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

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word count: 2749

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

Contains: FLUFFINESS

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

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

“Happy anniversary, beautiful,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah!” 

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

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

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

–––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t catch your name?” 

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

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

–––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bar fight.” 

“Bar fight? Tisk tisk,” you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––

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

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

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

“What?” Roger asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, Roger.” 

–––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––

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

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

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, I got you.” 

“Promise you won’t let go?”

“Promise I won’t let you go.” 

Permanent taglist:

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