Ben Hardy!roger Taylor - Tumblr Posts

Where can I find me a mans like this??

By mans, I mean Ben Hardy. Like that's all I want ;)

He looks fucking amazing in an all black suit

That fucking jawline will cut a bitch

Daddy material 😏😏🤤🤤😫

A whole mans that love dogs

An obviously good cuddler

FUCKING adorable

Looks bomb af in a long blond wig

Still looks sexy in basic drag

Lord save my soul

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

I'm sorry for the swearing. I just got excited because this mans is just perfect. This is just a real nice appreciation post for him.

P.s. if I wrote fanfiction about him it would be the dirtiest, most sinful thing ever 😁

MASTERLIST

This is where all my writing will be! Requests are now open, so request away! Also, I hope you all enjoy!!! Love ya! xx Del

Last updated: 3.20.20

(Under each person, the fics go from newest to oldest)

ROGER TAYLOR

Roger’s on Tour, and You Miss Him Terribly

Falling

You Get Back at Roger

Say You Won’t Let Go

Roger Comforts You After You Have a Bad Day

Promises

Roger’s Being a Flirty Little Shit, and You Get Flustered

Being Best Friends with Roger Would Include

You and Roger Get Drunk and Try to Cook Dinner

You’re a Famous Actress, and Roger Has a Crush on You

You and Roger are Best Friends, But He Wants to be Something More

You’re Brian’s Younger Sister, and Roger Tries Flirting with You // PART 2

Roger catches you jamming out to Queen while wearing his clothes

LONGER STORIES: 

Make Believe: ONE || TWO || THREE || FOUR -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.

When Things Fall Apart: ONE || TWO || THREE || FOUR –You and Roger fall out of love, but could you guys fall back into love? 

BRIAN MAY

4 Times Brian Tries to Ask You Out, and the 1 Time He Does

4 Times Brian Tries to Say I Love You, and the 1 Time He Does

You’re Roger’s Younger Sister, Secretly Dating Brian

1K BLURB CELEBRATION WRITING

Roger catches you jamming out to Queen while wearing his clothes [Roger Taylor Imagine]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem Reader (can also be Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor––doesn’t really matter)

Word count: 1120

Contains: FLUFF, light smut???, idk read the A/N

A/N: This is actually my first fic I’ve ever written/first time I published my writing on Tumblr!! I would really appreciate some feedback! Requests are open, so feel free to message me HERE (you can message me just to say hi, introduce yourself, anything really). Like I said, I’m a little new to this whole thing, and I would really love to meet you guys! I hope you enjoy! 

“DRUM SOLO!” you yell as you bang your imaginary drum sticks in the air (one of them is the wooden spoon you’ve been using to mix the tomato sauce) on your imaginary drums. “Keep Yourself Alive” is blasting throughout your apartment from the record player sitting on the kitchen counter (you moved it from its usual spot on the small coffee table in the living room). You’re bopping your head so hard that one of Roger’s many black Ray-Bans you stole from his closet have almost fallen off your face too many times to count, causing you to hastily shove them back up every time they slip down your nose. You’re wearing one of Roger’s white button-ups that just grazes the tops of your thighs, and as a finishing touch, you don a pair of his sweatbands around your wrists to really emulate your famous rocker-drummer boyfriend’s look.

With the music playing so loudly that you know the neighbors will most likely leave a passive aggressive note tacked on your door tomorrow morning, you don’t notice your boyfriend leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, and a fond smile spread across his face as he watches his girlfriend recreate his drum solo––quite successfully––he thinks, too. 

With a final, dramatic flourish of the wooden spoon, signaling the end of the famous solo, he finally lets out the laugh he’s been holding in while also shaking his head. 

“You know, I’m surprised you didn’t stain my shirt more than you already have with that vigorous drum playing,” he calls out. You shriek, wooden spoon flying towards the intruder. He ducks as it goes soaring past him, just grazing the top of his head. It hits the white wall behind him, spraying tomato sauce everywhere. 

“ROGER. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” you yell. “When did you get her––how long were you standing there??”

“Long enough to say that I think you should replace me for our next show,” he replies with a grin. You roll your eyes and laugh. 

“Shut up,” you say, feeling a slight flush creep its way up your neck, but you turn the stove’s heat to low and make your way to your boyfriend. 

He opens his arms and you wrap your own around him, hugging tight. He pulls away slightly and gently cups your face with both hands, tilting your chin up to pull you into a sweet kiss. 

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs when you separate, your foreheads pressed against each other. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, biting your lip as you smile a little shyly under his intense gaze. A little shyly because by the expression on his face, it seems as if he wants to rip his shirt right off of you. 

“I like this on you,” he says, fingering the cotton that’s hitting the top of your thigh. 

“Oh, this old thing?” you joke as you twirl out of his grasp with your arms raised by your sides. Raised just enough to have the shirt ride up and show a bit of your bum and the lacy underwear hiding underneath. You can feel his heated gaze burning into your back as you walk over to retrieve the spoon you so violently threw, and you jokingly wiggle your bum at him when you bend over to pick it up. He laughs under his breath, and you smile to yourself.

You hand him a damp paper towel and ask him to wipe up the wall before returning to stir the rest of the sauce in the pot. A few minutes later, he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, really, really like it on you,” he says softly, his breath hitting the shell of your ear, making you shiver. You continue stirring, but you get distracted by Roger’s mouth. Distracted by his mouth moving along your neck and his hands that slip underneath your shirt. You stop mixing all together when you feel a calloused hand grip your hips deliciously, and your breath catches as you feel the other one flick the middle button open. He moves his hands from your hips to your now exposed stomach. You feel him smile against your neck when he feels your abs clench. 

“Mhmm?” You hum as he mouths over a particularly sensitive spot right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. 

“Yep. But you know…it would look a lot better on the bedroom floor,” he whispers in your ear. You let out a snort. 

“Oh my God, Rog. That was really bad,” you laugh as you roll your eyes.

“You know you love it.” You press back against him in response, and he lets out a low groan, dropping his forehead back onto your shoulder. 

“You’re lucky I only put up with you because you’re handsome,” you tease, your voice a little breathless.

He fake gasps, grabbing you and backing you up into the marble island behind the two of you. 

“Is that so?” he asks.

“Mhmm, I only use you for your body. And to get closer to Deaky. Do you think he’ll say yes if I ask him out? He just has the most adorable––” He cuts you off with another kiss. This time, with a little more force. He takes your hands that are currently gripping the edge of the countertop and puts them behind his head. And you pull slightly on his blonde strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He lifts you up onto the counter, stepping in between your legs. You hear a faint clatter from behind you, but you don’t care. Don’t care when he’s gripping your thighs that are now wrapped around his hips like that. Don’t care when his fingers slip underneath the band of your underwear.

You notice a distinct burning smell and pull away. His eyes are still closed and his lips chase after yours. 

“The sauce!” You exclaim. You quickly untangle yourself from him and lunge to turn down the heat. 

“Hey, let’s forget about dinner, huh? I have a better idea on what we could do instead,” he says, panting lightly, hair disheveled. You know you probably look the same, imagining the dark blush that’s probably staining your cheeks. 

“Nuh-uh, I spent the last hour making us a nice dinner, and we’re going to sit down and eat it, Mister. Now go get some plates,” you say, patting his cheek lightly as you button up your––well, his––shirt and dodge his grabby hands. He groans, but you hear him walk over and open the cupboards.

“You are gonna be the death of me, Y/N Y/L/N.”

You’re Brian’s Younger Sister, and Roger Tries Flirting with You [Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor Imagine]

Pairing: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader 

Word count: 677 (I know, très short)

A/N: This was fun to write. Also, Happy New Year! Wishing everyone a fantastic 2019 :)))

PART 2

It is Brian’s birthday and fortunately, his birthday falls in the summer, so you get to join in on the celebrations as you’re back home from Uni. This time though, your older brother thought it was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to his bandmates and have you finally meet them. 

––––––––––

Happy Birthday was sung (it was quite a performance thanks to Freddie and his piano skills) and the cake was sliced. Now, while the others engage in their own conversations (Brian’s going off about a comet that’ll pass “extraordinarily close” by Earth next week) and sipping some tea, Roger saunters over, taking the empty seat next to you, which was previously occupied by Mary (she went to the bathroom). He stretches his arm across the back of your chair and leans over, his face now inches away from yours. Although Brian had known Roger longer than the newer band members, Freddie and John, this birthday breakfast was actually the first time you both were officially introduced to each other.  

“So Y/N, what are you doing later?” he murmurs close to your ear. From the corner of your eye, you see Brian’s head whip towards you guys, his excited chatter trailing off––distracted.

“Hmm, nothing really, you wanna come over? I always keep my window open, and there’s a big tree you can easily climb,” you say without missing a beat. He blinks, clearly taken aback at your upfront response. 

“Y/N!” your mom scolds. You flash her an innocent smile.

Across the table, Freddie laughs loudly, clapping his hands together. “Oh, I like her,” he says, pointing at you. You smirk and take a bite of your cake. Mary–– conveniently––comes back from the bathroom, wiping her hands on the sides of her dress.

“I would have to agree with Fred,” Roger whispers so only you can hear when he gets up to let Mary have her seat back. You bite your lip, suppressing a smile. 

The rest of the breakfast consists of you raising your brows and wiggling your fingers at the blonde drummer when you catch him staring at you in addition to Brian’s narrowed eyes tracking each exchange. And each time you meet that gaze from across the table, you get a little flutter in your chest as you see a sort of amusement––and something else you can’t put your finger on––in his bright green eyes.

––––––––––

“Hey, Y/N, if you’re free, you should come to our next show. It’s this Friday,” he says as you’re making your way up the stairs. 

“Ooh, the ol’ show invitation. You know Brian told me about you,” you say with a smile. 

“Oh? You talked about me?” 

“Mhmm. He warned me actually. Practically gave me a bloody lecture. From what he said about you, I thought of a great title for your biography. Roger Taylor: Hot, Edgy Drummer and Heart Breaker Extraordinaire. Hide your sisters!” you say in an exaggerated announcer-type voice.  

“You think I’m hot?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Hey, that was Brian’s word, not mine.” 

“Ouch, you’re a mean one,” he says, holding a hand to his heart. 

“Aw, you know, you’re cute when you pout.” 

“And you’re cute,” he replies back with a cheeky grin. You scoff, rolling your eyes although you can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips. 

“You’re real smooth, Taylor,” you say as you make your way up the stairs once again. 

“So, about that show…?” he asks. You think you hear a bit of hopefulness in his voice.

“Hmm, I’ll check my schedule, I might have something that day, but once I know, you’ll be the very first person I’ll tell,” you call down from behind your shoulder.

“I’m truly honored,” he calls back from below. You wink at him and blow him a kiss before you head upstairs to your bedroom. What he doesn’t see is you, flopping onto your bed and squealing into your pillow with glee. What you don’t see is him, blushing slightly and smiling to himself, his heart rate a tad bit faster than normal. 

“What’s got you so happy?” John asks as they’re all about to get back into their respective cars. 

“He is totally in love with Y/N!” Freddie yells as he’s about to enter his car. 

“He is most definitely not!” Brian yells back almost immediately. 

PART TWO

You’re Brian’s Younger Sister, and Roger Tries Flirting with You || PART 2 [Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader 

Word count: 1460

Contains: light smut!

A/N: The part two of this piece has been so requested, so here it is!! I really hope you guys enjoy it and thank you for all the support that I’ve gotten!! You all are the best!!!!! Also, I’ve started to get requests, so I’m working on those right now! (If you want to request anything, message me!) Also, I am sleep deprived. Okay goodnight!! 

PART 1

You didn’t tell him you were going. In fact, you didn’t even know you were going yourself. It was really a last minute decision, actually. But here you are in the crowd of people watching your brother and his band perform at this small pub. You, specifically watching that blonde, green-eyed drummer. That blonde, green-eyed drummer who currently has a cigarette dangling from his mouth, head bopping lazily to the music. 

You see him look up from his drum playing, scanning the crowd with a little smirk on his face. And your eyes meet. It was almost comical––the double take he takes when he sees you. You wiggle your fingers at him with a playful smile, and he laughs, shaking his head, before looking down to focus on his drumming. 

Maybe it was just you, but during the rest of the show, it seemed as if he was playing more intensely than before. At the final cymbal smash, you make your way over to the bar and order a scotch. 

––––––

“You made it.” You hear a deep voice say next to you as you sit at the bar. 

“Yeah, I heard the drummer of this band is mighty fit, so I had to see it for myself.” 

“And what did you think of him?” 

“Hmm, I thought the bassist was cuter.” 

“Still mean, I see.” 

“Still cute when you pout, I see,” you retort and notice that his eyes are bright with amusement. 

“Hey––”  

“Rog, dont even think about skipping the afterparty. You missed the last four,” Freddie scolds, coming up from behind and interrupting him. 

Roger groans, “You’re joking?” 

“Nope––Y/N, darling, you are more than welcome to join us! It’s at my place,” Freddie offers, a warm smile on his face.  

Roger raises his brows at you, a question in his eyes. You shrug. 

“I’ve never been to an infamous Queen afterparty before.” 

––––––

When you arrive at Freddie’s house, the music is already booming, and the room is already filled with hordes of drunk partygoers. Roger stretches out his hand, and you take it, letting him lead you through the crowd.  

“I know somewhere we can go that’s a tad bit quieter,” he says before grabbing two beers and leading you out the door and to a little nook in the backyard. Roger reclines down on the grass, and you join him, stretching out your legs, and leaning on your hands behind you. He lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag, and then offers it to you, which you take. 

You guys talk. Talk under the night sky with the booming music and the excited chatter that only occurs when the whole room is shit-faced as background noise. You guys talk about everything and anything, your beers become forgotten on the grass next to you. And it seems as if you and him are the only people in the world. Perhaps it’s because of the hedges blocking him and you from the rest of the party, the soft light of the moon illuminating your faces. Perhaps it was because he’s looking at you like you are the only person he wants to spend his time with. And he makes you laugh––real laughs––telling you all kinds of stories about their experiences creating music, touring, performing. You laugh especially hard at the story he tells of him accidentally spitting in Brian’s hair during a show, and Brian never noticing. You throw your head back, grasping at your sides, tears springing into your eyes. 

What you don’t see is that whenever you tilt your head back and laugh, his eyes brighten. And when your laughter trails off and you wipe your eyes, you look up, and he’s staring at you. 

“What?” you ask, a little shy all of a sudden. Perhaps it was due to the intensity in his green eyes or the way your faces were mere inches away from each other, so close you can see how long his lashes are. 

“You’re beautiful,” he responds, quietly. Almost reverently. Any other time, you would’ve scoffed. But––this time––this time you smile, a blush tinting your cheeks. 

“So cliché, Mister Taylor,” you whisper.

“Is it working?” he whispers back, his eyes flick down to your mouth. Instead of replying, you lean forward, brushing your lips against his. A little hesitantly. And he grasps your jaw with two hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. He tastes like cigarette smoke and beer, but you don’t care––don’t really notice. You probably taste the same. You gasp in his mouth, and he slips his tongue in. He sits up straight, not breaking the kiss, and you crawl into his lap. 

“So does this mean you think I’m cuter than that bassist?” he asks, panting slightly. 

“Shut up,” you say through a breathless laugh, reconnecting your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands quickly take off your jacket before holding onto your waist and then making their way beneath your shirt, stroking the sensitive skin there. Your hips jolt against his, and he groans quietly, stoking the growing fire deep within you. Pulling away to catch your breath, you gulp down the fresh night air, and he takes the opportunity to pepper kisses down your neck. He undoes the first few buttons of your blouse before shoving your collar down to your shoulder, sucking love marks onto your skin, drawing out small whimpers from you. And you start grinding down on him, moaning at the friction from his rough jeans. Your forehead is pressed onto his cheekbone, and he can hear you panting into his ear. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he hisses, hands gripping your hips tightly, helping you move along him, his eyes closed. 

“Rog,” you groan, and he looks at you, his pupils dilated, eyes hooded, absolutely loving the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth. And he’s starstruck when he sees you: you with your lips red and swollen, hair messy, brows furrowed, cheeks flushed with such a pretty pink. And right then and there, he knows that he’s absolutely, positively, fucked. That he’s already falling in love with you. 

He reaches underneath your skirt and––

“Oh for fucks sake!” Brian shouts. 

“Oh fuck!” Roger exclaims. 

“Shit! You scared me!” you yell at your older brother. He’s standing at the entrance of the little nook, looking down at his feet with one hand covering his eyes. He looks back up, mouth open in disbelief. 

“Can you leave? We’re busy,” you say, making shooing gestures with your hands. Brian sputters, at a loss for words. Roger chokes, coughing into his hands, and Brian shoots him a glare.

You see John’s face pop up from behind Brian’s shoulder, and he quickly covers the youngest member’s face. You snort. Your brother whips his head around to give you a death glare. 

“I was just getting to know Roger a little better. I mean, we really hit it off at your birthday breakfast,” you say while adjusting your shirt. Brian pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving his arms in front of him. He points at you, “Car. Ten minutes,” he says before walking away, John and Freddie trailing behind him. 

He stops a few feet ahead of you. “Ugh!” he says in disgust and then continues on his way. You see his curls jiggling as he shakes his head, face in his hands. 

“I think they’re cute together!” You hear Freddie exclaim to Brian. 

You bury your face into Roger’s shirt in a fit of giggles, and he cups your head to him, pressing a gentle kiss to the top as he laughs too. You sigh. 

“I should probably go. I’m pretty sure Brian’s having an aneurysm right now.”

“Y/N!” Brian yells for you across the lawn. 

“Coming, coming,” you grumble, pulling yourself off of Roger’s lap. 

“So, when am I gonna see you again?” he asks, his eyes sparkling up at you. 

“Bye Roger,” you tease, waving at him. 

You take a few steps, leaving him still sitting on the grass. You stop. And you turn around to grab his face and give him a long kiss. 

“Oh my God. Y/N!” Brian yells. `

“Call me,” you whisper before springing back up and skipping towards your brother. 

“I don’t have your number!” 

“You know where to get it!” you call back, blowing him a kiss. 

He watches you leave in awe, watches as you cheerfully loop your arm through the arm of a disappointed Brian. He flops back down on the grass with a content sigh, looking up at the stars, smiling to himself, a certain emotion tugging at his heartstrings. One day, I’m gonna marry that girl, he thinks. 

You’re a Famous Actress, and Roger Has a Crush on You [ROGER TAYLOR x READER]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: You and Roger meet at the afterparty of your movie premieres and really hit it off. 

Word count: 1218

Contains: fluffyyyyy

A/N: I wrote this fluffy piece when I was a lil’ sad to try to cheer myself up. Also, sorry for not posting that much in the last couple of days, I got sick and school just started again. ALSO ALSO: thank you to the lovely people who responded to my question about taglists and now that I know what it is, if anyone would like to be on my taglist, let me know/message me!

“Roger, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” a mutual friend of yours (his name is John) says to Roger as he chats with a model (you’re guessing) by the bar. You see that he’s wearing his usual RayBans even though it’s pretty darkly lit in the room. He turns towards you. 

“Oh yes, hello…” he trails off once he fully faces you, now staring. Staring at your beauty that leaves him speechless as you look absolutely breathtaking in that long golden dress you’re wearing. Staring at you because he recognizes your face from the multitude of movies he’s watched you in. Recognizes you as the star of the movie premiere he just attended. And keeps staring at you whilst sitting at the bar of said movie premiere’s afterparty. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand. 

“Hello, I’m Roger Taylor,” he says with one of his signature smirks, trying to recover from his blunder a few seconds ago. You smile, liking the way he pronounces his name as “rog-ah.”

“Nice to meet you Roger Taylor.” 

“Loved your movie by the way.”

“Eh, it was pretty shit,” you reply with a shrug. 

“Hmm, in that case, can I offer you a drink?” 

“Ooh, I didn’t know the famous Roger Taylor was known to be so chivalrous.” He gives you a dazzling smile before ordering two glasses of whiskey (per your request).

He hands you your drink. “So the movie was shit?” 

“Didn’t you think so?”

“Too busy looking at you to pay attention,” he says with a cheeky grin. You chuckle at that, rolling your eyes. 

“You’re quite the romantic, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that I’m an even better lay,” he responds in an exaggerated whisper as he leans closer to you, a small smile playing at his lips. At that, you burst out laughing, and he joins in as well. 

“I like you Roger Taylor.”

––––––––––

“Hey, do you want to go somewhere a little more quiet? I’m getting sick of this party,” you ask him after talking for a bit (albeit it was pretty hard to hear anything with the blasting music and hundreds of other people in the room). “I know a place we could go.” You order two more whiskeys before heading up to the hotel’s rooftop. 

“Whenever I make a movie with Fox, they always insist on having the afterparty here, so I always ask the hotel to leave a blanket on the roof for me,” you say while grabbing said blanket sitting at the side of the stairs right in front of the door. You open the door to the outside, reveling in the fresh air.

He looks at you in awe. It’s dark enough and late enough to see the stars in the sky. And it’s summertime, so tonight is warm with a nice breeze––the perfect temperature for a midnight chat. 

Hiking up your dress, you plop down onto the blanket and kick off your heels, sighing. Roger follows suit, taking his sunglasses off his face and placing them on the floor beside you. 

––––––––––

“Okay, I have a serious question for you,” you ask after a while––after you talked about each other, life, all the topics one talks about with the star speckled sky as their ceiling and with a person who they feel oddly connected to besides them. Your tumblers are now empty and discarded to the side. Both of you lie next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the sky. Sitting in a comfortable silence, now simply enjoying one another’s company. It’s strange, you think. It’s strange because you feel so comfortable around this man––a man who you’ve only just met––but nonetheless, you feel as if you really know him. You feel as if you can tell him anything. 

And you don’t know this, but he feels the exact same way towards you.

“Uh-oh, don’t make it too personal,” he says with a laugh.  

You take a deep breath in. 

“Why do you always wear sunglasses inside?” you finally ask after holding out the suspense. He pauses for a second, surprised. And then he begins to laugh. He turns his head to look at you, and you do the same, now looking into his eyes––his usual bright blue eyes now looking like a dark indigo in the nighttime, his pupils a tad dilated. And you see that his eyes slightly crinkle at the edges when he smiles. 

“Prescription. Can’t be a rock n’ roll star if I wear glasses all the time––kinda ruins the image don’t you think?” 

You laugh with him, nodding your head.

“This is such a beautiful view,” you say after turning your head back to look up. 

“Yeah, I agree,” he says quietly, still looking at you. 

––––––––––

“So, we only have time for one more question: who is your celebrity crush?” the interviewer asks the four men in front of her. 

“Oh, well, we all know who Roger’s crush is,” Freddie says with a knowing smile. 

“Yeah, seriously, nonstop, this one,” Brian says, pointing at his friend. 

“Met her once at an afterparty for one of––uhhh––one of her movie premieres, I think, and now she’s the only person he talks about. It’s quite adorable, actually.”

“Fred, I’m going to kill you,” Roger says before bringing a cigarette to his lips. 

“Oh? Now you’ve got to tell us! You’ve practically broken every girl’s heart in the audience now,” the interviewer teases. Roger laughs, scratching the back of his head while the audience yells at him to reveal the name.

“Oh fine, it’s Y/N Y/L/N!” The crowd goes wild. 

“And why is she your celebrity crush?” 

“Beautiful. Smart. Funny. What’s not to crush on?”

––––––––––

“Y/N, Y/N! What do you think about Queen’s Roger Taylor saying that you’re his celebrity crush?” a paparazzi asks as you exit your car. 

“I think that he’s mighty cute, and tell him to call me,” you say with a wink, holding your hand in a phone-like gesture to your ear. 

––––––––––

Roger is sitting at the breakfast table at the hotel suite where all the boys are staying at to record their next album when Brian walks in, yawning and scratching his curls. 

“You see this?” Brian asks, slapping down a newspaper in front of his friend. The headline: Y/N Y/L/N CRUSHES ON ROGER TAYLOR: FUTURE COUPLE??? with a photo of you with your hand up to your ear as the front picture. Roger puts down his glass of orange juice and takes the paper, smiling. 

Later in the afternoon, Roger tells the others that he’ll be out before meeting up with you for a lunch date. 

Giving him a quick kiss, you ask,“So, who’s gonna tell them?” 

––––––––––

The next day, Brian comes into the breakfast room, slapping down this morning’s newspaper on the table again. The headline: ROGER TAYLOR AND Y/N Y/L/N’S RELATIONSHIP: CONFIRMED. Underneath: Sources say that this newfound relationship has actually been going on for months! The picture of you and him embracing each other in the streets yesterday at lunch dominates the front page. 

“What the fuck is this?” Brian asks, exasperated and confused. Roger simply shrugs, smiling into his coffee mug.

You and Roger Get Drunk and Try to Cook Dinner [ROGER TAYLOR x READER]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word count: 968 (a little shortcake)

Contains: lots and lots of domestic Roger FLUFF

A/N: Writing Roger fluff just makes me très happy. Hope you enjoy! If you want to be on my taglist, message me! :))

It was supposed to be a nice, homemade dinner. However, a few glasses of wine in––well, more than a few––and now you and your husband, Roger, are sitting––more like sprawled––on the floor of your kitchen, giggling uncontrollably while the nice, homemade dinner is currently burning on top of the stove. 

“The spaghetti is burning!!!” you shriek, laughing, trying to stand up. 

“Fuck the spaghetti!” Roger yells, a little slurred, also laughing. His arms wrapped around your legs trying to prevent you from getting up, his head unmoving from his place on your lap. 

“Get off of me, you big oaf!” you laugh, swatting lazily at his arms. 

“Never,” he says, burrowing his head into your stomach, gripping onto you even tighter. You sigh, carding your hands through his hair. You sit there for a bit, back leaning against the drawers underneath the counter while John Lennon’s voice rings softly throughout the room from the record player on the counter. Roger, with his eyes closed, hums quietly along with the music, his head resting in your lap while your legs are stretched out in front of you. 

“Rog Rog Rog Rog Rog,” you say, patting his arm nonsensically, breaking the quiet reverie. 

“Yes yes yes yes yes?”

You bend over and lean in close to his ear. “Have I ever told you how absolutely gorgeous you are?”

“Oh, I forgot how nice you are when you’re drunk! You should just carry a flask with you all the time.” 

“Hey!” You hit his shoulder. “I take back my previous comment,” you say with a pout. “Brian has replaced you as best looking.”

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “How dare you?” but he didn’t give you any time to respond as he pounces on you. You’re now on your back with his body hovering over you, legs straddling your waist, pinning you to the floor. He has a an all too familiar gleam in his eyes, and you hesitate. 

“Rog…” you warn, but before you can say any more, he attacks. Fingers mercilessly poking and tickling at your sides. 

“STOP!” you shriek, laughing and kicking, trying to free yourself. 

“Tell me that I am the best husband in the world and the most handsome person and that you love me––and you have to give me a kiss!” he declares with a goofy grin.

“Never!” you shout back.

“Fine then,” he says before attacking you with another onslaught of tickles––tickles to your sides, to your armpits, making you gasp for air in between giggles and laughs. 

“Okay okay okay! I’ll do it,” you choke out. He stops, a triumphant smile on his face. He leans down for you to give him a kiss, and you lean in as well. And right when you’re mere centimeters away, you give him a long lick from his chin to his ear that causes him to jerk back. Using his surprise to your advantage, you wiggle out from underneath him. 

You stumble out of the kitchen, laughing so hard, you grip your sides, using the walls to balance. You quickly find a place to hide, throwing yourself on the carpet in the living room. Snatching the wool blanket that you and Roger were using to snuggle in hours before, you lay it on top of yourself, giggling quietly, feeling like a child again playing hide-and-seek. A certain type of giddiness flows through your veins, making your head dizzy––or maybe that was the wine (a mixture of both, most likely). You hear Roger walk (you actually imagine him sauntering) into the room a few moments later.

“Hmm, I wonder where my lovely wife went?” he asks himself. You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. A pause, and then you feel a weight flung atop your own and the blankets are ripped off of you. You scream, hair strewn across your face. 

“There you are!” he exclaims, victorious. His face now mere inches away from yours. 

Using both of his hands, he gently grasps your face, pushing the stray strands of hair away to the side. “Hello, darling,” he whispers, “Now, I think it’s time for my prize.” You fake an annoyed sigh and sit up. 

“You. Are. The. Most. Handsome. Man. And. The. Best. Husband. Ever,” you say, each word punctuated by a kiss to his face. 

“And…?” he asks with a grin, a slight blush on his cheeks. 

“And I love you so so so so so so much.” 

“I love you too, my beautiful, beautiful wife,” he says, giving you a sweet kiss of his own. He scoots his way into the blanket next to you on the carpeted floor. He turns on his side to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in close. You do the same, tangling your legs with his. 

The feeling of being young and totally in love washes over the two of you during nights like these. And although you’ve been together for a quite a long time now, you still feel like two kids in love. Feel as if you’re falling in love over and over again. 

He stares at you with this feeling fluttering around in his chest. Stares openly at you with those bedroom eyes. With those blue, blue eyes that you love so much.

“Stop staring you creep,” you scold, lightly swatting his arm, cheeks a little hot. 

“I––” he begins, but a beeping sound rings throughout the apartment seconds before water starts to spray all over the both of you––all over the apartment. The smoke detector went off. You smell something burning. 

“Oh shit, the spaghetti,” you remember with a groan. Roger laughs maniacally on the floor next to you. You can’t help the smile that pulls at your mouth. 

Permanent taglist: @thefirstkillerqueen

Being Best Friends with Roger Would Include:

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Best Friend Female!Reader

Word count: 956

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!!! THANK YOU TO THE ANON WHO SENT THIS REQUEST (your messages really made me smile too!). I hope this fulfills your request! I’m probs going to write a part 2 to this since I have so many ideas. Also also: I’m still working through some of the other requests, so if you don’t see yours, dw, I’m writing it!  

You guys became friends in high school.

He was the outgoing, popular boy, and you were more of the “I hate everyone and everything in this school” kind of girl.

“I don’t get this,” he drawls with a smirk, flashing a wink to the girl sitting in the desk next to him. That was the fifth time he said that during the class period.

“Maybe a) you should stop flirting with Cindy over there b) pay attention for once and c) get your head out of your ass, and stop distracting the entire class. Then maybe you’ll start to understand the lesson,” you snap from your seat across the room. 

The whole room goes silent, and the teacher scolds you slightly (she was secretly relieved someone said something).

He whips his head towards you––and smiles. A real genuine smile. You roll your eyes and go back to doodling in your notebook.

After class, he catches up to you as you walk down the locker hallway.

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve talked that much––or even at all––but I’m Roger. Roger Taylor,” he introduces with an outstretched hand.  

Ever since that afternoon, you’ve been best friends (and inseparable) as you guys meshed surprisingly well together. 

You guys went to the same university together (where he met and introduced you to Brian).

SO MANY PRANKS ON THE OTHER BAND MEMBERS

Mostly jump scares 

Brian threw his hairbrush at you two once. (It hit Roger in the eye, and then he accidentally smacked you in the face while he reached up to clutch at his own face) 

You scared Deacy once, and you both swore to never do it again (you guys just felt so bad afterwards). 

Freddie never gets scared (it’s a bit unnerving to be honest). 

Him protecting you from the douchebags after shows.

“Hey if she said to leave her alone, leave her the fuck alone, mate.” 

“Oh––uh––I’m so sorry,” the guy stutters, not knowing you were friends with the band members. 

“Thanks, dude,” you say with a relieved grin and hug as the guy slumps away. 

You do the same for him when he gets stuck talking to someone he doesn't want to, but he doesn’t want to seem rude.

(He stares at you with pleading eyes from across the pub).

“Hey Rog, Brian told me he needed help…with something,” you say once you walk up to him, grimacing at how horrible of a liar you are. 

Roger says a quick goodbye to the now pouting girl who is now also sending you death glares as you guys walk away. 

“For someone as smart as you, you are a god-awful liar,” he snickers once you’re both out of earshot. 

“Hey! At least I got you out of there,” you say though a laugh, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

If a girl that he’s interested in/dating doesn’t like you, she’s out. 

Late night movie marathons

During Freddie’s parties, you two would hang out on the grass in the backyard and smoke. 

“Do you think penguins feel sad that they can’t fly?” 

“No….No, since they’ve never really experienced flying, yeah? So it’s not like they’ve already known the feeling of flying and suddenly lost it, right, which would make them sad…but then again, they always look like they’re trying to flap their wings…so do they want to fly???”

He doesn’t answer, already moving on to another high/drunken ramble-question, “If you were to date any type of car…which would it be?”

“What the fuck Roger.”

Always getting McDonald’s fries and chicken nuggets after every party. 

Being each other’s wing people !!! 

Always sleeping over at his house after every party.

Unless him or you brings someone home for the night. 

You guys give each other a thumbs up while the other one gets into the cab with said someone. (You roll your eyes when you see him with two big thumbs up and a goofy grin while wavering a little on the grass he’s standing on). 

Then, the morning after, you two would meet up for breakfast and talk about it. 

“She took all my briefs from my drawers before leaving!” 

You howl with laughter in the small café, causing the other patrons to glare at you over their coffee mugs. 

You visiting him on tour, shrieking when you see him and jumping into his arms at the airport. 

You guys gossiping catching up on all the new things going on in your lives while you eat room service in his hotel room. 

You guys ALWAYS having brunch the day after he comes back home from a tour, going to your guys’ favorite coffee shop near your house. 

You always get the waffles (with extra whipped cream and a side of berries), and he always gets the full breakfast fry up. 

You always having to give him advice with girls.

“For someone who has such a reputation with girls, you really are clueless,” you say with a scoff. 

After a particularly nasty breakup, you call him immediately, and he comes rushing over with sweets and snacks before cutting your now ex completely out of his life (he knew them, too).

Him sleeping over because you don’t want to be alone. 

The tabloids always mistaking you two as a couple.

Queen’s Roger Taylor Eats Lunch with a MYSTERY WOMAN: WHO COULD IT BE???

Both of you loving all sorts of board games, you two get especially heated when playing Monopoly. 

But then you help each other cheat when you play Scrabble with the other band members.  

Him buying you all sorts of knick-knacks/souvenirs from all the different countries he’s traveled to. 

Lots of “Roger, don’t do that”’s.

Permanent taglist: @thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash

Roger Taylor: 

Me:

I made this and it kinda makes me hate myself but then also i’mahoeforrogertaylor so––

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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@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

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 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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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1K Followers Blurb List!!

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

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

“Do you trust me?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“It’s 3 in the morning.”

“Quick! Give me a kiss.”

“Where are your clothes?”

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

“I’m scared.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I thought we were friends!”

“You better get your hands off of me.”

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

“I will bite you.”

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

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

“Can you come over?”

“I need a fucking cigarette.”

“That seems fake, but okay.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“What is that?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You’re joking.”

“Are you high?”

“I got you.”

“You are a literal toddler.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You can sleep over if you want.”

“Come on, it’s late.”

“You can’t always get what you want.”

“Let me down!”

“Oooh, you’re blushing!”

“Where’d you go?”

“Who’s that?”

“What’s that on your neck?”

“Wanna come home with me tonight?”

“You totally have a crush!”

“Please talk to me.”

“You disgust me.”

“She’s losing too much blood.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Oh fuck me”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Don’t make me laugh!”

“I know you’re awake.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Kiss me please.”

“You’re lying.”

You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Two can play at that game.”

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

2) “Do you trust me?”

9) “I don’t hate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t hate you.”

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

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

“Ehh, trust is a strong––”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t. It’s just that––it’s...” 

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

“it’sjustthatimintimatedbyyou.”

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

5) “Quick! Give me a kiss.”

25) “I got you.”

thank you so much love!!!!

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

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

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

I also wrote another #5 one for Roger HERE

You Get Back at Roger [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word count: 604

Contains: fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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