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When Things Fall Apart: PART ONE [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: You and Roger fall out of love, but could you guys fall back into love? 

Word count: 1269

Contains: Oh, the ANGST 

A/N: This is chapter one in my FIRST EVER multi-chapter fic on this blog! Whoaaaaa! I’m really excited to keep updating it, and I really hope you enjoy! Also, if you want to be on my permanent taglist or this series’s taglist, send me an ask or a message!

“What is this,” you ask your boyfriend as soon as he walks through the front door. You’re holding up a tabloid, on the cover: him with a wide smile and an arm slung across the shoulders of another woman. Underneath, big words flash: Queen’s Roger Taylor Leaves After Party with Mystery Woman! You’ve dealt with this kind of news throughout your whole eight year relationship with Roger, the tabloids always wanting to spin something out of nothing. 

But this time––this time is different. Perhaps it’s different because it’s the final straw to your already strained relationship’s back. Perhaps it’s different because it made you realize something that should have been done a long time ago but didn’t because you were too afraid to admit it. 

It’s two o’clock in the morning. You’ve been up the whole night, sitting on the living room couch while a random show played on the TV in the background. You didn’t pay attention to it. Instead, you waited for your boyfriend to come back from a dinner, letting your anger slowly simmer and build within you.

He makes a confused sound from the doorway. He didn’t hear you as he struggles to pull off his shoes. You stand up, marching over to him. He reeks of booze, making you scrunch up your nose.

“I said, What. Is. This,” you hiss, punctuating each word with a hit to his chest using the tabloid. His brows furrow as he grabs the paper from your hand. He sighs. 

“She was just a fan. I was walking her to her cab,” he says, arms crossed. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Are you actually being serious, Roger? Do you really think I’m that stupid?” 

“That’s the truth Y/N!” 

“Why do I find that hard to believe? Hell, it doesn’t even seem like you believe the bullshit you’re spewing right now,” you snap as you turn around and walk towards your kitchen. You hear him follow you.

“Nothing happened! What do you want me to say? What––”

“I want you to be fucking honest with me!” You scream at him across the island in the middle of your kitchen. Tears begin to pool in your eyes. A beat. He looks down at the ground. You let out a mirthless laugh. 

“I trusted you.” Your voice breaks.

“Y/N––”

“You know what––no––this is actually my mistake. This is my fault. I knew your reputation with girls. I don’t know why––I don’t know why I thought that I would be an exception,” you stumble through tears, and you hate yourself for it. You wanted to be strong. Wanted your voice to snap and sting and hurt. Instead, you sound broken. Tired. 

“What are you trying to say, Y/N?” he asks quietly, gripping the edge of the countertop. You can see his eyes beginning to glisten, most likely knowing what’s about to come next. 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. You look away, biting your lip hard, focusing your gaze on that little stain on the wall right next to the stove (it was from the time you and Roger were trying––and failing––to make spaghetti for dinner. You guys ended up ordering takeaway).

“Y/N. What are you trying to say?” he repeats. You don’t answer. The only sound is the too-loud ticking of the clock above the pantry. 

“Please look at me,” he whispers. You turn your head slowly, the memory still stuck in your mind. Stuck in your mind because it reminds you of a different time. A time that is definitely not your guys’ relationship anymore. 

“I’m just…I’m just tired, Rog,” you respond, voice cracking. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, weakly waving your arms around you. 

“So you’re just giving up on us then?” he asks. 

“You gave up on this relationship too––we both did. It doesn’t feel the same, and I know you feel that way too.” 

You’re just tired. Tired of his late nights. Tired of barely talking to him. Tired that you feel like you’re living with a stranger. Tired of sleeping in the same bed as someone who has fallen out of love with you. Tired of sleeping in the same bed as someone who you have fallen out of love with. 

“We fell out of love, Rog.” He winces at the familiar way you say his name. By now, he’s stone-cold sober. 

“We can––we can make this work, Y/N,” he pleads. 

“I’m leaving to stay with my friend,” you say, your voice hollow. “I’ll pick up the rest of my things in the next couple of days.”

“Y/N. Please.” You walk back to your shared bedroom, a small suitcase already packed and ready to go at the foot of the bed. Roger tails close behind.  

“Y/N, please, sweetheart, please don’t go,” he says, his eyes almost frantic. But you know that this panic won’t last this long. That this panic is derived from his fear of change. You were his comfort blanket. And you know the reason you haven’t broken up sooner was because you guys have been together for such a long time. You were safe to him. You were familiar. 

You’re at the door of your house, turning the handle.

“Y/N, please I love you,” he says, desperate. Your lower lip wobbles violently, and you reach up with a shaky hand to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, holding your wrist to his face.

“I know you do. And––and I love you too. But this isn’t working anymore. It isn’t and hasn’t since a long time ago,” you say, and by his face, you know for certain that he’s going to let you walk out of that door. And so you do. 

You force yourself to not look over your shoulder, your back––rod straight, your jaw––clenched so tight, your right temple begins to throb. Once you get down to the street and walk down a couple of blocks, you let yourself break down. You already called your friend to pick you up, so while you’re waiting, you fold over yourself––squatting down, putting your face into your hands. Your sobs are muffled by your fist. 

–––––––

In the house, Roger stands in the doorway in a daze––still staring out the door where he watched you walk out of his life. He doesn’t know how long he stands there for, but eventually, the cold from the outside becomes unbearable, and he stumbles back inside, collapsing onto the couch. But then he spots that little rip on the cushion from the time you and he agreed to babysit one of Freddie’s cats (the cat did not like you two whatsoever), so he moves to the bedroom, tumbling into the bed. But the sheets smell like you, and so he rips off the sheets, the comforter, the pillows. 

The truth is that he truly did nothing with that woman, but it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter because even though he didn’t, he did seriously consider it. Considered it because he knew his relationship with you wasn’t the same. It changed. He knew––he knows.

He doesn’t know how much time had passed, but he finds himself staring at the ceiling in the middle of the bare mattress. He eventually calls the first person he can think of. Picking up the phone on the bedside table, he dials Brian’s number. His friend picks up at the sixth ring. 

“Roger?” Brian says, his voice groggy from sleep.

“I lost her,” he whispers into the receiver. 

PART TWO

Permanent taglist: @thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash

When Things Fall Apart PART 2 [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: 1799

Contains: Angsty McAngstyton

A/N: I’m quite shocked at all the positive response to the first part of this series! THANK YOU! I hope you enjoy, and once again, if you want to be tagged in this series or be on my permanent taglist, don’t hesitate to let me know! Love you guys!

PART ONE

The weeks after you left were…rough. Brutal, you thought to yourself as you lied in your friend’s guest room bed with greasy hair and tubs of old ice cream pints on the bedside table. He tried calling you during those weeks after. Practically called everyday. But you never picked up the phone. Made your best friend answer and say some bullshit excuse as to why you couldn’t talk at the moment. 

But sometimes, when your friend wasn’t there, you would let the ringing go to voicemail, flinching every time you heard his voice through the receiver. 

Today was one of those days. 

You let the phone go to voicemail, and you (still) start when you hear that familiar voice. 

“Hey Y/N, I know you don’t want to hear from me, and I won’t call again after this, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to talk about the breakup at our next press conference. It’s just that––it’s just that I don’t want them to twist anything, you know?” His breath catches afterwards as if he wants to say something else. Instead, he lets out an exhale. “Okay, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. I promise I won’t call again…I…I hope everything’s alright,” he says, his voice a little hoarse before hanging up. 

And like he promised, that was the last time he called. 

––––––––

Several months have passed, and surprisingly, it got…easier. He kept his promise, and you haven’t seen nor spoke to him since that last call. You moved into your own apartment. Hell, you even got promoted at your job (you began working to the point of exhaustion so that you would fall asleep the moment your head hit the pillow instead of spending hours awake at night when the thoughts would hit you the hardest). It got easier. He’s about to go on tour for the next several months. Your eyes stopped watering when you heard his name (although you would still wince). 

But it was getting easier. 

––––––––

But then, while you’re searching for some pesto sauce, you pass the tabloids section at the store. You see him with his arms wrapped around another girl, walking out of a club. 

That night you go out with your friends and get absolutely, positively shit-faced, downing shots of you don’t even know what to numb out the pain. Taking shot after shot so that when you get back home, you won’t lie in bed and think of him. Gritting your teeth at the nauseating burn of the liquid slithering its way down your throat so that you can tumble into sleep’s comforting embrace. Would rather wake up with a nasty hangover than to wake up in a bed that doesn’t smell like him.

Your friend, Michael, has to practically carry you out of the club and into the taxi with your other girl friends.

––––––––

Roger moved out of the house. Couldn’t stand staying there afterwards––couldn’t bear the constant reminders of you––of your failed relationship. But the house is still in his name––he couldn’t stand to sell it. Couldn’t bear erasing all of the reminders of you––of your shared memories. So he’s staying with Brian now––has taken over one of his many guest rooms. 

Having just got out of the shower, he walks downstairs and goes to the kitchen to make some breakfast. As he pads over to the fridge, he spots a newspaper hastily shoved into the trash bin. On any other occasion, he wouldn’t have given it a second glance––wouldn’t have even noticed it. But he stops. Stops because he sees your name on the headline. Breakfast leaves his mind. He’s not hungry anymore. And with shaky hands, he fishes the paper out of the bin. 

And he sees you. You with the arms of another guy wrapped around your waist, walking out of a club. 

––––––––

Brian comes home to find Roger––sitting in the middle of the kitchen with a swollen, bloody fist and glass shards scattered around him. The window on the backdoor leading from the kitchen to the garden outside has a fist-sized hole punched through it. 

“Shit Rog, what happened?” Brian asks with wide eyes. But then he sees the crumpled newspaper on the counter. He internally berates himself––he was in a rush in the morning and didn’t have the time to properly hide it. A sniffle. His head whips back to his friend. Roger rests his head against the cupboards under the sink. He lazily––almost sluggishly––looks over at Brian. Brian notices his red-rimmed eyes, disheveled hair. Brian notices that he looks broken. 

––––––––

At first, Jim absolutely rages at Roger when they all pile into the tour bus the next day. Freddie, John, and Brian stay quiet in the back, pretending not to listen. 

“How could you do this? Your first show is tomorrow! How the fuck are you going to play?” he asks, hands making wild gestures around him. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, the doctor says I can still play,” Roger mumbles, his head hung low. He fiddles with a string that had come loose from his gauze wrap. Jim sighs, and his eyes soften. 

“Hey,” he begins, putting a warm hand on Roger’s shoulder, “I know the past couple of months have been hard for you. Just––just please take care of yourself, okay?” he says, so gently that Roger’s eyes begin to burn. 

––––––––

At the grocery store, you pass the stand with all the latest trashy tabloids. Not being able to help yourself, you drift over. Most of the headlines talk of Queen’s first show that they just performed on their European tour. On the front of one, there’s a nice picture of Roger playing the drums. You see that his hand is wrapped in a large white bandage.

––––––––

Roger chats up a girl at the afterparty that someone who he doesn’t know the name of threw for Queen’s second show. The girl––a pretty brunette with long legs and sultry eyes is practically in his lap. And to be honest with himself, he’s actually pretty excited to bring her home. 

“Wanna get out of here, Rog?” she whispers in his ear while running a manicured hand down his chest, and he jerks back. Jerks back because for just a split second, she sounded exactly like you. 

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, thrown off guard. 

And suddenly, it’s all too much. The noise. The hundreds of people. The girl’s perfume is making his head ache. Her nails are digging into his skin. It’s too much. He stands up quickly––too quickly as he basically throws her off of him in the process, causing her to slosh her drink all over herself and fall onto the carpet. 

“What the fuck?” she yells. He doesn’t notice. Doesn’t care. She scoffs before throwing the rest of her drink in his face and stomping off. A flash of a camera goes off.

He finds Freddie, Brian, and John. “I need to go,” he quickly mumbles before stumbling out, ignoring his friends’ calls. 

He rushes home, and without thinking, he picks up the phone and automatically dials a number he’s had memorized for nearly his entire life. Your number. You pick up at the fourth ring. 

“Hello?” your voice is hoarse from sleep, and he hits himself, forgetting that it’s two o’clock in the morning. But your voice makes his heart stop. He doesn’t say anything, holding his breath. 

“Hello?” you repeat, confused. He can imagine that little crease in the middle of your furrowed brows––that little crease that he would always smooth over with his thumb. He doesn’t say anything. He knows he’s being absolutely selfish. But tonight, he can’t help himself.  

“Rog?” you whisper. You sound wide awake now. He shuts his eyes, almost whimpering at the sound of you saying his name. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping the phone until he notices red spots bloom through his white bandages, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t feel it. 

You know it’s Roger on the other line, but you don’t hang up. He starts talking.

“I wish––I wish that I did things differently. You were right. I gave up––I gave up on us, on our relationship, on our love––and I hate myself for it. And––and I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry. I should have tried harder. Should have tried harder for us. I should have fought harder, and letting go––giving up on what we had––” 

“Roger, please don’t do this.” you whisper. 

“I’ll always love you, Y/N. You know I’ll always love you, and I know you’ll always love me. And I’m––and I’m just––I’m sorry.” He’s slurring his words a bit, and the voice of reason in his head is desperately telling himself to stop this rambling. But he can’t. Doesn’t want to. And his heart breaks when he hears you crying on the other line. 

“I can’t––” your voice catches in your throat. “Bye, Roger,” you manage to get out before you hang up. He hears the click of the phone disconnecting followed by the hum of the receiver in his ear. 

He lets out an exhale that sounds more like a sob. Putting his face into his hands, he stays there on the couch, still in his rumpled white button up and jeans until the sun begins to make its way across the sky. 

You lie in your bed, still clutching the phone to your cheek. Hot tears streaming down your face. And at that moment, you hate him. You hate him for calling you. You hate him for saying that. Hate him for making you feel heartbroken all over again. Hate him because you thought you were over him, but this just proves that you aren’t. This just proves that he isn’t. You fall asleep to the hum of the receiver in your ear and with your hands in front of you, grasping at nothing. 

––––––––

When the sun comes up, he finally peels himself off the couch, takes a shower, calls a local florist to send a bouquet of flowers with an “I’m sorry” card to the girl he practically threw off his lap last night, and finally, vows to never call you again. Promises himself that he’s going to move on for the sake of his own wellbeing, but more importantly, for yours. 

And when you wake up, eyes crusty from sleep and tears, you make your way to your kitchen to cook your favorite breakfast (blueberry pancakes and a fried egg), and while you listen to the birds chirping and take a sip of your coffee, you also make the same promise to yourself. 

PART THREE

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WHEN THINGS FALL APART Taglist:

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Roger’s Being a Flirty Little Shit, and You Get Flustered [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word count: 541

Contains: fluff kinda, I’m not really sure lol

A/N: A really quick blurb I just typed up! Was very fun to write & it was a really nice break from all the angst I was writing for When Things Fall Apart! Hope you enjoy!! Also just wanted to thank you so much for all the support with my writing. You guys are the best! 

Roger had invited you to a little weekend getaway near the beach with the boys and some of their friends and girlfriends. And of course, you wholeheartedly agreed to go as you haven’t hung out with your best friend in what seemed like forever. 

Having been waiting downstairs for almost twenty minutes, you are reminded once again of how long Roger took to get ready for anything.

“I’ll go get him,” you say to the others before storming up the stairs. 

Opening the door to his room, you ask, “Rog? Are you ready? Everyone’s waiting for you––” you stop. You stop because you see his very naked chest and bare legs. His hands are about to pull down his boxers. 

“Where are your clothes?” you shriek, shielding your eyes before turning around. He rolls his eyes while he laughs. You’ve known each other since you were babies, and although you’ve both seen each other unclothed on many occasions, you still get the same reaction every single time. 

“I always forget that you’re such a prude,” he says. 

“Am not!” you say even though you know for a fact that your face is burning beet red at the moment. Since you’re facing away from him, you don’t see the absolutely devious look that crosses his face. 

“Really, you sure?” he whispers, suddenly behind you. His body now pressed way too close against your own, voice a little husky, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. You can feel him smirking.

You jump, and without even thinking, your hand slams back. And hits him. You hear a pained “oof” before hearing him thud to the ground. 

“Oh my––fuck,” he groans. You whip around and see him clutching the front of his boxers, curled up into a fetal position. And you almost feel bad, but you can still feel your heated face and his hot breath on your ear.

“Well, that’s what you get, you perv!” you exclaim, hands resting on your hips. 

“You were the one that barged into my room while I was changing! No warning! If anything, you’re the perv!” 

“Wha––no––I was––you’re missing the point!” you sputter, and you think of smacking him again when you see his lips curl into a shit-eating grin. 

You hear someone stomping up the stairs, and a few seconds later, an annoyed Brian walks through the door. 

“Can you guys hurry up? We wanted to leave twenty minutes ago!” He stops in his tracks when he sees Roger rolling around on the floor clad only in his boxers. He looks back at you. 

“S’not my fault! She punched me in the balls!” he yells. Brian raises his brows at you though his lips are beginning to tilt up into a smile. 

“He––he was making me….flustered,” you say. 

“At least, she knows how to defend herself,” Brian says through a snort before giving you a sly high five. Roger sees it though. 

“Did I just hear that Y/N hit Roger in the balls?” Freddie yells from downstairs. You hear his laughter reverberate throughout the house. 

“Oh, fuck you all!” Roger says, still on the ground. 

“Can we please just go to the beach already!” John yells, exasperated. 

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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

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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

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 

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:

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*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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Make Believe: Part Three [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: 4.6k (I got kinda carried away)

Contains: TW: PANIC ATTACK/ANXIETY. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY THIS. DISCLAIMER: I just want to say that panic attacks are different for every person. I wrote this out of personal experience/how my panic attacks feel to me, but this is not necessarily the exact, universal experience for everyone who suffers from them. 

A/N: Thanks for all the support so far! Would love to receive some feedback / let me know how you’re liking the story so far! Hope you enjoy! :) 

PART ONE || PART TWO

–––––

Previously…

“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. 

–––––

A Couple Days Ago

Just as Roger drops your hand and opens your car door for you, Freddie comes running up to you.

“Y/N, I’m having dinner and drinks and my house with all the boys and their girls next Friday. You’re welcome to join. I mean, you are apart of the family now,” he says with a wink. 

You don’t miss the way Roger’s mouth open in protest next to him. And just to spite him, you accept Freddie’s invitation with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm. 

Worth it you think when you see the pure annoyance on Roger’s face when Freddie gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Amazing! I’ll tell Jim to send my address,” he exclaims.

–––––

You’re standing in front of Freddie’s house with a bottle of wine nestled in the crook of your arm. You ring the bell. A few seconds later, Freddie opens the door, a big smile on his face. 

“Y/N!” he says, welcoming you with a warm hug before leading you inside. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you’re greeted with the smell of roast chicken and the sound of laughter and clattering dishes. Someone––a woman with long blonde hair––pulls a pan out of the oven while the rest bring a variety of dishes to the table in the dining room.

“It smells delicious,” you compliment to no one in particular. 

Brian sets down some plates and silverware, wipes his hands on his slacks, and pulls you into a hug. 

“Y/N! So glad that you can make it!” 

“You must be Roger’s new girlfriend,” the woman who was in charge of the oven says––you’re guessing she’s Chrissie (Brian’s girlfriend) as she gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze before hugging you tight. You furrow your brows, looking at Brian. He subtly shakes his head––she doesn’t know.

“Yep, that’s me!” 

You greet John with a kiss on the cheek and introduce yourself to his wife, Veronica, and Mary. Roger is nowhere in sight. And just as Brian grumbles about how he’s always late (“No sense of time”), you hear the door open and footsteps coming into the dining room. 

“Sorry, I’m late everyone, I had––” he stops when he sees you, and you wiggle your fingers at him. You figure that he had forgotten you were coming. 

He quickly recovers. “Hi gorgeous,” he says as he walks over and gives you a kiss on the forehead before sitting down to your right. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head. 

“Hey handsome. Good of you to finally join us,” you tease, pressing your lips to his cheek. Your lipstick leaves a mark on his skin, and you wipe it away with what you hope is a look of fondness. 

“This one is always late,” Chrissie says to you. “Brian complains about it all the time.” 

Brian shrugs. “Punctuality is important!” 

“I know right. I always have to tell him to come thirty minutes before the actual time, but he still manages to be late,” you add. 

“Oi! I can hear you,” Roger complains. 

You flick his nose. “Good.”

Throughout the dinner, Roger has been oddly…touchy. You assume that he has taken your words from last night to heart, but even with that knowledge, you’re getting pretty damned flustered. 

“Can you pass me the green beans, love?” After you hand him the bowl, he squeezes your upper thigh in thanks. You freeze, and you know that smug little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. He smirks when he sees your cheeks flush. 

“You doing okay, gorgeous?” he asks lowly. You suppress a shiver when you feel his hot breath brushing against your ear. Your response is a tightlipped smile, and you see amusement dancing in his eyes.

Ok. Two can play at that game.

You continue with dinner, chatting with everyone about your last tour, music, and your personal life. The conversation eventually lands on the topic of best grilled cheese places in Europe. And you find yourself in the midst of a friendly debate with John, the two of you arguing about who has the best grilled cheese in Ireland. You firmly believe it’s Shaw’s Grill, but he insists it’s Bluestone Pub. 

While you lay out all of the qualities that Shaw’s grilled cheese has that Bluestone’s lacks (one of which is quality of bread), without breaking eye contact nor faltering in your speech, you slowly begin to trail your foot up against Roger’s calf. He chokes on his wine. And Brian, who’s on his left, has to hit him a few times in his back.

“You okay, love?” you ask, brows raised with mock concern. He looks at you with wide eyes, but you can see a delighted surprise on his face. You flash him a smirk before launching back into your debate. 

Roger’s arm ends up stretched out onto the back of your chair, and he begins playing with the tips of your hair as he talks to Freddie about an idea for a new song. It’s an innocuous act, and you don’t know why, but it makes your heart pound a few beats faster. His fingers brush against the side of your neck. Worried that he’ll soon be able to feel the rapid beating of your heart, you grab his hand and place a kiss to it, bringing it down to your lap. 

“Cheeky,” he mumbles into your ear. 

“Shut up.” 

“Hey Y/N, could you pass the salt please?” Brian asks a few seats down. 

“Of course,” you say, and you suppress a wicked smile pulling at your mouth. You grab the salt. And instead of handing it to Roger so he can give it to Brian, you stretch your body over Roger’s lap, firmly placing your other hand directly onto his crotch. You smirk when you hear him let out a surprised groan that he tries (unsuccessfully) to cover up with a cough. 

“You two better not be doing anything weird under the table,” Brian calls out, narrowing his eyes at the both of you. You guys don’t answer, both of your faces flushing.

“Ew, you guys are gross.”

“Prude,” Roger says. You stifle your laughter into the palm of your hand, and he flashes you a grin. 

–––––

Roger quietly watches you talk with Chrissie and John, slightly smiling to himself as he sees you gesturing wildly with your hands before Brian sidles up to him. John throws back his head and laughs. 

“I can see why everyone loves her so much,” Brian says to him quietly. Roger stays silent. Instead, taking a long pull from his cigarette. 

“You know, if you get past your differences and whatever petty feud you have going on, there might be something that could happen…between the two of you…It might be good for you, especially after Alice––”

Roger lets out a dry laugh. “Okay, I think you’ve had enough to drink.” 

“Don’t fight it! You know I’m right.” 

“Uh huh,” Roger says, unconvinced before standing up and putting on his jacket. He walks over to you, interrupting your avid storytelling.

“Hey, I’m going to go home, love, had a long day.” You furrow your brows in mock worry, placing your hand in his. 

“Okay, you want me to go back with you?”

“No, it’s okay, stay, stay. I’ll see you tomorrow for the interview.” And with a kiss to your nose, he leaves. 

“Aw you guys are so cute together!” Chrissie gushes. “This is going to be really good for him.” You and John make eye contact, and you both have to hold in your laughter. 

–––––

You’re in the green room of the talk show studio, your leg jiggling as you wait for the interview to start. Roger and the rest of the band are here too, listening to Jim tell them the kinds of questions that they’ll have to answer, what not say, and what to focus on. 

You already know your part, having gone over everything the day before with Anne. But even so, you’re nervous, and not being able to sit down any longer, you get up and grab an apple from the counter. 

“Y/N, I know you went over it, but got any last minute concerns?” Jim asks. 

“I hope you’re as good of an actor as you say you are,” you say to Roger with a sweet smile. 

–––––

“So, today we have very special guests, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Queen!” the interviewer announces. The crowd goes wild as they walk onto the stage. They shake hands with her before settling down on the couch.

“I love you Roger!” a girl shrieks from the crowd when the clapping dies down. 

“It’s so nice to have you here today boys, let’s start off by talking about your previous album, shall we?” And so, they talk about music, recording, and touring for the next twenty minutes or so.

Roger’s talking about their process with coming up with lyrics when, with a red blur, something lands onto his lap from the audience. He looks down, face contorting from confusion to surprise to alarm in a matter of seconds. He gingerly picks up a red lace bra, delicately pinching the strap with his pointer and thumb.  

“Uhh, thank you for this…I don’t think my girlfriend would love it, though,” he jokes, placing it carefully onto the table next to him. There’s a mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd at the mention of a girlfriend. A backstage assistant quickly jogs onto the stage and takes it away. 

“I hear a lot of hearts breaking in the crowd,” the interviewer jokes. Roger shrugs, a smile on his lips. 

“Speaking of girlfriend…” she says with a wiggle of her brows. You have a new one, yes? And not just anyone, but rockstar, Y/N Y/L/N!” 

“Is there any competition between the two of you––I mean she did take the number one spot for UK sales this year,” she asks. He laughs. 

“There’s no competition––she’s––she’s amazing––everything about her,” he says good-naturedly. The audience “awws”

“Who knew Roger Taylor is such a romantic! Well, we have a surprise guest on the show today!” she announces. 

And you walk onto stage, waving at the cheering fans. Roger pops up from the couch, shock overtaking his features for a split second before morphing into an excited grin. He’s a good actor, you think. He walks over and embraces you. And liftting you up, he spins you around. You yelp out, a surprised giggle escaping your mouth as you grip onto his neck tighter. He lets you down and presses a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose, hands still gripping onto your waist. Your hands, still wrapped around the back of his neck. 

“Hi gorgeous. Funny seeing you here,” he jokes quietly but knowing that the mic that’s taped onto his chest is picking up everything he says. As you sit down on the couch, Roger presses you up tightly against his side. You grab his hand and place it on your lap, playing with his fingers. 

“Aw, look at the lovebirds!” the interviewer coos. She turns to the rest of the band. “Does it ever get too much?” she asks in a stage whisper.

“These guys––cannot keep their hands off of each other. Sometimes I can’t even eat my lunch,” Freddie says with a wild gesture of his hands. The crowd laughs, and Roger shrugs with a smug look while you burrow your face into his shoulder. He lifts up your hand and presses a kiss to your palm.

“Kiss!” someone yells. And soon, the whole audience is chanting for you to kiss on live television. 

You freeze. During your so far week-long fake relationship, you’ve pretty much avoided kissing him on the lips, thinking that that’s an act way too intimate for someone you’re simply fake dating. Roger didn’t seem to mind as you’ve also noticed that he has usually stuck with kissing you on the cheek, nose, forehead. 

He can sense your discomfort, and so he brings you closer. 

“Uh, as much as I love kissing her, I dont think the missus is very on board with snogging on live television,” he says lightheartedly. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief, silently thanking Roger for his quick thinking. 

–––––

“So you can be nice,” he says with a smirk, arms crossed after you walk off the stage.

“I’m just a very, very good actress,” you say with a light pat to his chest. 

“Oh man,” he says, staggering back and clutching his chest. “You really know how to break a man’s heart.” You roll your eyes and duck your head, trying to hide the small smile threatening to pull at your lips. 

 –––––

Stepping out from the doors of the talk show studio, you’re instantly mobbed by awaiting fans. Way more than you’ve ever seen––the mixture of both Queen and your own fans have created what appears to be pure chaos. The security next to you try their best pushing the screaming people out of the way, but the crowd seems to get wilder by the second. 

Someone grabs onto Deacy’s jacket, ripping him back into the crowd, and you think someone just tried grabbing your hair, feeling their fingertips graze the top of your head. 

You want to get out of this situation and you want to get out now. But the crowd is so thick, you can’t walk two steps in front of you. And so you’re now trapped in a sea of bodies. The only constant, Roger’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The security who’s supposed to be watching your right side has disappeared, probably trying to deal with the girl who had just launched herself at Brian.

You and Roger are alone. And then you feel him being pulled away from you, fingers desperately trying to keep hold of your shoulder, but you feel them being dragged away with a stinging scratch.

And now, you are alone. Alone in this crowd of people screaming. Screaming your name. Screaming Roger’s name. Screaming obscenities. Hurling insults at you. Next thing you know, you’re face-to-face with a girl, her face contorted with anger. And you don’t even see her cocking her arm back until you feel the force of the punch hit the side of your jaw. Your head whips around, and you stagger back, almost falling onto the ground in your thin heels. But someone grabs your elbow from behind, stabilizing you. 

“HEY,” Roger roars, enraged. And you never thought you would get this much relief from that voice. 

But the relief is short-lived. The ground seems to be tilting at your feet. Your vision becomes blurry.

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Roger?” you whimper, not really sure why you call out for him. 

“Yeah right here love,” he says, a surprising amount of concern in his voice. 

“I need to go. I need to go right now.” The cold wash of panic slides through your body/ Your body becomes numb. Everything is muffled. You can’t hear. You can’t see. Why is my heart going so fast. You stumble back into Roger. You don’t what you look like exactly, but it must be bad because Roger’s eyes widen. 

“GREG!” he yells to the security guard. 

Seconds-–maybe minutes past. By now, you’re not in a state of mind where you can decipher what’s happening around you. 

You all manage to dive into a small bakery on the street (Roger basically had to drag you in), and someone shuts and locks the door. The shop owner––an old, nice-looking lady looks at all of you with wide eyes. 

“Could we please stay here for a bit? It’s a bit crazy out there,” Brian asks, panting. And just to prove to his point, a body slams into the door from the outside. She doesn’t even hear him, instead, more focused on you as you’re currently dry heaving in the corner by the fresh loaves of bread. 

You can’t breathe and you think that you’re crying but you’re not sure. Everything is too hot and your heart is going way too fast and you can’t see. Gasping for air, you look around frantically. 

“Y/N?” someone to your right asks––you think it’s John. 

“Um––” you can’t even get the words out, wet gasps escaping your mouth instead. 

“Oh my god, her lip.” 

You reach up with a shaking hand, pressing your fingers into your bottom lip. It stings, and you bring your fingers down to see them covered in blood. Oh my god. You start hyperventilating. 

“I think she’s having a panic attack!” 

“Y/N, calm down.” And then someone grabs your shoulders. 

“DON’T TOUCH ME,” you shriek, ripping out of his grasp. Your panic spiking. You can’t breathe. I cannot breathe. Oh my god, I’m going to die. I am going to die. And everyone around you is looking at you with frantic, lost expressions. No one knows what to do. You’re standing alone, heaving, hunched over with your hands on your knees. 

“Y/N. Look at me,” Roger says, standing a foot away from you, and you look up. Look up into his blue eyes. 

“Okay, breathe. Breathe in, yeah? Breathe out.” You listen to his soothing voice, that voice that’s breaking through the haze of panic. 

“Can we get some water?” you hear Anne ask the old woman at the counter. 

You feel him carefully come up behind you, drawing slow figure eight circles on your back. “Breathe in when you feel the upper half of the eight. Hold it in the middle. Breathe out when you feel me drawing the lower half of the eight,” he says softly. 

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. And your breaths start evening out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. You stop hyperventilating. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. 

The lady comes back with a tall glass of water and an oversized, knit sweater. 

“Here you go lovie, I brought a sweater too, just in case and some of these chocolate buns. My granddaughter goes through the same thing, and these always help her feel better after.” Her voice is so kind and understanding, you almost start crying again. 

“Do we need to get you to a hospital?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m fine. It was just––it was just a panic attack,” you mumble. “I just need to go home.” 

“Ok, there’s a back entrance from here, and the drivers are already there. You ready to go?”

 –––––

“Wait Y/N!” Roger calls, jogging up to your car right as you’re about to get in. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes cautious, hesitant almost, treating you as if you’re made of glass. And for some reason, that annoyed you.

“I’m fine Roger,” you snap, embarrassed that you lost control like that––embarrassed that he saw you like that. You see hurt flash in his eyes.

“I’m just trying to help––” 

“I don’t need your help! We’re not friends, we’re alone now, you don’t have to pretend you care, alright?” He stiffens.  

“I’ll be at your door at eight tonight for dinner,” he says curtly before leaving to get into his own car. When you finally settle into your seat, you let out a sigh, tears pricking at your eyes again. 

You shouldn’t have snapped at him. But you were angry and scared and vulnerable and fragile and you hated the fact that Roger of all people had to see you like this. That he, of all people, was the one who eventually helped you calm down. 

And you feel even worse and even more like shit because the person who actually helped you and seemed like he cared for you was Roger, and you just yelled at him for no other reason than that you were embarrassed. 

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath.  

–––––

Roger came at exactly eight o’clock, dressed sharply in an all black suit, his staple black Ray-Bans sitting on his nose. 

The drive to the party was…awkward. You both exchanged polite niceties, saying stilted hello’s and how are you’s before lapsing into silence. You thank the gods for Anne’s chatty nature. When you pull up to the restaurant, you breathe a sigh of relief. 

He opens the car door for you, slipping his hand into yours, the rough callouses scratching against the smooth skin of your palm. He still doesn’t talk nor do you. And with your hand in his, you walk into the swanky restaurant your record label rented out in celebration for your album hitting number one. 

“Y/N!” someone calls as soon as you walk in. You whip your head towards the sound and spot Leila––your best friend in the entire world. 

You squeal, untangling yourself from Roger’s arm and launching yourself into her arms. 

“Leila! When did you get back?”

“Yesterday, but I wanted to surprise you! Did you really think I would miss your celebration party?” You laugh, giving her another hug. 

“I’m so happy you’re here. I have so much to fill you in on.”

“Yes, one of which…” she trails off, looking pointedly at the man standing a few feet away as he chats with some music producer. He looks over, catching you staring at him and gives you a dazzling smile, slipping back into his role for the night. You smile back, slipping back into your role for the night as well.  

“Why did I have to find out about this new relationship from the magazine cart outside my hotel?” she asks, shoving you with her shoulder. 

“Sorry! Sorry! It all happened so fast…” you say with a blush. 

You feel hands wrap around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. “Hi gorgeous, who’s this?”

“Uhh––this is––” You get distracted by the way his hands warm you through your silk dress. You clear your throat. “This is my best friend, Leila.”

“So very nice to meet you, Leila,” he says, extending the hand that was previously resting on your waist. 

“Hey Rog, come over here!” someone calls from behind––you think it’s Brian. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says with a kiss to your cheek, “I’ll get you a drink, do you want anything?” he asks Leila. She’s staring at him with wide eyes. You shake her arm, and she blinks back into reality. 

“Uh no, I’m good thanks,” she says with an apologetic smile. He returns that smile before jogging off. You watch him as he rejoins a group of friends. 

“Oh my god, he’s so hot,” Leila whispers. You whip your head around and burst out into laughter, swatting her arm. 

–––––

You find yourself sitting alone at the bar. You’ve made all the rounds of the night––saying the necessary hellos to record producers, catching up with old friends, allowing people to hug and congratulate you on your success. People made speeches, you cut into a cake that said “congrats!” with a frosted #1 and a picture of your album cover, and now everyone is wandering around the restaurant, drinking and chatting. You’re exhausted––the panic attack had drained all the remaining energy you had within you that day––probably will keep you drained for the next few days even. 

And as you look around, seeing everyone happy and drunk and having a good time, you sigh and stand up. You don’t want be here anymore, and you don’t feel like talking to anyone anymore. The bartender––Michael––allows you take a bottle of scotch on your way to the backdoor that you know leads to the roof. 

–––––

“Hiding from your own celebration party?” you hear a voice behind you ask. It’s Roger. You don’t turn around, still staring at the night sky and city lights. 

“I’m not really into all of the partying,” you say with a shrug while bringing the bottle to your lips. 

“Yeah, me too,” he says as he walks over. He sits down next to you, groaning when he bends his knees.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say with a small smile. He pulls out a cigarette, taking one out for himself and then offering you one from the pack. You shake your head, holding up the bottle of scotch. He lets out a laugh before digging up a lighter from his jacket pocket. 

The only sounds breaking through the silence are the flick of his lighter and the wind and the cars below.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. It’s just that––I don’t know––I was embarrassed? And I really hate when those happen. But I wanna say thank you for earlier––you really helped.” 

He shrugs. “It’s okay, I understand. I used to get them when I was younger, and someone told me to do that. I’m sorry that that happened. I’m sorry that that girl punched you–-should have been there next to you.”

“It’s not your fault…it’s just that all of this…” you wave your hands around. “fame…it’s sometimes too much for me to handle. I mean––I love making music, and I’m so grateful and happy that there are people who love it, but…” you shrug. He nods. 

You skyrocketed to fame in a matter of months after releasing your first album a couple years ago. You see your face on billboards at every corner. You have screaming fans who follow you on the streets when you go out to get groceries. This year, your album hit number one. You spend most of the year touring and the rest of it making music. You have interview after interview. Paparazzi follow you home every night. You’re now dating fucking Roger Taylor from Queen.

And even though it’s been a couple of years, sometimes you feel as if you’re still not used to it. Still that young girl who dropped out of university and out of the path of getting a PhD in Astrophysics to pursue her dream in music. It’s sometimes a little too much. 

His eyes flit to your mouth, to where he knows that underneath the dark red lipstick, your lip is busted from the punch. He takes a long pull from his cigarette. 

“I’m really tired of fighting. Can we call a truce until this whole thing is over?” he says after he blows out the smoke. You let out a laugh that sounds more like an exhale. 

“Truce,” you say, handing him the bottle of scotch. 

“Okay, well, now that we’re not enemies anymore, we should get to know each other better,” he says after he takes a swig. 

“Okay, shoot,” you ask. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“Really?” 

“That’s basic question!” 

“Fine, pink. You?”

“Yellow.” 

“Ok. I wanna ask a question, why are you always wearing those sunglasses? It’s night and we’re––we were––indoors.” 

“These sunglasses are sexy, and you know it,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder to yours. 

And so, you two spend most of the night there––forgetting about the party raging below. Passing the bottle back and forth to one another, you both share stories of childhood memories, being on tour, and everything in between. You talk about your crazy university stories and the time you not so accidentally threw up on a douchebag at a bar. 

Roger talks about the time he got into a bar fight over a pack of peanuts. 

“Did you win?”

“Oh god no, I was absolutely shit-faced, and I think he was a former boxer.” 

You tilt your head back and laugh, and he looks at you with a small smile playing at his lips, an unfamiliar feeling warming his chest. 

NEXT CHAPTER: PART FOUR

–––––

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Make Believe: Part 4 [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: ~3.1k 

Contains: language and slut-shaming (not from Roger though!) 

A/N: I AM BACK. Here is part 4, I don’t how many people still want to read it, so if you’re on the taglist, and no longer want to be on it, please message me (I will not be offended). And vice versa, if you want to be on the taglist but you aren’t on it, just shoot me a message! I hope you guys enjoy this part and thank you for sticking with me! Love you guys. 

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE 

Previously…

“I’m really tired of fighting. Can we call a truce until this whole thing is over?” he says after he blows out the smoke. You let out a laugh that sounds more like an exhale. 

“Truce,” you say, handing him the bottle of scotch. 

“Okay, well, now that we’re not enemies anymore, we should get to know each other better,” he says after he takes a swig. 

“Okay, shoot,” you ask. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“Really?” 

“That’s basic question!” 

“Fine, pink. You?”

“Yellow.” 

“Ok. I wanna ask a question, why are you always wearing those sunglasses? It’s night and we’re––we were––indoors.” 

“These sunglasses are sexy, and you know it,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder to yours. 

And so, you two spend most of the night there––forgetting about the party raging below. Passing the bottle back and forth to one another, you both share stories of childhood memories, being on tour, and everything in between. You talk about your crazy university stories and the time you not so accidentally threw up on a douchebag at a bar. 

Roger talks about the time he got into a bar fight over a pack of peanuts. 

“Did you win?”

“Oh god no, I was absolutely shit-faced, and I think he was a former boxer.” 

You tilt your head back and laugh, and he looks at you with a small smile playing at his lips, a weird feeling warming his chest. 

 –––––

After that night, you and Roger have been trying slowly to create a somewhat functional friendship. 

“Can I get an iced latte with vanilla and two packets of sweetener please?” you ask the waiter taking your order. Roger pulls a face, and you cross your arms. 

“What? I like sweets Mister Plain Black Coffee.” He rolls his eyes and flicks your nose. You swat his hand out of the way but laugh nonetheless. 

Maybe that smile in that picture the paparazzi caught of you and him wasn’t entirely faked.

And maybe after you guys pay for the check and are walking towards the car, Roger leaves his hand wrapped around yours a moment longer than he has to even after you both get are out of the camera’s spotlight. 

 –––––

You sigh as you look around the room. Another night, another party, another evening spending time around drunken fools. 

You stiffen when you hear a voice that makes your skin crawl. Oh no. Looking over, you spot your ex standing by the bar with his arm around another girl’s waist. Roger notices the way your shoulders tense, and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to say anything because before he can turn around, you grab his hand and drag him into the nearest bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind you, you look at a very confused Roger. 

“Give me a love bite.” You’re not thinking this through. Jealousy and pride clouding your logic, but you don’t care. 

He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Give me a love bite.” 

You almost giggle at how clueless and flustered Roger looks right now, so unlike his usual cocky self. He opens his mouth. 

“Please? I think it’ll really sell our relationship!” He narrows his eyes at you. An inner conflict seems to be resolved when he exhales. 

“Okay…” He walks over carefully, almost as if he’s worried that he’s walking into a trap. 

Thus explains the reason why you’re currently straddling Roger’s lap in the first available bedroom you guys could find in the house. He carefully pushes the front of your dress to the side, the silk easily gliding away with his touch. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin when you feel his rough, calloused fingers graze your collarbones. 

“You sure about this?” he asks you, and you nod. 

He attaches his lips to the side of your throat. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his lips, and you feel his hands tighten on your hips. Your skin is on fire. You reach up, and slowly push up his sunglasses from his nose and to the top of his head. He looks up at you, hooded eyes meet your own. The blue of his eyes are almost swallowed with his black pupils, and you bite your lip at the sight, heat blossoming throughout your body. His eyes flick down at the movement, his mouth opened slightly. 

At a particularly harsh suck, teeth grazing skin, your hips give an involuntary jolt into his, and he lets out a surprised, quiet groan.

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” you stutter. 

The door swings open and before you can even process it, you hear a loud, “Oh shit sorry!” And the slamming of the door. 

You jump, instinctively pushing Roger away from you, but his hands are still attached to your waist. So instead, he takes you down with him. You let out a surprised squeal before your body hits his as his back slams onto the bed beneath him. 

Rolling off of him, you flop onto the bed panting. Heart beating out of your chest. A beat as you both lie on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. 

And then you burst out laughing. Deep, heaving laughs that make you clutch at your stomach. And Roger’s laughing as well. 

“You’re such a little shit!” you wheeze and hit him with one of the pillows. “Why didn’t you lock the door?” 

“I thought I did! And also you were the one who basically jumped my bones out there––you should have been the one who locked the door!” 

You scoff, but a smile pulls at your mouth. Pushing yourself up and off the bed, you walk over to a mirror that’s leaning on one of the walls. Poking and prodding the red mark quickly blossoming on the column of your throat, you deem it an acceptable love bite. 

“Okay, this should be good, thanks––what are you doing?” You ask as you see Roger reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

“Keeping up appearances.” He gives you a wink before unbuttoning his shirt all the way open. 

“Wait––” you say before grabbing a tube of your lipstick from your clutch. Opening the tube, you rub some of the color onto your fingers and proceed to rub it messily around Roger’s mouth. He looks down at you, smiling at the little furrow in your brow as you concentrate. You pull back and admire your handiwork. 

“We are now the perfect sex-crazed couple,” you say with a wink and a flourish of your hand. 

Walking out of the room, Roger pretends to readjust his belt, and you pull your dress down. Plastering a glazed, satisfied look on his face, he gives all the people standing in the hallway in front of the room a lazy smile. 

A couple of whistles, and you just flash them a knowing smirk. 

You’ve been at the party for an hour, and you’ve lost Roger after being swept away by some friends. Tired and ready to make your way back home, you’re in search of Roger and the rest of your friends to say bye. As you make your way through the too big house, you’re not watching in front of you. Instead, looking at what appears to be two people in chicken costumes dancing on top of one of the living room tables when you bump into someone. Strong arms grip your shoulders to steady you. You look up, opening your mouth to apologize. But stop short when you see who it is. 

“Hey, Y/N, I just want to say congrats on your album,” your ex says with a sleazy smile. His hand lingers too long on your shoulder. 

“Oh––uh, thank you.” 

You see his eyes flick down, and then stay there. His brows furrow. And you let the self satisfied smile grow on your face when you know he’s looking at the dark bruise you’re not trying to hide. 

“Who’s this, love,” Roger asks, coming up from behind you, his hands snaking around your waist. And you have to suppress your laughter as you can practically see the gears working in your ex’s head. His eyes rapidly flicking to your lipstick and then to the same color smudged onto Roger’s mouth. Your matching bed-ruffled hair. The way Roger possessively holds onto your waist, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles into the exposed skin of your stomach. 

He blinks a few times before plastering on a slimy grin. 

“Matthew,” he says, “Matthew Paul.”

“No way. You’re the bloke who stole the riff from our album!” he asks with an incredulous laugh. Your ex turns bright red, his eyes going wide. He clears his throat. 

“So, uh, how did, uh, how did the two of you meet?”

“I was already a huge fan of her work. I went to a concert of hers, I think it was last Spring, and then we met at an afterparty where we really hit it off. And from there, I couldn’t think of anything but her,” he says. You blush before leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips. But when you try pulling away, his arm around your waist tightens and he deepens the kiss. When you part, your cheeks are flushed and you bite your swollen lips, slapping Roger on the chest. 

“Just letting you know that you’re dating a fucking whore,” your ex says with a casual sip of his drink. If one wasn’t paying too close attention, they would have almost missed it. Roger stops dead in his tracks. 

“What the fuck did you just say?” 

Oh shit. By now, this little exchange has attracted a decent sized crowd. You see Brian pushing his way to the front, John right behind him. 

“Roger…” you warn, but he’s not even looking at you. It’s actually Brian who steps in between the two men, placing a hand out in front of him. “Walk away,” he says to your ex. 

Michael scoffs. Ignoring him, he looks at you, a fire in his eyes. “Oh so you’re fucking all of the members of Queen? That it? I always knew you were such a little slut.” 

That’s when Roger punches him. You hear a sickening crunch when Roger’s fist slams into Michael’s nose. Blood sprays everywhere, and you shriek when a spatter of blood lands on the side of your face. ROGER TAYLOR ATTACKS MAN AT PARTY is the headline that flashes in your mind. 

“Fuck!” Matthew shrieks, bent over and clutching his face. 

“Say sorry.”

“Mate, I’m sorry––” 

“What the fuc––not to me––say sorry to Y/N.” 

Matthew pauses and turns to look at you. “I’m––I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice thick from the blood clogging his nose. 

“Fucking dick,” Roger mumbles as he grabs his jacket, placing it on your shoulders, so you guys can leave. You guys leave the house, hand in hand, and you don’t look back at the gaping crowd. 

 –––––

“You didn’t have to hit him, you know,” you say quietly, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton swab coated with Neosporin. 

“He’s a fucking prick.” You laugh without humor because yeah, you know. You’re in your bathroom in your flat. Roger, sitting on the sink, and you, in between his legs. His hand resting in yours. He looks down at you as you work. Something he doesn’t want to acknowledge pulls at his heart when he sees your tongue poking out of your mouth and the determined furrow in your brow, the way your hair is a little bit messy and the fact that your makeup isn’t all the way off. The way you look in a ratty white tee shirt two sizes too big and how you’re holding his rough hand in between your soft, gentle fingers. The way he secretly wishes that that you were wearing one of his ratty tee shirts. It makes his heart ache. Ache for something he doesn’t want to know. Something he’s too scared to acknowledge––to pursue. 

His hand reaches up before his mind can stop him. He reaches up and gently tries to wipe away the dried blood on your face. His thumb trying to rub it away. 

“Roger you don’t have to do that…” you say, catching his hand in yours. It stills, still on your cheek. 

“I want to,” he whispers. “Let me.” And he grabs the hand towel on the sink, dipping it in the bowl of warm water you brought and wipes your face. the gentleness such in contrast with the way he usually his, banging on his drums, fighting with the paparazzi. It makes your heart ache. Eyes so focused on getting the blood off your cheek, he doesn’t notice that you’re staring. 

“Roger,” you murmur, and he looks up at you and something in his chest clenches. Your eyes a little shiny from the remnants of the alcohol, face flushed, and mouth parted. You look beautiful to him. You both look at each other for a beat too long, but you’re the first one to come to your senses and the spell is broken when you clear your throat.

“I––I didn’t finish with your fist, let me see it again.” 

And so you work in silence for the rest of your time the bathroom, spreading the ointment over his knuckles before wrapping it with white gauze that you had in your first aid kit. When you fold the gauze over one last time, you pat his hand gently before grabbing the wrappers strewn over the sink countertop and throwing them away. 

“All done. You change into those clothes while I make us some tea.” 

“Wait––I can do it––you’ve done enough for me already…”

You give him a soft smile. “You’re in my home. Would be a shitty host if I let you make your own tea the first time you come into my flat,” you say with a wink before padding away into the kitchen. 

Roger sits there for a moment longer, legs dangling off the sink counter. Hand beginning to throb. He hasn’t gotten that angry in a while now. Learned to control his anger. Usually was able to keep somewhat of a level-head around douchebags and critics––he obviously wasn’t unaccustomed to nasty language. But when your ex was spitting in your face, something in him snapped. Maybe because even though you looked calm and collected, he saw your hands––saw how you clenched them into fists to stop them from trembling. 

Maybe because he hasn’t seen that look in your eyes. Hasn’t seen that type of vulnerability even when you He has seen the videos and the pictures––people screaming in your face, calling you the same names (some even worse) than what Michael said––and though you looked a little cautious––he has never seen that look of sadness that he saw when Michael was yelling at you tonight. The way he saw the fire in your eyes that he’s so used to seeing whenever you’re spitting at each other disappear. 

He sighs before hopping down the sink, washing his face and then undressing in order to change into the clothes that you brought him. 

 –––––

“What happened between the two of you?” Roger asks when he walks into the kitchen as you mix cream into your cup of tea. You stop. The spoon clattering loudly against the mug. 

“He cheated on me––slept with a new groupie every night he was on the road.”

“Shit.” 

“That’s why I don’t date guys in the music industry anymore…all of them turned out to be cheaters and liars.” And maybe his heart breaks a little when he sees the light shutter from your eyes. The slump of your shoulders that are usually so defiant and angry and annoyed at him. 

“Don’t worry, you’re too hot to be tied down to one guy anyway,” He says with his signature smirk, and it pulls you back to reality, puts the fire back into your eyes––and in that moment you know what he did, why he said that. And for that, you’re grateful for him. 

“You’re a dick, you know that?” you say with a light push to his shoulders, but a smile pulls at your lips anyway. 

“It’s one of my many star qualities.” 

“Only cream right?” you ask.

“Hmm, maybe add like a spoonful of sugar,” he says, and you look up with a grin. 

“Oh, I thought you were too good for that,” you tease but dump a large scoop into his. He comes up to you, and flicks your nose, smiling at the little scrunch of your nose and the way you swat at his hand. 

–––––

You end up on the couch, watching whatever was on the TV at the time. 

Roger looks over and smiles to himself. You let out a big yawn, glasses perched precariously at the tip of your nose. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers, gently tapping your leg, “I should probably get going…” 

You blink awake. “Oh, you can spend the night––if you want. I have a guest room,” you say. You dont know what possessed you to say it, but it leaves your mouth before you could stop it. He stops––looks at the clock. Looks back at you. A beat. 

“Okay, yeah, that would be better actually. Thanks.” 

After grabbing a few extra blankets, pillows, and placing a glass of water with Advil on the side table, you deem the rarely used guest room acceptable for use. He settles into the bed, thanking you for everything. 

“Goodnight Roger, if you need anything, I’m a door over,” you say before turning to leave the room. 

“Hey, Y/N…” he calls out softly. You stop, waiting for him to continue. “I––I never cheated on those girls––never cheated on anyone in fact. All of them––after I broke up with them––they would run to the media. I guess given my reputation, it wasn’t hard for the general public to believe anyway.” 

You furrow your brows. Furrow your brows because in that moment, you hear a deep sadness in his voice. A deep sadness filling the dark of the room. You hear him turn over, the bed sheets rustling, and before you can respond, he says, “Goodnight Y/N.”

And despite something stirring deep in your chest, you turn around and close the door. 

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Make Believe Tag List:

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Falling [ROGER TAYLOR X READER]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader 

Summary: Roger calls you in the middle of the night, and you guys reminisce at some happy memories. 

Word count: ~1.5k

Contains: angst 

A/N: This was written while I listened “Falling” by Harry Styles (my fave song on the album) on repeat, so you can probably guess the tone of this piece. Hope you enjoy!! :))

His hand hovers over the telephone. He’s a bottle and a half into the handles of whiskies he picked up at the liquor store a couple hours ago. This is a bad idea, he thinks, but he doesn’t care. 

He picks up the phone and dials the number.

 ––––––

You’re startled by the ringing of your flat’s telephone. The man sleeping next to you stirs.

“Shh, go back to sleep, I’ll get the phone, love,” you whisper. You couldn’t go to sleep anyway. After placing a kiss to his forehead, you grab your robe and pad into the living room. The phone rings one more time before you answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“Y/N.” Your stomach drops at the voice, and you take in a deep breath. 

“Roger?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” 

You sigh. “Why are you calling me?” 

“Wanted to hear your voice.” You hear a clatter of a glass on his end, and you clench your teeth. 

“You’re drunk right now Roger, hang up and go back to sleep.” 

“Wait, wait, wait––just––wait. Please.” 

You can easily hang up the phone, go back to bed and your loving boyfriend, and not have to deal with what will inevitably wreck your heart again––

But you hate yourself a little bit more tonight, so you stay on the phone. Wait for him to continue. 

He inhales. “I was just thinking about that night in Montreal––when we were doing the show at the Montreal Forum. Remember? It was three years ago from today?” 

––––––

You’re lounging on the hotel room bed in your pajamas and reading a book that you bought at the airport on the way here. Roger’s still at the stadium, rehearsing for the show tomorrow night. The clock just struck two in the morning, but jet lag is really kicking your ass, so you thought reading would help relax you (it’s not). 

You hear the sound of the key card sliding in the door before Roger walks in. 

“Hey, love,” he says softly as he quietly puts his bags down. He isn’t surprised that you’re still awake, the jet lag hitting him as hard as it’s hitting you. Untangling yourself from the mound of pillows and blankets you nestled your way into, you make your way over to him and wrap your arms around his middle. He sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“How was rehearsal?” you ask. 

“It was good…couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head in response. “Well good thing, I have a surprise for you,” he says before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the hallway. 

You raise your brows but follow him as he leads you through the hotel. He stops at the pool area, and you gasp at the sight in front of you. All the chairs were cleared out and a single table covered in a white cloth and rose petals sits next to the pool. Sitting on top of the table is a platter of desserts: cakes, chocolate truffles, chocolate covered strawberries, crème brulée, and two flutes of champagne, the bottle sitting in an ice bucket off to the side. The candles basks the scene in a ethereal glow, and the record player sitting off to the side plays Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight. 

“Ta-da,” Roger says with his arms outstretched and a big grin on his face.  

“Oh my god, Roger. You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“Well, the hotel helped me set it up, and did you really think I wouldn’t do anything considering how amazing of a boyfriend I am,” he says with a playful wink to which you roll your eyes at. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. 

“I love you,” you say once you break away. 

“Words cannot express how much I love you,” he says softly, brushing back a piece of stray hair blown away from the breeze. 

A bottle and a half of champagne later, you’re sitting in a chair, watching Roger drunkenly air play the drums while serenading you with his rendition of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. 

“Rog, you’re going to fall into the bloody pool!” You warn. He doesn’t listen to you, and as he gets to the chorus, you see his foot slip and before you can warn him…

Splash. 

Your mouth pops open in disbelief as you see your boyfriend fall, fully clothed, in the hotel pool at three a.m. in the morning. A second later, his head pops out of the water. He’s coughing and hastily pushing his wet hair back out of his face. You let out a surprised laugh, and when he turns his face to you, his shocked expression makes you lose it. 

And now you’re laughing so hard, tears prick at your eyes. Laughing so hard that you snort, which makes you clap your hands over your mouth and laugh even harder. 

“I told you!” you manage to wheeze out through laughs. He’s laughing too now, wading to the side of the pool. 

“Help me out?” He asks with an outstretched hand. 

And you go over, clutching your abs, and since you’re still laughing, you don’t notice the evil grin adorning his face. And so when you reach down to grasp his hand, you’re not prepared for the feeling of him yanking you down and into the pool with him. You manage to let out a surprised shriek before hitting the cold water. 

“You’re such a dick!” You yell when your head breaks through the surface, and you start assaulting his arm with slaps.

He catches your hands and engulfs you into a wet hug. “You love me,” he says with a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I do love you but that doesn’t mean that you’re not a dick,” your voice muffled from your face being pressed into his chest. He fakes a gasp, and you giggle. 

You two stay there for you don’t know how long, you wrapped in his arms, rocking back and forth with Frank Sinatra’s voice as your backdrop and the stars as your ceiling. 

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispers into your ear. 

“Happy anniversary, Rog.”

––––––

“Yeah. Yeah I do remember.” You laugh, sniffling. Of course you remember. “We were so happy,” you say. You sigh and look down, picking at your fingernail and thinking about that night. You let out a whimper, and your face crumples thinking of just how happy you two were. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispers over the phone, wishing that he could be there to hug and kiss you. Wishing that he could take back that one stupid drunken night that ruined everything. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.” 

You continue to cry silently, furiously picking at that fingernail until it bleeds. 

You both stay on the line for a minute, the only sound you hear is the faint buzz of the phone and your shaky breaths. Roger is the first one to break the silence. 

“I miss you. So much,” he rasps. 

“Roger…Roger please don’t do this.” 

“I know, I know, love––I just––I still love––” 

“Roger, you were the one who––” You stop yourself. 

“I know, and I hate myself for that every single day.” On the other side of the line, his heart breaks when he hears your sniffles, and his eyes blur with his own tears. He clears his throat. 

“I was just calling to hear your voice one last time. I won’t call you anymore. All I want for you to be is happy.” He pauses. “I love you.” 

“Thank you Rog,” you whisper into the phone, “I love you too.”

It takes all of your willpower to set the phone back down onto the receiver. 

A quiet sob escapes your chest, and you clutch yourself, hugging your arms to your torso. Sliding down to the ground, back leaning against the back of your couch, you stuff your fist into your mouth to muffle your cries. 

And at this moment you absolutely hate Roger Taylor, the man who was your first love, the man who shattered your heart into a million pieces, the man who, no matter how much you try, you’ll never be able to forget––never stop loving. 

“Y/N?” You hear your boyfriend call from the bedroom. 

“Just a minute!” You call out, voice strained. You don’t know how long you sit there, but once the tears have dried up, you get up, grab a glass of water, and head back into the room where you crawl into bed and under the covers

“Who was that?” your boyfriend asks, voice raspy from sleep. 

“Just an old friend.”

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Roger’s on Tour, and You Miss Him Terribly [ROGER TAYLOR X READER]

A/N: I hope this does your request some justice and hope you see your BF soon <3

–––––

You blink awake. This is the third time you’ve woken up tonight. You sigh. Sitting up, you glance at the clock. It reads three in the morning, and you groan, flopping back down onto the mattress. You’ve been having the worst sleeps ever since Roger left for tour a couple months ago. It’s been hard having to sleeping in an empty bed. You’re not used to not having Roger snoring next to you. Not used to his side of the bed being cold. 

You miss him terribly. 

Fluffing your pillow and rearranging the blanket, you try to fall back asleep. But after several minutes of looking at that one brown dot on the ceiling, you huff and get out of bed. You wrap the throw blanket around your body before making your way to the kitchen. In the mood for something comforting, you grab the carton of milk from the fridge and some cocoa powder. Growing up, you would always sneak into the kitchen and make hot chocolate whenever you couldn’t go to sleep––a habit you kept throughout your years at uni as well. After mixing and heating the ingredients in a pot on the stove, you pour the drink into a mug and take a big sip. You sigh when you feel the chocolate warm your belly and head back to the room, drink still in hand. 

Pulling off your sleep shirt, you rummage through Roger’s clothing drawers. Finding your favorite shirt of his––an old, ratty, way too big Rolling Stones shirt––you throw it over your head. It smells like cigarettes and cologne and something distinctly Roger, and you smile. The book you began reading a week ago sits on the desk, and so you grab it. Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep. 

 –––––

Roger slowly opens the door to your shared flat, placing his bags off to the side––he’ll deal with those in the morning. After all the traveling, right now, he just wants to see his beautiful girlfriend and go to sleep. Passing through the kitchen, he sees the pot growing cold on the stove and a spattering of cocoa powder on the counter, and smiles to himself. When he reaches the threshold to your bedroom, he stops and leans against the doorframe, drinking in the scene before him. You’re in one of his shirts, sleeping on his side of the bed and hugging his pillow tightly to your chest, a book forgotten on the sheets. He can hear your soft breathing. 

His heart absolutely melts at the sight, and he’s struck with a wave of pure adoration and warmth. Smiling to himself, he pads into the room while shedding his jacket and pants. Left in his briefs, he turns off the lamp, and carefully lifts up the comforter to crawl into bed with you (he now has to lie on your side, but he doesn’t mind one bit). 

You roll over in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent and reaching out your arms. But you feel something solid and warm, and you shoot awake, slapping your hands wildly in front of you. His hands catch your wrists. 

“Shhh, sorry, it’s just me love, just me,” he says, trying to hold in a laugh. You stop, blinking rapidly to adjust for the darkness of the room. Your eyes widen when you see Roger lying in front of you, holding your hands in his. 

“Rog?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. You’re not sure if you’re actually awake or not. 

“Hi darling,” he whispers. 

You throw yourself in his arms and pepper his face with kisses. He laughs, voice raspy and rough. 

“I thought you were coming back on Friday!” 

“Was dying to see my best girl,” he says. He looks at you still lying on his side of the bed. 

“Missed me that much?” He asks, tilting his chin down to your––his––shirt and the discarded pillow, and you can hear the smirk on his face. 

“Well, you did leave your poor, poor girlfriend all alone in this ridiculously big flat for two months,” you retort. He chuckles at that. 

“What a terrible boyfriend I am,” he begins, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you closer, “How can I ever make it up to you?” he whispers into your hair. Your chest warms, and your mouth pulls into a smile. You tilt your chin up, puckering your lips, and he laughs softly. 

Gently grasping your jaw, he gives you a kiss, long and sweet, something that makes your toes curl. 

“I love you, and I missed you so much,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. You kiss him again. 

“I love you too Rog.”

And you close your eyes, wrapped in Roger’s arms, legs tangled with his, listening to his heartbeat. 

Best sleep you’ve gotten in months. 

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|| Taming Her ||

Description: Where does a disgraced Princess end up in order for the royal family to save whatever dignity they have left? In a 'respectful' marriage with the greatest Grand General the royal army's ever known, of course.

Pairing: Dark Husband!Ben Hardy | Brat Wife!Reader.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Ben Hardy. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Non-con/Dub-con (just to be safe), patriarchy, Dom!Ben, Sub!Reader, arranged!marriage dark!Ben, manhandling, historical!au, power imbalance, humiliation, degradation, age gap (Ben is early 30's and reader is early 20's), spanking, brat taming, slight breeding kink, hair pulling, groping, use of chastity belt, blow job, face fucking, fingering, deflowering, p in v, slight objectification, slight dacryphilia, corruption kink, gagging, creampie.

Note: English is not my first language. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷

MASTERLIST

"Small…" Were the first words to leave Princess Y/n's mouth as she was helped off her carriage, acting as if she wasn't the one at disadvantage here, pushing the veil supposed to be covering her face away that usually the husbands removed once as she examined her new home that was the Grand General's estate in disgust. "Pathetic." Unaware of what was to come once inside, she continued to arrogantly grumble in a condescending manner, her disdain obvious. 

"Well," Ben, her husband, guardian and protector from this day forth, just smiled and snorted under his breath. This wasn't anything the man wasn't already used to. He had seen her grow up from a naughty child to a misbehaving adult. Working for her father directly as his most trusted General half his life now, he knew her through and through. "Now that you're here, you'll surely transform it all, won't you, dear?" Even though the fabric supposed to cover her face was pushed to that side on which Ben stood, he could very easily imagine her rolling her eyes at his words. 

"You can only wish, peasant." The elbow he held out for her to take was left ignored as she gripped her wedding dress in bunches between her fists, stomping her way to the entrance before walking inside and starting to examine and toss things aside with the tips of her fingers, dusting them on her dress every once in a while to express her disgust in silence. As if they were dirty. 

The male entered behind her and closed the doors to the estate for the day, lowering her luggage that he was holding next to the pile that the royal servants had made next to the door before joining the little brat that was his wife now, his eyes travelling down to her ass that the dress did nothing for. 

Ben bit his lip as he took his time with just admiring the sight of Y/n walking through his- their house. Truth was, he had always adored her cute face and disobedient ways. If cute little girls such as herself didn't deserve to be spoiled then he didn't know who else did. Because then husbands such as himself could tame them and mould them into being whatever they desired. He couldn't sugar coat it if he tried, nothing compared to taming pathetic brats into becoming compliant little trophy wives. Reducing them down to nothing before building them back up however her man desired. 

The Grand General wasn't a man of an overinflated ego or false pride. He embraced his truths and wore his identity proudly. Instead of trying to be what he was not, he rather revelled in all he could be, good and bad, with what he already was. 

And in this case, he would be Y/n's dirty military man, as she liked to call him using her former standing in the kingdom. Holding her neat and supple body next to his hard and scarred one, feeling the tenderness her spotless skin would surely provide, drinking the sweet elixir of her body and adjusting it all based on his own preferences and tastes. Bending her however and wherever he desired, condition her to his commands, teach her discipline, give her appropriate training and of course, punish her whenever she'd stumble from the path he'd carve for her. 

The reminder that even though he had taken mercy on her and her family's reputation and taken her hand in marriage when she'd been the one accused of committing adultery and running away, -which only God knew led her to whatever disgraceful circumstances before they brought her back home- she acted like she had done him a favour by accepting him. 

It filled Ben's body with an icy excitement of the sick sort. 

There would be nothing more beautiful than her broken form trembling underneath him, completely at his mercy, as he would be the sole decider of her fate; her ultimate destiny. Her God. The only law she will ever know from this day forward. Worshipping him for everything and anything, loving him and respecting him on her knees in absence of any sort of covers between them. Shying away from his hold when swell and heavy with his child, waddling as she'd surely whine about how uncomfortable it was yet thanking him and accepting it with gratefulness when he'd be plant another seed inside her soon after. 

"Look at yourself pretending as if I couldn't have easily let your family give you off to some elderly nobleman as his personal little harlot instead of giving you my name, dear…" Y/n almost jumped out of her skin when she heard her husband's voice right in her ear from behind as she was standing next to the fireplace, Ben's rough fingertips finding her forearms although in a gentle manner as he caressed the soft skin, sighing in contentment at the unfamiliar feeling. 

Y/n grumbled as she recovered from the shock. He'd been so silent in approaching her that she hadn't heard or felt anything. "W- What are you doing?!" Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt her back touch his hard chest that his uniform did nothing to create an illusion of softness for. "Ugh- stop it commoner or you'll get your dirt and sweat on me!" A thread of ice trailed down the length of her spine upon the realization of just how strong he really was when she couldn't pry herself free from his hold. And so far he was only holding her by the arms with the use of his fingers. 

"Or you could let me take care of you and colour you brown and dirty with me, doll" he said that only to spite her as he was uncharacteristically clean today, having done no field work since he had taken a leave for his special day. A chuckle escaped him when she grumbled and tried to break free harder this time, huffing and mumbling surely profanities. "What, you don't like that idea?" His lips had found her ear again, nose taking long whiffs of her scent as they traced the shell of her ear, causing goosebumps all over her skin. 

"S- Stop it, you're so…" She tried again, this time no different than the last, feeling herself sink further and further in the heat of his body. "So…"

He'd noticed the stutter in her words. Perfect. She was getting right where he wanted her. "You do know that you have to respect me from now on or there are going to be consequences, right? Remember? In sickness and in health, loving and obeying me always?" One of his hands snaked from her arm to her waist, his rough palm feeling the tenderness underneath over the dress. Another heavy chuckle rumbled in his chest when she squeaked in disdain at his words. 

"Who actually ever follows some silly v- vows!" Gulping quickly to maintain the stability in her voice when his other hand palmed her breast, Y/n continued as she struggled to twist free from his hold. "Promises and r- rules are meant to be broken- hmmn~" the sound she made was completely unintentional, a product of him circling her now hard nipple before pinching it. She was starting to feel violated.

"Not in this house, they're not." Even though his voice was soft, a firmness coated his words as his lips peppered kisses down her unmarked skin. "We have rules in this house, upon the violation of which are consequences." His hand that was previously placed on her abdomen now slipped under the layers of her gowns, fingers brushing against her chastity belt, the action tearing a gasp out of her. 

"I- I… am a P- Princess! And I d- decree you release me right n- now, you vile savage!" Y/n did her best to ignore the goosebumps and curls that formed in the base of her stomach when he traced the skin around the chastity that wasn't covered, fighting hard for her dignity. 

Ben only laughed in response to her words, flipping her around before pushing her against the wall beside the fireplace so fast the girl could barely comprehend it. "Oh, did you not hear, love?" His hands met underneath her dress upon her ass cheeks now, groping and spreading the cheeks not for her but for his pleasure alone. The man was determined to memorize and explore every patch of skin on his wife's body. 

"H- Hear what?" Her eyes gleamed with the thin covering of tears over them. She wasn't sure anymore if they were only those of humiliation and shame. Y/n feared that they were also perhaps in longing and desire for something… else. 

The reason why she was in a chastity belt in the first place was because a few years ago the girl had been caught by her head maid, bent over her bath with a hand between her legs as she desperately tried to explore the feeling and whatever else laid at the end of the shivers and tingles she'd feel whenever something would brush against her sex. But before she could ever unravel that mystery, the Queen had been summoned and after a thorough spanking she'd been put in a chastity that her head maid had carried until this day, handing it to her husband before he brought her home with him. 

"You were stripped of your title, my dear." The smugness was dripping off his smirk as he brought his hands to the top side of the dress again, grabbing a hold of the fabric. "Now you're nothing more than the Grand General's wife. Tch, you're so silly. Nobody wants a disgrace for a child" a loud yelp escaped Y/n when he suddenly tore the dress in half from the middle, causing her arms to fly to her chest in defense. "No, no, no" clicking his tongue while shaking his head, Ben tore the rest of the dress off her body before forcefully pulling it off her. "Now you know better than to do that, darling."

"Please…" Y/n gulped as her husband raised an eyebrow at how she sounded. "No, I mean, I mean, please!" She pleaded, shaking her head in denial towards the fact that she'd moaned the word at first, supplying him a mantra of no when he chuckled knowingly. 

"It's okay, love. I am your husband, after all. Who will take care of you if not me" he could tell she was conflicted now, torn between stubbornness and desire, the girl struggled to decide what she really wanted. "You just have to get on your knees and submit to my authority. And then it'll be everything you've ever wanted" his eyes travelled down to her covered core that he held the keys to. "And more."

Her flushed face redenned at his words. "Y- You know about that?" If she wasn't so bare and… vulnerable right now, the former Princess would have had a complete opposite reaction to everything she had been subjected to in the last ten minutes. But he was making her feel so small and warm, utterly powerless in his mercy and unguarded in his wrath would she invite it.

Not to mention the familiar sensation between her legs that he had awakened even in the presence of the damned belt somehow. That she had not been able to even after all the years of trying. 

"Walls in the castle have ears, love." Ben stole another gasp from her when his fingers curled around her elbows that were covering her chest, pushing them up and above her head to grant himself a view of her perfect breasts, pointing towards him as if daring him to attend to them, nipples alarmed and hard for his touch. 

"Just think about it, hm? Nobody cares for you anyways. They never did. You were nothing but the unplanned problem child that they always wanted to get rid of." He could not deny that he did feel somewhat unpleasant saying such words to the only girl he had ever had eyes for. But the greater good had always outweighed the other factors for him. It was the sole reason for his success as a respectable man of his society today. "But me, I can give you everything you have truly desired and longed for" a shaky sigh tumbled past her lips as one of her feet kicked against the ground in response to the feeling of his warm lips encasing one of her sensitive nubs between them. 

"G- Grand General!" He could not help but smirk against her skin as his tongue ran around and caressed the treat that he was sucking on. This was the first time she had ever referred to him by his title and not some insult. 

Everything was falling into place. That was the only way, after all. It was a plan perfectly executed. Formed and performed solely by him, there was no way it could not work. 

Making her surrender was nothing compared to the careful plot he'd put forward and set into action in order to have her, a girl he could never have had otherwise unless in an undignified way. Rising the proper suspicions, inciting the calculated rumours, feeding into the whispers and accusations against the actually innocent Princess from a distance, he watched patiently in all his glory as victory approached him like its title depended on him, like he decided it's fate.

He had once warned her that her disrespectful and arrogant ways would be her demise. She had brushed it off and shot him a petty insult in response. And look where it had gotten her. Misunderstood for being what she was not simply because she didn't feign nobility that was really just a system of generational hypocrisy. 

Ben loved that about her. And that was exactly why only he deserved her. He just had to have her. There could never be another way. Nobody could ever hope to understand this beautiful and ferocious flame of the best and the worst like he could. 

She could only ever belong with someone like him. And him alone.

Yes. It was wretched but it was also divine. It was the greater good that easily dominated the minor factors involved in achieving his most prized possession. 

Y/n was a writhing mess by the time he latched his tongue onto her other breast, sucking and gently biting the skin as he firmly held both her arms in one of his hands above her head. "Please~ please! Ben-"

Letting go with a plop, the male clicked his tongue and raised his head to level their gazes, shushing her with a hot kiss before punishing her with a stern bite to her bottom lip, pulling a loud whine out of the bride. "Now, who allowed you to call me that, my love?" When her lust clouded head tilted to the side in confusion, the corners of his lips curled into a smirk. "It is Sir or Master for when you submit to me or when I want to use you, and husband for other times." As she gulped down bile, he brought his face so close to hers that their noses touched. "Which brings us right back to the first question; do you submit to me as my faithful wife to use and please whenever I desire?" While forcefully snatching and ripping something apart was fun, there was nothing more satisfying than breaking someone into submitting to what was inevitable. In this case that being him.

"W- Will you take this hideous thing off and make me feel… feel…" She didn't exactly know how it felt. "... However it feels…" Hanging her head low sheepishly, she bit her lip as her cheeks burnt in humiliation. Y/n felt exposed and vulnerable, wet in both arousal and with his spit. 

"Why yes of course, dear." Enveloping the girl's lips in his, Ben took his time savoring the soft cushions of flesh and skin before letting go with quick chaste pecks. "All you need to do is accept your place and leave the rest to me. I will make it worth my best girl's while." 

"Only girl, you mean" she quietly whimpered back, uncharacteristically submissive and meek as she dared to look up at him, whimpering when he deeply chuckled. 

"Of course, my love." Letting go of her arms, Ben stood back to his height, easily towering over her not only through the inches but also due to how built he was, strong shoulders wide and body exuding a strong dominant aura foreign to and in contrast to that of the girl.

Y/n sighed and bit her lip, taking in one last breath before succumbing to the dull ache between her legs, desperate and helpless against her physical curiosities. And to be fair, he wasn't entirely wrong. She had always felt out of place. It was the primary reason she struggled to find herself a peaceful sanctuary, always at an edge, never relating to those around her and having trouble with expressing who she really was, careful and cautious of her covers and walls, afraid of coming off vulnerable.

Maybe this is where she would find it all. Under her husband and on her knees. After all the years of feeling like an outcast, maybe here, she could finally belong. Let go of the protective cuccoon of defiance, finally allowing herself to be vulnerable and not being met with disappointment because she did.

Or, this could all just be her desire toying with her rationality.

There was only one way to find out. 

What else did she have to lose, really?

"Okay." Y/n finally spoke after what felt like an eternity, blinking as she came back to the present moment, looking Ben right in the eyes as he intently awaited the inevitable with crossed arms, taking in the sight of the girl's exposed body while completely clothed himself. Leaning forward, she pressed a timid kiss to his lips before going to lower herself on her knees only to wince when one of the man's hands suddenly found a bunch of her hair before curling the strands in a fist. "Ouch! Wha-"

"Ask for permission first next time" his commanding voice was stern, but definitely not as harsh as it could go. "Tsk, you might just need more discipline than I anticipated" tears welled up in her eyes from how rough his grip was. 

"I- I am sorry, sir… I- I did not know" her voice broke towards the end, one shaky hand placing over his as it silently begged for mercy, the former Princess' body not used to anything harsher than a spanking but that too in the event of going beyond the line. "Please, sorry" Y/n sniffed as she blinked away the moisture in her eyes. 

"You better be." Loosening his grip, Ben closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against hers. "One should know their place to avoid a life of existential conflict" he repeated the words she would often tell him, causing her to flush. "And as much as I adore you, my sweet pea, yours is below mine." Hooking a finger under her chin, he raised her lowered head to be able to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Do you understand? Say yes sir." 

"Y- Yes, sir." Y/n obeyed, sinking to the floor on her knees the moment the military hummed in satisfaction and let go of her. 

"Now, what do we say?"

The girl gulped, hoping to get it right as she gripped her knees. "I- I accept my place as your… o- obedient wife, sir." 

Although it was not what he fully wanted, this was tremendous progress and Ben decided to keep it as such, knowing he had all their lives to correct and improve her response to his liking. "See?" One of his heavy hands patted the top of her head. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" The girl shook her head as she peeked up at his form through her lashes. 

"N- No, sir." 

The male hummed in response, grabbing another fistful of her hair but much softer this time, turning towards the living room sofa before starting to drag her behind him. "Don't stand up" he warned when she went to get back up on her feet. "Good wives crawl for their husbands like worthy pets." Making sure the pull on her hair wasn't too hard, Ben looked back at her to admire the sight of her walking on all fours behind him, head slightly tilted towards him due to how he was holding her hair. 

Could any other man ever make her look this perfect?

No. 

She was beautiful in her submission, awaiting whatever he had planned for her, patiently kneeling before him when he sat down on the sofa and beckoned her closer. 

"Between my legs, dear. You're doing so good." Ben decided to praise her, smiling when she bit her lip and blushed before lowering her head. "Now I know you're needy and it must be difficult for you, but before I open that belt, I need to make sure you deserve me. Will you be a doll and prove that you are worthy, hm?" Her breath hitched in her throat when his fingers toyed with the strands of her hair. 

"I- I will try my best, Master."

"Good girl" the bride found herself liking the praise that she'd despised all her life. Maybe, she figured, it was due to who was saying it that she finally liked it. "Now, I need you to fuck your face on my cock, can you do that?" There was something about sweetly luring her into his web that force or roughness would drastically lack. 

"H- Huh?" That earned her another one of his deep chuckles as he leaned forward and held her face in both his hands, tenderly stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He couldn't afford to break his trophy on its very first day now, could he? 

"Of course I'll instruct you, my sweet girl." Pressing a series of feather light kisses to her face, he continued. "Because I would have been really fucking disappointed, had you known what I meant."

"S- So I did good?" Y/n was thankful that he was not actually the beast she had always thought him to be. 

Or, was he?

"We will see" he leaned back against the rest of the sofa before getting comfortable and increasing his manspread. "Come here and undo my pants" although a bit embarrassed by his demand, the girl convinced herself that it was okay and this was in the privacy of the estate and between two spouses, biting one of her lips and doing as she was told. "Just like that" his fingers disappeared between her locks as he gently scratched her scalp in an encouraging manner. "Now pull them open and show me some love, baby." 

Y/n was uncertain as she fumbled with the rough clothing of his army attire, fingers shakily pulling the opening of the pants apart to reveal his clothed cock as she shot him a quick peek, the sight of his dark eyes watching her igniting a flame between her hips. He was watching her. Tilting her head to the side, the girl tried to decide how she was going to show her love to him. 

"Go ahead, touch it." Ben encouraged, a bit breathless as he played with her hair. This sight alone could make him cum. "It doesn't do harm… unless I want it to" a grin made it's way on his features when she gasped under her breath and blushed at his vulgar words. "And if you show it a good time, I'll make sure it won't. How's that for a deal?" Avoiding the man's eyes, the girl nodded and touched his clothed member with one timid hand, almost pulling back when he released a sharp sigh along a praise. 

Pushing all sense of dignity to the side, she finally came to a decision of how she was going to show it love and… a good time. Leaning forwards and feeling her breasts go into a hanging position, Y/n pressed a soft kiss to Ben's hard and restrained cock, unsure but hopeful. 

"Fuck…" His responsive curse came quick. "Just like that. Keep going." Sighing in relief, the former Princess tried her best to touch and stroke it the best she could, kissing and tracing the shape with the tip of her nose as well as fingers. "Good, good girl. Take it out, don't be shy. It is only your husband's" ignoring the heat that the shame and embarrassment lit up inside her, the girl peeled the cover off his cock obediently, gasping when it sprang out before gulping at the sight of its girth as well as length. 

"Pretty" the word betrayed her mouth before the could register it, gasping and covering her mouth as her widened eyes shot up to his face while hurriedly shaking her head. "N- No! I- I mean-"

"It's alright. I am glad you feel that way, darling." He couldn't help but feel his chest swell with pride. She was too good. "Because you are going to be seeing and taking a whole lot of it." Even though he wanted to savour this moment where the former brat worshipped and praised his cock, his testicles were growing impatient by the passing second. "Why don't you take it in your mouth and appreciate it's beauty then, hm?"

"T- Take it in my mouth, Master?!" The virgin was baffled at his words. 

Ben raised an eyebrow as the grip he had on her scalp stiffened just a little. "Worthy wives take it wherever their husbands desire, little one." A wince tumbled past her lips at the burning sensation in her scalp and she succumbed to his authority without much fight, lowering her head and reaching for his cock. "Now, that's a perfect girl right there" caressing the hair at the back of her head, the male once again resumed his relaxed position. 

Unable to contain herself, Y/n pressed a few more kisses to the length before reaching the tip, her inexperienced fingertips tracing the base and lips latching an open mouth kiss to the leaking opening on the top of the package, mouth scrunching just a little at the taste of his precum but not stopping there as her own knees were starting to shake both from being in an unfamiliar position for so long now and because the ache between her legs was now turning into a pulsating sensation. 

"Fuck, you feel so good, doll." Ben's fingers curled against her hair unintentionally as Y/n finally let his cock violate the previously virgin entrance of the warm cavern of her mouth, tongue innocently moving to make way for his length but unknowingly providing him sweet stimulation. "Fuck, Y/n-" the man had to tilt his head back as he felt his back arch, hand impatiently pushing her face down a few inches only for his toes to curl when she gagged and choked in response to the tip coming in contact with the back of her throat, the flesh and moist walls tight and hot against his length, the coughing causing vibrations all the way down to his balls. 

"Shit, you're so good for me, baby" allowing her to breathe once he realised that he had restricted her air flow by pressing her face all the way down to his balls, Ben mumbled praises to keep her motivated. "Keep going, you will earn yourself many rewards if you continue this course, sweetling." Simply the fact alone that today it wasn't just some whore he had to pay and pretend that it was Y/n -which he had been doing since the day he had first noticed her blossming breasts and sharpening figure as well as features which signalled maturity, ultimately igniting in him a desire unknown to him prior that instance- and it was indeed the actual girl in flesh sucking his cock obediently as her nostrils flared to inhale as much air as possible, Ben knew he was going to climax harder than ever. 

Fumbling in his blazer pocket for the key of her chastity belt, the military pulled it out right before pushing her face down all the way to his balls and raising his hips off the cushion to fuck his approaching high down her slippery throat which he planned to open up and improve in the near future. 

Y/n shakily held on to his knees for support as she loudly gagged, the air leaving her lungs as she felt her mouth getting stuffed full of his cock and balls with each thrust before he'd pull almost all the way out only to intrude the same way all over again before entering her throat one last time and fucking the cavity in short and rough thrusts, pulling her face up and down by her hair to aid his pleasure before releasing half his seed down her throat and the other half all over her pretty face while jerking it out of himself. 

"Heavens, you look so beautiful, doll" Ben panted as he placed himself back down, letting go of his cock as he recovered from the best fuck of his life as of today. "Can any other man make you look so pretty?"

"N- No, sir" the girl struggled to respond as she gasped for air, the tight knots in her stomach a burning mess now as she felt something trickle down the urinal point of her belt. 

"That is right. They can't. No one can except for I." Picking up the key now, he smirked. "And tell me this now, can you ever hope to be above me when you're kneeling in front of me like a personal fuck slave, face dripping of and mouth painted with my seed as you cannot even control your own pleasure, waiting for me to let you open and decide if you deserve anything at all, or not?" The smug smirk was back on his devilishly handsome face. "I still cannot understand why you ever thought yourself above anyone when you're so obviously nothing but a pathetic little girl meant to serve." Tears of humiliation welled up in her eyes as the girl realised her position, his taunts burning hot against her cheeks as she stared in her lap. 

"T- Thank you for re- reminding me of my p- place, sir" Ben was a bit taken aback by her words, not expecting such a level of submission just yet. But perhaps she was more fragile than he had expected. 

"But," not wanting to break her as she was still his dearest babe, the man cupped both her cheeks and tilted her head up to look into her pretty eyes. "This side and place of yours is limited only to me between the walls of this estate because I am your keeper and this is our house, yes? Anyone else hoping to disrespect my love will have to go through the perdition that is I" his words were determined and firm as he pressed a tender kiss to her lips, causing a smile to form on the bride's face as she lunged forward against rational thought, snaking her arms around his iron hard shoulders and burying her face in the crook of his neck as a muffled sob left her worked up and sensitive body.

Inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, Ben kissed the side of her head as he let her hold him, caressing the small of her back with one hand as the other silently undid the lock of her chastity belt, pressing soft kisses to her bare shoulder as he lowered the metal casing and frowned at the dents it had caused on her skin, briefly tracing one of them before letting his fingers find her core.

Y/n's back arched in response as her body jolted up and tried to back away from his body but Ben only held her tighter against him with one hand, the other toying with her dripping petals and flesh. Her breaths became quickened and heavy as she dug her nails into the hard skin of his shoulders, whimpering and mewling against the skin of his neck. 

"You're dripping just from sucking my cock" the man whispered against the shell of her ear as he chuckled and placed a smack against one of her ass cheeks. "A pleaser, are we? Tsk, naughty little girl."

The girl jumped from the spank, whimpering before letting out a tiny moan right underneath his ear. "O- Only for you, sir… T- Thank you, sir… F- Feels so… ah~" her toes curled in defense when one of his fingers intruded the privacy of her sex, feeling the ridiculously tight ring of muscles before moving up to it's total length as his thumb caressed her nub. 

"See where being good gets you?" Ben praised as he proceeded to finger fuck her tight entrance, free hand feeling her breasts. "Isn't this so much better than all that foolishness you like to indulge in?" Another slap resounded against one of her cheeks and the girl yelped loudly in response, her sweaty arms sliding off his smooth uniform blazer and elbows landing against his laps just in time to refrain herself from landing face first on his manhood. 

"Thank you, sir. You're right. Thank you so much, sir!" Y/n cried from the pleasure, not knowing why Ben kept spanking her as his fingers scissored her virgin walls open to be able to accommodate his cock without the entrance ripping into becoming a mess, but the harsh stings forming due to the slaps sent jolts of pleasure and shivers down her abdomen and straight to her core. "This is so good, Master! You're so good! Thank you! Thank you!" Her hot tears fell in the form of thick droplets right on the male's sensitive cock and he winced, grabbing a bunch of the bride's hair with the hand that wasn't stretching her supple velvet walls and pushing her back against the small coffee table that was placed adjacent to the sofa.

"Fuck" he couldn't help but curse at the sight of her stretched open pussy clinging to his wet fingers as her breasts laid on her chest like sweet peaches awaiting to be devoured, face red and covered in cum with a continuous supply of tears cascading down her tender cheeks, elbows and knees violently shaking as they did their best to lean against the surface behind her for support. "You look so fuckable, dear."

Y/n's whole body spasmed at his filthy words. "Please, please, please, sir!" She had a rough idea of what she was begging for, but yet not familiar or trained enough to be able to word it. "Please! I'll be so good for you! So, so good! Please!" 

"Well, that is the only way for you, my precious" Ben husked, painfully hard again. Who wouldn't be? It was a breath taking sight. Perfectly obscene and beautifully vulgar. "Fuck. I need to enjoy you and it's impossible here" effortlessly lifting the bottom half of her body up and off the ground and directly onto his erection like her soft walls were nothing but a mere sleeve meant to accommodate his cock and it alone, his tip easily found her sensitive bundle of nerves due to the position and his length, of course. 

"Isn't this an alluring fucking sight?" Ben grunted, voice deep and skin shiny with a sheen of sweat covering it, a droplet falling off the side of his eyebrow as he hurried to the master bedroom with his cock stuffed wife sobbing against him, her walls spasming against the girth of his cock as her trembling legs dangled at her sides. "Look at your pretty little cunt seeming as if it is about to tear" placing her back against the mattress, Ben impatiently gave her a thrust as he kicked his shoes off and climbed into the bed, crotch attached to hers. 

Maybe he would sleep like that tonight. Buried deep inside the tender and warm cavity. 

"H- Hurts but feels so good, s- sir" Y/n whispered out in a sob, looking down at her husband as he groped and pinched her breasts, greedily kissing and sucking at the skin before moving up to her neck, his hips never slowing down as he gave her deep and rough thrusts, one of his hands playing with the folds of her clit.

Ben busied himself with colouring her soft skin purple and blue with his mouth, the hand that wasn't playing with her folds trailing up the length of her arm when he felt her tighten against his cock, fingers finding hers as he intertwined them, giving her brutal thrusts as she cried out and threw her head back, back arching as her toes curled and vision went black, ears going numb as jolts of pleasure reverberated throughout her trembling body in response to his hard length abusing her special spot whilst stimulating her labia. 

"T- Thank… sir… I… God…" Y/n cried through her euphoria, at a loss of both coherent words and thoughts, body going still as she stared up at the ceiling aimlessly, blinking away the multi coloured stars forming in her vision, numb pussy defensively milking the male's cock in response to the overstimulation as he was still fucking her almost lifeless body just as relentlessly to chase his own orgasm. 

"Now you know how that feels" still holding her hand just as tightly, Ben propped himself up on one elbow to get a look at her fucked out expression, his cock twitching at the beautiful sight of the distant look on her red face. "And next time when it approaches, you are to ask my permission to succumb to it first, else unpleasant consequences will follow." With another rough series of curses, he emptied his load in her and painted the walls around them white. 

"Isn't that pretty?" Pulling himself out sooner than he wanted to, Ben panted as he pumped himself to fully enjoy his high, treating himself with the sight of her no longer virgin entrance oozing of his cum for the sacrifice he'd made of not fucking his high up her womb as the girl panted under him, thoroughly spread as well as fucked. 

|| Taming Her ||

Description: Where does a disgraced Princess end up in order for the royal family to save whatever dignity they have left? In a 'respectful' marriage with the greatest Grand General the royal army's ever known, of course.

Pairing: Dark Husband!Ben Hardy | Brat Wife!Reader.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Ben Hardy. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Non-con/Dub-con (just to be safe), patriarchy, Dom!Ben, Sub!Reader, arranged!marriage dark!Ben, manhandling, historical!au, power imbalance, humiliation, degradation, age gap (Ben is early 30's and reader is early 20's), spanking, brat taming, slight breeding kink, hair pulling, groping, use of chastity belt, blow job, face fucking, fingering, deflowering, p in v, slight objectification, slight dacryphilia, corruption kink, gagging, creampie.

Note: English is not my first language. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷

MASTERLIST

"Small…" Were the first words to leave Princess Y/n's mouth as she was helped off her carriage, acting as if she wasn't the one at disadvantage here, pushing the veil supposed to be covering her face away that usually the husbands removed once as she examined her new home that was the Grand General's estate in disgust. "Pathetic." Unaware of what was to come once inside, she continued to arrogantly grumble in a condescending manner, her disdain obvious. 

"Well," Ben, her husband, guardian and protector from this day forth, just smiled and snorted under his breath. This wasn't anything the man wasn't already used to. He had seen her grow up from a naughty child to a misbehaving adult. Working for her father directly as his most trusted General half his life now, he knew her through and through. "Now that you're here, you'll surely transform it all, won't you, dear?" Even though the fabric supposed to cover her face was pushed to that side on which Ben stood, he could very easily imagine her rolling her eyes at his words. 

"You can only wish, peasant." The elbow he held out for her to take was left ignored as she gripped her wedding dress in bunches between her fists, stomping her way to the entrance before walking inside and starting to examine and toss things aside with the tips of her fingers, dusting them on her dress every once in a while to express her disgust in silence. As if they were dirty. 

The male entered behind her and closed the doors to the estate for the day, lowering her luggage that he was holding next to the pile that the royal servants had made next to the door before joining the little brat that was his wife now, his eyes travelling down to her ass that the dress did nothing for. 

Ben bit his lip as he took his time with just admiring the sight of Y/n walking through his- their house. Truth was, he had always adored her cute face and disobedient ways. If cute little girls such as herself didn't deserve to be spoiled then he didn't know who else did. Because then husbands such as himself could tame them and mould them into being whatever they desired. He couldn't sugar coat it if he tried, nothing compared to taming pathetic brats into becoming compliant little trophy wives. Reducing them down to nothing before building them back up however her man desired. 

The Grand General wasn't a man of an overinflated ego or false pride. He embraced his truths and wore his identity proudly. Instead of trying to be what he was not, he rather revelled in all he could be, good and bad, with what he already was. 

And in this case, he would be Y/n's dirty military man, as she liked to call him using her former standing in the kingdom. Holding her neat and supple body next to his hard and scarred one, feeling the tenderness her spotless skin would surely provide, drinking the sweet elixir of her body and adjusting it all based on his own preferences and tastes. Bending her however and wherever he desired, condition her to his commands, teach her discipline, give her appropriate training and of course, punish her whenever she'd stumble from the path he'd carve for her. 

The reminder that even though he had taken mercy on her and her family's reputation and taken her hand in marriage when she'd been the one accused of committing adultery and running away, -which only God knew led her to whatever disgraceful circumstances before they brought her back home- she acted like she had done him a favour by accepting him. 

It filled Ben's body with an icy excitement of the sick sort. 

There would be nothing more beautiful than her broken form trembling underneath him, completely at his mercy, as he would be the sole decider of her fate; her ultimate destiny. Her God. The only law she will ever know from this day forward. Worshipping him for everything and anything, loving him and respecting him on her knees in absence of any sort of covers between them. Shying away from his hold when swell and heavy with his child, waddling as she'd surely whine about how uncomfortable it was yet thanking him and accepting it with gratefulness when he'd be plant another seed inside her soon after. 

"Look at yourself pretending as if I couldn't have easily let your family give you off to some elderly nobleman as his personal little harlot instead of giving you my name, dear…" Y/n almost jumped out of her skin when she heard her husband's voice right in her ear from behind as she was standing next to the fireplace, Ben's rough fingertips finding her forearms although in a gentle manner as he caressed the soft skin, sighing in contentment at the unfamiliar feeling. 

Y/n grumbled as she recovered from the shock. He'd been so silent in approaching her that she hadn't heard or felt anything. "W- What are you doing?!" Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt her back touch his hard chest that his uniform did nothing to create an illusion of softness for. "Ugh- stop it commoner or you'll get your dirt and sweat on me!" A thread of ice trailed down the length of her spine upon the realization of just how strong he really was when she couldn't pry herself free from his hold. And so far he was only holding her by the arms with the use of his fingers. 

"Or you could let me take care of you and colour you brown and dirty with me, doll" he said that only to spite her as he was uncharacteristically clean today, having done no field work since he had taken a leave for his special day. A chuckle escaped him when she grumbled and tried to break free harder this time, huffing and mumbling surely profanities. "What, you don't like that idea?" His lips had found her ear again, nose taking long whiffs of her scent as they traced the shell of her ear, causing goosebumps all over her skin. 

"S- Stop it, you're so…" She tried again, this time no different than the last, feeling herself sink further and further in the heat of his body. "So…"

He'd noticed the stutter in her words. Perfect. She was getting right where he wanted her. "You do know that you have to respect me from now on or there are going to be consequences, right? Remember? In sickness and in health, loving and obeying me always?" One of his hands snaked from her arm to her waist, his rough palm feeling the tenderness underneath over the dress. Another heavy chuckle rumbled in his chest when she squeaked in disdain at his words. 

"Who actually ever follows some silly v- vows!" Gulping quickly to maintain the stability in her voice when his other hand palmed her breast, Y/n continued as she struggled to twist free from his hold. "Promises and r- rules are meant to be broken- hmmn~" the sound she made was completely unintentional, a product of him circling her now hard nipple before pinching it. She was starting to feel violated.

"Not in this house, they're not." Even though his voice was soft, a firmness coated his words as his lips peppered kisses down her unmarked skin. "We have rules in this house, upon the violation of which are consequences." His hand that was previously placed on her abdomen now slipped under the layers of her gowns, fingers brushing against her chastity belt, the action tearing a gasp out of her. 

"I- I… am a P- Princess! And I d- decree you release me right n- now, you vile savage!" Y/n did her best to ignore the goosebumps and curls that formed in the base of her stomach when he traced the skin around the chastity that wasn't covered, fighting hard for her dignity. 

Ben only laughed in response to her words, flipping her around before pushing her against the wall beside the fireplace so fast the girl could barely comprehend it. "Oh, did you not hear, love?" His hands met underneath her dress upon her ass cheeks now, groping and spreading the cheeks not for her but for his pleasure alone. The man was determined to memorize and explore every patch of skin on his wife's body. 

"H- Hear what?" Her eyes gleamed with the thin covering of tears over them. She wasn't sure anymore if they were only those of humiliation and shame. Y/n feared that they were also perhaps in longing and desire for something… else. 

The reason why she was in a chastity belt in the first place was because a few years ago the girl had been caught by her head maid, bent over her bath with a hand between her legs as she desperately tried to explore the feeling and whatever else laid at the end of the shivers and tingles she'd feel whenever something would brush against her sex. But before she could ever unravel that mystery, the Queen had been summoned and after a thorough spanking she'd been put in a chastity that her head maid had carried until this day, handing it to her husband before he brought her home with him. 

"You were stripped of your title, my dear." The smugness was dripping off his smirk as he brought his hands to the top side of the dress again, grabbing a hold of the fabric. "Now you're nothing more than the Grand General's wife. Tch, you're so silly. Nobody wants a disgrace for a child" a loud yelp escaped Y/n when he suddenly tore the dress in half from the middle, causing her arms to fly to her chest in defense. "No, no, no" clicking his tongue while shaking his head, Ben tore the rest of the dress off her body before forcefully pulling it off her. "Now you know better than to do that, darling."

"Please…" Y/n gulped as her husband raised an eyebrow at how she sounded. "No, I mean, I mean, please!" She pleaded, shaking her head in denial towards the fact that she'd moaned the word at first, supplying him a mantra of no when he chuckled knowingly. 

"It's okay, love. I am your husband, after all. Who will take care of you if not me" he could tell she was conflicted now, torn between stubbornness and desire, the girl struggled to decide what she really wanted. "You just have to get on your knees and submit to my authority. And then it'll be everything you've ever wanted" his eyes travelled down to her covered core that he held the keys to. "And more."

Her flushed face redenned at his words. "Y- You know about that?" If she wasn't so bare and… vulnerable right now, the former Princess would have had a complete opposite reaction to everything she had been subjected to in the last ten minutes. But he was making her feel so small and warm, utterly powerless in his mercy and unguarded in his wrath would she invite it.

Not to mention the familiar sensation between her legs that he had awakened even in the presence of the damned belt somehow. That she had not been able to even after all the years of trying. 

"Walls in the castle have ears, love." Ben stole another gasp from her when his fingers curled around her elbows that were covering her chest, pushing them up and above her head to grant himself a view of her perfect breasts, pointing towards him as if daring him to attend to them, nipples alarmed and hard for his touch. 

"Just think about it, hm? Nobody cares for you anyways. They never did. You were nothing but the unplanned problem child that they always wanted to get rid of." He could not deny that he did feel somewhat unpleasant saying such words to the only girl he had ever had eyes for. But the greater good had always outweighed the other factors for him. It was the sole reason for his success as a respectable man of his society today. "But me, I can give you everything you have truly desired and longed for" a shaky sigh tumbled past her lips as one of her feet kicked against the ground in response to the feeling of his warm lips encasing one of her sensitive nubs between them. 

"G- Grand General!" He could not help but smirk against her skin as his tongue ran around and caressed the treat that he was sucking on. This was the first time she had ever referred to him by his title and not some insult. 

Everything was falling into place. That was the only way, after all. It was a plan perfectly executed. Formed and performed solely by him, there was no way it could not work. 

Making her surrender was nothing compared to the careful plot he'd put forward and set into action in order to have her, a girl he could never have had otherwise unless in an undignified way. Rising the proper suspicions, inciting the calculated rumours, feeding into the whispers and accusations against the actually innocent Princess from a distance, he watched patiently in all his glory as victory approached him like its title depended on him, like he decided it's fate.

He had once warned her that her disrespectful and arrogant ways would be her demise. She had brushed it off and shot him a petty insult in response. And look where it had gotten her. Misunderstood for being what she was not simply because she didn't feign nobility that was really just a system of generational hypocrisy. 

Ben loved that about her. And that was exactly why only he deserved her. He just had to have her. There could never be another way. Nobody could ever hope to understand this beautiful and ferocious flame of the best and the worst like he could. 

She could only ever belong with someone like him. And him alone.

Yes. It was wretched but it was also divine. It was the greater good that easily dominated the minor factors involved in achieving his most prized possession. 

Y/n was a writhing mess by the time he latched his tongue onto her other breast, sucking and gently biting the skin as he firmly held both her arms in one of his hands above her head. "Please~ please! Ben-"

Letting go with a plop, the male clicked his tongue and raised his head to level their gazes, shushing her with a hot kiss before punishing her with a stern bite to her bottom lip, pulling a loud whine out of the bride. "Now, who allowed you to call me that, my love?" When her lust clouded head tilted to the side in confusion, the corners of his lips curled into a smirk. "It is Sir or Master for when you submit to me or when I want to use you, and husband for other times." As she gulped down bile, he brought his face so close to hers that their noses touched. "Which brings us right back to the first question; do you submit to me as my faithful wife to use and please whenever I desire?" While forcefully snatching and ripping something apart was fun, there was nothing more satisfying than breaking someone into submitting to what was inevitable. In this case that being him.

"W- Will you take this hideous thing off and make me feel… feel…" She didn't exactly know how it felt. "... However it feels…" Hanging her head low sheepishly, she bit her lip as her cheeks burnt in humiliation. Y/n felt exposed and vulnerable, wet in both arousal and with his spit. 

"Why yes of course, dear." Enveloping the girl's lips in his, Ben took his time savoring the soft cushions of flesh and skin before letting go with quick chaste pecks. "All you need to do is accept your place and leave the rest to me. I will make it worth my best girl's while." 

"Only girl, you mean" she quietly whimpered back, uncharacteristically submissive and meek as she dared to look up at him, whimpering when he deeply chuckled. 

"Of course, my love." Letting go of her arms, Ben stood back to his height, easily towering over her not only through the inches but also due to how built he was, strong shoulders wide and body exuding a strong dominant aura foreign to and in contrast to that of the girl.

Y/n sighed and bit her lip, taking in one last breath before succumbing to the dull ache between her legs, desperate and helpless against her physical curiosities. And to be fair, he wasn't entirely wrong. She had always felt out of place. It was the primary reason she struggled to find herself a peaceful sanctuary, always at an edge, never relating to those around her and having trouble with expressing who she really was, careful and cautious of her covers and walls, afraid of coming off vulnerable.

Maybe this is where she would find it all. Under her husband and on her knees. After all the years of feeling like an outcast, maybe here, she could finally belong. Let go of the protective cuccoon of defiance, finally allowing herself to be vulnerable and not being met with disappointment because she did.

Or, this could all just be her desire toying with her rationality.

There was only one way to find out. 

What else did she have to lose, really?

"Okay." Y/n finally spoke after what felt like an eternity, blinking as she came back to the present moment, looking Ben right in the eyes as he intently awaited the inevitable with crossed arms, taking in the sight of the girl's exposed body while completely clothed himself. Leaning forward, she pressed a timid kiss to his lips before going to lower herself on her knees only to wince when one of the man's hands suddenly found a bunch of her hair before curling the strands in a fist. "Ouch! Wha-"

"Ask for permission first next time" his commanding voice was stern, but definitely not as harsh as it could go. "Tsk, you might just need more discipline than I anticipated" tears welled up in her eyes from how rough his grip was. 

"I- I am sorry, sir… I- I did not know" her voice broke towards the end, one shaky hand placing over his as it silently begged for mercy, the former Princess' body not used to anything harsher than a spanking but that too in the event of going beyond the line. "Please, sorry" Y/n sniffed as she blinked away the moisture in her eyes. 

"You better be." Loosening his grip, Ben closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against hers. "One should know their place to avoid a life of existential conflict" he repeated the words she would often tell him, causing her to flush. "And as much as I adore you, my sweet pea, yours is below mine." Hooking a finger under her chin, he raised her lowered head to be able to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Do you understand? Say yes sir." 

"Y- Yes, sir." Y/n obeyed, sinking to the floor on her knees the moment the military hummed in satisfaction and let go of her. 

"Now, what do we say?"

The girl gulped, hoping to get it right as she gripped her knees. "I- I accept my place as your… o- obedient wife, sir." 

Although it was not what he fully wanted, this was tremendous progress and Ben decided to keep it as such, knowing he had all their lives to correct and improve her response to his liking. "See?" One of his heavy hands patted the top of her head. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" The girl shook her head as she peeked up at his form through her lashes. 

"N- No, sir." 

The male hummed in response, grabbing another fistful of her hair but much softer this time, turning towards the living room sofa before starting to drag her behind him. "Don't stand up" he warned when she went to get back up on her feet. "Good wives crawl for their husbands like worthy pets." Making sure the pull on her hair wasn't too hard, Ben looked back at her to admire the sight of her walking on all fours behind him, head slightly tilted towards him due to how he was holding her hair. 

Could any other man ever make her look this perfect?

No. 

She was beautiful in her submission, awaiting whatever he had planned for her, patiently kneeling before him when he sat down on the sofa and beckoned her closer. 

"Between my legs, dear. You're doing so good." Ben decided to praise her, smiling when she bit her lip and blushed before lowering her head. "Now I know you're needy and it must be difficult for you, but before I open that belt, I need to make sure you deserve me. Will you be a doll and prove that you are worthy, hm?" Her breath hitched in her throat when his fingers toyed with the strands of her hair. 

"I- I will try my best, Master."

"Good girl" the bride found herself liking the praise that she'd despised all her life. Maybe, she figured, it was due to who was saying it that she finally liked it. "Now, I need you to fuck your face on my cock, can you do that?" There was something about sweetly luring her into his web that force or roughness would drastically lack. 

"H- Huh?" That earned her another one of his deep chuckles as he leaned forward and held her face in both his hands, tenderly stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He couldn't afford to break his trophy on its very first day now, could he? 

"Of course I'll instruct you, my sweet girl." Pressing a series of feather light kisses to her face, he continued. "Because I would have been really fucking disappointed, had you known what I meant."

"S- So I did good?" Y/n was thankful that he was not actually the beast she had always thought him to be. 

Or, was he?

"We will see" he leaned back against the rest of the sofa before getting comfortable and increasing his manspread. "Come here and undo my pants" although a bit embarrassed by his demand, the girl convinced herself that it was okay and this was in the privacy of the estate and between two spouses, biting one of her lips and doing as she was told. "Just like that" his fingers disappeared between her locks as he gently scratched her scalp in an encouraging manner. "Now pull them open and show me some love, baby." 

Y/n was uncertain as she fumbled with the rough clothing of his army attire, fingers shakily pulling the opening of the pants apart to reveal his clothed cock as she shot him a quick peek, the sight of his dark eyes watching her igniting a flame between her hips. He was watching her. Tilting her head to the side, the girl tried to decide how she was going to show her love to him. 

"Go ahead, touch it." Ben encouraged, a bit breathless as he played with her hair. This sight alone could make him cum. "It doesn't do harm… unless I want it to" a grin made it's way on his features when she gasped under her breath and blushed at his vulgar words. "And if you show it a good time, I'll make sure it won't. How's that for a deal?" Avoiding the man's eyes, the girl nodded and touched his clothed member with one timid hand, almost pulling back when he released a sharp sigh along a praise. 

Pushing all sense of dignity to the side, she finally came to a decision of how she was going to show it love and… a good time. Leaning forwards and feeling her breasts go into a hanging position, Y/n pressed a soft kiss to Ben's hard and restrained cock, unsure but hopeful. 

"Fuck…" His responsive curse came quick. "Just like that. Keep going." Sighing in relief, the former Princess tried her best to touch and stroke it the best she could, kissing and tracing the shape with the tip of her nose as well as fingers. "Good, good girl. Take it out, don't be shy. It is only your husband's" ignoring the heat that the shame and embarrassment lit up inside her, the girl peeled the cover off his cock obediently, gasping when it sprang out before gulping at the sight of its girth as well as length. 

"Pretty" the word betrayed her mouth before the could register it, gasping and covering her mouth as her widened eyes shot up to his face while hurriedly shaking her head. "N- No! I- I mean-"

"It's alright. I am glad you feel that way, darling." He couldn't help but feel his chest swell with pride. She was too good. "Because you are going to be seeing and taking a whole lot of it." Even though he wanted to savour this moment where the former brat worshipped and praised his cock, his testicles were growing impatient by the passing second. "Why don't you take it in your mouth and appreciate it's beauty then, hm?"

"T- Take it in my mouth, Master?!" The virgin was baffled at his words. 

Ben raised an eyebrow as the grip he had on her scalp stiffened just a little. "Worthy wives take it wherever their husbands desire, little one." A wince tumbled past her lips at the burning sensation in her scalp and she succumbed to his authority without much fight, lowering her head and reaching for his cock. "Now, that's a perfect girl right there" caressing the hair at the back of her head, the male once again resumed his relaxed position. 

Unable to contain herself, Y/n pressed a few more kisses to the length before reaching the tip, her inexperienced fingertips tracing the base and lips latching an open mouth kiss to the leaking opening on the top of the package, mouth scrunching just a little at the taste of his precum but not stopping there as her own knees were starting to shake both from being in an unfamiliar position for so long now and because the ache between her legs was now turning into a pulsating sensation. 

"Fuck, you feel so good, doll." Ben's fingers curled against her hair unintentionally as Y/n finally let his cock violate the previously virgin entrance of the warm cavern of her mouth, tongue innocently moving to make way for his length but unknowingly providing him sweet stimulation. "Fuck, Y/n-" the man had to tilt his head back as he felt his back arch, hand impatiently pushing her face down a few inches only for his toes to curl when she gagged and choked in response to the tip coming in contact with the back of her throat, the flesh and moist walls tight and hot against his length, the coughing causing vibrations all the way down to his balls. 

"Shit, you're so good for me, baby" allowing her to breathe once he realised that he had restricted her air flow by pressing her face all the way down to his balls, Ben mumbled praises to keep her motivated. "Keep going, you will earn yourself many rewards if you continue this course, sweetling." Simply the fact alone that today it wasn't just some whore he had to pay and pretend that it was Y/n -which he had been doing since the day he had first noticed her blossming breasts and sharpening figure as well as features which signalled maturity, ultimately igniting in him a desire unknown to him prior that instance- and it was indeed the actual girl in flesh sucking his cock obediently as her nostrils flared to inhale as much air as possible, Ben knew he was going to climax harder than ever. 

Fumbling in his blazer pocket for the key of her chastity belt, the military pulled it out right before pushing her face down all the way to his balls and raising his hips off the cushion to fuck his approaching high down her slippery throat which he planned to open up and improve in the near future. 

Y/n shakily held on to his knees for support as she loudly gagged, the air leaving her lungs as she felt her mouth getting stuffed full of his cock and balls with each thrust before he'd pull almost all the way out only to intrude the same way all over again before entering her throat one last time and fucking the cavity in short and rough thrusts, pulling her face up and down by her hair to aid his pleasure before releasing half his seed down her throat and the other half all over her pretty face while jerking it out of himself. 

"Heavens, you look so beautiful, doll" Ben panted as he placed himself back down, letting go of his cock as he recovered from the best fuck of his life as of today. "Can any other man make you look so pretty?"

"N- No, sir" the girl struggled to respond as she gasped for air, the tight knots in her stomach a burning mess now as she felt something trickle down the urinal point of her belt. 

"That is right. They can't. No one can except for I." Picking up the key now, he smirked. "And tell me this now, can you ever hope to be above me when you're kneeling in front of me like a personal fuck slave, face dripping of and mouth painted with my seed as you cannot even control your own pleasure, waiting for me to let you open and decide if you deserve anything at all, or not?" The smug smirk was back on his devilishly handsome face. "I still cannot understand why you ever thought yourself above anyone when you're so obviously nothing but a pathetic little girl meant to serve." Tears of humiliation welled up in her eyes as the girl realised her position, his taunts burning hot against her cheeks as she stared in her lap. 

"T- Thank you for re- reminding me of my p- place, sir" Ben was a bit taken aback by her words, not expecting such a level of submission just yet. But perhaps she was more fragile than he had expected. 

"But," not wanting to break her as she was still his dearest babe, the man cupped both her cheeks and tilted her head up to look into her pretty eyes. "This side and place of yours is limited only to me between the walls of this estate because I am your keeper and this is our house, yes? Anyone else hoping to disrespect my love will have to go through the perdition that is I" his words were determined and firm as he pressed a tender kiss to her lips, causing a smile to form on the bride's face as she lunged forward against rational thought, snaking her arms around his iron hard shoulders and burying her face in the crook of his neck as a muffled sob left her worked up and sensitive body.

Inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, Ben kissed the side of her head as he let her hold him, caressing the small of her back with one hand as the other silently undid the lock of her chastity belt, pressing soft kisses to her bare shoulder as he lowered the metal casing and frowned at the dents it had caused on her skin, briefly tracing one of them before letting his fingers find her core.

Y/n's back arched in response as her body jolted up and tried to back away from his body but Ben only held her tighter against him with one hand, the other toying with her dripping petals and flesh. Her breaths became quickened and heavy as she dug her nails into the hard skin of his shoulders, whimpering and mewling against the skin of his neck. 

"You're dripping just from sucking my cock" the man whispered against the shell of her ear as he chuckled and placed a smack against one of her ass cheeks. "A pleaser, are we? Tsk, naughty little girl."

The girl jumped from the spank, whimpering before letting out a tiny moan right underneath his ear. "O- Only for you, sir… T- Thank you, sir… F- Feels so… ah~" her toes curled in defense when one of his fingers intruded the privacy of her sex, feeling the ridiculously tight ring of muscles before moving up to it's total length as his thumb caressed her nub. 

"See where being good gets you?" Ben praised as he proceeded to finger fuck her tight entrance, free hand feeling her breasts. "Isn't this so much better than all that foolishness you like to indulge in?" Another slap resounded against one of her cheeks and the girl yelped loudly in response, her sweaty arms sliding off his smooth uniform blazer and elbows landing against his laps just in time to refrain herself from landing face first on his manhood. 

"Thank you, sir. You're right. Thank you so much, sir!" Y/n cried from the pleasure, not knowing why Ben kept spanking her as his fingers scissored her virgin walls open to be able to accommodate his cock without the entrance ripping into becoming a mess, but the harsh stings forming due to the slaps sent jolts of pleasure and shivers down her abdomen and straight to her core. "This is so good, Master! You're so good! Thank you! Thank you!" Her hot tears fell in the form of thick droplets right on the male's sensitive cock and he winced, grabbing a bunch of the bride's hair with the hand that wasn't stretching her supple velvet walls and pushing her back against the small coffee table that was placed adjacent to the sofa.

"Fuck" he couldn't help but curse at the sight of her stretched open pussy clinging to his wet fingers as her breasts laid on her chest like sweet peaches awaiting to be devoured, face red and covered in cum with a continuous supply of tears cascading down her tender cheeks, elbows and knees violently shaking as they did their best to lean against the surface behind her for support. "You look so fuckable, dear."

Y/n's whole body spasmed at his filthy words. "Please, please, please, sir!" She had a rough idea of what she was begging for, but yet not familiar or trained enough to be able to word it. "Please! I'll be so good for you! So, so good! Please!" 

"Well, that is the only way for you, my precious" Ben husked, painfully hard again. Who wouldn't be? It was a breath taking sight. Perfectly obscene and beautifully vulgar. "Fuck. I need to enjoy you and it's impossible here" effortlessly lifting the bottom half of her body up and off the ground and directly onto his erection like her soft walls were nothing but a mere sleeve meant to accommodate his cock and it alone, his tip easily found her sensitive bundle of nerves due to the position and his length, of course. 

"Isn't this an alluring fucking sight?" Ben grunted, voice deep and skin shiny with a sheen of sweat covering it, a droplet falling off the side of his eyebrow as he hurried to the master bedroom with his cock stuffed wife sobbing against him, her walls spasming against the girth of his cock as her trembling legs dangled at her sides. "Look at your pretty little cunt seeming as if it is about to tear" placing her back against the mattress, Ben impatiently gave her a thrust as he kicked his shoes off and climbed into the bed, crotch attached to hers. 

Maybe he would sleep like that tonight. Buried deep inside the tender and warm cavity. 

"H- Hurts but feels so good, s- sir" Y/n whispered out in a sob, looking down at her husband as he groped and pinched her breasts, greedily kissing and sucking at the skin before moving up to her neck, his hips never slowing down as he gave her deep and rough thrusts, one of his hands playing with the folds of her clit.

Ben busied himself with colouring her soft skin purple and blue with his mouth, the hand that wasn't playing with her folds trailing up the length of her arm when he felt her tighten against his cock, fingers finding hers as he intertwined them, giving her brutal thrusts as she cried out and threw her head back, back arching as her toes curled and vision went black, ears going numb as jolts of pleasure reverberated throughout her trembling body in response to his hard length abusing her special spot whilst stimulating her labia. 

"T- Thank… sir… I… God…" Y/n cried through her euphoria, at a loss of both coherent words and thoughts, body going still as she stared up at the ceiling aimlessly, blinking away the multi coloured stars forming in her vision, numb pussy defensively milking the male's cock in response to the overstimulation as he was still fucking her almost lifeless body just as relentlessly to chase his own orgasm. 

"Now you know how that feels" still holding her hand just as tightly, Ben propped himself up on one elbow to get a look at her fucked out expression, his cock twitching at the beautiful sight of the distant look on her red face. "And next time when it approaches, you are to ask my permission to succumb to it first, else unpleasant consequences will follow." With another rough series of curses, he emptied his load in her and painted the walls around them white. 

"Isn't that pretty?" Pulling himself out sooner than he wanted to, Ben panted as he pumped himself to fully enjoy his high, treating himself with the sight of her no longer virgin entrance oozing of his cum for the sacrifice he'd made of not fucking his high up her womb as the girl panted under him, thoroughly spread as well as fucked. 

Escalate - Gwilym x Ben x Reader [SMUT]

FIC AT A GLANCE:

Summary: Gwilym and the reader are in a very committed relationship, but that doesn’t mean a friend can’t join in…

8.3k+ words of absolute filth, no plot just smut

R, Mature, XXX, literally this is porn my friends

Contains: Almost everything under the sun okay, smut, choking, oral, threesome, dirty talk, m/m/f, slight m/m action…fghdfjghdf I’m going to hell

NOTES: 

This is the actual dirtiest thing I’ve ever written for any fandom ever and if anyone’s wondering why I stay anonymous on this blog THIS IS WHY HJDFKGJDFGDFG okay the Golden Globes got me feeling some things and my hoe jumped out and this happened. Gwilym and Ben, if you ever see this and it offends you I am sO SORRY…if you see it and it turns you on, hit a girl up 😩

Reader is assumed to be over 18 in this fic oh my god please if you’re a minor cover your eyes (I know I can’t actually stop you from reading but I wrote this with adults in mind and pls proceed with caution friends this is a VERY mature fic yikes)

Title is from the song Escalate by Tsar B, highly recommend you give it a listen, it’s some good banging’ music 

“Do you think he’ll want to?” you asked eagerly.

Gwilym nodded and took a sip of his Old Fashioned. “Oh, he will.”

You both glanced over at Ben from across the banquet hall and, catching you staring, Ben waved at you both. You smiled back; he was completely unaware of what was really on yours and Gwilym’s minds.

“Go to him,” Gwilym suggested smoothly, giving you a little tap on the behind. “Turn on the charm, do what you do best. If he’s not into it, just come back, but if he is…well, I’ll be watching, we can make that call together.”

You nodded and drained your champagne flute. You gave your boyfriend a sultry glance and he winked at you, giving you a boost of confidence as you strode across the room to where Ben sat at one of the several decorated tables in the room. He had been chatting merrily with various guests at the party all night, but now he was taking a break to check his phone and give his feet some rest. Perfect.

You were more nervous than you normally would be, but you knew that was just because Ben was such a good friend of both yours and Gwilym’s.  Would he realize what you were asking him when you suggested he come home with the two of you? Would he even want to? It was a delicate proposition, but one you’d offered up enough times before that you knew how to go about it without being too blunt—or too subtle.

It wasn’t unusual for you and Gwilym to invite a third party into your bedroom. You’d done it a handful of times before and you both found it exciting—you’d had women and men join you, and it had always led to a long night of pleasure and exploration, but all those times had been with strangers. It was a much different thing to ask of a friend.

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ben hardy x reader

prompt: “Walk out that door and we’re through” & “Well. Yell, scream, say something. Anything”

(note- this is one of my FAV things i’ve ever written honestly. it turned out a little more fluffy than angsty but i am SO happy with the way it turned out)

“Ben, will you shut up for one second. You’re not even listening to me. I wasn’t trying to start a fight. I was just trying to tell you how I feel.” You threw your bag and coat down on the couch, and Ben slammed the door behind you.

“Not trying to start a fight? That’s bold of you say. I hadn’t seen you in a weeks and the first thing you say to me when I walk in the door is ‘How’re those models you were off taking pictures with?’” Ben scoffed and rolled his eyes. When he was angry, he was the loud and in your face type. Wanted you to really know how he felt. And boy, he was letting you know how he felt now.

“Listen, I didn’t want to say anything but I was really hurt. You were surrounded with gorgeous girls while I wasn’t around, how would you feel if I did that?”

“Well I wouldn’t make a bloody fuss about it like you do. It’s not my fault they were sitting near me and they took a photograph. If you were famous you would understand.” He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. He looked at the floor, trying to take deep breaths and calm down.

“You know, every fucking time we fight you always bring up the fact that I’m not famous and how it’s such a big deal. Like, if you wanna date someone famous literally NO ONE is stopping you, Ben.”

“Well maybe my life would be a bit easier because a person who understand paparazzi wouldn’t be up in arms about me being photographed with some random girls.” You sat down on the couch and took a second to think. You felt our eyes get hot and your cheeks flushed, you knew you were going to start crying. You looked away so Ben wouldn’t see you wiping tears away.

“Oh, cmon are you really crying? You started this and now you want to sit here and cry because you thought I’d sit and take you berating me about my life in the public eye.”

“Berating you? I just told you I was upset! You’re completely over reacting.”

You both sat in silence for a minute, but you could hear Ben breathing loudly and trying to calm himself down. Although you were pissed, you couldn’t stop thinking about how attractive he was when he was angry. And, how much you really did love him. You hated fighting, but you were so hurt that if you didn’t bring this up it would just sit on your chest, weighing you down from the inside out.

“Listen, Ben, I think I’m gonna go. Take a walk or drive or something. Maybe we just need to not be near each other right and calm down so we can have an adult conversation and not bicker like children.” You picked up your things and started heading towards the door. Ben let out a laugh and turned to face you, with an extremely pissed off look on his face.

“Walk our that door right now (Y/N) and we’re through. I swear to God.” He shook his head and let out a frustrated laugh.

“Bullshit. I call bullshit. You’re not dumping me.”

“You think I won’t? Wanna walk out that door right now and see what happens?” At this point he was inches from your face. You could see sweat on his forehead and a bit of spit on his lip from screaming.

“You’re not gonna break up with me, Ben. And you wanna know how I know that?” You tilted your head and raised your brow at him, giving him a sarcastic tone which only made him more angry.

“Oh how’s that?”

“Because you wanna marry me. Uh huh, I know. Joe slipped up and told me you had him help you pick out a ring.” You pursed your lips at Ben, thinking ‘Hah, what are you gonna do now, Benny boy?’ You felt pretty proud of yourself for throwing that out, because Ben usually had the upper hand in fights with quick wit and insults.

Ben stood there, just staring at the ground. He was completely shocked. Didn’t know what to say.

“Well? Yell, scream, say something.” You tried to get him to look at you, but he just kept staring at the ground.

He started to shake his head and mumbled “I’m gonna fucking kill Joe.”

You started to laugh, but Ben did not think it was funny. He ran quickly to your bedroom and you followed him.

“What are you doing? Can we talk about this?” He was frantically searching through the closet, not even hearing what you’re saying.

“Ah!” He yelled, and threw a suitcase down on the bed, excited that he finally found what he was looking for.

“What are you leaving or something? I think it’s really immature that you’re just gonna pack up and leave and not even talk about -“ you stopped talking when you saw Ben get down on one knee, holding a tiny blue felt box in his hands.

“I’m not leaving, you twat, I’m proposing.”

“What…. you’re…. what?” You were at a loss for words. He opened the small box to reveal a gorgeous, pear-cut diamond ring. You gasped.

“I’m proposing. I had a whole beautiful evening planned, at your favorite restaurant, with wine and candles and everything. I rented a fucking limo. I had a photographer. I was gonna have Brian and Rog sing Love Of My Life. So guess what, you wanna spoil all that? Now you have to deal with a proposal in our messy bedroom while I’m wearing sweatpants and haven’t washed my hair in four days. Hah!” He smiled, looking quite pleased with himself. But all you could look at was the ring. Ben Hardy wanted to marry you. Marry you. Nothing else in the world mattered. No restaurant, limo, song or anything could make this moment any better.

You bent to your knees to be at his level, and cupped his hands in your face. “Ben, I do not care about any of that. You want to marry me. And I want to marry you.”

“Wait… you really don’t care that I’m not doing something fancy for the proposal?”

“You could ask me to marry you at a garbage dump. I don’t care about that. I just wanna be your wife.” You started tearing up and gave Ben a long kiss. When you finally backed away, you saw Ben had tears in his eyes, too.

He took the ring out of the box and slid it onto your finger. You smiled as you admired the beauty.

“I love you so much. I’m sorry I got angry and accidentally proposed to you,” Ben said, between tears and laughs.

“I’m sorry I got angry and accepted your proposal.” You both started laughing and he hugged you, wrapping his arms around your waist and and nuzzling his head into your neck.

“I’m still gonna kill Joe,” he murmured, and kissed your cheek.

Unspoken Rules || Ben Hardy x Reader

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, phone sex, thigh riding, fem receiving oral sex, doggy style, spanking, unprotected sex, squirting, general debauchery)

Word Count: 11k (sister snapped)

A/N: First, thank you so much for 700 followers! I’m so grateful for all of y’all! Second, I’m not saying this is my magnum opus, but,,, this is my magnum opus. It was a labor of love, so I hope you enjoy! My ask box is open, by the way, so stop by and say hello!

Reblogs/Feedback are appreciated!!!

Requests: Open!

Amy’s apartment is crowded, so much so that you have to squeeze by her cousins and family friends to get into the kitchen, where all the wine is kept. And you need wine.

“You’re the maid of honor?” An accented voice asks behind you. You turn and nod, only to find yourself facing a total stranger, and a handsome one at that. Blonde, with gorgeous green eyes and the build of a Greek sculpture, you wonder how on Earth you’ve never seen him before.

A hum of affirmation leaves your lips as you sip at your drink. “That’s right,” you reply. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m Ben,” he replies. “Joe’s friend.”

Your eyes widen and you nod. “So you’re the best man,” you hum, a grin spreading across your features. “I heard the name, but didn’t ever get a face to put it with.” You offer a bright smile as you finish pouring your wine. “Nice to finally meet you.”

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Hell to the No-- Ben Hardy x Reader (ft. Joe Mazzello.. like, a lot)

Prompt; none this time!

Warnings; slight language, specified fem! reader

Word Count; 2k

Notes; I wrote this instead of writing the essays that are due tomorrow, so I hope y’all enjoy lol ALSO IF YA WANNA BE ON THE TAG LIST FOR FICS LEMME KNOW!! 

Growing up with Joe Mazzello was… interesting, to say the least. He was the typical older brother. The two of you would constantly bicker over the simplest things, and then you two would be up to mischief together before the day was over. There was incessant teasing between the two of you. Joe was the constant ball of energy around your home, and you always struggled to keep up with him. And yes, he was constantly screaming.

When you were young, you thought he was the coolest person– albeit you would never admit that. He achieved the childhood dream of being famous. You were always his biggest fan. If he needed help preparing for an audition, you’d give him your full attention. You always had his back, and you knew that he always had yours. 

In a way, you made your own name for yourself. You were a photographer, a quite good one at that. You were hired by many companies for high-end photo shoots. As you started to rise through the rankings, Joe helped you out a little. He would try to convince the management to hire you for whatever film or show he was working on’s promotional photographs. Sometimes it would work, and you were always grateful for his support. 

“Joey, please, you don’t have to keep doing this.” He had somehow managed to get you hired on the set of The Pacific. Joe just scoffed at your remark, looping an arm around your shoulders. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

After that, it became pretty common for you two to work together. If you hired one Mazzello, then you might as well hire the other because you’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t. Luckily for you, the same applied to Bohemian Rhapsody. You were beyond ecstatic when you got the news. The first thing you did was call Joe, practically screaming in his ear.

You were on set, discussing some photo arrangements when you heard a familiar voice call out, “Aw, there’s my little mozzarella stick!” 

“Shut it, Francis,” you quipped before apologizing to the person you were originally talking to. You spun on your heel and immediately burst out laughing. It wasn’t the first time you had seen Joe’s curly wig, but it seemed to get bigger every time you caught a glimpse of him. He was walking with three other men. You had already met Rami, as he had been friends with Joe for quite some time. The other two were unknown to you. Sure, you could remember their names, but you had yet to formally introduce yourself to them.

“Francis?” The Brian May clone looked at you curiously. Your grin widened.

“Joey’s middle name. Isn’t it adorable?” you cooed.

“Oh, mate, that’s fantastic.” The blonde clapped Joe’s shoulder before sticking out his hand in your direction. “I’m Ben.” 

“Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m (Y/N).” Realization flooded his features. He flashed you a bright smile.

“It’s about bloody time we’ve met. Joe’s talked about you nonstop!” You raised a brow at Joe, playfully jabbing his side.

“Has he? All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Joe scoffed.

“Perfect, now I can tell you all his embarrassing secrets” Joe gave a dramatic gasp before moving to stand toe to toe with you. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he returned the gesture. 

“You make me vomit,” he growled.

“And you’re the scum between my toes,” you said between gritted teeth. The Little Rascals was a movie that the two of you shared a love for. You were constantly quoting it. 

After a few more moments of an intense staring contest, Rami finally stepped in between the two of you, knowing full well that the two of you would’ve gone on for forever. “They said something about doing a quick photo shoot?” Your attention snapped Rami.

“Oh, yeah! Ready to get your model on, Ahkmenrah?”

“Of course, darling! I was born ready.” You laughed at his Freddie impression before rounding the boys up, giving them directions on where to stand.

You were sitting off to the side, watching them film, when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You glanced up to see Ben. “Mind if I join you?” You shook your head, scooting over so he would have plenty of room on the small bench. The two of you watched one of the directors animatedly talk to Rami. “Hey, could I take a look at some of the pictures you took?” 

“Yeah, sure!” You picked up your work bag, which held so much stuff that it would put Mary Poppins to shame. You shuffled through your belongings before finally pulling out your laptop. You had already transferred over some of the pictures, and they just needed to be edited before they would be released. “They’re not quite done yet. I’ve still got to do some touch-ups on a couple of them.” You handed the laptop to Ben and watched his expressions as he scrolled through the pictures. 

“Holy shit. You’re really good, you know that?” You snorted, rubbing your face in an attempt to hide the blush you were sure was already spreading.

“Thanks, it took a lot of practice.” Ben handed back your laptop when someone called his name, motioning him over. A small grin graced your lips when you realized there was something new on your screen. When you looked away, Ben had opened up a blank document and typed down his number. Chewing on your lip, you made a mental note to shoot him a text some time. 

It took you a little while to finally build up the confidence to text Ben. The two of you continued to talk even after your work with Bohemian Rhapsody finished. You knew that you were rapidly developing a crush on him. Not only was he good looking and an amazing actor, but he was also the sweetest person. Ben made you smile every time the two of you talked. And, God, that accent just made your knees go weak. 

You groaned when your phone started ringing. It was just barely after seven in the morning, on a Saturday no less. You reached across the nightstand to pull your phone from the charger. You sat up and narrowed your eyes at the blinding screen. Ben was calling. “Hello?” Your voice sounded more groggy than you would’ve liked.

“Sorry, love, did I wake you?” He gave a nervous laugh. “Sometimes I forget about the time differences.” You smiled, peeling yourself away from the bed.

“No, no, it’s fine. I probably needed to get up soon anyway,” you hummed. You were about to fix yourself a cup of coffee when you heard Ben mumble something then clear his throat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” he assured. “I was just wondering… the Oscars are coming up, and I thought I’d ask if you wanted to be my plus one?” You froze before slowly setting down your mug. 

“Like, as a date or…” you trailed off, chewing your lip nervously.

“That’s what I had in mind, yeah.” A wide smile spread across your face. 

“I’d love to.” You felt like a lovesick yearling. You practically screeched with excitement when you ended the phone call. 

A couple of days had passed when Joe called– in the middle of the night. You weren’t too surprised to see his name displayed across your phone. He was always calling at odd hours. “Joseph Francis Mazzello the third, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” 

“I’ve got an offer you simply cannot refuse! You. Me. The Oscars. Boom! You’re my plus one.” You laughed.

“Sorry, Joey. I’ve got prior commitments.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’ll be working! It’ll be way more fun hanging out with me than taking candids of countless celebrities.”

“No, I’m not working. I’ve actually got a date.”

“What’s his name, address, and social security number?”

“Joe. You know better than this. I’m not giving you any information because you’ll just scare him away. Remember Andi Gilmore, who you scared so bad that his parents started homeschooling him?”

“Hey! That wasn’t my fault,” Joe grumbled.

“Whatever you say, bro, but if memory serves correctly, you went all Pat Murray on him.”

“Your memory clearly does not serve correctly.”

You spent the next couple of weeks in a mad dash, trying to find the perfect dress to wear. It needed to be something good because there would be no shortage of pictures and videos by the end of the night. Thankfully, you were able to find one that was just right for the occasion.

Ben stood on your doorstep, nervously shifting his weight. He had been smitten since he first introduced himself to you. He hadn’t been able to get you out of his mind since you left the Bohemian Rhapsody set. Sure, the two of you talked nearly every day, but it wasn’t the same as having you beside him. When you opened the door, it felt like all the air had been pulled from his lungs. A loving smile spread across his face. “Wow. You’re beautiful.” Your cheeks pinkened.

“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.” He took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your face turned to a darker shade of red.

“Must be the luckiest man in the world if I got you to agree to go on a date with me. Shall we?” He motioned towards the car that was parked on the curb. 

Joe kept his eyes peeled for his friends. He had found Gwilym already, but he had yet to find Ben. He was watching every car to see if the blond beauty would step out. Joe’s brows furrowed when he saw you getting out of a car. He could’ve sworn you told him you were going on a date, and he was even more confused when Ben got out of the same car. Realization hit him like a pile of bricks when Joe saw Ben put an arm around your waist. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Him? Seriously? I thought you had higher standards, (Y/N),” Joe shouted. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Calm down, Francis. We’re going on a date, not to a drive-thru wedding in Vegas.”

You were finally able to cross ‘attending The Oscars’ off your bucket list. It was an amazing experience, and you were so proud of everyone who worked on Bohemian Rhapsody. The movie racked up the most awards of the night, a grand total of four Oscars. You couldn’t tell who cheered louder for Rami– you, Joe, or Lucy. When all the festivities ended and everyone started to leave, you turned to Joe and Ben. “You know what I really want right now? A jumbo-sized slushie from 7/11.” Joe’s eyes widened as he loudly exclaimed his agreement. 

The three of you went to the closest 7/11. Joe wandered around the small store while you and Ben went straight to the slushie machine. You danced in place, pouring as much of the different colored liquids you could into the large cup. “How do you think that’s going to taste once they all mix together?” Ben questioned with a raised eyebrow. You shrugged, and he stuck a finger in your cup. He scooped up a glob and ate it, humming. “Not too bad.”

“Rude!” you gasped. “Shouldn’t you know better than to stick your fingers in other people’s food? I thought you were supposed to be a British Gentleman.” You wagged a finger at him, walking towards the check out counter. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“I’m not always a perfect gentleman,” Ben flirted. You opened your mouth to reply but was interrupted by Joe’s fake, exaggerated gagging.

“Oh, hell no. You two are so disgusting. I’ve been third-wheeling all night.” You cast him a glance, only to see that he was recording a video. 

“Aw, don’t worry, Joey! You’ve still got Cardy B!” you cooed, a smirk crossing your lips. Ben snorted, and Joe replied with a smartass comment, but that got cropped out of the video.

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