Roger Taylor Fic - Tumblr Posts

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.”