s.

“How was that for a first kiss?” Brandon looks at him.

“B-better than I ever imagined.” He tugs on Brandon’s jersey to pull him back in and they kiss once more. They both giggle afterwards. “H-how was I?”

“Best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Jesus.” Andy blushes. “We, um, we should keep this quiet until after the wedding. If we say anything to our parents they may not let us share a hotel room or they might add more rules or something.”

“Shit, you’re right…yeah, let’s keep it to ourselves for now. I…I mean, I don’t even know what this all means, like, are we gay?”

“Well…you could be, but I like boys and girls.” It was wild how easily he was just able to admit it. “It’s called bi, or whatever, so that’s what I think I am. Does it matter? I like you and you like me, that’s it.”

“Right, that’s all that really matters.” Brandon smiles.

Andy feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and he takes it out to see that Harry texted he was out front.

“I have to go, my parents are here.”

“Okay.”

The boys hug and then kiss one more time before going inside. Andy and Caroline share a knowing look, and then he makes the rounds saying goodbye. He heads upstairs and thanks Caroline’s sisters for having him, and then goes outside with all his candy. Harry would need to inspect it when they got home. He climbs into the backseat of the car. You were in a giggly mood from the wine you had drank at game night.

“Andy! How was the party?” You ask him as you turn around slightly to make eye contact.

“Oh, um, it was good, really, really good.”

[thedamageofherdays]

ok ok omg I am SO glad you did that WIP Tag Game bc more Hotel Bar Daddy FRICK yes

BUT i'm actually here to ask about no.11 and/or no.14 and/or no.15 if you please (after all you DID say you like talking about your WIPs and I love hearing about them 🤧)

(also special shoutout to u for tagging K it means a lot to me, a non-writer who loves seeing what y'all are getting up to x)

Yay hiiiiiiiii I am so glad you are excited about more Hotel Bar Daddy and thank you SO MUCH for asking about my wips!!! I do really like talking about them (and also hearing other writers talk about their wips, it's just so much fun!!!)

WIP no. 11 is Boss/Employee. I started this one when I was still doing kinktober (before I unfortunately had to give up) and I do really like it. I have a little over 800 words written for this fic. In it Bucky is Steve's boss. During the office christmas party they go to Bucky's office to have a drink which very quickly turns into having more than a drink. The next day they are both a little insecure because did they overstep any boundaries? did they ruin the good connection they had? does the other feel the same or was it just a bit of fun for them? But then they figure it out and realise they are on the same page. This is a WIP that I think might become a series if I finish it because I have more ideas I could explore with this Steve and this Bucky (like a business trip maybe? or Bucky meeting Steve's mom?)

WIP no. 14 is right where you left me. The premise of this fic is that Bucky left Steve at the altar a few years ago. Now Bucky is back in town and ready to apologise. He still has feelings for Steve and realises he has been a fool. Steve never really moved on but he also has a hard time letting Bucky back in. After all it's hard to come back from the guy you love dumping you in front of everyone you know. Very much influenced by right where you left me by Taylor Swift which is also what the fic is named after. I have nearly 2k written for this and I am hoping I can back to it soon because it's a fun one!

Here is a little snippet:

Bucky’s standing in the middle of Steve’s loft. The setting sun illuminates him beautifully and Steve gets the urge to draw him the way he had so often. He shakes himself out of it and asks Bucky what pizza he wants.

Bucky asks for a pepperoni pizza like he always did. It's soothing, Steve thinks, that not everything about him has changed. That there are still glimpses of the boy he fell in love with. Even with years and all this hurt between them, Bucky is still Bucky. Contrary to Steve he has clearly changed but he hasn't become an entirely new person. He still carries traces of the boy who stood up for Steve on the playground. He thinks he needed that reminder, that despite breaking Steve’s heart Bucky is still a good man.

A good man reaching out to Steve after all this time. Steve knows he has to reach back. And while he also knows they won't get back together - Bucky had made that pretty clear back then and Steve’s not that much of an optimist that he truly believes Bucky will fall head over heels for him all over - maybe he can have his best friend back. That is good enough. It has to be.

WIP no. 15 is I think I’ll start a new life. This is an evanstan fic. I started it a few months ago and the title comes from one of my favourite songs Boston by Augustine. The fic has a non-famous Chris living his best life in New England and Sebastian who is a famous actor but who has decided to quit acting. He has moved to New England to get a fresh start and figure out what he wants from life. Does he wanna get back to acting? Does he want to do something new? He has no clue. Then he meets his neighbour Chris and Dodger and they feel an immediate connection. From then on it's just them falling in love but also helping each other find their path in life and realising that maybe those paths are very much connected. Might have a little bit of angst but of course it has a happy ending (because I don't do sad endings hehe).

Thanks so much again for asking, it's really great to talk about these stories <3

[let-it-raines]

Prompt - David and Mary Margaret discover this great groupon deal for an autumn leaf changing tour and cabin rental in Vermont, but the catch, it's for 4 people. Enter in the reluctant best friends that can't stand each other. (And you know, the cabin only has 2 rooms)

🍁 found on ao3 | here | 🍁 

-/-

Here’s the thing about Killian Jones: Emma doesn’t hate him.

She really, really doesn’t. Hate is a strong word that she saves for people like Neal and the asshole who took her parking spot and made her lose her skip and her bigger paycheck last week. It’s not a word she uses to describe her opinion of Killian Jones. That would be better described as mistrust or slight animosity or dislike. In the nicest of terms, it could be described as nonchalance and uncaring, maybe a little bit of annoyance, but those are only true when she hasn’t seen him for awhile and has forgotten how annoying he can be.

Right now, annoyance is the exact word she would use to describe her relationship with him, mostly because his appearance was unexpected and unwelcome.

A month ago, Mary Margaret called Emma and told her that she and David won a trip to Vermont for a weekend of walking trails to see the leaves changing. It included free lodging, free dinners, tickets to a farm where you could pick your own apples and pumpkins and sit at their restaurant on the lake and drink the cider brewed at that very farm. It sounded nice, like the plot and setting of a Hallmark movie Emma only watches when she’s at Mary Margaret’s loft, and Emma told Mary Margaret that she hoped they had a good time.

Then Mary Margaret told her the trip was actually for four people, invited Emma and their mutual friend Ruby, and Emma figured why not? Her job has been stressing her out lately, and it’s a free vacation. Who passes up a free vacation?

Ruby Lucas apparently does in order to go to help her grandmother with the catering of a last-minute wedding, and Emma didn’t know about that until she got in the back of David’s truck and saw Killian Jones sitting in the spot that was supposed to be Ruby’s.

She feels cheated.

This was supposed to be relaxing even if it was going to be spent watching David and Mary Margaret be overly affectionate with each other, and now she has to deal with Killian for an entire weekend.

That’s two days and twelve hours too long if she includes today…which she definitely is.  

They’ve been in the truck for a little over three hours, which means they should be at the lodge soon, and Emma’s trying to focus on the scenery outside. It’s gorgeous, much more rural than what she’s used to living in the central part of Boston, and from what she’s heard of the lodge and the trails surrounding it, it’s only supposed to get better.

This is good. This can be a good weekend. Maybe she can go off on her own for most of it, and she won’t have to be with Killian or the lovebirds. They’ll be too busy getting lost in each other’s eyes, and he’ll be too busy flirting with every woman around. There’s definitely got to be opportunity for her to go off on her own.

If not, she might fling herself into a pile of leaves and never emerge for air.

And she’ll definitely blame it on Ruby for not telling Emma about her last-minute cancellation.

When they do eventually arrive at the lodge – after thirty minutes of Killian complaining about one of his coworkers – it turns out to look more like a small castle than anything else. It’s made of gray stone and covered in ivy and weeds while still being maintained. There’s a round fountain in front of the entryway, and behind the building, Emma can see the path that leads down to the lake and the hills that are full of trees behind it. Every tree is a different shade of red, orange, green, and yellow, and Emma has never wanted to take a picture of nature so much in her life. She’s about to live out the life of one of those girls on Instagram who only do things for the aesthetics, and for a weekend, she can’t say she minds.

What she does mind, however, is that when David hands her the key to her room, he hands Killian a key to the same room.

The same room as in her room.

Her. Room.

Hers.  

“No.”

“Why are you saying no?” David asks, tilting his head in question.

“No, as in no I will not share a room. I thought I was getting my own room.”

“It’s a couple’s weekend, Emma, and I bet you would have been fine sharing a room with Ruby.”

“Yeah, because Ruby’s…”

“Ruby’s not me,” Killian interjects, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulder. She tries to shrug it off, but it doesn’t move anywhere. It’s deadweight up there, and Killian has unfortunately turned so he can’t see her death stare. Not that it would have any effect on him. “You see, Dave, it’s just that Emma is wildly attracted to me, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to contain herself knowing I’m only a few feet away from her, especially when she discovers I sleep in the nude.”

“Oh my God.” Emma moves from underneath Killian’s arm, her strength coming back to her, and moves toward her – their, ugh – door. She turns the key, which is for some reason the old fashioned kind and not a card. “Please stop talking, Jones. I am not wildly attracted to you, and I can handle sharing a room. I’m not a child.”

“See, I knew the lass could do it.”

He winks at her and does this ridiculous eyebrow thing at David, and Emma is seriously considering paying thousands of dollars (she googled this place when they walked inside, and it is not cheap) for her own room.

“We’ll meet you guys in the lobby in thirty minutes, okay? We’re going on a tour of the grounds with our guide and then dinner, so dress for both.”

“When is the hike?” Emma asks, lingering in the doorway.

“Not until tomorrow. I’ll get Mary Margaret to send you the itinerary.”

“She already has. I just haven’t looked at it.”

“I’m not telling her that,” David laughs. “See you soon.”

Emma waves, smiling at David, and turns into the room, dragging her luggage behind her. It doesn’t take long before she’s stopped in her tracks, her sneakers snagging in the carpet, as Killian runs into her back.

“Bloody hell, why’d you stop like that?”

She opens her arm to the bed – singular – in front of them, which would look cozy and soft and all of the good things if she had it all to herself. “If you didn’t bring clothes to sleep in, you’re sleeping in your fucking jeans,” she mumbles before turning toward the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

This is fine.

This is all fine. Emma has been through a hell of a lot worse, and maybe Killian won’t be an ass. Maybe he’ll be the gentleman he always claims to be.

She’s never believed him for a second when he’s said shit like that.

Emma changes out of her leggings and sweatshirt into a pair of jeans and a thick sweater, grabbing her red plaid jacket and a beanie and placing them to the side for when she leaves. She puts on some mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and brushes out her hair. This is as good as it’s going to get, and she doesn’t mind that. Mary Margaret will tell her that tomorrow or whenever they go to the nice dinner that she’ll have to dress up, and Emma is giving herself a break on the makeup until then.

She had to pile it on every night this week for work, and her skin is screaming for a break.

Killian knocks on the door, telling her to hurry up because he has to get ready too, so she takes five extra minutes…out of spite…because she knows it’s just petty enough for it to rub him the wrong way. She doesn’t feel bad about it either. Killian would do the same damn thing.

“You look nice,” Killian tells her when she opens the bathroom door and he’s standing on the wall opposite the bathroom, leg propped up and arms crossed over his chest. His eyes trail up and down her body, and Emma moves out of the doorway. A shiver runs down her spine, but she ignores it.

Definitely, definitely ignores it.

It’s cold up in Vermont, even colder than in Boston, and these old walls aren’t helping.

Killian takes approximately two minutes to get ready, all of which is probably spent getting into ridiculously tight jeans, and then they’re begrudgingly walking to the lobby where David and Mary Margaret are waiting for them already talking to the guide, a peppy woman named Anna who is like the redheaded version of Mary Margaret when Mary Margaret is in one of her “everything is a fairytale” moods.  

Anna takes them throughout the property, giving them the history of the place while offering up different amenities that are not included with the package they won but still accessible if they’re willing to pay. There’s a spa, a gym, three different hiking trails, an option to take row boats out on the lake if the weather is nice, and there are two different restaurants on the property. They also offer drivers to several places around town, including the grocery store and the farm they’ll be visiting tomorrow after their hike, and Emma is sure several other things are said. She zones out about halfway through, distracted by the view of the trees and how they’re reflected on the lake. Everything is in an orange glow right now, one that brings comfort to Emma.

She’s always liked sunsets. It’s cheesy and she’d never admit it out loud, but she likes the predictability of them. They don’t always look the same, but they happen every day, even if she can’t see it. She likes that, having that constant. It’s not something she has a lot of, constants that is, and she takes every one she can get.

Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad.

If she says that enough, she just might believe it.

-/-

Dinner is nice.

The food is good, the wine surprisingly good since she was pretty sure it was going to be some funky homemade stuff, and even more surprisingly, the company is great.

When she thinks that, she wonders if the alcohol content in the wine was higher than the server said it was.

All the good thoughts about Killian go away, however, when they’re back in their (still so awful to have to think) hotel room, and Emma is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing lotion on her arms. Killian, thank goodness, is in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, so he’s not even going to attempt to sleep naked.

She was 100% sure that he would try, and she’s honestly kind of sad she won’t get a chance to slap him.

On the cheek.

On his face.

She doesn’t want to slap him anywhere else.

Okay, that wine’s alcohol content was definitely higher than it should have been.

Killian plops down on the bed, the mattress shaking beneath him, and tugs the covers over him. His movements jostle her, and she grits her teeth as she finishes moisturizing. He turns on the TV, puts it on some show she has never heard of, and Emma tries to keep calm. She’s tired. She’s going to fall asleep quickly, and the TV won’t bother her. She falls asleep every night with the TV on, so this is nothing new.

Emma turns down the corner of the bed on her side and slides underneath before flipping the switch for the light. The room darkens except for the TV and the glow of the alarm clock, and Emma closes her eyes. They’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, and she doesn’t want to be walking around wishing she had an IV of coffee to keep her awake.

Slowly, sleep comes for her, tugging at the corners of her eyes, and just as she’s about to succumb to it, the comforter is tugged off of her, leaving her foot exposed to the cold air of the room.

What the hell?

Emma tugs it back, shifting her leg to have it covered, and for a moment, she’s warm. Warm and cozy and not even the too loud laugh track on the TV is disturbing her.

The fact that Killian pulls away the comforter again is, however, disturbing her.

Actually, it really freaking annoys her, so she pulls it back. Hard this time, and Killian grunts in response and rolls over. she feels his foot brush against her calf, and she kicks out, moving him back to his side. It’s only a queen-sized bed, so there’s not a lot of room for them to stay separate. She’s about three seconds away from finding pillows or their suitcases and putting them in between the two of them so he stops encroaching on her space.

And taking her comforter.

Because it’s definitely hers. Just like this room was supposed to be.

Killian wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip. It was supposed to be Ruby, who definitely would have stayed on her side of the bed. Better yet, she probably would have met someone and would be staying with them, and Emma would have this entire bed to herself.

It’s so comfortable that it’s a shame she has to share it. She’s not used to that anymore, and she likes to stretch out.

The comforter moves again, and Emma grips onto it, holding it where she is and tucking it underneath her ass to keep it as steady as possible. At this point, he has to be doing it to annoy her, and Emma is not going to lose this battle.

She’ll stay up all night if she has to.

“You know, Swan,” Killian mumbles, “normally I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than fight over the covers.”

Emma groans and rolls over on her stomach, pointedly kicking out at him. “Shut up, Jones.”

“If that’s what the lady wishes.”

Emma mutters into her pillow, and for a few minutes, as the blanket stealing calms down and the TV quiets, Emma wonders if she could feasibly fake some sleeping disorder that has her punching Killian in the face all night.

She can be a pretty good actress sometimes. She could probably pull it off.

She doesn’t do that, though, because she eventually falls asleep, one foot sticking out into the cold air.

Damn you, Jones.

-/-

There’s a warm body nears hers.

That’s the first thought Emma has when she wakes up – after thinking of how annoying her alarm sound is. The body warm and solid and a little hairy, and it takes her two seconds to remember where she is and who she’s sharing a bed with. She knew she should have slept on the floor last night because in no world does she want to have her leg pressing up against Killian’s leg and her ass…

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, eyes blowing wide as she turns and moves her body as much as she can. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Goooooooood.”

“What are you yelling about?” Killian groans, shifting behind her, which only makes it worse.

“I’m not yelling,” Emma hisses. She pushes away and sits up, and there’s no need to even adjust the comforter because none of it is on her. “What are you doing near me?”

He raises his brow, wrinkles on his forehead popping up. Getting a look at him now, she knows the ruffled look he sometimes does with his hair is natural, and for some reason, that really freaking annoys her.

“I was sleeping until you decided to have a conniption.”

“Yeah, well that’s because your dick…oh shit.”

Emma wasn’t going to say that. She really wasn’t, and from the way Killian’s brow is arching higher, she knows that she’s messed up. She’s given him the perfect set up for all of his innuendos, and knowing him, she’s never going to be allowed to live this down.

What a great start to her morning.

“Usually that’s not the reaction, but I understand your shock, love. You weren’t prepared, and it’s, well, a lot to take in.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She takes the pillow from behind her and smacks him with it as he laughs. He’s getting far too much enjoyment out of this, and she’s wondering how long she would be in jail if she smothered him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Make it cold and bracing. I think you might need it.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one with morning wood, but you keep thinking that.” She gets off the mattress and reaches down for her bag. Killian may have unpacked his stuff, but she didn’t bother to do that, even if it means everything is wrinkled. “Please don’t take care of it while I’m showering. That’s just…we have to share the bed, Jones, and I’ve worked in hotels before. I know they don’t always change the sheets.”

He mock salutes, the cheekiest grin on his face, and this is really going to be a long day.

-/-

It’s a long day.

Before she can even get coffee in her, she’s dragged out to the hiking trail. The sun hasn’t fully risen, and they’re supposed to be watching the sunrise and how it matches up with all the changing trees. It’s beautiful. She knows it is, and she does manage to take some pictures that she’s sure capture about half of the beauty. The thing is that despite her best efforts, she didn’t sleep well, and she’s only running on adrenaline and annoyance.

Mostly at Killian.

He’s been staring at her all morning, a joke on the tip of his tongue about their morning, and he’s started to make them several times before Emma shoots him a look or elbows him in the stomach. Mary Margaret has given Emma several funny looks, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in David and the romance of the changing leaves and the sunrise, she’d probably ask about it.

Mary Margaret is not one for subtlety or staying out of someone else’s business.

David guides them over the trail, which is somehow all uphill despite no discernible incline, and eventually the come to a perch with a few of the lake and the lodge, miles of trees surrounding it. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything quite like it, and now she can truly see why so many people travel here just to stare at some trees.

“It’s something isn’t it, Swan?” Killian asks as he walks up behind her, the heat of his body making the chill of the air fade for a moment.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t think looking at trees would be your thing. I don’t take you as much of a nature person.”

Emma turns to face him and crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m a nature person or not.”

He steps closer, invading her space like he always does, and maybe she’s a bit of a liar when she says he doesn’t know her. “Just who are you then, Swan?”

Emma cocks her head and straightens her back, not letting him overwhelm her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles and nods, lashes fluttering until his eyes are hooded. “Perhaps I would.”

“We better get moving if we want to make it to the apple orchard on time,” David tells them, making Emma jump away from Killian and smooth down her flannel over her stomach. “You okay? You look flushed.”

“Just the walk,” Emma lies. “I’m sure that’s all.”

-/-

“I will throw this apple at your head.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Emma groans, audibly, and plucks another apple from the tree and puts it in her basket. It’s getting a little heavy, and not in a million years could she eat all these apples before they spoil. They’re not for her, though. They’re for the farm and its cider and pies and tarts and all the other apple goods they make. She must admit that it’s a brilliant business plan, having people pick the apples for you and then make them pay for it and the food and drinks.

She can’t believe people actually pay to do this. The hike, she gets, foraging for your own food, not so much.

Emma picks an apple out of her basket, one that kind of looks gross and a little squished, and she tosses it at the back of Killian’s head. It hits, just barely, and she stops as he reaches up to touch his hair.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses, turning around to glare at her.

“You’re the one who has spent the last ten minutes being invasive to my personal life, so what’s wrong with you?”

“Asking if you were still seeing Graham Humbert is not invasive.”

“It is definitely invasive.”

Killian’s shoulders shrug, and he steps closer to her. Really close, actually. He does this obnoxious thing where he’s always encroaching on her space when he speaks, swaying closer and dipping his head down until their eyes are level. He’s doing that now, obnoxious, downright cocky grin gracing his lips, and Emma backs away, dodging some low-hanging apples, until her back is against the tree and she’s putting her basket on the ground. She really hopes there aren’t ants crawling all over her, but at this point, she’s too distracted to care.

For every inch that she moved, Killian matched her. And now, he’s more in her space than ever, the heat of his body warming her more than her jacket. How is he that damn hot?

Only in the temperature sense…not in the other way. She is obviously still a little tipsy from the wine last night that she still maintains had a higher alcohol content than usual.

He chuckles, and his eyes look at her before glancing down at her lips. It’s not even a quick glance. It’s pointed, and Emma knows she was meant to notice it.

“Please,” Emma huffs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She wants to say something back, some smart, snide remark that will make him frustrated, but she also wants to prove him wrong. Emma doesn’t care what anyone else has to say, and she’s heard all the rumors. Kissing Killian Jones is not going to have an effect on her.

So she grabs the lapels of his coat and pulls him forward until his mouth is on hers and Emma’s head is pressing into the back of the tree. The bark scratching the back of her neck would be uncomfortable if she wasn’t so focused on Killian. He’s not kissing her back, his lips rigid against her, and she’s just about to pull back and give him shit over being a horrible kisser when he moves. His hand comes to her hair, yanking on the strands as he tilts her head the way he wants it, and his prosthetic rests at her waist. Every thought she had about him being stiff was wrong.

She’s never felt anyone move like this.

She’s also had some pretty damn good kisses in her life, but she can’t remember the last time one took her breath away and made heat curl over her skin as soft lips moved over her and slightly rough stubble scratched against her skin, likely leaving her red.

Emma can’t remember the last time she was kissed well, and damn, what a shame that is.

She could get used to that.

But she knows that’s a dangerous thought, and this is a dangerous game she’s playing. If she’s bringing cards to the table to play, she has to be open to the possibility that she can lose her hand.

Emma isn’t open to that right now.

So, she pulls back, just barely though, and tries to catch her breath as Killian does the same. He’s panting, and in any other circumstance, the sound would be like heaven to her, a strong indication of what’s to come next. Not in this one, though, and when Killian moves in, she pulls away.

“That was,” he begins, seemingly trailing off in a search for the words to describe what just happened.

She doesn’t know either, but it doesn’t take her long to figure out what she wants to say.

“A one-time thing,” she finishes, knowing she has to say it as she looks at him and the flush of his cheeks. “I’m going to find David and Mary Margaret. Don’t follow me. Wait five minutes and...” she glances down toward his jeans “…calm down.”

He mockingly bows, same smug smile she’s used to back on his lips. She knows how they feel now, and that feels wrong.

“As you wish, milady.”

-/-

The late afternoon lunch (or is it early dinner considering the time?) is awkward as hell. They’re sitting at a small, supposedly cozy table in the midst of the most romantic patio ever created (think of all the string lights in the world and then double it) with wine and cider in their glasses and good food on the table in front of them.

Emma wants to run away.

She can’t.

It really freaking sucks.

And it doesn’t help that Killian keeps looking at her with these big blue eyes that she doesn’t normally see. He looks earnest almost, and she doesn’t think Killian Jones has been earnest a day in his life.

Then again, how much does she know?

“Oh, this is so romantic,” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so glad we won this trip.”

“Does romance include two of your mates sitting at the table with you?” Killian asks. “Dave was playing footsy with me earlier we’re so cramped in here.”

“Was that you?” David hisses, cheeks going red, and Emma starts to laugh. That’s the best thing she’s heard all day.

“Yes, it is romantic even with you and Emma here. And with David somehow mistaking your leg with mine.”

“In my defense, Killian’s calves are only a little bigger than yours, sweetheart.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered, of course,” Killian says. “I have bloody fantastic legs. Ask Swan here. She felt them up last night.”

Emma kicks out her foot at Killian under the table, not one hundred percent sure she’s actually hitting his leg, but then she sees the slight wince. Gotcha.

“So, what are we doing after this?” Emma asks to change the subject. “Another hike? More apple picking? Second dinner?”

Mary Margaret sighs, “a carriage ride back to the hotel, but they’re going to take us the scenic route.”

“Of course they are,” Emma mutters, stabbing her food and stuffing it into her mouth. She’s going to need more wine.

-/-

The carriage ride is worse than the dinner. For one, the horses smell horrible, much worse than the food, and the carriage is somehow smaller than their table. She’s pressed completely up against Killian, their sides aligned, and he has his arm over her shoulder while they share a blanket. She tried to refuse, but it’s gotten really cold. Her nose and her fingers are going to fall off soon, and she’s as zipped up as she can be.

David and Mary Margaret practically make out across from them, and even though Emma knows more about their sex life than she would ever want to know, sitting his close to it as a horse drags them along the road is not something she’s comfortable with.

“Make it stop,” she murmurs into Killian’s shoulder, half to keep her from having to look at David and Mary Margaret but mostly to keep her nose warm.

“I’m afraid we have to ride this one out, love. If you want, we could share our own kiss…again.”

She hits his thigh underneath the blanket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever helps you sleep through the night.”

-/-

She doesn’t sleep through the night.

She’s too aware of her surroundings, of the warm body a few inches from her own.

It’s all too much, even if he didn’t try to steal the covers tonight, and if she wasn’t so damn stubborn, she’d sleep on the floor. She told herself she would do that tonight, but now it feels like admitting defeat.

Emma doesn’t like to admit defeat.

-/-

They go for another hike the next morning, their last morning in Vermont.

Emma sticks next to David the entire time, asking him mundane questions she doesn’t care about just to keep the conversation flowing and to keep Killian from making any jokes she doesn’t want him to make. It works, mostly, and Emma is even able to enjoy herself and the view for a lot of it. Boston can be gorgeous, but she’s going to miss a lot of this.

It’s the picture perfect dream, but Emma knows perfection doesn’t exist. And in pictures, it’s almost always photoshopped.

Doesn’t make it any less stunning as she stares out at it all, and it doesn’t make her want the picture perfect dream any less. The one where she isn’t so scared of getting hurt again and where she lets herself have fun, lets herself feel safe.

Lets her heart in on the decision making with her head.

-/-

Emma sleeps on most of the car ride back to Boston, and when she wakes up, it’s with a sore neck and tired eyes. It’s also in front of her apartment. She thanks the Nolans for the weekend, and very slowly, it dawns on her that Killian is no longer in the car. They must have dropped him off first, and she doesn’t know why, but it stings a bit that she doesn’t get to say goodbye to him as well.

That’s the lack of sleep talking, obviously.

Emma would never miss saying goodbye to Killian because that would mean she was going to miss his presence. She wouldn’t do that, though. Of course not. Because she didn’t have a good time when he was around. He didn’t make her smile at all this weekend.

He never makes her smile at all.

If Emma was using her own superpower to detect lies, there would be a blaring red light over her head with a little bell blaring in her ears.

She is ignoring it in favor of stuffing everything about this weekend in her bag and not looking into it. It was pretty. Nice pictures were taken, good food was had, and nothing else happened.

(Ding, ding, ding.)

-/-

Life returns to normal. She goes to work, goes to the gym, is occasionally dragged out to bars and clubs with her friends on the nights she isn’t working.

(She does finally get that guy from two weeks ago, and the paycheck is worth the struggle.)

Killian is around a lot more than he usually is. He’s in school getting his degree in software engineering on some scholarship he got from his service in the Navy, and he usually bartends at night. That job fizzled out, though, so when they all have pizza night or go out or meet up for lunch, he’s usually there.

Emma finds it odd, but she doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t pay much attention to him because she’s making a conscious effort specifically not to pay attention to him, not until he misses a fantastic opportunity to make an innuendo, and she realizes he hasn’t been making a lot of those lately. They’re there, sure, but not in as high of a quantity as they usually are.

It’s weird, but the weirdest thing about it all is how much she misses them.

Huh.

When did that happen?

When did the flirting stop annoying her and start making her laugh? When did she start liking it?

Liking him?

The thought comes to her without true warning and without permission. It’s wiggled its way out of the deep caverns of her mind and made it to the surface, gasping for air so it can live out in the open. She has a physical reaction to it, her hands coming to cover her mouth as she inhales a deep breath that has everyone looking away from the TV to look at her.

“You alright?” Ruby asks from her spot on David and Mary Margaret’s couch.

“I’m fine,” Emma lies, knowing her friends won’t push her further. They’ve known her long enough to know not to do that too often. “Just need some water.”

She gets up from her chair and walks toward the kitchen, her mind running faster than Usain Bolt, and she tries to focus on pouring herself a glass of water and on the football game that’s on. She doesn’t even really like football, but it’s kind of a fall tradition around here. She just has to go with it.

Everything is fine. This is fine.

This is…this is crazy. It’s even crazier that she can’t tell if her body is experience fear, joy, or some insane mixture of both bottled up with all of the adrenaline it can muster.

“You sure you’re alright, love?” Killian asks as he walks into the kitchen puts his plate in the sink. Of course he followed her in here. He, unlike Ruby, Mary Margaret, and David, has no qualms about bothering her. “You look a bit flushed. You’ve gone red around your cheeks.”

“Fine,” she lies again. “I’m fine.”

If she says that word enough, it’ll be true.

“Are you certain because I – ”

“Why don’t you flirt with me anymore?” she blurts before she can stop herself. She must be going crazy because this is insane. Who has taken over her body, and can she get it back please? Preferably before she does something stupid like kissing him again.

Then again, that wasn’t all stupid. It felt pretty damn good.

Killian arches his brow, his forehead wrinkling, and she knows she’s about to get some dumbass answer. He scratches behind his ear with his prosthetic. “Because if I’m to win your heart Emma, as I’d like to, I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t piss you off, as much as I do love that. It’s quite entertaining for me, especially when you go red as you are now. It’s a becoming color on you, but I realize my methods of getting your attention were a bit childish.”

Well, okay then. Maybe not a dumbass answer.

This is a weird, weird few minutes.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been doing the adult equivalent of pulling pigtails on a playground?��

He shrugs. “Aye, I guess.”

Emma, once more, doesn’t know what to do or say, so she lets instinct drive her. She steps forward and places her hand on his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. They’re ridiculously blue, and it’s just not fair. “Asking me to dinner would have worked much better than that. Food has always been the way to my heart, especially if it’s cheap, greasy, and will make my stomach hurt afterward.”

She leaves the ball in his court (or in his possession on the field since they’re watching football and her sports metaphors should make sense, and she’s 82% sure that’s a correct metaphor), and walks away before being pulled back by her wrist until she’s looking at him again.

Once more, he’s earnest, and she’s still getting used to that.

And those blue eyes. Those too. They don’t have to be all devilish all the time.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me, love?” Killian asks, hopeful, kind smile on his face.

Genuine. He’s genuine, and she feels that little flutter that she hasn’t felt in awhile, not since she kissed him against the apple tree to prove a point to herself that she wouldn’t be affected by kissing him.

Emma really is a bad liar, especially when she’s lying to herself.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 9: Follow The Rules]

Hi y’all, I hope you are all doing well 💜

Chapter summary: Veronica has some questions, Roger has a plan, John has a short temper. 

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

At the wedding, Roger is wearing a cast on his right arm and a dazzling smile...and a white suit that he looks criminally good in.

John is in black, Brian in blue, Freddie in maroon-colored velvet and heavy eyeliner. Veronica’s dress is high-waisted and falls in huge, billowing, shapeless ruffles to hide her silhouette. Her family knows, of course—it’s written all over the tense, grim lines of their mouths and the blades their pale eyes hurl at John—but none of those strict Catholics are going to mention an out-of-wedlock pregnancy in God’s house, nor at the modest reception in the church basement that follows the ceremony.

Veronica’s mother and aunts and sisters are just like her, docile and milky-skinned and small-boned, and you’ve helped them deck the vast room with enough flowers, ribbons, candles, and balloons to make everyone forget this event was thrown together in five weeks and on a shoestring budget. There’s a simple buffet with pot roast and potatoes and vegetables, a live band (some of John’s old friends from high school), and a homemade Polish honey cake baked by Veronica’s grandmother situated regally on a china serving dish. Veronica and John cycle through the tables of guests, smiling and nodding and thanking them for coming, dutifully and yet also seemingly genuinely cheerful.

“The boning is bloody impaling me,” Chrissie murmurs as she tugs at the bodice of her gown. It’s satin and a muted pink, just like yours and Mary’s and Veronica’s sisters’. “If I happen die, wrap me in one of those nice tablecloths I paid for and throw me in a ditch somewhere, will you love?”

“You got it.” You stab a piece of potato with your fork. “This should inspire you to be especially compassionate towards your own bridesmaids! Maybe no horrid shiny green.”

Brian chuckles. “Good luck with that.”

“Are you comfortable?!” Chrissie asks Mary, exasperated, fanning herself with a wedding program.

“I am,” Mary admits cautiously. “But...well...at the moment, I think my dress is a bit...roomier.”

Chrissie moans, dropping her face into her hands. “I always gain when the students go home for summer. My routine is wrecked, all I want to do is read Glamour magazines and listen to records, it’s too damn hot to go walking...and I adore ice cream.”

“I like you just fine,” Brian reassures her.

Freddie snickers as he taps his cigarette against an ashtray. “Yes, we’re all well aware of your anatomical preferences, Bri.”

Chrissie rolls her eyes. “Please do not elaborate.” She’s not offended—she’s far too used to Freddie’s shenanigans to be offended—but she’ll be embarrassed if he makes a scene at a wedding.

“Darling, I don’t care what anyone tries to tell you, plenty of men love a little extra meat on the bones. Particularly the ass bones.”

“We’re in God’s house!” you scold him in a hiss. “You’re going to give Great Aunt Zofia over there an aneurysm if she hears you!”

Roger quips: “Great Aunt Zofia stole the last kielbasa right out of my disabled, ineffectual  grasp, so fuck her.”

You all burst into shocked, uncontrollable laughter. Great Aunt Zofia squints judgmentally at the commotion from several tables away, gnawing on her kielbasa; she’s been glaring at John and Veronica—the Tetzlaffs’ very own fallen angel—since she first ambled into the church. Roger rocks back in his chair, smoking with his unbroken left arm, smirking cockily and basking in the distraction from the real world that the wedding has gifted you all tonight. He catches you watching him—marveling at him, truthfully—and winks.

John appears and rests his hands on the back of your chair. “What’s so amusing? I swear, I leave you people alone for two hours and you’re having all sorts of fun without me, I won’t stand for it!”

“It was a lovely ceremony,” you tell him. “I’d forgotten how beautiful Catholic weddings are, all the music and ambiance.”

“And from what I saw, you knew most of the words.”

“We have a lot of Irish people in Boston. Saint Patrick’s Day is bigger than Christmas.”

John points at Roger’s cast. “It’s not paining you too much, is it?”

Roger holds his Dark ‘n Stormy aloft, and ice clinks in the misted glass. “Enough of these, and I can’t feel anything. Numb to the world’s many disappointments. I highly recommend it.”

“Noted,” John replies. Roger has pills for his arm, but they only take the edge off. You don’t know that because he’s told you; Roger never tells you that he’s hurting, that he’s frustrated, that he’s afraid. He wears grins and flippant humor like a second skin, shrouding his wounds—both physical and disembodied, old and new—in darkness. Still...you can see all those words he doesn’t say swimming in the depths of his eyes. “I think I’ll hunt down a Manhattan myself.”

“Dad made an impression!” you tell John enthusiastically. “I’ll have to let him know, he’ll be overjoyed.”

“He mixes a good one, that’s for sure. I doubt Cousin Bartosz will be able to compare.” He casts a glance at a perplexed-looking, flame-haired teenager manning a tiny wet bar.

“Booze won’t help you heal,” Freddie informs Roger, checking his reflection in Mary’s makeup compact and fluffing his lustrous hair. “Eat your vegetables. Get more sleep. When do you start physical therapy, again?” Then, to you: “Darling, when does Roger start his therapy?”

Roger sighs. “I’ve got it handled, Fred.”

“Dear, don’t have a fit, I just want to make sure you’ll be ready—”

“I’ve got it handled,” Roger repeats, his tone a warning.

Brian breaks the tension with a toast, his Vesper jangling against Roger’s Dark ‘n Stormy. “I’m thrilled, honestly. Now I’m not the only one who’s ruined a tour.”

Roger grimaces. “Thanks, Bri.”

“Yes, let’s all have a turn,” Freddie mutters, sipping champagne. “Deaky can electrocute himself while fiddling with his amp, and then I’ll...what? Have my foot chewed off by an alligator in New Orleans? Get gored by a wild boar outside Atlanta? It just can’t be a boring maiming, that’s my only request.”

“Alaska has grizzlies, huge ones,” Brian suggests.

“Darling, in what dimension would my luxurious self ever end up in fucking Alaska?”

You shake your head, frowning down into your wine glass. It’s June now, the dead center of a crestfallen year: the rest of the Sheer Heart Attack Tour is cancelled, the record company is furious, and the band is broker than ever. Queen is supposed to start recording their next album—their last album, the record company insists, unless it happens to be a runaway success—in July, but you don’t know if Roger’s arm will be healed in time. None of you know that. You wonder if this really is God’s house, or at least one of his homes, sanctified piles of bricks and glass scattered across the globe; maybe you could ask Him where Queen’s future lies.

Veronica swoops in and dusts an airy kiss onto Mary’s cheek, and then Chrissie’s, and then yours. “Thank you so much,” she gushes. Her high cheekbones are flushed, her watery eyes sparkling. She’s in heaven, sinner or not. Her massive white dress swishes with every step. “We couldn’t have done it without you. And you’re next, Chris! I can’t wait.”

Chrissie smiles. She and Brian are getting married just before Christmas. “Yes, well, time will tell if we’ll be serving Christmas ham or canned beans.”

“And then Mary...” Veronica’s gaze migrates across the table. Mary’s been wearing a ring on her wedding finger since Queen returned from Japan, a simple gold band that once belonged to Freddie’s mother. “What about you, Y/N? Any plans? Then we’d all be hitched!”

Red wine spurts from your lips and you fumble for a cloth napkin. Roger doesn’t believe in marriage, and neither do you; not after only four months together, anyway. And yet...is there some part of you that can’t help but think of papers and rings when you get lost in his eyes, of promises of forever, of some way to tie yourself to him like vessels to a heart? Sure; and that’s a little wonderful, that’s a little terrifying. “Uh, uh, oh, oh no, definitely no plans whatsoever.”

“What bollocks!” Rog sneers. “Really, what’s the point if you’re not religious? Who needs a bloody piece of paper to prove they love someone?! ‘I care for you so much I need the government to know we’re together and the hassle of divorce fees to make me stay,’ what the fuck. I mean, uh, no offense John, Bri, uh...this is all well and good for you, but...ah...”

“It’s just not your scene. That’s fine, Rog,” Freddie says with a tad too much empathy. Mary doesn’t seem to notice.

“But you’ll want children at some point, won’t you?” Veronica asks you, almost pained. She’s not trying to be cruel, you realize; she genuinely can’t fathom the pinnacle of a woman’s life as anything but being a wife and mother.

“Theoretically, sure. One day. Eventually.” You titter nervously. Roger’s good arm circles your shoulders, his cigarette lofting smoke. Oh, but wouldn’t he make beautiful children? You push that thought away. It’s too soon, it’s too much, it’s not in the cards for an impoverished maybe-drummer and his girlfriend; and a girlfriend—with all the intangibility and impermanence that title entails—is all I’ll ever be. “I think I need to travel the world a bit more first.”

John sighs and pats the back of Veronica’s hand. What is that weight in his voice...impatience? Annoyance? “Ronnie, please, don’t bother her.”

Veronica sulks, scraping the old scuffed linoleum floor with her pointy white heels. “I wasn’t trying to bother anyone...”

Mary comes to the rescue: “No, of course not. You didn’t, dear.” She likes Veronica more than Chrissie does. Isn’t she oppressively vapid? Chrissie has asked you more than once. Isn’t she so miserably naïve? Veronica is sweet, sure, but she has no fucking idea what she’s in for. “Babies are wonderful, but they do make things harder, don’t you think? Especially for the mother. You have to be ready to drop everything for them. All your other interests and aspirations.”

“I suppose,” Veronica mumbles. You can tell she’s thinking: What other aspirations?

“But you must be so excited!” You beam up at Veronica. It’s her wedding day, and John’s; it should be happy, it should be optimistic. And you’re learning to like Veronica—less than Mary, but more than Chris—because you know that’s the best thing for John.

She instinctively rests her hand on the swell of her belly; or, rather, where it must be somewhere beneath all those heaps of satin and tulle. Great Aunt Zofia’s glare intensifies. “I’m scared to death, to tell you the truth.”

“Why?!” Mary cries.

“I’m so afraid something will happen to him.” Veronica’s voice is soft, her blue eyes glassy. She’s certain the baby is a boy, claims she had some sort of dream about it. “There’s a lot of bad luck going around for us, isn’t there? And my mother lost four babies. Any time he stops moving, I worry constantly until my next appointment. I haven’t felt anything in days, and I just...I just...” She trails off, staring vacantly across the crowded church basement. She’s trying not to cry, you realize.

“I can try to check for you,” you offer. “If it would make you feel better.”

“Really?” Veronica sounds hopeful, but guardedly so.  

“This is embarrassing, but I carry my nurse kit almost everywhere I go now. That’s why I brought my huge blue purse even though it doesn’t match the dress. You know, you can’t be too careful...”

“Yes, who knows when someone will try something idiotic like jogging backwards down the stairs?” Freddie muses. Roger lobs a pierogi at him. Great Aunt Zofia wheezes out a disgusted huff and crosses her veiny, wrinkled arms over her sagging chest.

“I have a stethoscope,” you continue. “I can’t guarantee I’ll find a heartbeat, but I’ll give it a try if that would help.”

“Would you, Y/N?” Veronica clutches for John’s hand, and he lets her take it without any resistance; but he doesn’t seem to know how to comfort her. He has the same dazed look on his face that he has a lot these days, the same look that Bri and Freddie sometimes get: like they’re on autopilot, like they’re actively filtering through brainwaves to fish out any that wander astray. Roger lands a kiss on your bare shoulder and pitches you a playful smirk, his I’m so proud of my too-fucking-smart girlfriend smirk.  

You grab your purse from beneath the table. “Does God’s house have a cozy private spot somewhere?”

Veronica leads you, Mary, and Chrissie to a small unoccupied room that is used (how pertinently) as the church nursery. The pink wallpaper is dotted with waddling ducklings, cloud-shaped sheep leaping over fences, smiling suns and winged cartoonish angels. Veronica settles into a faded blue couch, and Mary and Chris help her shove aside the massive plumes of her wedding dress to reveal the plain shift she’s wearing underneath. She’s over five months along now, and her entirely unremarkable bump seems colossal on her delicate frame.

You pop the headset into your ears and press the chestpiece against Veronica’s unyielding belly, gliding it over the pearly shift as you try different positions.

“Anything?” Mary asks anxiously.

“It’s not bloody instant, Mary!” Chrissie snaps. “Be quiet so she can listen.”

“No need to be cranky—”

“You can’t find a heartbeat, can you?” Veronica says, her voice quivering. “Oh god...”

“Found it,” you announce. You hold the chestpiece in place as you yank the headset off and pass it to Veronica.

She gapes at you. “You’re just saying that so I’ll stop worrying, aren’t you?”

“Hear for yourself.”

Veronica takes the headset and listens, closing her eyes as the rapid-fire and rhythmic swishing of her child’s heartbeat floods through her ears. “Oh,” she breathes, beaming. “There he is.”

“That’s incredible!” Mary trills. “Can I hear too, Veronica? Whenever you’re finished...”

Mary listens, and Chrissie does too, and then you all help touch up Veronica’s hair and makeup before you head back to the reception. The cake is due to be cut in twelve minutes. As you smooth the short train on her dress, Veronica turns back to you.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asks timidly, hugging her belly. “You know...for this.”

“That’s something I’ve always liked about nursing. So many jobs require sorting out who’s right and wrong, casting judgment, assigning punishment. There’s no weighing of the moral scales in medicine. It doesn’t matter if a patient is trustworthy, deceitful, good, bad, worthy, undeserving, if they disappoint you, if they’re the ones who hurt themselves. You treat everyone, you heal everyone. And I would like to keep that part of myself for as long as I can.” You smile at Veronica. “But, for the record, no. I don’t think you’re a bad person at all.”

She sighs in relief, untethering an anchor she hadn’t even known she’d been dragging around by her throat. “Thank you,” she whispers, tears snaking down her powdered ivory cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on.”

“How do you feel about marble lion statues? You know, the ones at the end of long, winding driveways. Rich people’s driveways. Mansion driveways. Or do you prefer gargoyles?”

“Roger.”

He groans, grins, presses his right fist into your palm. You measure the force with your mind, with your muscle memory. He’s stronger than he was yesterday, the day before, last week. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Rog teases. “You’ve got a soft spot for damaged people. Helpless people. That’s why you warmed to Brian so quickly. He was lying there all gaunt and jaundiced and terrified, and you just couldn’t resist, you just had to make sure all his wildest dreams came true.”

“I have a soft spot for self-destructive musicians who end up in hospitals, evidently.” Your gaze cruises over the scar on Roger’s forearm where the surgeons popped his bones back into place, stabilized them, stitched the ragged gore closed. You hate looking at it; you hate reminders of how mortal Roger really is.

“I want lions,” Rog decides. “For the driveway of our eventual mansion. I like the Leo connection.”

“And the Queen crest connection.”

His grin widens, toothy and radiant. “See, I knew you were the love of my life.”

“Come on. Again.”

He winces this time. “Doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“Uh huh. I bet.” You’ve slathered his fresh blisters with numbing antiseptic ointment, iced his arm, administered pain medicine, allowed him the constant sips of alcohol necessary for him to work, to drum, to sleep. But he still hurts. You imagine he hurts all the fucking time.

It’s August now, and Queen is recording their fourth album at Rockfield Farm. You and Roger are sitting by the pool as Freddie splashes around in the clear chlorine-smelling water trying to get John’s attention. John, meanwhile, is lounging on an inflatable raft, wearing black sunglasses and most likely asleep. Brian circles the pool snapping photos with your Canon F-1.

“I have a plan,” Roger informs you as he starts his stretches without prompting. He knows the drill, even if he likes to be difficult about it.

“By all means, enlighten me.”

“Fred’s thing, the weird one. It has a name now.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Oh, it’s perfect!” You try to stay out of the band’s business decisions as much as possible; it’s not your expertise, and it’s not your place, and there are already a few too many creative chefs in that kitchen. Still, you love when they share their magic with you. “Eccentric, whimsical, exhilarating. Just like the song. Just like Queen.”

“I’m so glad you approve. We’re going to make sure it’s the first single off the album. And I know exactly what song’s going to be on the B-side. Freddie and Bri don’t know yet, but I do.”

“Sounds like they’re going to murder you when they find out.”

“I’ll convince them.” His grin is crafty, daring. “Picture it: you’ve just finished the incomparable experience that is Bohemian Rhapsody. You’re a newly converted Queen enthusiast. What could possibly come next? You flip the record over. And the virile, screeching, pure rock and roll passion of I’m In Love With My Car is there to greet you.”

“Oh my god, Roger.” You shake your head in mock mourning. “They actually are going to murder you.”

“Listen, love, BoRhap is going to be a hit. I can feel it.”

“Sure,” you agree lukewarmly. You want to be supportive, you really do. But disappointment stings more than resignation.

“It will be,” Roger maintains, unmovable. “And it’ll sell mountains and mountains of singles...and with my song on the B-side, I’ll get half the royalties. Which means we’ll get half the royalties.”

“Which is how we end up with the hypothetical mansion.”

“I’m being serious.” Roger picks up his mini barbell weights from the water-splattered concrete and begins his bicep curls, flinching each time he lifts his right fist.

“Rog—”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “I’m going to make this happen. I’m going to get rich so I can provide for my family. You know about that, you know it’s on my list. And my family includes you now.”

“I don’t need a mansion, Roger.” I just need you. You stare at his right arm worriedly. “Are you sure—?”

“I’m fine!” he shouts, and you recoil. Brian peers over from where he’s taking pictures of blooming purple foxgloves. Instantly, Roger regrets it. “I’m sorry,” he says, setting down the barbells and cradling your face with his rough, bandaged hands. “I have to be fine, you know? I don’t have a choice. If I can’t play, I can’t be in the band. If I leave, John will leave too, and that’ll be the end of everything. Or worse, John will break the pact and stay and they’ll find a new drummer and forget all about me. Sail off into some blissful new future. And where will I be? Moping as I drag myself back to dental school? Becoming a freaking lab biologist? Resigning myself to being some excruciatingly ordinary bloke, someone who climbed just far enough out of Cornwall to know everything he’s missing out on?”

You try to imagine who Roger would be without the band, but you can’t. You’ve never known a pre-Queen Roger. “No,” you say, amused. “You’ll never be just some ordinary bloke. You’re too brilliant, too determined. Even if you do have a dodgy arm.”

He kisses you, and you can feel his lips curling into a smile beneath yours. “So you’ll let me buy you a mansion.”

“If you get I’m In Love With My Car on the B-side, and BoRhap is a hit, and Freddie and Bri don’t smother you with a pillow in your sleep...yes, you can buy me a mansion. Buy us a mansion.”

He winks, his sapphire eyes glinting in the late-summer sunlight. “Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s done,” John tells the others as he passes out copies of his new song, the second he’s ever written. There are only four sheets of crisp white paper; as you watch from the studio couch, you wonder what the song is about, why he didn’t mention it to you.

“It’s done?!” Brian yelps. “What do you mean, it’s done?! Nothing’s ever done after the first pass! That’s how it works, that’s how it always works, someone suggests something and then we all dice it and slice it and flip it around and stitch it back together like the world’s most maniacal surgeons, and then, only then, maybe, it’s done.”

You glance up from where you’re sewing an eleventh patch onto Roger’s jeans. “Must we disparage the medical profession?”

“Sorry, love,” Roger tosses to you with a laugh.                          

“It’s done,” John repeats.

“Deaky, darling,” Freddie ventures gently. “We should endeavor to keep our minds open to collaboration—”

“Oh, should we, Fred?!” Bri exclaims. “How extraordinary, you never seem to encourage collaboration when it’s your song on the cutting floor!”

“Okay space boy, you listen here—”

“‘I’m happy at home’?!” Roger reads, revolted. “We’re not the bloody Bee Gees, Deaks!”

John explains measuredly and patiently, as if to a child: “That’s the way it goes. We record it as it is or not at all.”

“That’s not how we do things,” Brian mutters, deep frown lines chiseled through his face as he scans the lyrics.

“Then just fill the album with your and Fred’s songs like you always do, I’m sure that’ll keep me and Roger loyal.”

Brian glares at John. John stares back stoically, his eyes like steel. Brian looks to Roger for support; Roger lights a cigarette and pretends not to notice.

“Darling, please, you’re not being reasonable!” Freddie pleads.

“I need it.” John turns to Roger now. “I need it to stay the way it is.”

Rog just watches him for a while, exhales smoke, shrugs. “Okay,” he says at last.

“Okay?!” Brian howls. “What do you mean, okay?!”

“He said he needs it,” Roger replies simply.

Bri throws his hands into the air. “Bleeding christ! ‘He needs it.’ What rubbish! Do something, Fred!”

“Oh relax, darling.” Freddie sashays to the microphone and points to Brian’s Red Special. “Let’s try it out.”

“But—!”

Roger claps Brian on the back as he trots by him towards the drum kit. “Come on, Bri. Big smiles. Just picture the nice shiny pounds from all those album sales plinking into your bank account. You’ll have fifty Christmas hams at the wedding, one for every guest.”

You listen passively from the couch as they rehearse, trying not to let on that you’re paying attention, trying not to overstep. But you can’t help being struck by the lyrics, feeling the somberness of Freddie’s voice and John’s tentative notes on the electric piano slink into your bones; because it sounds so familiar, because it echoes so many things that John has told you.

When Queen takes a mid-afternoon break and John slips into the kitchen for a Coke, you follow him.

“Hey John?”

“Yeah.” He rests his hands on the dining room table. They’re sturdy and unmarred and completely unlike Roger’s; and you aren’t sure why you notice this, but you do.

“I completely understand if I’m being intrusive, and if I am please just tell me to shut up and I will.”

He chuckles. “You’re never intrusive. Go ahead.”

“I was just wondering...who is You’re My Best Friend about?”

Now his smile evaporates. “No one in particular,” he says briskly. “It’s just a song. Just something to put on the album. Maybe a single one day. A soulless royalties grab.”

That seems unlikely. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He takes a swig of Coke, peers down at the table, traces swirls of centuries-old oak with his fingertips.

“It’s just...you know...well...it kind of sounded like...maybe it was about me.”

He looks up. And for the first time, John levels some of his infamous, razored words at you: “Don’t be such a fucking narcissist.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, John doesn’t apologize. But he smiles at you over tea, offers to clean off the fingerprints of strawberry jelly that Roger left on the Canon, splashes you from the pool as you sunbathe beneath lapis August skies. And you agree, wordlessly and unconditionally, to forgive him. Because John is your best friend, whether or not you’re still his.

Nine weeks later, Bohemian Rhapsody is released as a single. (And, as promised, Roger ensures that I’m In Love With My Car is on the B-side.)

Twelve weeks later, Bohemian Rhapsody reaches the #1 spot on the UK Singles Chart, and remains there for over two months.

Fifteen weeks later, A Night At The Opera becomes the #1 album in the UK.

Fifteen weeks later, Queen’s future is suddenly crystal clear.

[gaytravelinfo]

The Revolution Hotel - Boston, MA

ONE OF A KIND urban boutique hotel celebrating Boston’s revolutionary spirit. The Revolution Hotel is inspired by the great city of Boston and the innovative spirit of its people. They are one of a kind and don’t take no for an answer. Breaking the norm is The Revolution Hotel’s norm and it starts when you walk through their doors. The hotel’s lobby bleeds Boston with a 65ft masterwork in spray…

[stephensheffield]

Holiday Card, December 1999,🎄. . Back at the end of the last century, and at the start of my glorious romance with @sheffield_interiors, my holiday cards were a tad edgier/stranger. Alison was beautiful, creative and fun and had a groovy white streak in her hair, but I needed some work. Y2K was looming, my hair was dyed electric white, I had an unfortunate goatee on my face and I lived in an enormous but sketchy, illegal loft on Boston’s waterfront. What is happening in this film photograph is all vintage camera defects, colored studio lighting and developing shenanigans. (fun fact: I am standing in front of an in-progress commissioned collage for the Charles Hotel in Cambridge MA) . #4x5film #4x5camera #colorfilm #holidaycard #holidaylights #artiststudio #throwback . #Film #selfportrait #filmeffects #filmisnotdead #ishootfilm #largeformat #shootfilmstaybroke #analog #analogphotography #keepfilmalive #darkroom #shootmorefilim #thefilmcommunity #istillshootfilm_official (at Boston, Massachusetts) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJJrTEss8ZS/?igshid=10322y7ixqn2n

[argylemnwrites]

Thicker Than Water

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Cassie Vanderfield)

Book: Open Heart (just under 5 years after the end of Book 1)

Word Count: ~1100

Rating: G

Summary: The stresses of new parenthood are made much worse when certain grandparents come to visit.

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine’s Day/Singles Awareness Day! This is the last week of Fluffy Fridays (for now). This one is a request of 15. Family Visit on the Domestic Fluff Prompt List as requested by both @jamesashtonisbae and @fortunatelywaywardsandwich​

Cassie’s head jolted up off the arm of the couch as the latch of the front door of the loft woke her up. She glanced down, breathing out a sigh of relief as she saw Kendall sleeping comfortably on her chest. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep with her. That could have turned out so badly.

Cassie couldn’t say that the exhaustion of motherhood was better or worse than the worst rotations on residency. It was just different. However, the last few days had probably been the most exhausting week of her life. 

Bryce’s parents had come out to meet Kendall. It was the first time they’d ever visited her and Bryce at the loft. To call it stressful was an understatement. Not only was she trying to socialize and be friendly with Bryce’s parents barely four weeks postpartum, but she also found herself frequently soothing Bryce.

Bryce had been great with taking care of Kendall and things around the loft since they’d come home from the hospital, but starting about 24 hours before his parents were due to land at Boston Logan, he’d been a wreck. Gone was affectionate, caring Bryce, replaced instead with a tense, defensive Bryce, clearly on edge about everything. 

Cassie had known that this visit was going to be a rough one for them. She obviously didn’t feel close to the Lahelas, given Bryce’s very strained relationship, and it’s not like they were coming out to Boston for regular visits or that she and Bryce ever spent the holidays in Hawaii. But when Bryce had tried to blow off his parent’s request to come out and meet their granddaughter, she’d practically forced him not to burn that bridge. It was one thing to have a cold connection with his parents. It was another thing entirely to basically bar them from meeting their grandchild.

Cassie knew she had made the right decision, even when Bryce’s father attempted to relegate her and Bryce to the couches in the living room, wanting to commandeer their bed for him and his wife instead of staying at a hotel. Even when Bryce’s mother had told Cassie that she was doing Kendall a disservice by supplementing breast milk with formula. Even when both of them had implied that she and Bryce were negligent parents for having reserved a spot for Kendall in daycare when Cassie’s maternity leave was over instead of hiring a nanny - his mother’s recommendation - or that Cassie should just become a stay at home mother - an idea from his father that nearly had both Bryce and her kicking them out.

Letting them at least meet Kendall was a necessity, though. Cassie knew that as a fact. She just hoped that Bryce could understand that. His initial tension with their arrival had grown, with him and his parents frequently snapping at each other starting by the afternoon of their second day in Boston, and Bryce acting very tense with Cassie herself by day three. The five days they’d been in town had worn everyone very thin and ragged. All Cassie could hope was that Bryce would be ready to move past the whole visit and that he wouldn’t choose to hang onto resentment about the whole thing.

Cassie blinked the last remnants of her impromptu nap from her eyes, watching Bryce drop his keys on the counter. He was back from taking his parents to the airport, and he looked exhausted and dejected, his shoulders slumped forward and his head thrown back as he let out a massive sigh. After a moment, he walked over slowly, flopping down on the other end of the couch.

“Well, at least that’s over with,” he said, rolling his head over to look Cassie in her eyes, his hand dropping down to her legs, massaging her calves gently. “Sorry you had to deal with all of… that.”

“How are you doing?” she asked, happy to see that Bryce at least appeared calmer than he had since his parents had stepped into the loft.

“Alright. A little drained. Possibly still in shock.”

“Well, you got through it.”

“Nah, we got through it. I know this had to be really stressful for you, too.”

Cassie nodded. He wasn’t wrong. 

He just watched her for a moment. He didn’t seem to be looking for reassurances that everything was fine or that it was no problem, which Cassie appreciated. “I’m sorry for the ways I inevitably added to that stress.”

“I know, Bryce. I know.”

“I think we deserve a break,” Bryce said after a moment. It was almost directed more to the universe than it was to Cassie.

“Well, a break might be about 18 years away,” Cassie quipped, nodding her chin towards the baby still resting on her chest.

“Or, we could take Danny and Sienna up on their babysitting offer.”

“I don’t know, Bryce. She’s still so little.” Cassie trusted Danny and Sienna completely, but it still felt wrong to think about letting someone else care for her daughter. She supposed she was going to have to get over that feeling before she went back to work, but Kendall was barely a month old. She just was nervous about not being right there with her.

“Do you know how many nieces and nephews Danny has?”

“No. I’m guessing a lot?”

“Nine, all of them under six years old. And obviously Sienna is one of the most caring, attentive people on the planet.”

“I get that. I’m still just anxious about you and me not being there.”

Bryce nodded slightly, “Okay, well how about they come over here? Maybe tomorrow afternoon for a few hours? We would be right here, just behind that door, but we’d actually get a little bit of uninterrupted sleep.”

The thought of being allowed to sleep for more than two hours in a row sounded better than anything had in Cassie’s life. She gave Bryce a little nod, because he was right. This was a great idea. “Is this to make up for me having to play mediator for you and your parents?”

Bryce smiled, a slightly embarrassed look settling onto his face, “Maybe a bit.”

“Well, I appreciate it. I know being with your family is far from pleasant for you as well.”

He shook his head. “Nah, my family’s right here,” he said, giving Cassie’s calf a little squeeze.

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty​ @mfackenthal​  @lilyofchoices​  @thequeenofcronuts​  @jamesashtonisbae​

Open Heart: @omgjasminesimone​  @octobereighth​

Bryce x MC only:  @thequeenchoices​   @feartheendlesssummer​  @tallulahshh​    @fortunatelywaywardsandwich​   @dreaming-of-movies​  @choicesarehard​   @universallypizzataco​  @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl​  @maria-soederberg​   @sunnyxdazed​

[jamesashtonisbae]

She Sets the City on Fire Part 2

She Sets the City on Fire Part 2

Word Count: 2033

Pairing: Logan x MC; Colt x MC 

Book: Ride or Die

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexy times, but not actual lemon content. Yet. 

Summary: Aleigha is a good girl gone bad.  She’s going to try to keep both parts of herself.  

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, Pixelberry studios does!

Author’s Note: This flew off my fingers and is one of my favorite ideas I’ve had.  I love good girl gone bad Aleigha.  Probably because I see a lot of myself in her.

Tagging: @desiree-0816​ because she is my ROD encourager. Also @brightpinkpeppercorn​ and @princessstellaris​ because 100 years ago (June or July) when I wrote a Logan x MC fic they were so kind to comment and ask to be put on a tag list! And @mskaneko​! And my best reader @burnsoslow​!

She took the outstretched hand extended to her.  Her heart was not beating and she was not breathing.  The last person she expected to see in Boston was Logan St. James.

“Great race Lennon St. James,” he winked as he helped her up.

“So, you’re the Troublemaker, huh?” she brushed the dirt off of her pants as she gained her footing.  “I see I’m not the only one who changed my name.”

Logan leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t want to forget you, Troublemaker.”

“Shouldn’t I be calling you that?” she asked, slipping her hand around his waist to steady herself, because she had not caught her breath yet and being so close to him was not giving her chance to catch her breath.

She hadn’t known if she would ever see him again, and now, there he was, standing right in front of her, his hands slipping up her back and toying with the bottom of her bandeau.  It was dizzying to be next to him.  It was dizzying simply to be next to a man who she found attractive.

In the time she had been in Boston, she had gone home with a few guys.  It was very stupid in the moment, but each one played a role on the street-racing circuit and sleeping with them had gotten her a step closer to getting in.  When she arrived at the sideshow that night, she saw at least three of them and didn’t even glance at them twice.  It was in the past, and she was looking forward.

Right now, looking forward was looking at Logan.  She was so shocked he was there in Boston.

“Lo, you cannot be here.  You’ll get caught.”

He tugged her out of the main area with all the cars and down an alley.  She stumbled after him, avoiding puddles with her Yeezy’s.

“I know,” he growled, pushing her up against the bricks. “But I missed you.”

“Lo, I missed you too, but I know I cannot be seen with you,” she said as he leaned in and trailed kisses down her neck.  In the moment, all she wanted to think about was Logan’s mouth on her throat, but she had to think about the fact that he was being hunted down and she was being watched.  She had noticed that lately the people ‘following’ and ‘watching’ her had backed off, but if they came around her today, it would be very bad for Logan.

“Aleigha, I couldn’t stay away.  Tell me you’re not happy to see me,” he kissed up to her earlobe and grasped it between his teeth.

“Of course I’m happy to see you, Lo.  Don’t take it like that,” she moaned as he continued to work on her with his lips.

“Then let’s go.  Get in your car and let’s go somewhere people can’t see us and let’s stop missing each other.”

Aleigha looked up at him with tears in her eyes.  She had been cold and closed off all summer, not allowing herself to dwell on her life in LA.  It was all coming crashing back.  Seeing him was jolting her back to the thoughts of Jason using her, her dad throwing her out, Kaneko dying, Colt at prom, Colt coming up with a plan to murder people and falling in love with her, Logan lying to her and falling in love with her.  Her falling in love with Colt and Logan.

“Lo…” her lower lip trembled, and she grabbed him in a big hug.  “God, I missed you so much.”

“I can’t stay long, not past tonight, but I want tonight Aleigha.  I need you.”

She leaned into his chest and sobbed, “Let’s go.  Now.”

He took her hand and tugged her away as she was crying.  There were men all around looking at her and following her with Logan once they saw her tears.

“Hey, baby, this guy bothering you?”

“Hey, what did he do to you, baby girl?”

“Are you okay, baby doll?”

She groaned through the tears.  Those men were almost laughable.  If she weren’t a crying mess, she would have cracked a few jokes.

Logan growled at the men as he took her over to her car, “Don’t worry about her.”

The men decided she was not worth it when Logan asserted himself.  They knew he was the Troublemaker and to not mess with him.

He helped her into the driver’s seat, then got in on his side.  Aleigha glanced over at him and took his hand quickly, “Hey what about your car?”

“I’ll just leave it.  The Devore is stashed somewhere.  I don’t need this one anymore.”

“But, your fingerprints are all over it, Lo.  What are you going to do about that if they find it?  You’re not going to be able to leave before it’s found and linked to you.”

Logan laughed and took a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket, “Good thing I never touched it.”

“And where did you get it?”

He shrugged, “I borrowed it.  Don’t worry about it.”

Aleigha raised an eyebrow but didn’t continue pressing.  It wasn’t like she didn’t know he’d stolen it.  Why he thought he needed to keep secrets about his lifestyle was beyond her.  He probably just thought he was protecting her.

“Hey, can we ask the real question here? What the fuck are you wearing, Aleigha?”

“What, you don’t think I look hot?” Aleigha turned and looked at Logan with a pout on her lips.  She felt his eyes roam over her body and linger on her chest, then hips, then on down her legs which were miles long in her orange pants.  He moved back up her body, even slower, before finally gazing into her eyes.

She reached over and squeezed his hand, and Logan groaned, “Of course you look hot, but Aleigha what are you wearing?”

“Would you underestimate a girl dressed like this on the track?”

“I would never underestimate an opponent and you know that.”

“Well, if you were a shitty dude would you underestimate me?” Logan took her phone and plugged in an address before handing it back to her.

“I pity the dude who underestimates you, Troublemaker.”

Aleigha grinned at him, dropped his hand, and threw her car into drive.  She rushed off, following the GPS directions Logan had set up. 

Him showing up had thrown her for a loop.  She could not afford to get knocked off course.  Every minute of every day for the rest of her semester was planned.  Logan was not part of the plan.  If she was going to get her automotive engineering degree, join a local crew, get Mona out of jail, and return to LA to build up the crew with Colt in the next four years, she was going to need every moment to be precisely planned.  He was supposed to be long gone.  Long, long gone.

Logan sensed something was going on, so when she turned onto the interstate, he took her hand.  She grinned over at him, not wanting him to know what her plans were.  The less people involved, the better off she would be.  She would spend the night with Logan at whatever shady hotel he had gotten and then go back to work.

She pulled into the motel parking lot in front of his room.  He ran around to her door and helped her out, taking her hands and pulling her to him.  They looked at each other for a moment, and Aleigha felt a host of memories come flooding back.  Suddenly, she was leaning against the first O of the Hollywood sign.  She was transported to the floor of the loft over Kaneko Auto, flash cards and Logan’s clothes strewn around her.  She was in front of her house, between Logan and her father, tears in her eyes, fear in Logan’s, anger in her father’s, as Logan moved toward his car slowly.   His eyes drew her back from her memory, grateful that he was standing in front of her.

A beat passed and she knew he was remembering everything too.  He would forever be her boy with the car.  Logan was always going to be her first kiss.  The first senses of freedom and independence, she had felt with this boy.  This boy watched her finally uncover her fierce and confident side, and he hadn’t been scared away.  Regardless of what she felt for Colt, Logan was always going to be there.

She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair.  He had short dreadlocks now, and the suited him.  With a moan, he reached over and took her hips in his hands.  They leaned toward each other, tears barely held in their eyes.  For the first time in months, they kissed.

His lips devoured hers in a way that was unlike any of their other kisses.  She could not remember feeling someone kiss her like they needed her.  Not like they wanted her, or wanted to get in her pants.  He was kissing her like he needed her.  The lifeline he had been for her when she was finding herself, she now felt like she was for him.

She felt him press her against her car.  Often, she felt like she was one with her car, but now she was molded into it with the pressure of Logan’s body on her.  He ran his hands over her body, reaching into her cut out in her pants and gripping her hips with his calloused fingers.  As his hands ran down her hips and thighs, she hitched her leg up around him, pulling him closer to her.

“Lo… take me inside,” she breathed, pleading him with her deep brown eyes.

He picked her up, grabbed her keys, and locked the door before carrying her into his room.  There was a split second they were apart when she let him unlock the door, but once inside, she pounced on him again. 

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her towards the bed.  She had her lips pressed to the juncture of his jaw and throat, and he was very distracted.

“Throw me on the bed, Lo.  Don’t be gentle.  I’m not a little girl anymore.”

For the umpteenth time since she’d seen him, Logan growled, then threw her onto the bed, crawling over her body.  He leaned down and started to suck on her neck as she gripped his short dreads and pulled him in even closer.  His lips were tugging on her soft skin, eliciting yelps and moans from her.  As he mouthed her, she slipped her hands down his jeans and squeezed his ass.

“Lo,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with need, “I need you, Lo.  Fuck me, now, please.”

He moved up the column of her neck and tugged on her earlobe.  His voice got very low as he said, “Aleigha Nachole Meyers, I never thought I would get to do this.  I don’t want it to just be a quick fuck.”

When she took his face in her hands and moved him up to look in her eyes, his own eyes were wet with tears.  He had a look Aleigha had seen one time before, when her father had pointed a gun at him.  He looked scared.

“Lo,” she croaked, trying to overcome her desperate need for him.  All she wanted was to feel his powerful body over her, or underneath her, she didn’t care where he was exactly, so long as he was inside her.  “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.  I know you love Colt and he loves you, too.  But I’d take whatever you have to give me.”

“Lo, we cannot get too attached.  We could die, or never see each other again, so let’s just take tonight and be together and not think about it.”

He nodded, leaning his head against hers gently.  They pressed their lips together, and when he pulled away, he said, “Okay.  Let’s take tonight.”

She met his intense gaze and held it for a moment, “Okay.  So will you please fuck me now?”

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[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (Chapter 16)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: So we're closer to the end! I can't believe there's only five more chapters to go. But yeah, this chapter was nice - I'm not gonna say it's a happy chapter, but it's happier than the last few ones lol. It's a chapter that has a bit more of me in it - but it's still a Reader fic, so don't worry lol. Please tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages!

Words: 2800ish

ACT 3 - DAWN

"It's the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out"

Chapter 16

1977, New York

The bench under your bum made you uncomfortable, but you were still too lazy to care - you always left the beach like this.

You were on the long, one hour way back to your loft in Greene Street, SoHo, through the good old F train, every inch of the train filled with graffiti. But you could still smell the salt in the air coming from the New York Aquarium Station - the best station to access the Coney Island sidewalk and beach.

There was better, cleaner beaches in the Hamptons, but they were full of annoyingly rich people that think they're better than the rest. Also, Coney Island held a special place in your heart - when you were a kid, your grandma would take you there, so you could enjoy the sun and the not-so-safe attractions, and your parents would always freak out when they found out that you took the unsafe subway through the unsafe neighbourhood of Brooklyn to get to a dirty beach.

But it was always fun. The sun would almost certainly burn your shoulders, and you could never wear any jewelry, but the feeling of being involved by the sea, floating in the water, holding your breath, after spending a couple hours on carousels and wooden roller coasters, would always make it worth it - your grandma always taught you to be brave, that things could be scary at first, but usually worked out. "If it doesn't make you happier, it makes you wiser", she'd tell you, and you'd nod, the taste of cheap ice cream on your mouth, the sun warming up your skin.

It was your grandma who figured out that something was wrong with you and made you seek help.

She came by to visit as soon as you called her, right after getting home from Cleopatra's Needle and breaking up with Roger. She came to your parent's apartment, complaining about the traffic - she lived in Paramus, New Jersey, now. She moved there in 1973, saying that it was ludicrous she couldn't grow old with a nice garden on the back of her house, just because Manhattan didn't have houses with gardens anymore.

Now, once you came back from London, in 1975, she looked at you and immediately knew something was wrong. "Sweetpea, what's wrong?" she asked, a frown on her face as she got closer to you.

You were lying on the couch in your pajamas, trying to see if you could find a Doctor Who re-run - probably not a good idea, all things considered, but you didn't just miss Roger, now that he's away. You missed England, you missed their accents, you missed the way you felt when you first got there. "What, grandma?", you asked, and she got you to get up, putting her hand against your forehead.

"You're different", she said, and you shrugged, "Yeah, I'm older", and she laughed. "So am I, Sweetpea. And it hasn't been so long since I last saw you - last year, right? You came here with your hairy boyfriend", she said, and you tensed up, which didn't go unnoticed. "Oh. I see. Something happened between the two of you, right?" she asked, and you nodded.

"That's it. You look sadder. You didn't look like that before. But… Maybe that's not it. No, I don't think that's it at all", she said, and you looked at her, confused. "No, Grandma. That's what happened. I'm sad - I had to breakup with Roger, my boyf - ex-boyfriend", you interrupted yourself, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Roger, my ex-boyfriend, so I could get back here", you said, a cold pain spreading through your chest as the impact of these words hit you.

"But that's just a symptom. There's something else wrong there, Sweetpea. Something deeper within", she said, pointing to your heart. "And that's what made you sad, what made you break up with that boy. I liked him, you know. He made you happy - I could see it. You were always brave, and that always made me proud. But with him, you were happy - when you came into the room with him by your side, everything got brighter. Your love was like the sun", she said, fixing a painting on the wall, not noticing how your eyes were tearing up.

"That's how I last saw you. Brave and happy", she looked at the painting, satisfied with it now that it was not crooked anymore, and turned to you. "Now you're neither. What happened, Sweetpea?", and you choked up. "I don't know", you whispered, and she hugged you as you started to cry - she smelled like plums and apples, the things she grew on her garden in Paramus.

You couldn't stop thinking about the last time she saw you - it was in 1974, and the boys came to America, specifically to New York for a few dates, and you had to come with them - they wanted you to do so. Also, you were dating Roger for two years, and it was time for him to meet your parents.

You came from a small gig in Boston, Roger holding your hand the entire plane ride to New York - he was nervous. You were travelling right after their show, an extra night before the rest of the boys, so you could take Roger to have dinner with your parents.

None of you knew your parents actually organized a dinner party, and invited part of your family - your uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. Your uncle opened the door to your apartments, surprising both you and Roger. "Hm, hey, uncle Marcus. Where are my parents?", you asked, and you felt Roger's grip on your hand tighten as he noticed there would be many more family members for him to meet.

As you walked inside, you whispered to Roger "Relax, Rog", and he started looking more confident - but you could still feel his tight grip on your hand. He was still nervous.

But everything worked out just fine, actually. Your parents didn't really approve his looks - Roger was wearing a suit that he bought in Japan, with colorful birds and trees in silk shining against the dining room lights - but your cousins loved it. They loved him, actually, since they knew exactly who he was.

He got more comfortable as dinner went by, joking with your family, and you carefully changed topics once you realized one of your parents was about to ask a question about delicate stuff - money, marriage, kids.

You two always thought about marriage and kids as something distant - you felt too young, too irresponsible to take care of a child. So you took your birth control pills religiously, and everything worked out fine - the promise of children and marriage always there, in the distant future.

After the dinner party, Roger followed you to your room - you'd be spending the night there, since the band's hotel was booked for the next day.

"Well, this is an interesting look into a younger Y/N", Roger said, going through your bookshelf. "Frankenstein, Romeo and Juliet, Don Quixote, that's all pretty smart… 1984, I remember you talked about this book before our first kiss...", he said, and kneeled down, where your bookshelf was messier. "What's this? Flash Gordon?" he asks, picking up one of the comic books and going through it, and you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?", you said, getting the comics out of his hands. "I used to think Flash was hot. And Dale was pretty cool, too", you said, and he laughed, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

"It's fine by me", he said, and looked out of your window. "It's just funny for me to imagine you, a teenager, sitting by your window in this preppy, quite soulless neighbourhood, reading Flash Gordon and thinking of a way out", he said, and you laughed.

"Hey, I didn't only do that. I also had sleepovers with girls I never spoke to since we graduated from high school, and went on a bunch of dates with guys I didn't really like", you answered, and it was his turn to laugh.

"Hm, doesn't seem like a very satisfying life to me", he whispered, moving his lips to your neck, and you nodded lightly. "Did you ever bring them here? To your room?", he asked, and you laughed. "No, my parents would die. They were quite liberal, but not like that. When I went on a date as a teenager, I had to go to their place later if I wanted some action, you know", you answered, and he started to move his kisses to your jaw. You knew what he was about to suggest.

"I know, Y/N... So, I'm just wondering, am I the first guy your parents are allowing inside your room?", he said, his breath on your jaw giving you goosebumps. "Yeah", you answered, and he kissed under your earlobe. "The first guy to sleep on your bed?", he asked, and you said "Yes".

"How are your parents allowing this, miss Y/L/N? Such a nice girl from such a nice family, locked inside her room with a british drummer", he said, his voice low and husky, moving you closer to your bed. But you wanted to take it slow - it was a special event, indeed.

"Not that I'm trying to break your roleplay, Roger, but we literally share a flat. It would be silly for them to get the guest bedroom ready for you", you said, and he scoffed, breaking away from your neck and looking at you.

"Yeah, but it would be hotter", he said, going back to kissing your jaw. "Imagine how hot it would be if I had to wait until your parents slept so I could leave the guest bedroom", he said, getting you to sit on the bed, "And then I would've to walk, very carefully, through the hallway, trying not to wake them up", he continued, laying you down on your back and moving on top of you, then going back to kissing your neck and cleavage as he completed, "Just to open your bedroom door and find you touching yourself, moaning my name".

"That would be pretty hot", you agreed. "Maybe I should get them to move you to the guest room", you shrugged, teasing him, and he stopped kissing your cleavage just to look at you and say "Don't you dare", before kissing your lips.

That night was a bad memory to have running over your head again and again as you laid on your bed every night to go to sleep, alone, a year later, after breaking up with Roger, in 1975.

Your grandma convinced you to seek help, and you tried everything: therapy - your parents looking at you weirdly because getting a therapist was still associated with severe mental illness, meditation, mediums, aromatherapy.

You didn't knew exactly what worked, but a year after you arrived, now in 1976, you were already in your new SoHo flat, having moved out of the Upper East Side, the neighbourhood you - and Roger - knew that didn't really have much to do with you, even though it was closer to the Met, where the work was interesting - and where you barely ever saw Will, uncomfortable looks exchanged between the two of you every time you had to see each other.

It was a cold winter day in December 1976 when you got up, your loft nicely illuminated, spacious, the soft light from the snowy day making everything seem more magical. The building was quiet, your artistic neighbours still asleep this early in the morning, and you made yourself some tea - with milk - and opened the window so you could sit on the emergency exit.

The street was also quiet, the only sound being a muffled free jazz, that was probably being played live in a grand piano inside one of the many lofts on Greene Street. It was then, the cold wind making your skin burn under the layers of sweaters, the tea getting rapidly cold, the jazz caressing your ears, when you realized you were not sad anymore.

You didn't feel that weight on your chest now, when you breathed in, filling your lungs with fresh, cold air, and you didn't feel like you had no control over your life. You were present, in the moment, and you felt happy. Happy with your life. Happy with yourself.

And you enjoyed this feeling, without thinking much, for as long as you stayed outside on the emergency exit; until you finished the tea, until the jazz player stopped, wherever he or she was.

Once you got inside, thinking about preparing a nice, warm bath, you walked by the phone, and you wanted to call Roger.

You wanted to call him many times before, but you were always desperate, regretting breaking up with him, or sad, just trying to know how he's doing, how the boys are doing.

But now, you didn't feel anything negative make you want to call him - you just wanted to let him know that you're happy again.

But that doesn't seem like a good enough reason to call him in the middle of the day for him - he probably wasn't even up yet.

So you went inside the bathtub and just felt grateful for meeting him, for having the opportunity to have him in your life. Now, it was peaceful.

Now, back at the F train to your house from Coney Island in 1977, you're taken out of your thoughts when you see a blonde head pass in front of you, but you don't feel nervous anymore - you knew it wasn't Roger.

You always thought you saw him, especially in 1975, your first year back in New York - always nervous, always imagining that he was just trying to see you, to talk to you, maybe to try to take you back to England with him.

You saw him everywhere, in those first weeks, still in your parents apartment, thinking he might be on you M86 bus to work, or maybe in this fancy cocktail party you attended.

But one time, in 1976, you could swear you saw him on the stairs at the Met as you bought a hot dog from the stands in front of the museum - the guy's hair was shorter and bleached, just like you saw in the pictures of Roger that appeared on magazines, and he looked confused. But you didn't really investigate it, though - it was probably just another guy, maybe even inspiring his own look in Roger's.

Your train reached your station and you finally got back to Greene Street, walking slowly to your building, taking in the view of your street. Now that you're far from Queen, you can see their importance, their impact on the world.

You watched as songs you saw get written and sung and produced right in front of you became huge hits - Deacy's song to Veronica reached #1 on the american charts. A song you saw get recorded in a weekend visiting your boyfriend as he worked - that's how you saw it.

You bought their new album in the end of last year, 1976, A Day at the Races. You loved it - it was probably your favourite, and you didn't knew if it was because their music was getting better or if it was because this was their first album you could enjoy as a fan, not being involved in how it was made. You liked to watch their TV specials and interviews, feeling grateful that you ever got to be around them, even though life - and your own, unconscious choices, you now realized - took you away from them. From Roger.

You loved You Take My Breath Away and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, but Drowse truly held a special spot in your heart - maybe you only loved it so much because it was Roger's, and it sounded like talking to him about his childhood, something you've done many times before, but maybe you didn't love it just because you were biased by your story with Roger. The song sounded more american, and it even made you feel like you felt when you listened to Fleetwood Mac. You smiled at that thought.

Once you got home, you picked your mail and started going through it.

You weren't really paying attention to it - you were thinking about the Fleetwood Mac show you would attend next week for the Rumours tour, in the Madison Square Garden, when a heavier letter caught your eye.

The paper was soft, creamy beige, and sealed with wax. And then you read what was written over the envelope.

It was a letter sent by the Curator of Palaeolithic and Mesolithic collections from The British Museum.

---

Chapter 17

Masterlist

Taglist:

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