Roger Taylor X Reader - Tumblr Posts
So my school is canceled so now I’m really TRULY gonna write!!! Send in some requests or just say hi!
ALSO I’M POSTING CHAPTER 4 OF MAKE BELIEVE IN AN HOUR (I bet you guys forgot about that series but I haven’t hehehe)
Make Believe: Part 4 [Roger Taylor x Reader]
Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader [FAKE DATING AU]
Summary: You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.
Word count: ~3.1k
Contains: language and slut-shaming (not from Roger though!)
A/N: I AM BACK. Here is part 4, I don’t how many people still want to read it, so if you’re on the taglist, and no longer want to be on it, please message me (I will not be offended). And vice versa, if you want to be on the taglist but you aren’t on it, just shoot me a message! I hope you guys enjoy this part and thank you for sticking with me! Love you guys.
PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE
Previously…
“I’m really tired of fighting. Can we call a truce until this whole thing is over?” he says after he blows out the smoke. You let out a laugh that sounds more like an exhale.
“Truce,” you say, handing him the bottle of scotch.
“Okay, well, now that we’re not enemies anymore, we should get to know each other better,” he says after he takes a swig.
“Okay, shoot,” you ask.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Really?”
“That’s basic question!”
“Fine, pink. You?”
“Yellow.”
“Ok. I wanna ask a question, why are you always wearing those sunglasses? It’s night and we’re––we were––indoors.”
“These sunglasses are sexy, and you know it,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder to yours.
And so, you two spend most of the night there––forgetting about the party raging below. Passing the bottle back and forth to one another, you both share stories of childhood memories, being on tour, and everything in between. You talk about your crazy university stories and the time you not so accidentally threw up on a douchebag at a bar.
Roger talks about the time he got into a bar fight over a pack of peanuts.
“Did you win?”
“Oh god no, I was absolutely shit-faced, and I think he was a former boxer.”
You tilt your head back and laugh, and he looks at you with a small smile playing at his lips, a weird feeling warming his chest.
–––––
After that night, you and Roger have been trying slowly to create a somewhat functional friendship.
“Can I get an iced latte with vanilla and two packets of sweetener please?” you ask the waiter taking your order. Roger pulls a face, and you cross your arms.
“What? I like sweets Mister Plain Black Coffee.” He rolls his eyes and flicks your nose. You swat his hand out of the way but laugh nonetheless.
Maybe that smile in that picture the paparazzi caught of you and him wasn’t entirely faked.
And maybe after you guys pay for the check and are walking towards the car, Roger leaves his hand wrapped around yours a moment longer than he has to even after you both get are out of the camera’s spotlight.
–––––
You sigh as you look around the room. Another night, another party, another evening spending time around drunken fools.
You stiffen when you hear a voice that makes your skin crawl. Oh no. Looking over, you spot your ex standing by the bar with his arm around another girl’s waist. Roger notices the way your shoulders tense, and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to say anything because before he can turn around, you grab his hand and drag him into the nearest bedroom.
Shutting the door behind you, you look at a very confused Roger.
“Give me a love bite.” You’re not thinking this through. Jealousy and pride clouding your logic, but you don’t care.
He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Give me a love bite.”
You almost giggle at how clueless and flustered Roger looks right now, so unlike his usual cocky self. He opens his mouth.
“Please? I think it’ll really sell our relationship!” He narrows his eyes at you. An inner conflict seems to be resolved when he exhales.
“Okay…” He walks over carefully, almost as if he’s worried that he’s walking into a trap.
Thus explains the reason why you’re currently straddling Roger’s lap in the first available bedroom you guys could find in the house. He carefully pushes the front of your dress to the side, the silk easily gliding away with his touch. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin when you feel his rough, calloused fingers graze your collarbones.
“You sure about this?” he asks you, and you nod.
He attaches his lips to the side of your throat. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his lips, and you feel his hands tighten on your hips. Your skin is on fire. You reach up, and slowly push up his sunglasses from his nose and to the top of his head. He looks up at you, hooded eyes meet your own. The blue of his eyes are almost swallowed with his black pupils, and you bite your lip at the sight, heat blossoming throughout your body. His eyes flick down at the movement, his mouth opened slightly.
At a particularly harsh suck, teeth grazing skin, your hips give an involuntary jolt into his, and he lets out a surprised, quiet groan.
“Shit, sorry, sorry,” you stutter.
The door swings open and before you can even process it, you hear a loud, “Oh shit sorry!” And the slamming of the door.
You jump, instinctively pushing Roger away from you, but his hands are still attached to your waist. So instead, he takes you down with him. You let out a surprised squeal before your body hits his as his back slams onto the bed beneath him.
Rolling off of him, you flop onto the bed panting. Heart beating out of your chest. A beat as you both lie on your backs, looking up at the ceiling.
And then you burst out laughing. Deep, heaving laughs that make you clutch at your stomach. And Roger’s laughing as well.
“You’re such a little shit!” you wheeze and hit him with one of the pillows. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”
“I thought I did! And also you were the one who basically jumped my bones out there––you should have been the one who locked the door!”
You scoff, but a smile pulls at your mouth. Pushing yourself up and off the bed, you walk over to a mirror that’s leaning on one of the walls. Poking and prodding the red mark quickly blossoming on the column of your throat, you deem it an acceptable love bite.
“Okay, this should be good, thanks––what are you doing?” You ask as you see Roger reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
“Keeping up appearances.” He gives you a wink before unbuttoning his shirt all the way open.
“Wait––” you say before grabbing a tube of your lipstick from your clutch. Opening the tube, you rub some of the color onto your fingers and proceed to rub it messily around Roger’s mouth. He looks down at you, smiling at the little furrow in your brow as you concentrate. You pull back and admire your handiwork.
“We are now the perfect sex-crazed couple,” you say with a wink and a flourish of your hand.
Walking out of the room, Roger pretends to readjust his belt, and you pull your dress down. Plastering a glazed, satisfied look on his face, he gives all the people standing in the hallway in front of the room a lazy smile.
A couple of whistles, and you just flash them a knowing smirk.
You’ve been at the party for an hour, and you’ve lost Roger after being swept away by some friends. Tired and ready to make your way back home, you’re in search of Roger and the rest of your friends to say bye. As you make your way through the too big house, you’re not watching in front of you. Instead, looking at what appears to be two people in chicken costumes dancing on top of one of the living room tables when you bump into someone. Strong arms grip your shoulders to steady you. You look up, opening your mouth to apologize. But stop short when you see who it is.
“Hey, Y/N, I just want to say congrats on your album,” your ex says with a sleazy smile. His hand lingers too long on your shoulder.
“Oh––uh, thank you.”
You see his eyes flick down, and then stay there. His brows furrow. And you let the self satisfied smile grow on your face when you know he’s looking at the dark bruise you’re not trying to hide.
“Who’s this, love,” Roger asks, coming up from behind you, his hands snaking around your waist. And you have to suppress your laughter as you can practically see the gears working in your ex’s head. His eyes rapidly flicking to your lipstick and then to the same color smudged onto Roger’s mouth. Your matching bed-ruffled hair. The way Roger possessively holds onto your waist, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles into the exposed skin of your stomach.
He blinks a few times before plastering on a slimy grin.
“Matthew,” he says, “Matthew Paul.”
“No way. You’re the bloke who stole the riff from our album!” he asks with an incredulous laugh. Your ex turns bright red, his eyes going wide. He clears his throat.
“So, uh, how did, uh, how did the two of you meet?”
“I was already a huge fan of her work. I went to a concert of hers, I think it was last Spring, and then we met at an afterparty where we really hit it off. And from there, I couldn’t think of anything but her,” he says. You blush before leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips. But when you try pulling away, his arm around your waist tightens and he deepens the kiss. When you part, your cheeks are flushed and you bite your swollen lips, slapping Roger on the chest.
“Just letting you know that you’re dating a fucking whore,” your ex says with a casual sip of his drink. If one wasn’t paying too close attention, they would have almost missed it. Roger stops dead in his tracks.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Oh shit. By now, this little exchange has attracted a decent sized crowd. You see Brian pushing his way to the front, John right behind him.
“Roger…” you warn, but he’s not even looking at you. It’s actually Brian who steps in between the two men, placing a hand out in front of him. “Walk away,” he says to your ex.
Michael scoffs. Ignoring him, he looks at you, a fire in his eyes. “Oh so you’re fucking all of the members of Queen? That it? I always knew you were such a little slut.”
That’s when Roger punches him. You hear a sickening crunch when Roger’s fist slams into Michael’s nose. Blood sprays everywhere, and you shriek when a spatter of blood lands on the side of your face. ROGER TAYLOR ATTACKS MAN AT PARTY is the headline that flashes in your mind.
“Fuck!” Matthew shrieks, bent over and clutching his face.
“Say sorry.”
“Mate, I’m sorry––”
“What the fuc––not to me––say sorry to Y/N.”
Matthew pauses and turns to look at you. “I’m––I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice thick from the blood clogging his nose.
“Fucking dick,” Roger mumbles as he grabs his jacket, placing it on your shoulders, so you guys can leave. You guys leave the house, hand in hand, and you don’t look back at the gaping crowd.
–––––
“You didn’t have to hit him, you know,” you say quietly, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton swab coated with Neosporin.
“He’s a fucking prick.” You laugh without humor because yeah, you know. You’re in your bathroom in your flat. Roger, sitting on the sink, and you, in between his legs. His hand resting in yours. He looks down at you as you work. Something he doesn’t want to acknowledge pulls at his heart when he sees your tongue poking out of your mouth and the determined furrow in your brow, the way your hair is a little bit messy and the fact that your makeup isn’t all the way off. The way you look in a ratty white tee shirt two sizes too big and how you’re holding his rough hand in between your soft, gentle fingers. The way he secretly wishes that that you were wearing one of his ratty tee shirts. It makes his heart ache. Ache for something he doesn’t want to know. Something he’s too scared to acknowledge––to pursue.
His hand reaches up before his mind can stop him. He reaches up and gently tries to wipe away the dried blood on your face. His thumb trying to rub it away.
“Roger you don’t have to do that…” you say, catching his hand in yours. It stills, still on your cheek.
“I want to,” he whispers. “Let me.” And he grabs the hand towel on the sink, dipping it in the bowl of warm water you brought and wipes your face. the gentleness such in contrast with the way he usually his, banging on his drums, fighting with the paparazzi. It makes your heart ache. Eyes so focused on getting the blood off your cheek, he doesn’t notice that you’re staring.
“Roger,” you murmur, and he looks up at you and something in his chest clenches. Your eyes a little shiny from the remnants of the alcohol, face flushed, and mouth parted. You look beautiful to him. You both look at each other for a beat too long, but you’re the first one to come to your senses and the spell is broken when you clear your throat.
“I––I didn’t finish with your fist, let me see it again.”
And so you work in silence for the rest of your time the bathroom, spreading the ointment over his knuckles before wrapping it with white gauze that you had in your first aid kit. When you fold the gauze over one last time, you pat his hand gently before grabbing the wrappers strewn over the sink countertop and throwing them away.
“All done. You change into those clothes while I make us some tea.”
“Wait––I can do it––you’ve done enough for me already…”
You give him a soft smile. “You’re in my home. Would be a shitty host if I let you make your own tea the first time you come into my flat,” you say with a wink before padding away into the kitchen.
Roger sits there for a moment longer, legs dangling off the sink counter. Hand beginning to throb. He hasn’t gotten that angry in a while now. Learned to control his anger. Usually was able to keep somewhat of a level-head around douchebags and critics––he obviously wasn’t unaccustomed to nasty language. But when your ex was spitting in your face, something in him snapped. Maybe because even though you looked calm and collected, he saw your hands––saw how you clenched them into fists to stop them from trembling.
Maybe because he hasn’t seen that look in your eyes. Hasn’t seen that type of vulnerability even when you He has seen the videos and the pictures––people screaming in your face, calling you the same names (some even worse) than what Michael said––and though you looked a little cautious––he has never seen that look of sadness that he saw when Michael was yelling at you tonight. The way he saw the fire in your eyes that he’s so used to seeing whenever you’re spitting at each other disappear.
He sighs before hopping down the sink, washing his face and then undressing in order to change into the clothes that you brought him.
–––––
“What happened between the two of you?” Roger asks when he walks into the kitchen as you mix cream into your cup of tea. You stop. The spoon clattering loudly against the mug.
“He cheated on me––slept with a new groupie every night he was on the road.”
“Shit.”
“That’s why I don’t date guys in the music industry anymore…all of them turned out to be cheaters and liars.” And maybe his heart breaks a little when he sees the light shutter from your eyes. The slump of your shoulders that are usually so defiant and angry and annoyed at him.
“Don’t worry, you’re too hot to be tied down to one guy anyway,” He says with his signature smirk, and it pulls you back to reality, puts the fire back into your eyes––and in that moment you know what he did, why he said that. And for that, you’re grateful for him.
“You’re a dick, you know that?” you say with a light push to his shoulders, but a smile pulls at your lips anyway.
“It’s one of my many star qualities.”
“Only cream right?” you ask.
“Hmm, maybe add like a spoonful of sugar,” he says, and you look up with a grin.
“Oh, I thought you were too good for that,” you tease but dump a large scoop into his. He comes up to you, and flicks your nose, smiling at the little scrunch of your nose and the way you swat at his hand.
–––––
You end up on the couch, watching whatever was on the TV at the time.
Roger looks over and smiles to himself. You let out a big yawn, glasses perched precariously at the tip of your nose.
“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers, gently tapping your leg, “I should probably get going…”
You blink awake. “Oh, you can spend the night––if you want. I have a guest room,” you say. You dont know what possessed you to say it, but it leaves your mouth before you could stop it. He stops––looks at the clock. Looks back at you. A beat.
“Okay, yeah, that would be better actually. Thanks.”
After grabbing a few extra blankets, pillows, and placing a glass of water with Advil on the side table, you deem the rarely used guest room acceptable for use. He settles into the bed, thanking you for everything.
“Goodnight Roger, if you need anything, I’m a door over,” you say before turning to leave the room.
“Hey, Y/N…” he calls out softly. You stop, waiting for him to continue. “I––I never cheated on those girls––never cheated on anyone in fact. All of them––after I broke up with them––they would run to the media. I guess given my reputation, it wasn’t hard for the general public to believe anyway.”
You furrow your brows. Furrow your brows because in that moment, you hear a deep sadness in his voice. A deep sadness filling the dark of the room. You hear him turn over, the bed sheets rustling, and before you can respond, he says, “Goodnight Y/N.”
And despite something stirring deep in your chest, you turn around and close the door.
Permanent Tag List:
@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love @blondecarfucker @scarsout @radioblah-blah @hold-your-invisible-horses @lordofthunderthr @iwasnothingbutacityboy @jennyggggrrr
Make Believe Tag List:
@royalblueviper @brianandthemays @kurt-nightcrawler @rogertaylorgirl-1977 @toger-raylor @queen-turtle-boiii @rogahloveshiscar @theprettyfandom @geek-and-proud @weakling-grace @loveandbeloved29 @benhardymazzello @radiob-l-a-hblah @ultrablackwidower @havvana-nights @tbird20165 @caborhapch @tichtaylor @queen-bunnyears @luvbohrap @tiredsinceforever @kiwithekiwi @prettygiiiiirl @jfrank1048 @coolcxt @a19103 @galileofigarog @rogershoe @bohrapbxtch @bwunnii @justmyfiveangels @kellypenac @70srogah @amy-brooklyn99 @countryday @rogerm-taylor @importantzonkponykid @honimello @shutup-sorry @youngpastafanmug @ixchel-9275 @darling-egg
(the ones with a slash are the ones I couldn’t tag, will be deleting the ones who I can't tag next time)
Falling [ROGER TAYLOR X READER]
Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader
Summary: Roger calls you in the middle of the night, and you guys reminisce at some happy memories.
Word count: ~1.5k
Contains: angst
A/N: This was written while I listened “Falling” by Harry Styles (my fave song on the album) on repeat, so you can probably guess the tone of this piece. Hope you enjoy!! :))
His hand hovers over the telephone. He’s a bottle and a half into the handles of whiskies he picked up at the liquor store a couple hours ago. This is a bad idea, he thinks, but he doesn’t care.
He picks up the phone and dials the number.
––––––
You’re startled by the ringing of your flat’s telephone. The man sleeping next to you stirs.
“Shh, go back to sleep, I’ll get the phone, love,” you whisper. You couldn’t go to sleep anyway. After placing a kiss to his forehead, you grab your robe and pad into the living room. The phone rings one more time before you answer it.
“Hello?”
“Y/N.” Your stomach drops at the voice, and you take in a deep breath.
“Roger?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
You sigh. “Why are you calling me?”
“Wanted to hear your voice.” You hear a clatter of a glass on his end, and you clench your teeth.
“You’re drunk right now Roger, hang up and go back to sleep.”
“Wait, wait, wait––just––wait. Please.”
You can easily hang up the phone, go back to bed and your loving boyfriend, and not have to deal with what will inevitably wreck your heart again––
But you hate yourself a little bit more tonight, so you stay on the phone. Wait for him to continue.
He inhales. “I was just thinking about that night in Montreal––when we were doing the show at the Montreal Forum. Remember? It was three years ago from today?”
––––––
You’re lounging on the hotel room bed in your pajamas and reading a book that you bought at the airport on the way here. Roger’s still at the stadium, rehearsing for the show tomorrow night. The clock just struck two in the morning, but jet lag is really kicking your ass, so you thought reading would help relax you (it’s not).
You hear the sound of the key card sliding in the door before Roger walks in.
“Hey, love,” he says softly as he quietly puts his bags down. He isn’t surprised that you’re still awake, the jet lag hitting him as hard as it’s hitting you. Untangling yourself from the mound of pillows and blankets you nestled your way into, you make your way over to him and wrap your arms around his middle. He sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“How was rehearsal?” you ask.
“It was good…couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head in response. “Well good thing, I have a surprise for you,” he says before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the hallway.
You raise your brows but follow him as he leads you through the hotel. He stops at the pool area, and you gasp at the sight in front of you. All the chairs were cleared out and a single table covered in a white cloth and rose petals sits next to the pool. Sitting on top of the table is a platter of desserts: cakes, chocolate truffles, chocolate covered strawberries, crème brulée, and two flutes of champagne, the bottle sitting in an ice bucket off to the side. The candles basks the scene in a ethereal glow, and the record player sitting off to the side plays Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight.
“Ta-da,” Roger says with his arms outstretched and a big grin on his face.
“Oh my god, Roger. You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Well, the hotel helped me set it up, and did you really think I wouldn’t do anything considering how amazing of a boyfriend I am,” he says with a playful wink to which you roll your eyes at. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer.
“I love you,” you say once you break away.
“Words cannot express how much I love you,” he says softly, brushing back a piece of stray hair blown away from the breeze.
A bottle and a half of champagne later, you’re sitting in a chair, watching Roger drunkenly air play the drums while serenading you with his rendition of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.
“Rog, you’re going to fall into the bloody pool!” You warn. He doesn’t listen to you, and as he gets to the chorus, you see his foot slip and before you can warn him…
Splash.
Your mouth pops open in disbelief as you see your boyfriend fall, fully clothed, in the hotel pool at three a.m. in the morning. A second later, his head pops out of the water. He’s coughing and hastily pushing his wet hair back out of his face. You let out a surprised laugh, and when he turns his face to you, his shocked expression makes you lose it.
And now you’re laughing so hard, tears prick at your eyes. Laughing so hard that you snort, which makes you clap your hands over your mouth and laugh even harder.
“I told you!” you manage to wheeze out through laughs. He’s laughing too now, wading to the side of the pool.
“Help me out?” He asks with an outstretched hand.
And you go over, clutching your abs, and since you’re still laughing, you don’t notice the evil grin adorning his face. And so when you reach down to grasp his hand, you’re not prepared for the feeling of him yanking you down and into the pool with him. You manage to let out a surprised shriek before hitting the cold water.
“You’re such a dick!” You yell when your head breaks through the surface, and you start assaulting his arm with slaps.
He catches your hands and engulfs you into a wet hug. “You love me,” he says with a kiss to the top of your head.
“I do love you but that doesn’t mean that you’re not a dick,” your voice muffled from your face being pressed into his chest. He fakes a gasp, and you giggle.
You two stay there for you don’t know how long, you wrapped in his arms, rocking back and forth with Frank Sinatra’s voice as your backdrop and the stars as your ceiling.
“Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispers into your ear.
“Happy anniversary, Rog.”
––––––
“Yeah. Yeah I do remember.” You laugh, sniffling. Of course you remember. “We were so happy,” you say. You sigh and look down, picking at your fingernail and thinking about that night. You let out a whimper, and your face crumples thinking of just how happy you two were.
“I’m sorry, love,” he whispers over the phone, wishing that he could be there to hug and kiss you. Wishing that he could take back that one stupid drunken night that ruined everything.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”
You continue to cry silently, furiously picking at that fingernail until it bleeds.
You both stay on the line for a minute, the only sound you hear is the faint buzz of the phone and your shaky breaths. Roger is the first one to break the silence.
“I miss you. So much,” he rasps.
“Roger…Roger please don’t do this.”
“I know, I know, love––I just––I still love––”
“Roger, you were the one who––” You stop yourself.
“I know, and I hate myself for that every single day.” On the other side of the line, his heart breaks when he hears your sniffles, and his eyes blur with his own tears. He clears his throat.
“I was just calling to hear your voice one last time. I won’t call you anymore. All I want for you to be is happy.” He pauses. “I love you.”
“Thank you Rog,” you whisper into the phone, “I love you too.”
It takes all of your willpower to set the phone back down onto the receiver.
A quiet sob escapes your chest, and you clutch yourself, hugging your arms to your torso. Sliding down to the ground, back leaning against the back of your couch, you stuff your fist into your mouth to muffle your cries.
And at this moment you absolutely hate Roger Taylor, the man who was your first love, the man who shattered your heart into a million pieces, the man who, no matter how much you try, you’ll never be able to forget––never stop loving.
“Y/N?” You hear your boyfriend call from the bedroom.
“Just a minute!” You call out, voice strained. You don’t know how long you sit there, but once the tears have dried up, you get up, grab a glass of water, and head back into the room where you crawl into bed and under the covers
“Who was that?” your boyfriend asks, voice raspy from sleep.
“Just an old friend.”
Permanent Tag List:
@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love @blondecarfucker @scarsout @radioblah-blah @hold-your-invisible-horses @lordofthunderthr @iwasnothingbutacityboy @jennyggggrrr
Roger’s on Tour, and You Miss Him Terribly [ROGER TAYLOR X READER]
A/N: I hope this does your request some justice and hope you see your BF soon <3
–––––
You blink awake. This is the third time you’ve woken up tonight. You sigh. Sitting up, you glance at the clock. It reads three in the morning, and you groan, flopping back down onto the mattress. You’ve been having the worst sleeps ever since Roger left for tour a couple months ago. It’s been hard having to sleeping in an empty bed. You’re not used to not having Roger snoring next to you. Not used to his side of the bed being cold.
You miss him terribly.
Fluffing your pillow and rearranging the blanket, you try to fall back asleep. But after several minutes of looking at that one brown dot on the ceiling, you huff and get out of bed. You wrap the throw blanket around your body before making your way to the kitchen. In the mood for something comforting, you grab the carton of milk from the fridge and some cocoa powder. Growing up, you would always sneak into the kitchen and make hot chocolate whenever you couldn’t go to sleep––a habit you kept throughout your years at uni as well. After mixing and heating the ingredients in a pot on the stove, you pour the drink into a mug and take a big sip. You sigh when you feel the chocolate warm your belly and head back to the room, drink still in hand.
Pulling off your sleep shirt, you rummage through Roger’s clothing drawers. Finding your favorite shirt of his––an old, ratty, way too big Rolling Stones shirt––you throw it over your head. It smells like cigarettes and cologne and something distinctly Roger, and you smile. The book you began reading a week ago sits on the desk, and so you grab it. Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep.
–––––
Roger slowly opens the door to your shared flat, placing his bags off to the side––he’ll deal with those in the morning. After all the traveling, right now, he just wants to see his beautiful girlfriend and go to sleep. Passing through the kitchen, he sees the pot growing cold on the stove and a spattering of cocoa powder on the counter, and smiles to himself. When he reaches the threshold to your bedroom, he stops and leans against the doorframe, drinking in the scene before him. You’re in one of his shirts, sleeping on his side of the bed and hugging his pillow tightly to your chest, a book forgotten on the sheets. He can hear your soft breathing.
His heart absolutely melts at the sight, and he’s struck with a wave of pure adoration and warmth. Smiling to himself, he pads into the room while shedding his jacket and pants. Left in his briefs, he turns off the lamp, and carefully lifts up the comforter to crawl into bed with you (he now has to lie on your side, but he doesn’t mind one bit).
You roll over in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent and reaching out your arms. But you feel something solid and warm, and you shoot awake, slapping your hands wildly in front of you. His hands catch your wrists.
“Shhh, sorry, it’s just me love, just me,” he says, trying to hold in a laugh. You stop, blinking rapidly to adjust for the darkness of the room. Your eyes widen when you see Roger lying in front of you, holding your hands in his.
“Rog?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. You’re not sure if you’re actually awake or not.
“Hi darling,” he whispers.
You throw yourself in his arms and pepper his face with kisses. He laughs, voice raspy and rough.
“I thought you were coming back on Friday!”
“Was dying to see my best girl,” he says. He looks at you still lying on his side of the bed.
“Missed me that much?” He asks, tilting his chin down to your––his––shirt and the discarded pillow, and you can hear the smirk on his face.
“Well, you did leave your poor, poor girlfriend all alone in this ridiculously big flat for two months,” you retort. He chuckles at that.
“What a terrible boyfriend I am,” he begins, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you closer, “How can I ever make it up to you?” he whispers into your hair. Your chest warms, and your mouth pulls into a smile. You tilt your chin up, puckering your lips, and he laughs softly.
Gently grasping your jaw, he gives you a kiss, long and sweet, something that makes your toes curl.
“I love you, and I missed you so much,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. You kiss him again.
“I love you too Rog.”
And you close your eyes, wrapped in Roger’s arms, legs tangled with his, listening to his heartbeat.
Best sleep you’ve gotten in months.
Permanent Tag List:
@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love @blondecarfucker @scarsout @radioblah-blah @hold-your-invisible-horses @lordofthunderthr @iwasnothingbutacityboy @jennyggggrrr @ixchel-9275
Sweet like Honey (Roger Taylor x OC) - Part 1.
Author’s note: Hey!!! so, this the first part of my new series Sweet Like Honey! I’m dedicating this to @angrylizardjacket, without their kind words i wouldn’t have posted this, i hope this Will bring some joy!! I also want to thank @rhapso-kei, first of all ilysm, also this will never be as good as your fics, but i tried!! Ok, now some more technical things. You can Imagine this with either Borhap!Roger or 70s Roger, i don’t really care. I’m really self conscious about this, I don’t really know how I feel about it, but I hope you can still enjoy this? I’d like you to know some things before reading this, i’ll give you the link or otherwise this note is going to be way too long. So, have fun i guess!!
Words: 2185
Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, sex. (??? I’m not so good with that)
Tag List: none yet I suppose…
Things i’d like for you to know:
———————————————————————————————————–
Honey wanted nothing more than to go home and fall face-first onto her bed, but she promised Lane she’d come to the bar, and she wouldn’t feel her tired body after a few drinks anyway.
Lane’s bar, The Red Rover, was stamped. People were crammed into every corner and every possible place, it wasn’t unusual, Friday night’s there were notorious for its music-roulette. Bands, usually from the universities in the neighbourhood, would play a gig, and if the public liked them, they could come back a few more times. Students seemed to enjoy the wide range of music, and that meant a lot of people and a lot of alcohol. Lane’s boss, Alfred Daniels, though everybody called him Jack, didn’t have enough full-time or part-time staff to cover the Friday night crowd, so he paid Honey in drinks and tips if she’d help out a bit. Honey had no intention of ever buying her own drinks anyway, but she liked the buzz of music, alcohol and people combined. It was nice, and if she was lucky, she could even get a ride home.
Walking over to the place Lane was serving beers to a group of kids that could only be law students, seeing they still had their bags full of papers with them, Honey peered over to the stage in hopes of seeing who was playing tonight. There were four guys, around her age, maybe a little older, performing a song she didn’t know. She couldn’t hear what the frontman was singing, seeing, or perhaps hearing The Red Rover’s sound system definitely wasn’t the best and she was quite far away from the stage. They were pretty good, but she could tell they hadn’t practised enough. The boys were struggling their way through the song, but the drummer kept his tempo, the guitarist was original and the singer certainly had… charm. The public seemed to like it, which meant Honey was going to see a lot more of them.
‘’Honey! thank god, I could really use a hand right now.’’ Lane half-laughed, handing more beers over to some very eager students. Her strawberry blond, slightly pinkish hair was in a ponytail, bangs and loose strands perfectly surrounding her face. Money was stashed into her bra, some of it peeking out above her top. She looked good, in an effortless way, but so she often did. Honey knew she looked effortlessly good too, she didn’t spend so many hours in her bathroom that morning for nothing. Though she did look a bit more frantic now, after such a long day of classes, and serving tables at Harrison’s.
‘’You got it, Lane. Anything going on at the moment?’’ Honey asked as she scanned the crowd for any customers. ‘’The band’s pretty good” Lane was done with the guys asking for shots, and Honey caught her looking at the guitarist, a tall man with huge curly hair. He looked nice, but he wasn’t what she thought Lane’s type would be. They were all quite attractive in their own way, honey thought, though she couldn’t see the drummer from where she was standing. The public seemed to like them too, there were even some slightly drunk girls yelling “Roger!!” from where they were standing in the back.
Honey stepped behind the bar, turning toward the liquor cabinet so she could take her sweater off. She was wearing a simple ribbed tank top underneath, since it was way too hot in the bar to wear anything else. she could feel the eyes of several guys pining into her back, though she didn’t mind, the low-cut top would only give her more tips, and that was exactly why she came to The Red Rover in the first place.
The band started a new song, and it went much smoother now they were a little used to the bar’s horrible technology. She could even hear some of what the cheerful man prancing around the stage was singing. He had a really nice voice, though it was a bit untrained. It didn’t matter, the song didn’t need anything fancy. The crowd was busy headbanging to the music, which gave Honey and Lane some time to catch their breath and really listen to the music.
They really got into it now, the bass player seemed to have found his groove, and all of them were actively singing along. Honey was surprised by the drummer’s voice, as it was not something you heard every day. It sounded almost smokey, opposed to the lead singer’s lively vocals. She could see Lane looking amazed at the guitarist, Honey couldn’t blame her, he was good, but she was pretty sure there was something else going on that made her gaze at him like that.
‘’I like them. You should tell Jack to hire them again.’’ Honey said, raising her voice so Lane could hear her. ‘’Oh yeah, they’re coming back.’’ Lane couldn’t keep her eyes off the guitarist, who himself was making serious sex eyes at Lane in return. She could guess who was getting free beer that night.
“You like him?” Honey asked. Lane would get a crush now and then, and it was kind of funny to see her oblivious reactions when she got called out on it.
“Huh? Who?” Lane’s eyes went wide, pretending to not know what she was talking about, though the blush on her cheeks betrayed her. Honey wiggled her eyebrows in the curly guitarist’s direction.
“Oh! Well, he’s certainly cute, we’ll have to see, don’t we?” Lane chuckled. It was funny to see her already deeply in love with someone she hardly knew. Lane sometimes complained she was lonely, even though she and Honey shared their unusual ways with men. Honey didn’t care so much for boyfriends, they took up time and effort, and you could get sex anywhere. Just wear the right dress, and men will fall to their knees, mama always said. It was really the only reason Honey existed, and it was true. But she wasn’t in the mood for that, her body was tired and all she really wanted was drink. And a strong one, at that. Grabbing the bottle of expensive tequila/wodka behind her, she looked around the room for Jack, then poured a shot glass for herself. She would’ve just drunk it from the bottle, but with ‘hygiene laws’ and those stupid alcohol quantity regulators, it wasn’t going to happen.
The band had finished their last song at this point, and one of the other bartenders had switched the music to the jukebox. Something a bit more ‘popular’ played, and though the melody was honestly horrible, it did have a nice rythm. The guys on stage were moving their equipment back to their van, and Honey was expecting them to come back for beers anytime now.
“Hello! Is Jack around, dears?” The singer jumped towards them, his voice surprisingly powerful after such intense singing.
“He’s in his office, I think. Can we help you with anything?” Lane said, though she wasn’t really paying attention to him. Far to busy scanning the crowd for his tall friend.
“Well, I just want to know how we did! We’d like to perform here again you know, the crowd’s very nice.” He sat himself down on one of the stools in front of the bar Honey and Lane were tending. Lane didn’t respond to him, still awfully fixated on finding the guitarist, so Honey replied instead.
“I think you were good.” She said, already grabbing a glass to pour beer in, even though the singer didn’t ask for it.
“Good enough to stay?” He almost sounded like a puppy, Honey thought. There was something slightly naughty about him however that she couldn’t quite explain. He certainly was intriguing.
“I’ll put in a good word with Jack,” Honey said. ‘’Not a lot of the bands we have playing here get the crowd going like that, so you kids definitely deserve it.’’ A giant, goofy grin spread across the singers face, so uplifting Honey couldn’t help but grin as well.
‘’Well, that’s quite good to hear, as this was only our third show.’’
Honey smiled, shoving the beer into the singer’s hands. ‘’ From the house,’’ she said, sneakily glancing around for jack. ‘’And since I’m sure you’ll be coming around again, that’s Lane and I’m Honey.’’
Lane looked at her in confusion as to why her name was being said, but continued watching the crowd after Honey only gave her an expression that kind of looked like ‘’If you wanted to know you should have listened.’’. The singer chuckled at the interaction, before giving Honey a hand to shake. ‘’I’m Freddie. Nice to meet you.’’ Honey shook his hand. He had such a warm smile, she thought. she’d never seen anything like that.
‘’Is Honey your real name?’’ Freddie asked.
‘’No, darling.’’
‘’Then why do they call you that?’’ Freddie gazed at her with wonder, creativity as to why already flowing around behind his eyes.
‘’I’ve been told I taste like it.’’ she grinned, leaning on the bar for support. She liked the way the shock dripped into his eyes, just like it did with all the others she said that too. It wasn’t necessarily civil, saying something like that… but it sure was fun.
Freddie’s gawking ended when his guitarist, the curly one, came stepping towards them. He made ‘’subtle’’ eye-contact with Lane, which, to his annoyment, Freddie snorted at. ‘’Hey, Fred, already getting us beer, I see?’’ He said, slapping Fred maybe a bit too hard on his shoulder.
‘’C’mon Brian, I’m sure you can get it yourself, seeing you already have your favourite bartender?’’ A smaller figure appeared from behind Brian, and Honey assumed it was their bassist. He looked strangely comfortable surrounded by all these people, which Honey found surprising considering seemed like such a quiet person on stage. He introduced himself as John, but Freddie told her she could call him Deaky if she was nice to him.
They got on pretty well, when she introduced herself, John smiled, and his eyebrows raised in shock as well when she told him her name and the story that came with it. Brian had started flirting with Lane, and though Honey couldn’t hear their conversation, she could guess.
‘’Rog’s still out back? I thought he’d be done by now.’’ Freddie turned towards John, or Deaky, as Honey was hopefully allowed to call him.
‘’’There were some girls, but there are always some. I’m sure he’ll come back to get some fuel soon.’’ He huffed, sipping the beer given to him by none other than Honey herself.
‘’He’s your drummer, right?’’ Honey asked.
‘’Yeah… why?’’ Fred returned, a little mischievous.
‘’He must be pretty if he gets that much attention.’’
‘’Oh, He certainly likes to think so.’’ Deaky grumbled, which made Fred chuckle. Honey laughed, drummers were notorious for their ego, and this one didn’t seem any different.
‘’Why so interested?’’ Freddie continued. He was still interested in Honey’s intentions, she could tell, though to be honest, she wasn’t quite sure where the conversation was headed.
‘’Maybe I need a ride home.’’ She smiled, and Deaky nearly choked in his drink, not even because of what she’d said, really because of the cheeky grin on her face. Freddie only looked at her with admiration, which fueled her questionable confidence even more.
It was perfectly timed, because right at that moment, Roger Taylor himself stepped into the bar with two very drunk girls in his arms. She didn’t understand who he was instantly, she really couldn’t see him from where she was standing during the gig, but when she did, Deaky and Freddie practically jumped to face Honey, desperate for her reaction to his… appearance.
All she did was give him a quick glance-over while he stood there with an expression that could only mean ‘’what the hell is happening?’’, the girls on either of his sides giggling drunkenly.
‘’He’ll do.’’
❝innuendo❞ - roger taylor
fandom: queen/bohrhap!queen
pairing: roger taylor x reader
summary: you have a habit of saying strangely inappropriate things whenever roger is around (aka, foot-in-mouth disease)
warnings: swearing, lame innuendos?
notes: i’ve been working on this forever and forced myself to finish it !!! it’s not as good as i hoped, but i don’t hate it? let me know what you think x
word count: 4647
You met Queen only a couple of months after your best friend, John Deacon, joined as their bassist. He was an incredibly talented musician, which you’d always been fully aware of, but Queen seemed to bring out the very best in him.
You loved those boys more than anything, they were incredible and they loved your Deaky just as much as you did. What you didn’t love was the invasion of privacy; four lanky, smelly musicians filling up your apartment almost twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Rooming with John was great, but rooming with Queen was chaotic in more ways than you could have known.
“I’m going out,” you said, grimacing as you toed a pair of boxers away from your bedroom door.
“Huh?” a groan came from the living room, followed by John’s messy mop of long hair peeking over the back of the lounge, “Where’re you going?”
You rolled your eyes, “Out with Michael, remember? Date night.”
One of the two boys half-asleep on the blow-up mattress scoffed, and you’d have your money on the blond.
“Christ, Deaky, it’s nearly six p.m., get up,” you pulled the door shut on your way out, hearing the voice that belonged to the band’s lead singer hollering obscenities when it slammed.
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❝goldfish❞ - roger taylor
fandom: queen/bohrhap!queen
pairing: roger taylor x reader (you can read this as ben!roger or normal rog, i didn’t specify)
summary: you’re pregnant, but you and roger can barely keep a fish alive let alone a human baby…
warnings: pregnant-ness? vomitting
notes: this is awful !!! i’m so sorry but i came up with this at like midnight and churned it out in two hours and its horrible, i promise i have some good stuff coming and i promise i’m not this shit of a writer, i just had to get something out… let me know what you think? x
word count: 1735
You’d been in love with Roger Taylor from the moment you first clapped eyes on him, not that you’d tell him that, though. His head was big enough already.
Your best friend, Freddie Bulsara, had joined a local band called Smile. He was ecstatic, so naturally, you were too. Their first gig was at the college, fifty or so students in the crowd and only a half-hour set. Freddie was incredible, but you already knew that, it was the rest of the band that really impressed you. Specifically, the rhythm section.
Smirking behind his drumkit, effortlessly guiding the song with his head bobbing along to the beat and his bright eyes reflecting every other colour in the room. His talent was intimidating and the colour of his lips downright sinful. Roger Taylor was beautiful and you wanted him.
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Sunk His Battleship
anonymous said: Ok, what about an Imagine where the reader and John are bestfriends and roommates and roger has a crush on the reader so he always finds excuses to go to johns (like leaving his things there or needing to borrow stuff) and finally one morning John gets so irritated and Roger finally has to confess about his feelings? I love you work so much
(a/n: if i didn’t stan brian so much i would be on deacy’s dick in a second PERIODT. PERIODT.)
“Did you say B7? That’s a miss.”
John slammed his closed fist down on the carpet decorating the floor in frustration as you said that, your glass of wine shaking dangerously and threatening to spill as you gave him a look that said ‘What the hell?’
“Sorry, this game just gets me a bit miffed,” he apologized, his voice grumbly and upset as he took a drink of his own wine. Your roommate was getting thoroughly flustered at how badly you were beating him in Battleship, but what he failed to realize was that the reflection of his board in the window behind him was giving you an absolutely unfair advantage. Some would call it cheating, but… potato, potahto.
“How about….. C2?” you asked, purposely missing to throw him off of your trail. He laughed triumphantly, and you couldn’t help but grin as he threw his head back in laughter.
“Miss! Eat that, Y/N.”
“Eat what? What are we eating?” You jumped as you suddenly heard Roger speaking from behind you, and your head whipped around so you could stare at him in shock as John yelled in protest, climbing to his feet and storming over to the front door to deadbolt it. This was the second time this week, and probably the thirtieth time this month, that Roger had popped by your flat for no good reason.
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bad habit, roger taylor x reader
Summary: You’re one hotel room short during a week long stay, you are Roger are forced together. By the end of the week, they’ll have to force you apart.
Warnings: None? I think.
Word Count: 3.0k+
A/N: I decided to write this literally yesterday, so apologies for any mistakes! Was supposed to be a little angsty, but my heart melts for soft Roger. This is for @queens-n-roses 2k writing challenge, congrats on 2000! Could be read as Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor. Based on ‘Bad Habit’ by Ben Platt (also kind of ‘Ease My Mind’), which I highly recommend listening to!
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ease my mind, roger taylor x reader
Summary: Roger disappears without a word some nights, maybe to another’s bed.
Warnings: Soft angst, probably the closest to real angst I’ll ever get.
Word Count: 1.6k+
A/N: THANK YOU GUYS so much for your response to ‘bad habit’. Your comments and notes and everything have made me so happy! So here’s a little follow up based on another sing by Ben Platt: : ‘Ease My Mind’, which I recommend listening to. Set in the same world as bad habit, might even make this a little series based off of his upcoming album??
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call my bluff (roger taylor x reader)
warnings: sexual situations, swearing
synopsis: some fluff, some smut. request “could you do one where reader hates roger but wakes up one day in his bed after they’ve had sex (she doesn’t remember most of it cause they were drunk) and just their conversation and stuff when she finds out she slept with him?? and he would be like very smug”
requests still open!
word count: 3027
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call my bluff (roger taylor x reader) pt. 2
warnings: sexual situations
synopsis: pt. 2 of story of the same name. find pt. 1 here. based off request “could you do one where reader hates roger but wakes up one day in his bed after they’ve had sex (she doesn’t remember most of it cause they were drunk) and just their conversation and stuff when she finds out she slept with him?? and he would be like very smug”
requests open!!
word count: 3539
Keep reading
call my bluff (roger taylor x reader) pt. 3
warnings: intense sexual situations, angst, [fluffy also]
synopsis: pt. 3 [final part] of story of the same name. find pt. 1 and 2 here and here. based off request “could you do one where reader hates roger but wakes up one day in his bed after they’ve had sex (she doesn’t remember most of it cause they were drunk) and just their conversation and stuff when she finds out she slept with him?? and he would be like very smug”
requests: open
word count: 4305
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Just Hold Me - Roger Taylor Fluff
A/N: Ah, this is a bit of angst and fluff at the very end, my darlings. As requested by my babe @rogertyalor I tried to do the thing! I hope you like it!
You braced yourself as you watched your little black kitten, Taroh, roll on Roger’s side of the bed.
With a sigh you reached for your laptop and blanket, wrapping yourself in a warm meaningless embrace as the bright light from the screen of your old computer shone before you, blinded for a moment you could not help but cry out. Roger had to go on a trip to America and this time you were not able to come with him, having gotten too much to do at work it was impossible to even consider asking your boss for some time off. Regardless, Roger would be calling every night.
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The Devil I Know
Pairing(s): Roger Taylor x f!Reader // Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x f!Reader
Summary: you can’t quit him, and you’re gonna regret it
A/N: This fic was inspired by the song “Quit” by Cashmere Cat and Ariana Grande, but also @astroherogirl, whose post got me out of my minor writer’s block haha. enjoy!
Word Count: 5,058
Warning(s): angst, light smut, light fluff, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, swearing
It didn’t matter what anyone else said about your relationship, their opinions were bullshit anyway. You knew in your soul that Roger really did love you, despite the mess he made of your thoughts and emotions. Anyone else would’ve believed that you were just another one of Roger Taylor’s numerous groupies, but you were nothing like those other women because they never got his call a few days later. He never asked them out to lavish dates or brought them back to his bed more than once a month. You weren’t his groupie, you were his secret.
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voulez-vous (do you want) | ben hardy x reader + roger taylor
song inspiration by ABBA // roger often joins ben and y/n for a bit of fun
♡ smut
warnings: there’s absolutely no plot to this other than smut- threesome, m/m, male oral receiving, squirting (i’m not really sure if that needs to be a warning but there it is)
requests: open | requesting information
a/n: wow can u believe i’m actually posting a completed one shot ??? i’ve not written smut in so long, and i’ve never written a threesome but i think i did pretty well. let me know if y’all liked it !
-
Y/N looked at Ben and Roger sternly. “The first one to cave in and touch me is the last one to come.” She drew her hand to her back and began to slowly pull down the zipper of her burgundy velvet dress. While Roger looked at her quizzically, Ben was the first to speak up.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Y/N’s dress had pooled to the floor, leaving her only in her panties as she decided earlier in the evening that a bra wasn’t necessary for the dress. “I’m going to sit on this chair and I’m going to touch myself. I’m going to make myself feel so good pretending like it’s you touching me while you two sit on the couch and watch.” She put a little extra sway in her hips as she walked over to her favorite olive chair that Ben would often find her reading a book on. It was near the window, providing the perfect natural light for book reading. However in this case, the light of the moon poured into the living room and onto Y/N’s shoulders. “Should one of you decide to touch me, I will make sure the other comes first.” She left her nude heels on, skimming the soles against the hardwood as she spread her legs.
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bubbles (roger taylor x reader)
warnings: none
synopsis: spurred by “can i join?” prompt. all fluff
word count: 2317 (whoops!)
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sister (roger taylor x reader)
warnings: none
synopsis: fluffy and angsty. there were a few requests from people wanting to see a fic about roger loving the reader despite the fact that she’s brian’s sister. so i took full advantage, and created this hot mess. took me seven whole hours so enjoy!
requests still open (as usual who am i kidding)
word count: 5468 (oops)
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Dancer || Roger Taylor x Reader || Prologue
Rating: M
Warnings: Language, innuendo,
Word Count: 2.1k (a short little intro to the actual fic)
A/N: I got this idea from a lovely anon request and tweaked it a little to turn it into a series of sorts! In this fic, Reader works as a dancer in a burlesque club, so if that isn’t exactly your cup of tea this fic might not be up your alley. Still, I hope y’all enjoy this little piece to set up the fic!
Requests: Open
“So not only am I going to sound like a kazoo, I have to tap dance on top of that?” Roger groans. Freddie nods in a way that says he won’t take no for an answer. “Where the hell am I going to learn to do that?”
He doesn’t have time for this. Well, he does, actually, considering the studio’s in the middle of nowhere and farm animals outnumber eligible women at least 20 to 1, but he still doesn’t want to do it.
Freddie grins and steeples his fingers beneath his chin. “I have a friend a couple of towns over who owes me a favor. Might be of interest to you.”
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Dancer || Part One || Roger Taylor x Reader
The Prologue is on my masterlist!
Rating: M
Warnings: teasing, banter, lots of not-so-subtle eye fucking, language
Word Count: 5k
A/N: it’s been a hot minute, but I finally figured out how i want to write this, so here it is! I’m really into their banter/tension, but let me know what you think!
Again, reblogs/feedback mean the world to me!
Requests: Open!
WEEK ONE, LESSON ONE:
You walk around the studio, the only space large enough for you to get in a proper lesson. It’s open, expansive, could play music when you needed it to. It would work perfectly for what you need.
Roger leans against the piano, grumbling about how this is a waste of time. You honestly agree, but your pride won’t let you admit it. If you want to open a studio, you need to learn to teach people who don’t want to be taught.
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