Roger Taylor Imagine - Tumblr Posts

HE LOOKS SO GONE HERE BUT LOOKS SO FUCKING HOT OH MY GOD 

also just look at how he’s holding his drink 

also, I’m writing part three of When Things Fall Apart...sorry it’s taking so long, this week is pretty busy for me with school and everything. I promise it will be up this week though!

THE. HAND. IN. HIS. SHIRT. 

When Things Fall Apart PART 3 [ROGER TAYLOR x READER]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: You and Roger fall out of love, but is it possible for you guys to fall back into love?

Word count: 1077

Contains: fluffiness I think? idek

A/N: Ah sorry this took so long to post!! School actually kicked my ass this week. Good news: I’ve basically finished the next couple of chapters (just need to make some revisions and such), so they’ll be up VERY SOON. Thank you so much for reading!!! 

PART ONE // PART TWO

3 years later

You’re at a bakery, looking for some sweets to bring for one of your employee’s birthdays. You were surprised with your decision as you don’t normally go to this bakery (it used to be one of your favorite spots, but overtime, you just stopped going). Stopped going because after you moved, it was just too far away––too far away even if they had your all time favorite pastry. Today, though, you had a particularly strong craving for their lemon and poppyseed scones (you used to eat their scones everyday for breakfast on your way to work), so you decided to make the drive down.  

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in ages!” the old woman behind the counter exclaims when you walk through the door. 

“Hello, Mrs. Clarkson!” you reply with a smile, a bit surprised but touched that she still remembers you. 

“You are one mean lady, Miss Y/L/N. Leaving me all of a sudden with no explanation!” she scolds, hands on her hips. You laugh a little and scratch the back of your head, blushing. 

“Uh––I––I had––”  

“I’m just giving you a hard time, lovie,” she says with a wink and a wave of her hand. “The important thing is that you’re here now, so what can I get for you, sweetheart?” You know that she knows when you see her eyes soften with sympathy and the fact that she doesn’t ask, but honestly, you wouldn’t have minded if she did. 

“I mean, I was just going to get a lemon and poppyseed scone for myself, but I forgot about all of the other amazing things you make,” you say, eyeing the array of glazed pastries and fluffy breads behind the glass display case. 

“Aw! Stop it, you flatter me!” she says, shaking her hand. 

As you hunch down to look at the various baked goods while catching up with Mrs. Clarkson (“How’s Mr. Clarkson?” “Oh, he’s good, sorry he isn’t here right now, but he had to take Will to the vet”), the chimes above the door ring as another customer walks in. 

“Good morning Mrs. Clarkson, you’re looking beautiful as always! I was wondering, do you have––” The voice stops.  

“Y/N?” you hear someone ask from behind you. Looking over your shoulder––you see him. You blink, not quite believing the sight in front of you. The sight of him: him in sweatpants and a knit sweater, his usual black sunglasses sitting atop his head, blond hair messy (you assume that he just woke up before coming here to get some breakfast). His arms hang limply by his sides, his jaw slack.

“Oh, hello Roger dear!” Mrs. Clarkson greets back, and you snap out of your state of slight paralysis. 

He doesn’t look at her, though. Doesn’t even seem to hear her. Doesn’t look as his eyes are too busy trained solely on you. Drinking in the sight of you. In any other situation, you would’ve blushed under his intense gaze, but you don’t notice.

“Oh my God. Roger?” you finally say––that being the only thing that you could come up with as a response. The first thing you notice is that his hair is a bit shorter. 

He gives you a hesitant smile, raising his hands out from his sides, palms facing up.

“The one and only?” he asks with a sheepish grin. 

And despite the shock and the surprise and the fact that you haven’t seen nor talked to him in three years, you smile at him. A real, genuine smile. 

And despite his shock and his surprise and the fact that he legitimately thought his heart had stopped beating when he saw you, he smiles back. A real, genuine smile. The first thing he noticed is that you’re absolutely glowing. 

You’re the first to make a move and walk over to him. You pause before wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He hugs you back. The embrace feels familiar and alien at the same time. He thinks the same thing. 

“How are you?” you ask after pulling away. 

“I’m good, I’m good,” he replies, his hands fiddling with the sides of his sunglasses. He eventually just shoves them into his pockets. 

“I watched your last show on the telly a few nights ago––you guys were amazing,” you say. He blushes fiercely. 

“Oh that––that was nothing.” You raise your brows.

“Don’t tell me the infamous Roger Taylor’s gone all modest now?” you joke. He barks out a laugh.

“I’m trying something new…except I don’t think it’s working…people can’t seem to get enough of my irresistible charm,” he says back, making you laugh, and he smiles, seeing you happy. “What are you doing down here? Don’t you live more uptown?” he asks.

“You know, I was really craving a lemon scone…” you admit. His eyes soften with memories. “Which reminds me––I’ll take a lemon scone, a coffee, and, uhh, two dozen of those Danish pastries,” you say quickly to Mrs. Clarkson who’s standing behind the counter. Eyes shining bright with joy as she watches the two of you together again. 

“It’s on the house, my dear,” she says, sliding the box of pastries to you. 

“Oh my god, no, I can’t take all of this,” you say, reaching into your wallet. 

“Oh, please, I haven’t seen you in years, please take it, for me,” she says, refusing to take the credit card you’re holding out towards her. You sigh. 

“Okay, fine, but I’m going to take you out for dinner in exchange,” you say before taking the box and coffee. 

“It was really nice seeing you Rog.” As you grab the door handle, you stop as he starts speaking.

“Hey Y/N?” you turn around once again. “Would you––would you want to have some breakfast together some time?” he asks. You pause. 

“Yeah––yeah, I would love to,” you say. “And Mrs. Clarkson––make sure your schedule is free next week because I’m taking you to a nice dinner––I’m being serious!” you call out, hearing her warm laughter follow you out the door and to the sidewalk. 

“Such a nice girl,” Mrs. Clarkson says. Roger makes a noise of agreement as he watches you walk to your car. She raises her brows at him. 

“You know, it was nice seeing you both together again,” she says carefully while grabbing his order. 

“Yeah, yeah it was.” 

PART FOUR

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love

WHEN THINGS FALL APART Taglist:

@perriwiinkle @professionofviolence @wint-er-voices @soulmates8 @borhapqueen92 @dreamer7black @ma-ntequilla @benhardyjones @discodeakyy @aylinnmaslow @yyyycykaaaaaaa  @nasa-freak​ @majorlyextra @maem-rae @nowisours-nowisforever

When Things Fall Apart PART 4 [ROGER TAYLOR x READER]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: You and Roger fall out of love, but is it possible for you guys to fall back into love? 

Word count: 1378

Contains: NERVOUS ROGER, a little bit of awkwardness

A/N: I dont really have much to say right now, so….Enjoy!! Oh also, I would love some feedback on this series/or any of my other writing pieces! 

PART ONE // PART TWO // PART THREE

“Hey Y/N?” you turn around once again. “Would you––would you want to have some breakfast together some time?” he asks. You pause.

“Yeah––yeah, I would love to,” you say. “And Mrs. Clarkson––make sure your schedule is free next week because I’m taking you to a nice dinner––I’m being serious!” you call out, hearing her warm laughter follow you out the door and to the sidewalk.

“Such a nice girl,” Mrs. Clarkson says. Roger makes a noise of agreement as he watches you walk to your car. She raises her brows at him.

“You know, it was nice seeing you both together again,” she says carefully while grabbing his order.

“Yeah, yeah it was.”

You finally reach the breakfast spot (Roger called you the night after you saw him and set up a time and place) and park on the street across from it. Getting out of the car, you take a deep breath, smooth down your dress, and since there aren’t many people around (it’s pretty early on this Saturday morning), you immediately spot Roger’s blonde hair in front of the restaurant.  

“Hey,” you say once you meet him in front of the small café. He stares at you for a beat too long, specifically staring right at your dress. You blush a little. I should’ve just went with the jeans and tee shirt, you think, mentally slapping yourself on the forehead. 

Did she wear that on purpose? Roger thinks, heart going a bit faster seeing you in his favorite dress––the dress that he actually bought you when you two were dating. 

“Rog, you okay?” you ask, amused, which snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry love––nice to see you,” he says, giving you a peck on the cheek. You stiffen a bit––not in discomfort––more in surprise. He pulls away in surprise as well. He opens his mouth to say something but gets cut off. 

“Hello, how may I help you?” the hostess asks, and the of you two are then ushered into the café. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you apologize as you’re led to the small table in the corner of the room. What you don’t tell him is the reason that you’re late: you spent an obscenely long time in the morning trying to figure out what to wear and after a couple of hours and a completely wrecked closet, you just opted to wear a floral sundress you found shoved deep in one of the shelves. 

“No, it’s completely fine, I just got here a couple minutes ago myself,” he says. What he doesn’t tell you is that he in fact, did not get here a couple minutes ago. Having woken up at the crack of dawn and not being able to bear anymore of the waiting, he just left his house way too early and arrived thirty minutes before you were supposed to meet.  

At first, it’s a bit awkward, trying to talk to someone whom you haven’t spoken a word to in almost three years. But as you get some food in your stomachs and the cups of teas get refilled and the cozy atmosphere makes you a little more comfortable, you two soon fall into a nice, familiar, rhythm, similar to how it was before. 

And throughout the breakfast, you’re surprised that you remember his small mannerisms––the way his hands constantly move while he talks or the way he gently drums his fingers onto the table. 

And you’re surprised to find out that he still remembers your little quirks as well. The way you like your tea, “Two sugars and cream, right?” he asks before hailing down the waiter to get those for you or the way he automatically sat down in the chair so that you could sit in the booth side. 

Or the way he gently touches your knee under the table to stop you from bouncing it up and down. The gesture so familiar that you almost forget that this is the first time you’ve seen him since the split. Almost. You almost forget because the fact of the matter is that you two haven’t seen each other in three years. And it may seem familiar, but it still feels strange and alien as well. And it seems as if he realizes this too for the second after he places his fingers on top of your jiggling leg, he jerks his head up with a look of horror across his face. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean––I wasn’t really thinking about it––” You smile, a bit endeared by his panic.

“It’s really fine, Rog,” you say with a reassuring smile. He blushes. 

Besides that little “blip”, the rest of the breakfast goes smoothly. 

––––––––––

“Remember when you accidentally set off the fire alarm in the apartment, and Mrs. Nelson tried whacking you with her mop?” you ask, laughing. 

“Hey! That was a serious incident––she nearly took my head off!” he says laughing along. You clutch at your sides as tears spring in your eyes. The other patrons in the small café shoot you two dirty looks, but you don’t care.

He tells you stories of his time on tour. 

“There was this one night where I accidentally dyed my hair green, and I had to play the whole show with that god-awful hair!”

“You could’ve used baking soda and water! Would’ve gotten it out like that,” you say with a snap. He groans, hitting his forehead with his hand, and you giggle. 

“Wish you were there––Brian practically had to push me onto the stage while Freddie and John were just watching and laughing.”

“Aww, I really miss them,” you say, clasping your hands together. 

“Yeah, they miss you, too.” 

––––––––––

You both end up staying at the café for way longer than you expected. Once your teas got cold and remained cold for quite a long time, the waiter walks to your table, about to kick you out for overstaying. But Roger quickly orders another pot of tea and one more chocolate croissant that you know you’ll both barely pick at. The waiter narrows his eyes but nonetheless goes to the kitchen. 

“I dont think he likes us very much,” Roger whispers too loudly behind his hand. You laugh into your napkin before shushing him, and he grins. 

––––––––––

“This was really fun,” you say after you finally paid and left the restaurant, “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah! Since I just got off tour, I’ll be here for quite a bit…just let me know when you want to meet.” He checks his watch. “Oh shit, I’ve got to run, but see you soon!” he says with a hug before jogging over to his car. 

“Call me!” you yell back with an exaggerated wink. You hear his booming laughter from across the street. He blows you a kiss, ridiculously puckering up his lips, before stepping into his car. People around you stare, but you don’t care. Don’t notice. And for a moment, it was as if nothing had changed. That you hadn’t broken up. That these three years haven’t happened. You chuckle to yourself and feel an unexpected fluttering in your chest. You don’t recognize the feeling though, and you simply attribute it to the sort of happiness one gets after reconnecting with an old friend. 

When you get back home, you flop onto your bed, a feeling of content settles within you. You smile.

––––––––––

Roger walks into the recording studio, drumming his fingers against his thighs. 

“What’s got you so happy?” Brian asks from the couch as he spins a pencil around. 

“Hm?”

“Oh Rog––please don’t tell me you took that girl from a couple of nights ago home.”

“Wait what––no––I just had breakfast with Y/N.” Brian looks up from his paper, setting his pencil down.

“Y/N?”

“Yep.”

 “Like Y/N Y/L/N? Like your ex-girlfriend Y/N?” he asks.

“Yes…” Brian gives him a look. “I saw her in Lily’s Bakery and invited her to have breakfast, so we could catch up…what’s wrong with that?”

“I guess nothing…but I mean, she is your ex.”

“And it’s been three years. She looked really happy when I saw her, and I can assure you that we’re both very much over it. She was my best friend and––and I kinda forgot how nice it is––talking to her.” Brian looks at him for one more second before shrugging and going back to his song lyrics. Once Freddie and John arrives, they all start working on a new song in the studio. 

But while Roger’s drumming, the only thing he could think of is you. Freddie yells at him to pay attention after he messes up for the seventh time that hour. But he’s completely lost in his thoughts as he replays moments from breakfast over and over in his head, his heart warm in his chest. 

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love

WHEN THINGS FALL APART Taglist:

@perriwiinkle @professionofviolence @wint-er-voices @soulmates8 @borhapqueen92 @dreamer7black @ma-ntequilla @benhardyjones @discodeakyy @aylinnmaslow @yyyycykaaaaaaa  @nasa-freak​ @majorlyextra @maem-rae @nowisours-nowisforever

Promises [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: "Remember when you promised we’d always be together? Because I remember when I thought you meant it.”

Word count: 1282

Contains: ANGST SO MUCH ANGST

A/N: This is my fic for @bensroger’s 3k writing challenge (congrats on 3k love!) I hope you enjoy!

You hear the front door open and close. 

“I’m home!” your husband calls from the foyer as he sets his keys on the table. He walks into the living room as you wait for him on the couch. 

“Hi darling, you know for dinner, I was thinking we could go to that Italian place you really like––” he says, distracted by taking off his jacket, the various zippers and buttons making it a harder task than it should be. 

“Who’s Rachel?” you ask quietly. He stops mid taking off his jacket. A pause. A too-long, self-incriminating pause. 

“Who?” he asks.

“Don’t fucking play dumb. Samantha saw you with her in the bathroom the other night.” Silence. He doesn’t even try to deny it now. Stops talking and hangs his head, and you feel your heart cleave in two. 

You let out a mirthless laugh that sounds more like a sob as tears begin falling down your face. Those tears finally let loose because a little part of you thought, maybe, just maybe Samantha was lying or that she didn’t see it right or she made it a mistake and the man standing in between the legs of another girl in a slimy bar bathroom wasn’t your husband––wasn’t Roger. And the fact that that little part of you was wrong made you cry even harder. Disappointment and heartbreak and betrayal making you press your hands onto your mouth as if that’ll hold the breaking pieces of you together. He walks over, arm raised, about to lay his hand on your shoulder to try to comfort you. 

“Don’t touch me,” you scream, jerking away from him. Your fists clench, and you feel your nails digging into your palm. You think you feel them puncture through the skin, think you feel blood. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his own tears beginning to pool in his eyes. You ignore his apology, choosing not to listen. Refusing to listen. 

“Remember––remember when you promised we’d always be together? Because I remember when I thought you meant it,” you say, your voice breaking. And he flinches. Flinches so hard, it looks as if he got slapped in the face. Flinches because he remembers exactly when he promised you that––is thrown back to that exact moment. 

You wake up to the feeling of Roger’s fingers trailing along your jaw, your cheeks, your brows. You scrunch up your nose as he presses a kiss to the tip of it. He exhales softly, his heart clenching at the sight. Your eyes finally flutter open, and you’re met with him gazing upon you, eyes soft, his arm propping up his head as he looks down on you. 

“Good morning, my beautiful fiancé,” he murmurs. Too tired to speak just yet, you wrap your arms lazily around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

“Good morning, lover,” you whisper once you separate. 

“Sleep well?” 

“Yeah, right up until I was rudely awoken,” you say, snuggling deeper into his side, draping an arm across his torso. He laughs.

“At least the first thing you woke up to was the face of your gorgeous fiancé,” he says, flicking your nose. 

“Hmm, I guess so…” You press a kiss to his sternum, and he squirms. You look at him with an absolutely wicked expression, now feeling very much awake. Seeing this expression, he opens his mouth, but you cut him off by poking his sides. He jerks away. 

“Oh, you really want to start this?” he asks before beginning his own assault to your arm pits. You shriek, kicking and writhing your body away from his fingers. 

You somehow manage to get on top of him, legs on either side of his body as you pin his wrists down by his sides (he let you win).

“Ha!” you exclaim, victorious, looking down at him. He meets your gaze with amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Fine, you beat me, could I get a kiss now to make me feel better?” he asks, looking up at you though his long lashes. You roll your eyes before leaning down to press your lips to his. But when you bend down, your hands loosen their grips on his wrists. 

You squeal as the world suddenly flips upside down and when you get your bearings, you’re on your back, arms pinned above your head, looking up at a very smug Roger. 

“Hello there, love,” he murmurs with a smirk. 

“Prick,” you huff. 

“You love me.” You look away, pouting, trying not to smile. “Y/N, look at me,” he whines, nuzzling his face into your neck. You refuse, the corners of your mouth tilting up against your will. He lets go of your arms. And then plops all of his body weight on top of yours, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Roger!” you wheeze, laughing and hitting his sides. “Get off of me!”

“Love meeeee,” he says, voice muffled as his face is buried in the crook of your neck. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, you grab his face with both hands to bring it up to yours. 

“You’re a big baby, you know that?” He gives you a loud, wet kiss in response before pressing kisses all over your face, your neck, your collarbones. You squeal and laugh. Love and warmth and adoration hazy in the morning air. 

You both lay in bed for a while as if you had all the time in the world, soaking in the feeling of one another––soaking in each other’s presence. He plays with your hair as you rest your head on his chest. His warmth coupled with his heart’s steady beating making you sleepy again. 

“Roger?” you ask, tilting your face up at him. Voice soft as you absentmindedly draw little shapes on his skin. The morning light streaming in through the gauzy curtains makes him look like an angel. 

“Mmm?” he asks, his eyes half closed. 

“Promise we’ll always be together?” you whisper, the diamond ring sitting on your finger feeling especially heavy. Opening his eyes, he sits up. He cups your face, pure, unadulterated love filling his heart. 

“Always,” he whispers back before ducking down to connect your lips. And in this moment, he knows that you’re the one who he was waiting his whole life for––who he’ll now spend his whole life with. Promises himself that he’ll never let you go––that he’ll always be by your side. And in this moment, you know that this man is the love of your life, and you know for certain that nothing will ever take him away from you. 

His eyes are closed and his brows are creased with pain. Stumbling towards you, his arms are raised in front of him as if he’s reaching out for you. But you stare resolutely at your hands, aggressively picking the hangnail on your finger. 

“Y/N, look at me please,” he whispers hoarsely. You snap your head up.

“No. I’m done. We are done,” you hiss. The tears have stopped. Now you just feel––empty. Spent.  

“Darling, please, it was a mistake,” he begs. “I love you––”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare say that to me.”

“Y/N––”

“YOU PROMISED.”

“I know, god, I know. And I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” 

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I said. Get. Out,” you say as you begin throwing his stuff––his bag, his sunglasses, his jacket––out the door. 

“And take this,” you say, ripping the ring off your finger and throwing it at him. He catches it, his heart broken. He looks at you, desperation on his face, and you turn away. 

“You promised,” you whisper as he leaves through the front door. 

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love

Roger Comforts You After You Have a Bad Day [ROGER x READER]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word count: 975

A/N: Literally wrote this right now because I’m in a weird mood and wish I had someone like Roger to comfort me like this. I hope you enjoy and hope everyone has a fantastic start to their weekend!

Today was not a good day. First, you woke up late because you forgot to set your alarm. You got a lower than average grade on the paper you thought you aced. Then, you spilled coffee all over your white shirt and didn’t have time to change between classes. You’re tired. And you just want to go home and watch TV while eating a big bowl of Lucky Charms and go to sleep at an insanely early hour. 

It didn’t work out like that. 

When you get back to your apartment, you change out of your clothes before heading to the kitchen. But while preparing a bowl of cereal, you drop the milk carton, and milk splatters everywhere––soaking the wood floors, the cupboards underneath the sink, the fridge. And you just stand there frozen, staring at the liquid dripping off the surfaces. Staring at the carton laying sideways on the floor. Staring at the already poured out cereal in the bowl on the counter. 

And you just start to cry. Cries that turn into large, heaving sobs as you crouch down to the floor, your head in your hands. And you cry and cry and cry. Because you’re tired. And you’re sad. And you just want someone to hug you and tell you that everything will be okay. So, you go to your room and picking up the phone with shaky hands, you dial the first person that comes to mind. He picks up on the second ring. 

“Rog?” you ask, still crying. 

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” he asks, a hint of panic in his tone. You hear him shushing the other people in the background. Already, hearing his familiar voice begins to calm you down. 

“I know you’re really busy right now, but can you come over? You don’t have to though, if you can’t––I just––I just really need you right now.”  

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I was just about to leave the studio for the night anyway,” he says, and you can hear him shuffling around, most likely getting up and packing his stuff for the night. 

“Okay, thanks Rog, love you,” you whisper through the phone.

“I’ll be there in twenty. Love you too.” When he puts the phone back on the receiver, he immediately grabs all of his stuff to get ready to leave. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Brian asks from his seat at the soundboard. 

“I have to go, Y/N called, and she needs me to come over.” 

“We’re in the middle of recording a song!”

“You guys can finish it without me,” he says before grabbing his jacket, saying goodbye, and almost sprinting out the door. Brian shakes his head. 

“Has he admitted his feelings for her yet?” John asks, lazily strumming his guitar. 

“Nope,” Brian replies, popping the “p.”

––––––––

Roger arrives at your apartment in sixteen minutes. He already has a key, so he first knocks before letting himself in. He walks into the kitchen and sees the absolute mess you left behind. The milk already beginning to dry on the surfaces. The uneaten bowl of cereal looks like it was thrown (rather haphazardly) into the sink––bits of Lucky Charms strewn across the counter as well.

“Y/N?” he calls and hears a muffled response coming from your bedroom. He finds you under your covers, eyes puffy and swollen. A book sitting on top of the covers to your right (you didn’t read a word of it though). When you see him with his soft hair and kind eyes and smell his familiar cologne mixed with cigarette smoke, your face crumples, and tears flood your eyes again. All those factors coupled with the fact that you haven’t seem him in so long due to your busy schedules cause you to break down when you see him.

“Roger?”Although you’re crying, an intense wave of relief washes over you at his arrival. His heart breaks at the sound of your voice. He could hear the fatigue. The defeat. 

“Hi, love,” he says softly before quickly shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He immediately walks over and climbs into the bed with you––still in his jeans and all––bringing you into his arms. You lay your head on his chest, resting your hand on his torso. 

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper into his neck. 

“Of course. You wanna talk about it?” he asks, but you shake your head, and he understands. Understands because when he has bad days, sometimes, he simply just wants to be with someone and wants someone to be there for him (you know he understands because you’ve done the same thing for him multiple times). 

You two lay there for a moment, soaking up each other’s presence.

“You know, there’s a big mess in the kitchen,” he whispers. You smile for the first time that day. 

“I just wanted some cereal,” you mumble. 

“I’m gonna go clean it up, okay?” he says about to untangle himself from you, but you tighten your arms around his waist. 

“Wait,” you say. 

“What do you need?” he whispers, stroking your hair. 

“Just––can you stay with me?” you ask, sniffling. His heart clenches. 

“Of course darling,” he says, his voice raspy. You guys had plenty of sleepovers where you two slept in the same bed. This time is the same as the rest as you snuggle deeper into his chest, gripping onto his shirt, and he kisses the top of your head. Eventually, his warmth and the quiet tune he hums lulls you to sleep as he feels your hand loosen its grip and your breaths come out in deep, even exhales. The furrow in your brow is still there, and he gently thumbs over it. 

“I’ll always stay with you,” he whispers into your hair. 

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love

You're Roger’s Younger Sister, Secretly Dating Brian [GWILYM!BRIAN x READER]

Pairing: Gwilym!Brian x Reader

Summary: You’re Roger’s little sister, and you’ve been travelling with them on tour while also secretly dating Brian. And then Roger finds out. (Dun dun dunnnn)

Word count: 1577

Contains: overprotective brother Roger, lots of spicy language 

A/N: I don’t know why, but I was in a frenzy while writing this (it was really fun to write, and I was inspired!) Thank you to the anon who sent me this request! And like always, I hope you enjoy! 

“Okay, we all know that you have a sister,” the interviewer begins, looking at Roger, “but the question is, would you let anyone in the band date her?”

“Absolutely not,” Roger says with no hesitation. He’s not even looking at her when he replies, focusing more on taking a drag from his cigarette. Besides him, Brian laughs along with the audience, a light blush on his cheeks, scratching the back of his head. His friend besides him doesn’t notice. 

–––––––

“Hello? I called about twenty minutes ago, asking for some more conditioner and was wondering if you got it? Yes, room 728,” you talk to the hotel concierge through the phone. You hear knocking on the door. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I think they just got here, but thank you!” you say before hanging up and jumping out of bed. Tying your robe a bit tighter around you, you walk over to the door. You swing it open. But instead someone with the conditioner, you’re met with your brother on the other side of the threshold.

“Roger? What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Have you called Mom? She called me at four in the bloody morning asking about your university documents, and I don’t know why she’s asking me about that shit, so I came to tell you to call her, so she doesn’t wake me up again,” he says, clearly still annoyed. 

“Oh shit,” you say, putting your hand on your forehead. “I completely forgot––okay––yeah I’ll call her after I take a shower.” 

But Roger doesn’t hear that, too busy squinting at you. 

“What is that?” he asks, pointing at your neck. 

“What is what?” you look down and see the giant purple bruise––the one left from Brian last night. Your heart stops a bit, but you quickly compose yourself.

Rolling your eyes, you say, “It’s literally just a hickey Roger, get over it.” But he’s not even looking at it anymore. Instead, his eyes are focused in the room behind you. 

“Are those…are those Brian’s shoes?” he asks, pointing at the white clogs on the floor next to the bed. You stay silent, completely caught off guard and not able to come up with a believable excuse. He pushes his way into your room. 

“Roger! Get out of my room!” 

“Those are Brian’s shoes!” He whips his head towards you, a dark red flush beginning to crawl its way up his cheeks.

“How long?” he asks, dangerously quiet. You let an exhale while picking at a loose string on your robe. 

“Four months,” you mumble, wincing. A pause as he lets that sink in. 

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he explodes, his anger quickly building up. “You’ve been dating for four fuckin’ months and you didn't think to tell me? I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he says, more to himself. And with history’s worst possible timing, Brian strolls out of your bathroom at that very second, only covered by a towel hanging loosely around his hips.

“Hey Y/N––” he begins, and Roger whirls on him, a fire in his eyes. 

“You fuckin’ asshole piece of shit––” he growls, stepping towards him. Brian looks at you and back at Roger. Somehow the dots connect in his mind, and he raises his arms, palms up in a placating gesture.

“Rog––we can explain––”

“Oh it’s ‘we’ now, huh? What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my little sister you fuckin’ wanker?” He’s so angry, his accent is all the more prominent, making him almost incoherent. Brian recognizes this too as it’s the exact same expression and tone of voice he’s experienced right before he’s seen Roger throw a TV through the window or punch a hole in the wall. Brian, recognizing that, this time, the wall is now his face, he begins to back up.  

“I bring her on tour for the first time, and you just jump at the opportunity––just––just using her for sex!” You gasp, and Brian stiffens. 

“Watch it Rog,” Brian growls. 

“You’re telling me to watch it?” Your brother steps towards him, his fists clenched by his sides. He’s about to hit him, you know it. 

“Roger stop it!” you scream, coming in between them. He looks down at you, and alongside the fury, you see hurt in his eyes. 

“It’s not your fucking choice to make who I get to date or not. And if you hurt him, I will never ever talk to you again. Now stop being a fucking dick!” you yell. He stops before letting out a deep exhale. It’s silent in the room. 

“Roger––” Brian begins. 

“I need a fucking cigarette,” he mumbles and goes to leave. Brian puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but he swats it off before stomping out the door. When he slams the door close, Brian goes to sit on the armchair in the corner of the room, putting his head in his hands. You walk over and put a hand on his cheek. He looks up at you, worry and distress marring his face. 

“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. “He didn’t mean those things––he’s just shocked is all. He’ll come around.” He turns to press a kiss to your palm. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “And you know I would never ‘use’ you or whatever Roger was saying.”

“I know, I love you too,” you say. 

–––––––

Roger walks to the public smoking balcony on the floor, throws himself into one of the seats, and rips out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. But his hands are shaking so bad that he can’t even flick on the lighter. 

“Fuck,” he snarls before throwing the lighter onto the small table next to him. He’s mad. Not mad––furious. Seeing-red furious. But he isn’t mad because you and Brian are dating (that’s part of it) but more that you kept it a secret from him. Lied to him. He’s mad and angry and––betrayed. And hurt that you––both of you––felt as if you couldn’t tell him something as important as this. And he knows deep in his heart, Brian would never ever hurt you. Knows that he would be a great boyfriend and person towards you. Knows this about his best friend. 

The fresh air and this inner discovery calms him down. Calms him down enough to pick up the lighter again and successfully light his cigarette. 

––––––––

“Roger?” you say, rapping a knuckle on the sliding glass door. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t tell you to go away either. You step onto the balcony. 

“I’m really sorry for not telling you,” you start. “But––I also want you to know that this is my life, and some things I don’t have to tell you and––and I want you to respect that,” you say. He opens his mouth, but you’re not done yet. “And I know you’re my big brother and you’re protective and everything, but you have to let me live my life. But I am sorry for hiding and lying to you and everything.” He sighs. 

“It’s okay. And I know, it’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt. I know this lifestyle––and––it’s hard to keep relationships up like this…and you guys are two of the closest people in my life, and I want you to know that you can always come to me to tell me things––like––I don’t want you to be afraid of telling me things,” he says, twisting the ring around his finger. “And––and I’m sorry for saying all those things in there…I didn’t mean it.” 

“I accept your apology,” you say jokingly as it’s a line your parents would always make you say to each other when you got into fights as children. He rolls his eyes but smiles as well. He pushes himself up and flicks his cigarette to the floor before stomping on it. 

“I guess I should go apologize to Bri as well,” he says.

“Wait!” you say. He looks at you, about to step back into the hotel’s hallway. “Hug?” you ask with your arms stretched out in front of you. He rolls his eyes, not in an annoyed way. Walking back, he wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace.You two stay there for a little. But then you scrunch up your nose. 

“When was the last time you took a shower?” you ask. 

“Three days ago,” he says, and you can hear the smugness in his tone. And he tightens his arms around you, not letting you escape. 

“EW ROGER, LET GO OF ME!” 

––––––––

Brian is still where you left him: sitting in the armchair in your room, and his head whips up when he sees Roger and you walk back in. He immediately clambers out of the seat, almost tripping. 

“Rog––I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you––” 

“It’s okay––just next time––next time don’t lie to me,” he says before bringing him into a hug. Brian smiles, relief washes over him. 

“But if you hurt her, I will actually cut off your balls in your sleep right after I shave all of your hair off,” Roger says as they hug. Brian laughs nervously, not quite being able to fully make out the tone of the statement. 

“Roger!” you scold.

“What? I’m joking!” he says, laughing, slapping Brian’s back. 

I also wrote another “Band member Sister imagine” for Roger if you want to check that out: You’re Brian’s Younger Sister, and Roger Tries Flirting with You

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love

Say You Won’t Let Go [ROGER TAYLOR x READER]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word count: 2749

Summary: It’s your and Roger’s anniversary, and you reminisce on your relationship and history with him. 

Contains: FLUFFINESS

A/N: This is my submission for @queens-n-roses 2k writing challenge (congrats on 2k! (Except I think you’re already on 3k now!!)). This fic is inspired by James Arthur’s Say You Won’t Let Go. I hope you enjoy! Also: I want to apologize in advance for the typos!

You wake up to kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders. You let out a tired laugh before blinking the sleep from your eyes. Once you finally open your eyes, you’re met with Roger next to you in bed.

“Happy anniversary, beautiful,” he says. 

“Happy anniversary, love,” you whisper back, stroking the hair out of his face. He closes his eyes at your touch. The soft morning glow made by the gauzy curtains, the birds chirping outside, and Roger’s comforting presence make you feel at peace, and you revel in the quiet morning. 

The silence is broken by small footsteps rapidly approaching your room.

“Hi Mummy!” your daughter says. She stops when she sees Roger, her eyes lighting up. 

“DADDY!” she yells, jumping onto the bed and into his arms. Roger was gone for two weeks for a business trip, and she was asleep when he came in last night. 

“Hi Princess! I missed you!” Roger says, peppering her face with kisses. She shrieks, swatting him away. “Hey, I got you a present,” he says in a stage whisper. 

“Really?” she asks, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt. 

“Yeah, you wanna go see it?” he asks while getting up.

“Yeah!” 

“It’s in the garage.” And then she’s sprinting out of the room. 

“What’d you get her?” you ask with a quirk of your brow and small smile on your face. 

About two seconds later, you find that he got her a new bike. A two wheeler bike, actually. And now you’re currently leaning against the front door wrapped in a fluffy robe with a cup of coffee in your hand as you watch your husband try to teach your daughter how to ride the bike. Watching them makes you feel… nostalgic. Perhaps it’s because of your anniversary, but you start thinking about you and Roger, and just exactly how you two got to the place you are today. 

–––––––––––––

Your eyes glowed at him, and he felt an unfamiliar feeling tug at something deep in his chest. 

“Who is that? Roger asks Brian under his breath, slightly tilting his glass towards you. You’ve been eyeing each other for what seemed like hours. From the moment he arrived at the party, actually. Watching you in that long black dress with the thin straps and the low back. The way you cross your legs and how you lick the drink from your lips after you take a sip. The way you laugh at a joke your friend tells you in your ear. You, watching him in his dark sunglasses. The way he smirks into his glass. The way he looks at you as if you’re the only girl in the world.

“Oh, that’s Y/N,” Brian replies. Feeling like he’s had enough of watching you from afar, he downs the rest of his whiskey, slams down the cup on the bar counter, and makes his way over to you. You watch him with a smirk as he approaches, bringing your wineglass up to your lips. 

“Hello, I’m Roger Taylor,” he says, hand outstretched. 

“Hi Roger Taylor, it’s nice to meet you,” you say, gently grasping his hand. 

“I didn’t catch your name?” 

“That’s because I didn’t say it.” He smiles.

“Y/N, my name is Y/N.” You look over his shoulder to see your friend waving at you to go. “I have to go, but it was really nice meeting you, Roger Taylor,” you say before standing up, shimmying your dress down as it rode up, and walking down to your friend. And before you reached your friend, you turn around and blow him a kiss with a wink. He smiles to himself, heart beating a little faster than usual. 

–––––––––––––

You guys meet again at another party. His eyes immediately landing on you when he arrives. You look the same as he saw you last, sitting in the back with a wineglass in your hand. This time wearing a red dress. 

And then a few drinks later, he finds you gripping his hand as you guys make your way out of the party. 

He feels as if his heart is soaring out of his chest, and you both are chasing after it, your hand gripped tightly in his, weaving in and out of the bodies in the crowd. You tilt your head back and laugh, your other arm reaching up, finger tips trying to reach the sky––reaching up and taking hold of his heart. And he never wants you to let go. 

He’s brought home so many girls. But this time, it feels different. 

He slams open the door and immediately pushes you up against it, mouth already on yours in a frenzied kiss, a little sloppy as you’re both intoxicated, but neither of you care. Too intoxicated with the feeling of one another. The way his hands grip your hips, fingers calloused from years of drumming rubbing at the exposed skin of your waist. The way you tug slightly at his hair, the way your lips feel so soft on his. 

He taps your thighs, signaling for you to jump, and you wrap your legs around his waist. You bump foreheads a little, and you break off the kiss with a giggle. You feel him smiling as he presses his lips to your neck. 

You two fall into his bed. He hovers over you, hips pressed into yours, lips sucking a dark bruise onto your collarbone.

“Rog,” you say in a breathless moan. He stops to drop his head onto your chest, groaning. At how beautiful you are. At how much he loves the way his name falls from your lips. You wrap your legs around his hips and roll over, so you end up straddling him. He smirks up at you, hands coming to rest lazily at your hips. You grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it up. He sits up to help, pulling it up and completely off of himself. Reaching a finger down, you trace his collarbones, his abs. He shivers, exhaling sharply. 

“Where did this come from?” you ask, skimming over the thin white scar on his hip. He looks down. 

“Bar fight.” 

“Bar fight? Tisk tisk,” you tease.

“I was seventeen! And the guy was an asshole!” he says defending himself while laughing. 

“How’d you get that? Looks pretty serious.”

“He sliced me with a beer bottle after I threw a tomato at him,” he says, his eyes crinkling. 

“Wait you threw a tomato at him?” you ask, incredulous. 

“Mhmm, when he grabbed the beer bottle, I grabbed the closest thing next to me and just hurled it.” You burst out into laughter, falling onto his chest. He wraps an arm around your back, burying his face into the crook of your neck, and you can feel him laughing as well.

And the previous actions cease. You’re on your sides, facing each other, hands propping up your heads. Both of you now too involved in talking about your lives. Childhood stories. First kisses. Favorite movies. His time in his band. Your family. 

But in the middle of him telling you about the time he pranked Brian, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. You gag, slapping a hand over your mouth before hurtling out of bed and into his bathroom where you promptly empty your stomach into his toilet. By the time you’re done and dry heaving over the bowl, you notice Roger behind you, holding your hair out of your face while rubbing soothing circles on your back. You wipe your eyes before turning around and giving him a small smile. He smiles back. 

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” he says softly as he holds your shoulders, leading you to his bedroom. He puts the covers over you, turns off the lamp on the bedside table and is about to leave (to sleep in his guest bedroom), but you stop him with a hand on his forearm. 

“Can you stay with me?” you whisper, eyes already half-closed. His throat is dry, heart tight in his chest. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, of course.” 

–––––––––––––

You and Roger have been seeing each other for a few months now, having become really close friends––who also hook up sometimes (a lot of times). He just met you for some breakfast as he spent a night at your place after you called him at two a.m.

“Morning mates!” he says with a big smile as he walks through the studio doors. 

Brian narrows his eyes at him from his perch on the sofa. 

“What?” Roger asks.

“You smell like a vanilla candle exploded on you.” 

“I spent a night at Y/N’s,” Roger says nonchalantly, not even looking up as he’s busy tying his shoes. 

“Are you two dating? I’ve never seen you so interested in a girl for this long.”

“Thanks Bri, you make me sound like a right dick.”

“It’s true!” Brian says with his hands raised. Roger sighs. Because it was true. He’s never been this interested––hell––he’s never felt this way about any girl before. Ever. 

“I don’t know. She makes me feel––she makes me feel whole,” he mumbles. In any other situation, the rest of the boys would have teased him for being so cheesy, but this time is different––this statement felt really serious. Really real. And so they just sit there in silence. Brian’s brows furrowed, his lip pinched between his fingers. John has a small smile on his face as if he knows something that everyone else doesn’t know of. 

–––––––––––––

“Hello, gorgeous,” a brunette man says, sitting down at the bar stool next to yours. You look up from your drink, not interested, but he seems nice and he was easy on the eyes. You wouldn’t pursue anything more with him other than this flirty banter.

But what you don’t notice is that Roger watches you with narrowed eyes from his seat on the stage, hitting his drums just a little harder than usual. Brian looks over from his guitar playing. 

“Settle down, Rog,” he says with a frown. 

Right when the last song ends, Roger stands up quickly, so quickly that he knocks into one of the cymbals, and stomps off the stage.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says coming up from behind you as he grabs your waist. You jump a little in surprise. 

“Hey Rog,” you say, confused as he wraps an arm around your shoulders almost protectively.

“Who’s this bloke?” he asks with a sneer.

“This bloke is a very nice man named Edward,” you say. 

“Oh––I’m sorry––I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, sorry,” he says before excusing himself from his seat. You whip your head around, face burning. 

“Outside,” you hiss before stalking towards the exit. 

“What the fuck, Roger!” you yell once you’re once outside. 

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. 

“You can’t––you don’t get to be like this,” you say with a sigh––the unsaid words hanging in between you two. And his voice gets stuck in his throat, conflicted between telling the truth and hiding behind a joke. 

“I––I––that guy seemed like a dick,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah, but that’s my decision to make!” you say, throwing your hands up. 

“Why are you like this?” you ask, but you know. You want him to say it. A pause.

He stays silent. You scoff and feel tears prick at your eyes, disappointment tugging at your heart. 

“You know what, Rog, you are selfish. You’re a selfish prick. I’m gonna go home. Call me when you stop acting––when you figure out what this,” you wave your hands around, “is.” 

“Wait––Y/N!” you turn around, and he grabs your face, pressing his lips onto his. And even though you’ve kissed him multiple––too many times to count––this one feels different. 

“I’m in love with you Y/N Y/L/N. And I want to be more than friends––more than what we are right now.” You smile, grabbing his face gently. 

“I love you too, Roger.” 

–––––––––––––

He walks back into the room with two mugs of steaming tea. And he stops in the doorway. Seeing you, sitting on the bed, hair messy, eyes still puffy with sleep. The light streaming in from the window encompassing you in an ethereal glow, he knows this is it. He quickly grabs the small box from the shelf next to him. 

“Y/N?” You turn to him, and you see him on his knee. Your heart stops. 

“I love you more than anyone and anything in the world. You’re my best friend, and you’re the love of my life. There is no one else I would like to spend the rest of my life with. Will you marry me?”

You nod, speechless and don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears run down your face. And you climb out of the bed, your legs getting tangled on the comforter. And you stumble into his arms. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes!” And he lets out an exhale, laughing. Tears pricking his eyes, and he clears his throat. 

“Did you just use two of your song titles while proposing to me,” you ask through sniffles, slightly muffled as your face is pressed into his shirt. 

The next day, you announce it to the band at dinner. 

“Welcome to the family, Y/N,” Freddie says with open arms. 

–––––––––––––

You blink, and you’re back in the present. Mind focusing once again at the scene in front of you. 

“Daddy, I’m scared,” your daughter says, voice trembling, hands white knuckled on top of Roger’s. 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, I got you.” 

“Promise you won’t let go?”

“Promise I won’t let you go.” 

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who@ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love 

1K Followers Blurb List!!

In celebration of reaching 1000 followers, I thought I would make a blurb list from where you can request one for me to write! So, if you would like me to write a blurb, please request a number(s) + a band member (sorry, but I don’t write for Freddie). THANKS SO MUCH AND LOVE YOU ALL WITH ALL OF MY HEART 

“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“It’s 3 in the morning.”

“Quick! Give me a kiss.”

“Where are your clothes?”

“Please, just come home. I need you to come home.”

“I’m scared.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I thought we were friends!”

“You better get your hands off of me.”

“You were in a crash. Can you tell me your name?”

“I will bite you.”

“If you do this, I will never forgive you.”

“Can you not be an asshole for maybe five seconds?”

“Can you come over?”

“I need a fucking cigarette.”

“That seems fake, but okay.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“What is that?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You’re joking.”

“Are you high?”

“I got you.”

“You are a literal toddler.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You can sleep over if you want.”

“Come on, it’s late.”

“You can’t always get what you want.”

“Let me down!”

“Oooh, you’re blushing!”

“Where’d you go?”

“Who’s that?”

“What’s that on your neck?”

“Wanna come home with me tonight?”

“You totally have a crush!”

“Please talk to me.”

“You disgust me.”

“She’s losing too much blood.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Oh fuck me”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Don’t make me laugh!”

“I know you’re awake.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Kiss me please.”

“You’re lying.”

You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Two can play at that game.”

Oooh how about 42 and 49 with Roger? Congrats on the 1000! 🎉😁

42)  “Oh fuck me.” 

49) You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Thank you love!! Hope you enjoy :)

When you walk down stairs, you find Roger sitting on the couch, waiting for you. He’s reading a magazine, and you smile fondly as you watch him. His brows are a little furrowed, and he drums hs fingers against his thighs while his eyes scan the page. He looks good. Really good. You bite your lip as you take him in: him in a white dress shirt with the top slightly unbuttoned and some fancy black slacks. It was Brian’s birthday, and you reveled in seeing Roger dress up for dinners like these. He still hasn’t looked up from the magazine, and so he doesn’t see the absolutely devious smile that crosses your face. You saunter over to him before plucking the magazine out of his hands and plopping right down onto his lap. His hands immediately go to your waist.

“Well, hello there, love,” he says with a small smirk.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes roaming over your body. Scanning your body through the tight black dress you have on.

“Yeah?”

He nods, rubbing circles at your waist. You lean closer, lips almost touching his ear. “I think you’re gonna like what I’m wearing underneath even more,” you whisper. He stops his movements, eyes flicking up to yours.

“And what exactly do you have underneath this pretty thing?”

“You know that lingerie set you bought me the other week? The red one with the lacy details?” You swear you can see his pupils dilate.

“Oh fuck me,” he groans, gripping your hips tightly. You smile, smug as you wiggle in his lap, pretending to readjust your position. He leans down, beginning to press wet kisses to your exposed collarbones. He reaches to push the sleeve off of your shoulder to get more access and––

“Uh-uh, mister. We’re gonna be late for dinner,” you scold with a smirk. He groans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. You giggle as you hear––feel––him sigh against your skin.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, raising his head with amusement flickering in his eyes. You flick his nose.

“You love me.”

REQUEST A BLURB HERE

Can i have #13 with Roger?

13) “I will bite you.”

“This is a sick joke,” you state. 

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” your best friend, Brian, says as he rolls his eyes. 

“Can’t I just share a room with you?” you plead. Brian raises his brows. 

“You want to share a room with me…and Chrissie?” 

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. 

“Y/N…” Brian begins with a sigh. “It’s for one night…just please, behave.” You sputter with indignation.

“Tell him that!” you say, pointing an aggressive finger towards the blonde drummer who currently has a shit-eating grin on his face. He wiggles his fingers at you as he leans against the door’s threshold. You scoff before grabbing your duffle bag. 

“You know you look like an idiot who doesn’t know how to use his legs when you stand like that,” you hiss before stomping up the stairs and into your now shared room. 

“Bitch!” 

“Dick!”

Brian pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “You are children,” he mutters, more to himself. 

“Thank you Bri. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go have a smoke,” Roger says with a dazzling smile before heading off outside. 

When Roger comes back into the room, you’re already in your pajamas and under the covers. The drive, having taken a toll on you––that and the fact that you pulled an all nighter the night before, trying to finish an essay for your psych class. You hear him shuffling around the darkness before making his way to the bed and slipping underneath the covers. He smells of the night air and cigarette smoke, and you hate how you get comfort from it. 

“If you so much as touch me in your sleep, I will bite you,” you hiss. 

“Is that a promise?” he asks. You can feel him smiling at you. You huff before rolling over. 

––––––––

You slowly stir awake. The warmth enveloping you making it difficult for you to open your eyes. Something tickles your forehead, and you try to roll over, but something tightens its grip on your waist. And then you hear a low mumble coming from somewhere way too close to you. You open your eyes and with horror, realize the comforting warmth that lulled you to sleep was in fact Roger. You realize with horror that you’re waking up with your head facing his chest and tucked underneath his chin and his arm draped across your waist. 

“Roger!” you shriek, sitting up and slapping his shoulder. 

“Wha––huh?” he asks, bolting straight up, hair sticking out in all directions, and frantically looking around. You would have laughed if you weren’t so flustered. 

“You’re on my side!”

“Uh, actually, you’re on my side,” he says. You look down, and…he’s right. When he finally regains his bearings, a smirk begins to spread slowly across his face. He opens his mouth. 

“Oh shut up.” 

He raises his hand in mock surrender. “I was just going to say,” he pauses, and you narrow your eyes. “You still up for that biting you promised?”

You hurl a pillow at his head. 

REQUEST A BLURB HERE

“Please, just come home. I need you to come home.” with roger taylor please!

7) “Please, just come home. I need you to come home.”

This turned out to be way longer than I expected….oops. Hope you enjoy! 

“Rog?” you say in barely above a whisper, voice shaking. He sits up on the couch, on high alert now. You’re on speakerphone as he was currently working on song lyrics in the studio. The others stop what they’re doing when they hear your voice. The shaking. The fear coming through the telephone speaker. 

“Hi love, is everything okay?”

“There’s someone in the house.” His heart drops to his stomach, and it seems as if someone just poured ice water down his back. He tries to stay calm. Tries to stay calm for you. But he’s on the verge of absolute panic. The boys look over with wide eyes. They see their friend’s hands beginning to shake. 

“Okay love, go to the closet, and lock the door,” he says as calmly as possible. 

“I’m here,” you say. 

“Is Rosie okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I’m holding her right now.” You gently bounce your daughter, praying to whatever higher being is out there that she doesn’t make a sound. But babies are smarter than most people give them credit for. You look down at her wide eyes, and you sense that she knows to stay quiet. Knows that whatever put them in a situation where they’re hidden deep within the closet as they listen to the sound of some stranger’s footsteps shuffle throughout the house is serious. 

“Did you call the police?” 

“Yes––Roger––”

“Yes baby?” 

“Please just come home. I need you to come home,” you plead with a quiet sob. 

“I know baby, I know. I’m coming right now, okay? It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay,” he repeats, more to himself. “I’m going to hang up now because I’m going to leave and come home, okay?” 

“No! I––I don’t want to be alone.” 

Brian cuts in, “I’ll stay on the phone, if that’s okay with you.” Roger shoots him a grateful look before sprinting out the door. The only thing he takes with him are his car keys. 

–––––––––

When he gets back to the house, the police have already arrived. He pushes past the spectators outside and into his kitchen where dozens of officers are milling around. 

“Where are they? Are they okay?” he says to no one, frantically whipping his head around. He spots you on the couch with a blanket on your shoulders as you recount the details of what happened. Rosie sleeps in the basinet next to you. You turn your head towards him as if you sensed his arrival and mid sentence, you get up and stumble over. 

He exhales, which sounds more like a sob of relief, as he holds you to him. You can hear his heart beating way too fast. Can feel the tremors in going through his body.

“I LOVE YOU ROGER,” a woman screams as two officers lead her away in handcuffs. They struggle to restrain her. Another officer explains to him that her name is Annie Zimmerman: a crazed fan. He explains to him that she broke into the house through the back door using a lock pick. That she was holding a knife. But Roger doesn’t really hear him––he can hear the words come out of the young officer’s mouth, but he’s too busy staring out the window and at the woman who’s now being guided into the police car, not really looking at her, with furrowed brows and a sinking heart. 

–––––––––

You wake up. You don’t know why you wake up now as Rosie’s sleeping soundly and quietly in the next room. Perhaps it’s because you no longer feel the warmth of your husband next to you, noticing that his side of the bed is empty save for the crumpled sheets and pillows. The clock reads 3:30 am in neon green numbers. You turn on the lamp besides you and see that the balcony door is cracked open. And then you see Roger sitting on the chair outside in nothing but his boxers, having a smoke. 

“Rog?” you ask quietly, standing at the doorway of the balcony. He whips around, eyes wild and red and shining and tired. And he sees you in his shirt––his Led Zeppelin shirt that’s way too big on you, hanging loosely all the way down to your thighs. And he sees the tired look on your face and the way your shoulders are slumped. The way your eyes are puffy from crying. His heart breaks all over again. 

“I’m sorry love, go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, his voice tight.

“Come back to bed now.” You walk over and place your hand on his shoulder. He places his hand over yours, leaning into you. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just––I’m sorry,” he admits, staring resolutely at his hands. “It’s my fault for that––for that girl breaking in. It’s my fault that I put you in danger––fuck––that I put Rosie in danger. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“Roger…” you whisper, tears springing into your eyes, “Roger, it’s not your fault.” He doesn’t look at you. So you stand in front of him, grasping his face with both hands.

“It is not your fault, the only one to blame is that girl, okay?” He lets out a shaky exhale, dropping his forehead to rest on your stomach, his hands coming to wrap around your waist. 

“I love you Y/N.” 

“I love you. Let’s go to bed okay?” 

REQUEST A BLURB FROM HERE

5 and 32 with Roger???

5) “Quick! Give me a kiss.”

32) “Oooh, you’re blushing!”

“Oh my god.” You actually cannot believe your luck as you see your ex at the same afterparty you just arrived at. His arm draped across the shoulders of another girl. 

Roger looks at you, mouth open to ask you what’s wrong. But your ex-boyfriend is about to look over.

“Quick! Give me a kiss,” you plead with your friend, well, friend with benefits. So this request wasn’t too out of the ordinary. It isn’t that weird for you guys to kiss as you two do it every time you call him at the too late hours of the night. Or when he pulls you into the nearest room backstage after a show. 

But, although everyone knows about your and Roger’s situation, you guys have never really kissed in public. Nor have you really dominated the kiss. 

“Uh––okay––but why––” but you cut him off as soon as you hear him say yes, smashing your lips against his. He’s surprised at the intensity of it but soon relaxes into the kiss, gripping your hips as you wound your arms around his neck. You peek over at your ex, who’s currently trying to not look so invested, and so you deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue into Roger’s mouth. He squeezes your hip in response. You hear a few whistles from the people around you. 

You pull away for a breath of air. That and the fact that your ex turned away with a frown. You exhale a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks, dude,” you say, patting Roger’s arm with gratitude. He doesn’t respond. You look over, and he seems a bit stunned. Eyes a bit glazed, lips swollen. 

And pink cheeks. 

“Oh my god.” 

He snaps out of his reverie. “Huh?” 

“Oooh, you’re blushing!” 

He scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “Am not.” 

“Oh my god. I can’t believe, I got the Roger Taylor to blush!” you tease, poking his sides. He squirms away, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

REQUEST A BLURB FROM HERE

OMG congrats on 1k! Can i request 2, 9, 15 with Roger. I'm so happpy for you!!

2) “Do you trust me?”

9) “I don’t hate you.”

15) “Can you not be an asshole for maybe five seconds?”

Hello, I am not dead. life is getting in the way of writing and updating, so please be patient with me! and thank you lovely reader!!

You and Roger have been bickering the whole night. From the car ride to the fancy dinner at the hotel––dinner was okay (despite the snarky comments here and there––to the current situation of you both being engaged in a heated discussion while you all begin to head up to your hotel rooms. The boys and their girlfriends were simply used to it by now. You guys just didn’t get along. No one really knew why, but you guys just didn’t click. 

“Can you not be an asshole for maybe five seconds?” he asks, crossing his arms. 

“Can you not hate me for maybe five seconds?” you say, and he’s about to retort with a snarky comment, but he stops. Stops because he hears you sniffle. Looks over and sees you blinking rapidly as the last thing you want to do is cry in front of him. Normally, you would’ve hissed back an equally insulting jab, but today was a bad day, and this arguing isn’t making it any better. 

“I don’t hate you.”

“Well, it really seems like it to me,” you say with a huff, rubbing aggressively at your eyes. He sighs. He knew he wasn’t being fair. 

“Do you trust me?” You narrow your eyes. 

“Ehh, trust is a strong––”

“Oh shut up,” he says with a small chuckle. You crack a smile. 

“Come on, I have something to show you,” he says before walking up the stairs. You hesitate, but eventually follow him. He brings you to the rooftop of the hotel.

“This is my favorite place whenever we stay here,” he says, hands in his pocket as he looks up at the star speckled sky. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper. You two stand next to each other in peaceful silence for a while, taking in the crisp night air. 

“I’m sorry for being a dick tonight,” Roger says. 

“I’m sorry for being a bitch,” you say with a sheepish smile. He chuckles. 

“I was seriously asking you a question before, why do you hate me?” 

“I don’t. It’s just that––it’s...” 

 ‘Yeah?” he seems nervous, which throws you off guard as you expected him to simply brush off the question with a sarcastic joke. 

“it’sjustthatimintimatedbyyou.”

“Huh?”

“I’m intimidated by you, okay?” he admits. You think he’s blushing, and you snort. 

“Why would the Roger Taylor––rockstar extraordinaire, heartbreaker, and literal sex symbol––be intimated by me?” He throws up his hands.

“I don’t know! Maybe because you’re really smart and cool and witty and beautiful and you make me nervous whenever you walk into the room––”

You interrupt him by grabbing his face and kissing him. He freezes for a moment, shocked, before coming to his senses and wrapping his arms around you, pressing you flush against his body. He takes control of the kiss, gripping your hips tightly with one hand as the other cradles your face, tilting your head back. The kiss is desperate and demanding and makes your toes curl and heat bloom in your belly. You’re the first to pull away, gasping for breath. His cheeks are flushed, eyes wide and bright, lips swollen. 

“So I’m gonna guess and say you don’t hate me,” you say, breathless. He laughs and rolls his eyes, tightening his grip and pressing his lips back onto yours. 

Congrats on the 1k, love!!! So well deserved 🌺♥️ for the blurb thing, can I have 5 and 25 with Roger? Thank you so much x

5) “Quick! Give me a kiss.”

25) “I got you.”

thank you so much love!!!!

“Quick! Give me a kiss,” Roger says, swatting at you frantically. You––being confused and not really paying attention (as you’re really focused on the TV in front of you)––automatically turn your head up and give your boyfriend a kiss without even thinking. 

“Ha! I got you,” he says, triumphantly.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, rolling your eyes although your mouth betrays you as it curls up into a smile. 

I also wrote another #5 one for Roger HERE

You Get Back at Roger [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word count: 604

Contains: fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff 

A/N: Hello, it’s me. I am not dead. I’m really sorry for not being active, life has just got in the way. I can’t promise me being really really active on here, but hopefully you understand and know that I’m going to try my hardest. Like always, I hope you enjoy!

You can feel your face burning. Burning because you’re flustered and embarrassed and you don’t know what to say at this very moment. Hopefully, hopefully, nobody can see your face in the dark bar, but you take a deep breath in before downing your drink. The cause of your burning, flustered face: Roger Taylor and his constant flirting (Brian says it’s just part of his personality). 

You’ve been friends with Roger for a couple months now. Brian, who also happens to be your best friend since grade school, introduced you to him and the rest of the band when you came back home for the summer. You’ve gotten along with Freddie and John instantly, enjoying Freddie’s wild stories and John’s quiet company, but Roger––Roger–– made you feel something else. Something akin to riding a rollercoaster whenever you interact with him. 

It isn’t that you don’t like him. But…he makes you uneasy. Uneasy with those lopsided smiles, the flirty jokes, the cocky winks, the way he gently grasps your waist when he’s trying to get past you at a party. 

“He does that to everyone. It’s just who he is…I don’t think he can help it,” Brian says one night while you two watch Hercules at his apartment. 

One part of you sees it. Watch as he brings a new girl to the studio every time they work on a song (some of the girls are actually pretty lovely, and you still meet up with one of them for coffee most weekends), or winks at the waitress when she brings the food. 

But then the other part of you narrows your eyes. You know that the bastard knows what he’s doing and his effect on people––probably why he keeps doing it. You could accept the fact––accept the fact that you will always be red-faced around him. 

But you don’t think your face can handle the constant blushing––are there medical consequences for that?

You groan, flicking popcorn at Brian and hiding a laugh behind your hand when you see a couple of them stick into his giant head of hair. He rolls his eyes. 

“You’ll get used to it. You know, he’s actually a very sweet person underneath all that swagger.”

“You did not just use the word ’swagger’” you snort. He throws the bowl of popcorn at you.  

–––––––––

“My mouth hurts, will you kiss it better for me?” Roger asks you with his signature lopsided smirk. You blush, tucking your hair behind your ears. But he doesn’t let go of the joke just yet. Closing his eyes, he puckers his lips, making obnoxious kissing noises, and you’re so tired of letting him get you so goddamned flustered all the goddamned time, so you do the first thing that comes into your flustered brain: you grab his face with both hands and smash your lips into his. 

You feel him go dead still against you, his mouth opening a little in shock. And when you let go of him, he still doesn’t move, watches you with round eyes and a round, open mouth. Arms hanging limply at his sides. A blush slowly creeping up his cheeks. You’ve never seen him like this––caught off guard and at a loss for words. He looks adorable.

A swell of triumph and satisfaction blooms in your chest as you finally throw him a smirk of your own. 

“Hope your mouth feels better now,” you say before walking out of the dressing room. 

It’s silent in the room. John and Brian mirror Roger. 

“I really, really, really like her,” Freddie says from the couch. 

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love @blondecarfucker

New Series!!

Hey guys! it’s been two months since I posted a fic, but I have been imbued with a glorious amount of productivity/inspo. I just wrote the first chapter of a new series I’m writing (it’s a roger taylor x reader fic), and I'm SO excited for you guys to read it! First part will be posted tonight. That’s all I wanna say because I don’t want to give away too much xx Del 

Make Believe: Part One [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader [FAKE DATING AU]

Summary: You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.

Word count: ~1.6k

Contains: language, that’s pretty much it 

A/N: this is a shameless way I can write an enemies-to-lovers trope and fake dating au because I’m trash for both of those (It’s the best of both worldssss). So this was really fun to write! I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to this series’s taglist or my permanent taglist!

“Y/N Y/L/N’s Newest Album Hits #1 in the U.K, taking the coveted spot right from under Queen’s noses!” 

––––––

“Absolutely not. Not going to happen,” Roger says, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he leans against the desk in Jim’s office. 

Jim sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Roger. You have an image problem. You’re pictured with a new girl almost every night. An article about you breaking some girl’s heart is in the papers every other day. This behavior,” he waves his hand around, “is hurting sales. You’re not going to get out of this,” Jim says, still annoyed that you had taken the top spot for most album sales when he––and everyone else––confidently thought it would be Queen sitting at the top this year. 

Roger scoffs in disbelief. “I’m in a fucking rock and roll band. Our audience isn’t the sort to be swayed away from that.”

“Statistics have shown that each time one of you have gotten into a relationship, your sales have soared. Think about Brian last year. And then consider having the number one artist in the UK dating a member of Queen. This is going to be a huge success.” Roger stays quiet at that. 

“Look Rog––I’m not the biggest fan of this plan either, but you’ve got to be honest, it’s going to work. And she’s a great girl. I really like her,” Brian says, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Freddie nods. 

“Well, that’s easy for you to say! You don’t have to fake date your nemesis!” Roger says, throwing up his arms. 

Brian rolls his eyes. “I think “nemesis” is a little bit of an overstatement, Rog,” he says. 

“Why does it have to be me?” he groans. 

Jim looks pointedly at him. “Maybe because everyone else is already in a relationship with other people?” Roger just groans again.

“I really don’t understand your hatred towards her! I think she’s lovely,” Freddie says. Rogers eyes are wide with betrayal.

“Ask her! She hated me the second she laid eyes on me!” he says, indignation prevalent in his voice. Brian and Freddie both raise their arms up in mock surrender at his outburst, stifling their laughter. To be honest, they all think Roger and your feud is quite amusing. 

“Ten bucks says that they’ll sleep with each other by the end of the night,” Freddie once said as he watched you and Roger bump into each other at a party your record label was throwing. 

“Twenty bucks says that she’ll throw her drink straight in the face,” Brian retorted. Brian got twenty dollars richer that night. But still, the band members––everybody––cannot deny nor escape the tension, sexual or not, between the two of you. 

John is currently trying to suppress a smile, eyes crinkled at the edges. Roger narrows his eyes. 

“What are you snickering about over there?” 

“I’m really excited to see you both interact with each other.”

“You’ve got to admit it, darling, this is gonna be so fucking entertaining,” Freddie chimes in. 

“Oh fuck me,” Roger says in a huff, plopping himself down in a plush chair while dragging his hand roughly down his face.

“Twenty bucks says he’ll be saying that to Y/N when this is over,” Freddie whispers to Brian. Before Brian can respond, Roger punches Freddie in the arm. 

––––––

“WHAT?” you screech, the water you’re holding sloshing out of the cup. 

“I’m sorry Y/N, but we already planned this whole thing, and I think this opportunity will be amazing for the both of you. We’re going over to the boys’ recording studio this Friday to finalize all of the details,” your manager, Anne, says almost gently. You sigh.

“I just hit number one on the UK charts. Why would I have to use his help?” 

“Yes, and you know that everyone is so proud of you. But this will keep you at the top and open up more opportunities. It’s a win-win situation. Just think about this purely as a business deal, which it is, and just ignore your hatred towards him.” You open your mouth, but she raises her hand. 

“And…you’ve got to admit, he’s not hard on the eyes,” she says with a grin. You pause for a moment before lightly smacking her arm with the magazine you grabbed off her desk, both of you erupting into laughter. 

––––––

Friday came too soon. Your laughter is gone as you stand in front of their recording studio. Taking a deep breath, you walk through the doors, and you’re met with the sight of Queen, lounging on a couch in the middle of the room. 

“Hi boys! Hi Jim, nice to see you again,” Anne says before walking over to Jim and giving him a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.  

“Hey Y/N!” Brian says, standing up from the couch and bounding over to you with open arms. You smile, returning his embrace. 

“Hey Bri! How are you?” you ask, voice muffled in his chest. John and Freddie both stand up as well, coming over to give you hugs. 

“You look stunning darling,” Freddie compliments, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You’ve been friends with them for quite a long time, having met at a music awards after party many years ago. They had all taken a liking to you and you to them. All of them except one. And that one is still sitting––more like sprawled out––on the couch, his arms stretched lazily across the back of it and his legs spread too wide. He smiles at you and wiggles his fingers mockingly. 

“Hi gorgeous,” he says with a smirk that makes you roll your eyes. Annoyance already beginning to bubble fast underneath your skin. 

“Close your legs,” you snap. 

“I know it’s difficult, but eyes up here love,” he says with a tsk. Your mouth drops open, and you feel a flush of anger creep up your face in the shade of a bright red. Before you can retort, Anne and Jim cut you off. 

“Behave you guys.”

“Sometimes I feel as if they’re children,” Anne mutters to Jim to which he vehemently nods in agreement. 

“Please sit,” Jim says, gesturing to the couch. You take the seat next to Brian, farthest away from the blonde headed drummer who’s still looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. Once everyone settles in, the meeting begins. 

“Let’s go over what you both will be required to do before you guys rip each other’s throats out,” Jim says quite seriously. 

“Question,” Roger interrupts as he raises a hand in the air. Jim sighs, exasperation evident in his face. 

“Yes, Roger?” 

“How long is this going to be a thing?” 

“For at least several months––just until both your albums drop.” 

“That’s in nine months!” Roger exclaim. 

You roll your eyes before flashing him a mocking grin. “Wow, you can do basic math!” 

“Bitch!”

“Dick!”

“Guys!” Anne yells. You grimace apologetically, not before sending Roger one final glare.

“We have an interview already set up for Roger next week where the interviewer will ask about your new relationship.”

“You will also be accompanying the band during their stay at Ridge Farm while they record their album. As you already know, Y/N will be a feature artist on one of your tracks.”

“We have dates where you’ll be seen and pictured out in public, but you can choose the location. And obviously, you guys will have to be seen at parties together.”

“You’ll also have to stay at each other’s flats some nights, so the paparazzi can get photos of you both coming out of each other’s apartments.”

Even though Anne had already briefed you on what this whole fake dating situation would entail, you’re still taken aback at the conditions and what you’re going to be expected to do. 

After everything’s explained and the contracts are signed (an excruciating three hours later), you get up to grab a bottle of water from the counter.  Anne and Jim discuss whatever it is they’re talking about in the corner of the room. Freddie, John, and Brian joke around in the corner next to the soundboard. 

Roger saunters over to you.

“I have one condition about this whole fake dating thing,” he says quietly in your ear. You rest your weight on one leg and raise your brows for him to continue. 

“You can’t fall in love with me,” he says with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes. You scoff, pushing past him with a hard shove to his shoulder. 

“In your dreams, Taylor,” you call back before joining the other’s conversation. 

 ––––––

As you walk out of the studio, pressed up against Roger’s side, you’re met with a barrage of paparazzi and cameras flashing in your faces, specifically focused on your joined hands. 

ARE YOU GUYS RECORDING A SINGLE TOGETHER?

ARE YOU TWO DATING?

WHEN DID YOU MEET?

You ignore the interrogation and simply offer them a strained smile, trying your best not to snatch your hand out of his grasp. He seems to be the doing the same. 

This is going to be a long nine months.

NEXT CHAPTER: PART TWO 

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love @blondecarfucker

*Also since I’ve been gone for so long, and you no longer want to be on my permanent taglist, just send me a message (I won't be offended). :)

Make Believe: Part Two [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader [FAKE DATING AU]

Summary: You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.

Word count: ~2.9k

A/N: I’m so happy about all the positive response from the first part/to this story! I’m glad you guys are liking it. Please give me some feedback on this part (what do you think of the story so far?), and I hope you enjoy! Also, let me know if I missed you for the tag list. I’m pretty sure I got all of you who wanted to be on it, but just in case! 

PART ONE

––––––

DOES ROGER TAYLOR HAVE A NEW GIRL? the headline reads followed by a picture of Roger and you holding hands in front of the studio a couple days ago underneath it. 

You roll your eyes, tossing the tabloid onto the table in front of you and exchanging it with a glass of sparkling water. 

Your younger sister called you this morning, screaming at you for not telling her about your new “rockstar, sex-god boyfriend” (she’s a little bit obsessed with Roger Taylor and Queen). So you spent most of your morning catching her up on and spewing some bullshit about your newfound love. You felt bad for lying to her, but you couldn’t risk it: she had the biggest mouth and as much as you love her, you can’t trust her with this secret, especially since she’ll tell your mom who has an even bigger mouth. No––this situation requires the utmost secrecy.

“The tabloids can make a story out of literally nothing,” you grouse to Anne who's sitting across the table. She doesn’t look up from her notes. 

“Well, that’s kind of their job. Besides, that,” she points to the magazine, “is a good thing.” 

“Yeah, I love being Roger Taylor’s New Girl,” you say, picking at the half-eaten turkey sandwich, leftovers from your lunch your producers brought for the meeting that ended not even ten minutes ago. Anne ignores the sarcasm in your voice.  

“You are Roger Taylor’s New Girl.” 

You can’t argue with that. If it was anyone else, you would have been fine. Why did everyone else have to have girlfriends? you lament. But you can’t even be mad at the situation. You did agree to it in the first place. And you know deep in your heart that if you were to be asked again, you would have said yes no matter what. You’re finally catching a break in the industry, making a name for yourself, and if dating an obnoxious asshole will keep you at the top, well, hell, you’ll date the obnoxious asshole. 

“So where did Roger choose the date for tonight?” you ask Anne. Roger and you both exchanged numbers (Jim and Anne both forced you to exchange numbers), but you hadn’t bothered to call him nor did he, both preferring to use one’s managerial team to do all the communicating between the two of you.

She looks through her planner. “Freddie’s throwing a party tonight at his house,” she says when she finds the date written in today’s box. You groan. Of course he would choose a party for your first “date.” You had flipped a coin to see who got to choose the first place you’d be seen out together. You chose heads. He chose tails. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for tails,” he said with a wink when the quarter finally stopped spinning. 

“The car will be at your house at eight to drive you guys there.” 

––––––

If you weren’t already used to it, you would be blinded by the flashing lights and the shouting and the general chaos currently being hurled your way. But years in the business, you walk with sure, even steps to Freddie’s house, pressed up against Roger’s side. Walking up the same steps from a couple of years ago, you can’t help but think of the first time Roger and you met. 

2 Years Ago

You trudge up the stairs to the house, your manager by your side. You could hear the deep thumping of the music coming from inside and leaking into the outside streets. Your manager forced you to go to one of Queen’s afterparties despite your protests of wanting a more relaxing night in with a bottle of wine––maybe a hot bath as well. It was on the heels of your UK tour, and you were dead tired. You had a pounding headache. The bags under your eyes refused to be concealed. Your period came a little early, and your cramps were ripping through your body, hellbent on trying to put you in the most pain possible. 

Needless to say, you aren’t in the best mood. And you certainly do not want to go around having to socialize with drunk and/or high entertainment people in a too loud, too crowded, too sweaty room. 

You personally don’t even know the members of Queen––have only heard their music and the stories. Specifically the stories of their drummer––how could you not when he’s on the front page of a trashy magazine every month for breaking some poor girl’s heart (he always cheats on them). Heard the stories from the people you meet at parties, girls bragging about how they’ve slept with the Roger Taylor, and when asked if he’s as good in bed as the stories say he is, they always, always say “better.” Heard about his infamous temper––you actually saw that in real life when he decided to trash and hurl his own drum set across the stage during one of their concerts. Heard about how he goes home with a groupie after every concert. And from that, you had already possessed a disliking for the man even before you actually met him in real life. 

You hope that you won’t run into him tonight. 

When you walk into the house, you’re instantly bombarded with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Looking to your right, you see a man and woman in nothing but their underwear doing lines of cocaine off of a drum set. To your left, you see someone riding an exercise bike in a bunny costume. 

People who you don’t know nor do you particularly like come up to you, congratulating you on your tour and what-not. You nod your head politely and smile before making a beeline to the bar because if you had to stay here all night dealing with these people, you might as well be drunk when doing so. 

“An old fashioned please,” you say to the bartender as you settle yourself onto one of the tall stools. 

“Hi gorgeous,” a voice drawls from the couch behind you, and you turn your head in search of the owner. It takes you a second to recognize him. The two girls perched on his lap slightly obscures the view of Queen’s very own, very intoxicated drummer. 

Glazed, hooded eyes. A light sheen of sweat. His arms draped loosely around their waists. A tumblr of whiskey that’s held by dangerously loose fingers. He shamelessly rakes his eyes up your body, pausing at the liberal amount of skin exposed by your tiny mini dress. 

“Not interested,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. He must have seen the way you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“Helpful tip, you might have more fun at these parties if you take that stick out of your ass,” he says before taking his attention off of you to take a sip from his glass and whisper something into one of the girl’s ears that makes her giggle. The blood pounds in your ears. 

The bartender slides your drink to you, and you thank him before getting up and walking over to Roger. He looks at you with a lazy grin, and you smile prettily at him. 

“Hmm, maybe I should. Could you help?” you ask. He raises his brows with a self satisfied smirk and asks the other girls to get up. After they leave, grumbling to themselves, you sit carefully onto his lap. One hand playing with his shirt collar, the other one holding your drink. His hands come to rest at your hips, and you lean in close. His eyes flick to the way your dress’s low neckline falls lower as you settle yourself onto his lap before making their way to your lips. You brush your lips next to his ear, and his hands tighten around your hips. 

“You’re a dick,” you say softly, and then, standing up quickly so you won’t get any of the splash onto you, you promptly pour the contents of your glass onto his head. Not even caring to see his reaction, you walk off in search for your manager to let her know that you’ll be leaving. She actually finds you first. 

“Ah, finally found you! The members of Queen want to meet you,” she says before you can open your mouth and leads you across the room where you’re met with the sight of Queen (minus their drummer) sitting and laughing in some plush chairs in front of the TV.

“Y/N, this is Brian May, Freddie Mercury, and John Deacon,” she says, pointing to the three men in front of you. 

“It’s so great to meet you, congratulations on your tour!” Brian says, shaking your hand. 

“We’re huge fans,” Freddie continues, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You can’t help but smile, their friendly demeanors contagious as you talk to them more and more. You figure that Brian studied Astrophysics in university too, and you both talk about that for a bit, discussing the most recent scientific theory in stellar dynamics. 

“I wonder where Roger is,” Freddie muses, looking around.

“Oh…he’s probably in the bathroom cleaning himself up.” They look at you with puzzled expressions. “Would you believe me if I said that I accidentally spilled my drink on his head…” They look at you wide-eyed, and then Freddie begins to laugh. 

“I like you already.” 

Brian shrugs with an amused smile playing at his lips.“He probably deserved it.” 

“Doing alright gorgeous?” Roger murmurs into your hair as you push through the crowd, and you jerk back into the present.

“You know I hate when you call me that.” 

“That’s why I say it.” 

You nestle into his side a little more, and your hand around his waist grips him a tad harder. Your sharp, manicured nails digging into his flesh through his floral silk shirt. You smile when you hear him grunt in pain. 

––––––

You’re annoyed. Annoyed for two reasons: one, because you would much rather be in bed right now than at a stupid party Roger wanted to go to. And two, because Roger’s been at the bar, talking to a girl who you’re pretty sure is a model for the past twenty minutes and you think he bought her a drink but you’re not one hundred percent sure and he laughs at something she just said and you don’t even know why that’s making you mad in the first place. 

She giggles and touches his chest. That’s it. You throw back another shot, hissing at the burn as it makes its way down your throat and stomp over to him. You not-so-discreetly push the drink that’s sitting on the counter (you’re pretty sure it’s the drink he bought the girl), which spills all over Roger’s lap. 

“What the––” 

“Oops, sorry babe. Let’s go the bathroom, and I’ll help you clean up,” you say looking not-one-bit-apologetic. He looks at you with narrowed eyes before remembering that he has to play his part, and he breaks out into a charming smile. 

“It’s all good, love,” he says and calls out a quick goodbye to the girl as you drag him into a dark hallway on the outskirts of the main party area. 

“Look, I’m all for having gorgeous women dragging me into dark hallways, but I didn’t appreciate––” 

You push him into the wall. “What the fuck Roger!” 

“What?” he asks. 

You narrows your eyes at him. “You’re going to fucking blow the whole fake dating thing in the first week.”

“I was just talking to her!” 

“Oh please. You both were getting awfully cozy with each other,” you retort, huffing out an exhale as you adamantly look everywhere but his face. A pause. He’s silent, so you look back up, and you’re met with a smirking Roger Taylor. He pushes himself off the wall and takes a couple steps towards to you. You take the same amount of steps back, and your back hits the opposite wall. 

He leans in closer to you, his lips mere inches away from yours. Those hooded, bedroom eyes boring into your own, a certain kind of triumph dancing around in the blue. 

“What?” you snap.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, a smile spreading across his face. 

“Oh my god, Roger, it’s simply amazing that you believe that everything is about you.” 

“Maybe,” he breathes. You hold your breath.  “Or maybe you’re getting a little jealous that that girl was getting a little too cozy with me?” he murmurs, his hand falling to grasp gently onto the exposed skin at your waist. The rough callouses on his hands jolt you back into reality, and you push him away with a hand placed firmly onto his chest. 

“Don’t try getting fresh with me Roger,” you say, hating the way your heart is beating a little too fast. He steps back, raising his hands up with open palms. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” he says, walking away. “Old fashioned, right?” he calls back. You’re taken aback by the fact that he remembers your drink order. You nod, forgetting that his back is facing towards you. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t seem to be looking for a confirmation. 

Once he’s out of sight, you slump a little against the wall, letting out a slow exhale. Your skin still tingling from where Roger touched you––it’s probably the alcohol making you warm and tingly. Shaking your head, you go to the bathroom, splash some cool water onto your face, and walk out even more annoyed than before. He didn’t even apologize––didn’t even care that he was blatantly flirting with another girl. You’re not going to let him off the hook so easily. 

You spot him spread out on a couch, lounging and laughing with the rest of the boys and several others. Your old fashioned sits untouched on the table next to him. 

He’s mid-conversation when you plop down a little too harshly onto his lap, relishing in his startled “oof” and the way his eyes widen in surprise. You smirk as you slowly wrap your arms around his neck, and his hands automatically goes to grip your hips to steady yourself onto him. You hear a couple of whistles from the people around you, maybe a flash of a camera, but ignore them. 

“Hey baby,” you say. And he’s looking up at you. His thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. He’s smiling. You lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear. 

“If you ever pull something like that again with that girl or any other girl, I will make your life being my fake boyfriend a living hell. Now grow the fuck up and try not to fuck this up for the sake of both of our careers,” you hiss into his ear. 

Before he has a chance to respond, you get up from his lap. Adjusting your skirt, you give him a peck on the cheek. 

“I think I’m gonna go home now, Rog. I’m feeling a little ill,” you say with a pout, not wanting to spend another second at this party. “You boys have fun,” you say to the rest of the guys before looking at Roger, “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner!” 

And not caring about how Anne will have your head for leaving so early (the tabloids probably already got their pictures for their next issue anyway), you toss him a little wave and walk out of the house. 

––––––

“I can’t work with her,” Roger declares to his living room ceiling (he’s stretched out on the couch) after recounting the story and what you said to him last night. Brian looks up from the notebook he’s been writing song lyrics in. 

“You know, I’ve never seen you this worked up about a girl before.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never met a girl who’s this much of a pain in the ass.” 

Brian scoffs and goes back to his writing. “The reason you think she’s a pain in the ass is because she didn’t throw herself at you when you first met.” Roger sputters, but Brian continues, “Your ego’s just hurt.” 

“What the––no!”

“You could’ve easily resolved this petty feud, easily stopped returning her snarky comments, easily tried being friendly. But no, you continued to push back and fight and bicker every step of the way. And now look at where it has gotten you.” 

Roger turns his head from the ceiling and to his best friend. “Are you finished?” 

“And––you better take this seriously, Rog. This is for the band, and whether you like it or not, she––this whole plan––is good for us,” Brian concludes. 

Roger huffs but keeps silent because he knows that Brian’s right––knows that letting his feud with you damage the band isn’t worth it. With a reluctant sigh, he makes a mental promise to himself that he’ll try his best. Brian seems to see this change––Brian could always read him so easily (it annoyed Roger to no end)––and smiles.

“Think about it,” Brian says, tapping his pointer finger against his temple before standing up from his chair, patting Roger on the shoulder, and going into to the kitchen to grab a cup of water.

I can take this seriously,” Roger grumbles to himself, and out of spite and the childish competition that always seems to come out of him when you’re involved, he vows to be the best, most convincing fake boyfriend ever. 

NEXT CHAPTER: PART THREE

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