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Stages of Falling in Love [1/2]

▶ Summary: in which we follow the stages roger taylor took to fall completely and utterly in love; part 1 of 2

▶ A/N: i have not written a single thing in about two years, pls forgive whatever this is but i had to write it bc ben hardy looks so good with Long Hairs don’t @ me

▶ Warnings: angst, fluff, alcohol, smoking, language, mentions of shenanigans if you know what i mean, and like two (2) mentions of the marijuana

▶ Pairing: Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader

▶ Word Count: 3.9k+

[part two]

Stage One.

The pub was crowded, as it always was on nights that a band was playing. Bodies swarmed between tables and the ground shook from the stamping of the patron’s feet. You nervously chewed your lip as your friend pulled you through the mass of people towards the counter. It wasn’t your idea to come to the bar tonight, in fact, with your looming humanities exam the next Monday, you would rather have been back in your dorm studying with your roommate for the remainder of the evening. However, since your best friend had recently been dumped and had formed an inkling to get back into the dating scene, she had decided mingling at the gig of the up and coming band Queen would be the perfect opportunity to meet someone. And you, always being the one to go the extra mile for a friend, had agreed to come with, if only to be the other girl’s wingman.

When the two of you finally broke through to the bar’s counter, your friend ordered the both of you a round of tequila shots and a pink lady cocktail, neither of which you were fond of, but you clinked glasses with your friend with zero complaints. As you recognized the burn of alcohol in your chest, you turned towards the stage to finally get a glimpse of the band performing. Your eyes traveled from the flamboyantly dressed lead singer, smiling as his performance shined in the dimly lit pub, to the curly haired guitarist whose long fingers reached chords that ripped through at an angered pace. You followed the guitarist as he strutted across the stage to stand beside the bass player, who smiled lazily as he followed the drum’s beat. This was when your gaze finally strayed to the blond drummer. The man’s wavy hair was wild as he moved his head with the beat of the song. His movements were fast and fingers nimble as they danced across the drum set, seemingly effortlessly. Your knees began to grow weak as you stared, not a care in the world except for the sweet face that was sat behind the cymbals.

A touch on your arm reluctantly caused you to tear from your haze, as you turned to see what had caught your friend’s attention. She pointed to the dance floor, and you nodded, throwing back the rest of your drink quickly as you headed towards the center of the crowd. As the band played, you swayed your hips to the beat and took a hit off a blunt that was being passed among the masses. Your friend giggled at the sight of you beginning to let go, which didn’t happen all that often. About halfway through the band’s set, your head was rightfully buzzing with alcohol and you whispered to your friend that you were going to move to the edge of the crowd. After receiving a reply of confirmation, you made your way to the front, near the stage, your eyes again finding a certain drummer. This time, however, you were surprised to see his gaze snag with yours for a second before falling back to the instrument in front of him. You blushed despite yourself but could not refrain from continuing your previous actions. In fact, the following minute, he sent a bold smirk in your direction. This time your entire body seemed to flush.

After chugging some water, and willing yourself to forget the light haired boy on stage, you slowly moved back towards your friend to carry on dancing for the rest of the show. In what felt like mere minutes, Queen had finished their set, and the spotlights were extinguished. The crowd moaned gleefully in unison as they applauded the performance. Your friend snaked her arm through your own before pushing towards the bar to grab a nightcap before heading back towards campus, and your head glanced again towards the drum mounts. You tried to ignore the sinking in your chest at the sight of the abandoned instruments.

From behind you, a husky voice inquired, “Looking for me?”

Your friend turned around first, spotting the blonde’s gaze locked on you before nudging you. Startled, you followed the girl’s opened mouth ogle to the person beyond your shoulder, finally registering that the quip from before was aimed at you. Standing before you, was the drummer of Queen who had previously caught your attention on stage. Your lips quirked in an embarrassed little smile before you shrugged nonchalantly.

This caused the man to send a grin back, as his gaze swelled with a roguish glint. “Care if I buy you and your friend a drink?”

Slowly, you nodded; finally addressing your friend for a look of approval as this was supposed to be her night of fun. She broadly smiled back before leading the way to the bar in search of the nearest available bartender. Once one was located, the drummer ordered the drinks before turning towards you again. Your friend excused herself quickly, claiming to spot another friend from uni in the crowd and disappearing.

“I’m Roger,” he introduced, following your lips as they wrapped around the straw of your drink.

“Y/N,” you replied, inclining your head to study his ruffled hair and blue eyes. “Your show sure was something else, Roger.”

His face contorted in surprise, as he uncertainly thanked you.

“It was a compliment, I promise,” you chuckled. “I just meant that energy. You all really know how to win over a crowd.”

“Did we win you over?” he quirked immediately, taking a long drink from his beer, his eyes never leaving yours.

You purse your lips in fake contemplation. “Remains to be seen, drummer boy.”

This earned you a wide smirk that sent shivers down your spine, and you returned it slyly before scanning the pub again. You watched as the lead singer of Queen chatted with the friend you had came with and you found yourself relieved that she was having her own fun while you were off making your own. You were a bit surprised that the drummer was speaking with you after the show, however. You knew that he could have had a go with any of the other girls that milled about, but somehow your company was the one that preoccupied his time. You grinned with this newfound confidence, and leaned into his shoulder, asking a feathery question in his ear about stepping outside to share a smoke. He quickly agreed, taking your soft hand in his calloused one, to which you melted, staring at his striped wristbands.

Stepping outside, a spring breeze meets both of you as you stumbled into the alley beside the pub, Roger pulling out a cigarette, and you reaching into your pocket for a light. After the both of you had taken a drag, you leaned into the wall behind you, and sighed heavily in the cool evening. “You know,” you mused, feeling the buzz of the night in your bloodstream. “You’re obnoxiously attractive.”

He let out a breathy laugh, letting the smoke dangle lazily between his loose lips. “Oh, love, the same could easily be said about you.”

Your nose crinkled sheepishly, as you plucked the cancer stick back, mumbling something about beauty being in the eye of the beholder.

Roger moved in closer, his lips an inch from yours. “Well, since I’m the beholder, I think that you are by far the most striking thing to walk into that bar tonight.” As the last word echoed into existence, you moved your mouth onto his in a desperate attempt to immortalize the statement. He eagerly responded, his own lips moving feverishly against yours, the taste of liquor, ash, and a bit of weed on one another’s breath. He pulled away with resistance, lips still touching as he softly asked if you wanted to take this back to his place.

You nodded, kissing him once more before you reached out for your hand, and he pulled the both of you into the dark of the night.

Stage Two.

It had been three months since you’d awoken, mouth parched, next to Roger Taylor in a dank hotel with your clothes scattered across the beige carpet. Although the two of you never explicitly stated that this one night stand was to be anything more, the two of you simply seemed to gravitate back towards one another, time and time again.

The second occasion that you had run into the drummer of Queen was unsurprisingly at the same pub as before. Roger never would have admitted it, but you had always suspected that he had been waiting there for you, for why else would he have been at a pub that wasn’t necessarily close to his own university or the particular gig that his band had scored for that weekend. This night was again followed by a few drinks, some laughs, and a steamy rendezvous back at his hotel. It was also when you decided to leave your landline number for him, to which he ended up using within the next week to talk about what was on the other’s mind.

You were, of course, aware of the reputation that Roger carried, and since the both of you never confirmed what kind of relationship this was, you both were free to do what you please. Although this was not something you usually did, you felt that the late night talks and the needy kisses that greeted you whenever you were alone were enough to keep you on your toes and him, in turn, to be helplessly entranced with you.

However, eventually, the phone calls became shorter. Conversations began to be brief, mostly on the drummer’s side of things. Then the frequency of the calls slowed. Whereas the two of you had shared a call every night, they dwindled to a couple a week. They finally trickled into prolonged silences from the both of you — you being too proud to appear desperate and call him first, and him cutting the already short-lived talks into mere minutes. In time, it was radio silence between the both of you, leaving you cranky and irritable among your everyday life. You felt that an explanation was in order for this, but oh, you were never one to back down, especially when you felt that you were in the right.

It was a cool brisk winter evening when Roger finally phoned you again. The suddenness of his attempt to mend this currently burning bridge left you with a sinking feeling in your stomach, and since speaking to your friends about what this could possibly mean made the feeling tenfold. They all seemed to agree that he was finally going to officially break up the relationship, whatever that entailed. They also really seemed to love branding him an asshole for this, and encouraged you to forget about him and his proposition, but you felt you had been stubborn enough and were holding off from giving up hope as you dreaded that your feelings were more complicated than just a casual fling.

His voice was hoarse on the other side of the telephone, and he didn’t bother to introduce himself. “Can you meet me?” he simply asked. You couldn’t help but notice that his voice seemed to be a bit strung, and you yourself could feel your throat tightening as you feared for the worst. You agreed, readily, before writing down the new hotel location of that week, and hanging up before completely changing your mind.

You chose to wear something subtle, something that in the worst case scenario, would appear to have had no intention of you desperately trying to get him to return to your life. You kept your makeup minimal but was sure to cover the dark circles that plagued your face.

It took a good twenty minutes to reach the location Roger had recited, and you were nervously wracking your hands as you stepped outside the cab, slowly making your way into the brightly lit lobby. The building was surprisingly quiet as your unsteady knees carried you to room 308. The door opened immediately following the sound of your knock, revealing a very stricken Roger. He glanced behind you, checking the deserted hall, before ushering you in and closing the door behind the both of you. He then relaxed a bit at the sight of you, unaware of the nerves that speed through your entire body.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said tenderly.

Your mouth twitched in response, as your bodies easily found one another in the skinny hallway. His hands were on your face, yours on his arms. Your chests were touching, and you could feel the fast-paced beat of his heart against you. “Kiss me.” He followed the instruction with no further prompting, while simultaneously moving the both of you back towards the bed that lay in the center of the room. Laying you down, he hovered over you as his eyes gawked at the reality that you were here. Time seemed to still as you again got a sinking feeling in your stomach, deciding to break the moment by tearfully questioning where he had been. Roger inhaled sharply, pulling back slightly.

“Around,” was all he replied, finally sitting all the way up with you following.

“Rog,” you prompted softly. “You sounded distressed on the phone.”

Words caught in his mouth as though there was something sticky there. His head fell forward as he fought with himself for a solid minute. Eventually, he raised his gaze to meet yours. “I have to tell you something.”

This was it. You felt it in your chest. This island of oblivion you had been residing on was about to be swept away, leaving you to drown. You tried to brace yourself, as the sinking in your chest became a ball of panic that seemed to be struggling to the surface.

Roger’s eyes scanned the room nervously, seemingly afraid that his words would be heard and snatched from this moment.

“I think I might love you, Y/N,” he breathed lightly.

You stared, stunned. This was not the way you expected this to go. You sat, your thoughts shrinking into themselves, the beautiful boy in front of you now biting his lip in pure apprehension as the seconds slipped by like syrup. The room’s air stilled with musing, and your mouth couldn’t form a sentence.

“Well,” his voice snapping through the quietness. “Are you going to say anything?”

His hands wracked through his soft, long hair, as his blue, blue eyes locked on your own. Slowly, you beamed, taking his hands in yours.

“I think I might be in love with you, too, Rog,” you reciprocated, and finally your lips were glued together once more. A swelling of infatuation formed between the two of you as the moment intensified and your hands moved from his to his belt. He grinned against your mouth, tugging on your thighs, letting you move to straddle his waist, pushing him down underneath you. The man moaned cheekily at the sight of you on top, discreetly finding it as a turn on for you to be the one in charge, and didn’t complain as you removed your cotton shirt.

Your body hummed with this newfound feeling of arousal and a happiness had settled in your heart as you gazed at the man beneath you. Things were again looking up, and you knew you never wanted to let them go.

Stage Three.

You lied awake, hyper-aware of the body next to you. The sun had just risen through the trees, and a soft glow was illuminated in your bedroom. The green curtains and messy interior resonated with your feeling of home as much as the person beside you did. In his sleep, Roger’s mouth hung open slightly, releasing small breaths into the space between you, and his hair was caught in the sunlight causing a fire around his face. His eyes were closed, his one hand under his pillow and the other thrown across your torso sometime during your sleep. The both of you were naked beneath the sheets, having fallen asleep late last night. You recalled the intimacy the previous night had brought followed by the two of you finishing off a cigarette as your head leaned against his chest, talking about nothing and everything all at the same time.

Usually, Roger wasn’t very talkative especially about his feelings, but last night had been different. He had bitched about leaving you for the American tour that was taking place for the next couple of months. He knew the strain that it was going to cause the relationship, as all long-distance ones do but he was sure to show you one final good time before the two of you were left with snatches of memories and a discontented feeling in the fibers of your beings for a seemingly unbearable while.

Thinking about this predicament now caused you to squeeze your eyes shut, in denial of not seeing the man beside you for that long. You moved closer to him, placing your head on his shoulder and wrapping his arm tighter around you. Lately, the fights between the both of you had faded out with the impending tour low over your heads. In fact, the last couple of weeks were some of the best between the two of you. You found yourself letting out uncontrollable whimpers recalling the sweet nothings between the two of you, the fun nights out with the rest of his band, and the rougher nights where he’d ride out his creative frustrations with you.

Although you tried to stop them, tears dripped from the corners of your eyes, falling onto Roger’s bare chest beneath you. Sniffling, you wiped them away with the back of your hand and prayed that you hadn’t woken him up. With such a long day ahead, you knew he should be getting a bit more sleep before he hit the road. Alas, a mixture of your mismatched breathing and the wetness that appeared on his skin had awoken the drummer. “What’s the matter, angel?” he spoke against your forehead with a sleepy kiss.

You’re crying amplified at the pet name, and you forced out a “nothing” before trying to change positions to hide your face.

Concerned, Roger lifted his head fully, securing you in place with his arms as he held you close. “It’s not nothing, Y/N. You know I adore you; you can tell me.” You shook your head in response and gripped his strong arms tighter. This seemed to trigger an understanding, as he sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “You know that I’ll miss you, too, right?”

Relieved you didn’t have to speak the words aloud, you nodded, and said in a raspy voice, “Can I have a cigarette?” Roger let out a breathy laugh and gave you one, sadly watching your red eyes focus on his as you took a drag, blowing smoke into the air. He marveled as he stared, wondering how someone who appeared to carry mountains on their shoulders could crumble in his arms even when the source of their pain was brought about by him.

After crushing out the cigarette, you breathed deep, relieved that some of your anxiety was released along with the smoke, and reached a hand out to cup the face of the boy in front of you. The air suddenly became stuffy with sorrow, and again your eyes swelled, as the tempest inside your mind finally reached shores and spilled out into reality. “Love,” Roger solemnly said, placing his hand over your own.

You smiled a watery smile, closing your eyes. “Do you have you go?” The question was rhetorical, both knowing that the question was not to be answered as the answer was obvious and almost tangible between the two of them. The silence continues, and you nod your head, finally pulling back and beginning to get ready for your day.

You stepped into the shower and heard a holler from the room over, “Want me to join you?”

You laughed lowly. “If you want to make your own self late for your flight, go for it,” you yelled back. You received a loud groan in return, and you smiled sadly to yourself as you again remembered this would be the last morning together for a while.

After you’d dried yourself and dressed in a cropped t-shirt and bellbottoms, you moved back into the bedroom and sat next to Roger, who had fallen back asleep. You ran a hand through his curls, and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek, reminding him that his flight left in only two hours and that he still needed to finish packing. Instead of replying, Roger gently grabbed you and pulled you back down onto the bed, hugging you against his chest. He nuzzled his face into your hair, and let out a breath, signaling he was about to drift off again.

“Come on, Rog,” you muttered.

He groaned again, this time in a blue resignation, finally moving to get himself organized to face the day. You were mesmerized at the way he carried himself, with a bit of arrogance even after he had just been awoken. You dragged your own self out of bed and continued to get ready.

As Roger came back into the room, carrying the last of his toiletries, he glanced over at you watching him from your vanity chair. “You know, you could come with to the airport,” he proposed, zipping up his suitcase. “See the whole band off.”

You nibbled your bottom lip, ducking your head. “You know that would just make this harder,” you replied, locking eyes with him. He nodded in understanding, his own eyes finally welling as he realized this was the last time you’d be together for a while.

“Come here,” he said in a gruff voice, opening his muscular arms for you. You swiftly obliged, resting your head on his chest and breathed in the aromatic scent of his cologne. Roger glanced at the clock, and seeing the time, pulled away slightly, looking down at your face, the clear emotion pushing through. He pressed his lips to yours, trying to make the closeness last. You pulled away, taking a half a step back before his lips were again on yours. Your lip quivered as he moved away this time, pulling him back again. You tasted tears, from both him and you, and a hiccup formed in your chest. You peppered his lips with as many kisses as possible, him doing the same, before he finally completely broke free, grabbing his bags and stepping out.

He paused in the doorframe, opening his mouth as though he had one final thought to share. However, he doubted his own instincts and instead spared you one last gloomy twitch of his lips before closing the door between you and him. You and his new reality.

You sank to the floor, unsatisfied and worried what that last near-sentence could have been.

Little did you know it had almost been his first official I love you.

Stages of Falling in Love [2/2]

▶ Summary: in which we follow the stages roger taylor took to fall completely and utterly in love; part 2 of 2

▶ A/N: the long-awaited conclusion! thanks for reading and feel free to let me know what you think, it would be much appreciated. or drop some borhap requests on me, they are open at the moment ilyyy

▶ Warnings: angst, alcohol, language, smoking, fluff, implied sex, and a cheeky big brother reference ;)

▶ Pairing: Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader

▶ Word Count: 4.1k+

[part one]

Stage Four.

The night Roger came back from tour was not the greatest moment of your relationship as you had anticipated it would be. The long months apart had been taxing — a blur of emptiness, unfiltered yearning, and a few shattering press articles that were a direct assault on your heart.

In fact, upon hearing the whispers of Queen’s drummer’s undying hunger for all things sex and scandal, you had come back to your flat in a rage, throwing half of his clothes out the windows before you had settled back with a few drinks, remembering the longing that his voice had held during your last phone call. You had heard from numerous sources, including your own mother, that the only way a relationship would work was to have faith in one another. You had hung onto this feeling for as long as you could, but with so much time since you had physically been able to see Rog, doubts seemed to increase and strengthen with each passing day.

Over the landline, he had begun to notice the sulking and short tone you had started to take with him and he yearned for the day you were back in his arms, kissing away all the insecurities that swarmed between. However, he knew how it must have looked. Roger was a handsome man, who had a habit of bewitching woman and was commonly known on lonely nights to not turn away a chance for company. He’ll even admit that a few times he did take a woman back to his mingy rented room where they’d usually drink some alcohol and talk about his frustrations, including the difficult situation of leaving you back home in England. If a groupie were there to get to know the band and its members, he might as well have put them to some use, even if all that use was is a makeshift therapist. He was aware this did not translate well in the media or through the eyes of his bandmates who also had their doubts of what would happen behind closed doors.

“Christ, Roger,” they’d say to him the following morning, appalled. “I thought you said you had a girl at home? Or was that just your car you were squawking about again?”

He would steadily deny the implications, but rumours spread of these fantasy affairs anyway. Which is how you ended up with your bubble burst and muddled disarray splattered on the floors and walls.

It was loud outside as Friday’s were known to be on your street and usually, you kept your second-floor window closed, but when the air got cool at night after a particularly hot day, you liked to keep it open a bit. The noise caused by the groups of primarily university students was enough to awaken you this unusual evening, and you groaned, getting out of bed to shut the window. When you had locked and closed the blinds, you heard a rattle come from your bedroom door. You stilled, eyes fixed on the door’s handle, unsure if you should be unlocking your window again to make a quick escape or pick up your bedside table lamp to hold off whoever was there. Luckily, you had left the light on in the kitchen so when the wood swung open, it illuminated the person’s yellow hair causing it to pale.

Your heart came to a standstill, one chamber longing to greet him with open arms, open legs, and maybe an open mouth, while the other reared its head like a stubborn mare, demanding a full explanation before even a finger was placed on the man.

In the dim light, you couldn’t gauge his facial expression although you thought he was probably surprised to see you still up at such a late hour.

While your heart was fighting for control of your limbs, your mouth opened on its own accord. “I think I might hate you, Roger Taylor,” you spit with tumbling lips, regurgitating the almost exact words you two had shared those months back except for one blaring change.

Instead of immediately replying, Roger reached a hand out to switch the overhead fixture on, washing the both of you in a rather unpleasant light. “You know, that usually means the makeup sex is astounding, correct?” he smirked, setting his bag down near his feet.

“I said ‘I hate you,’” you sneered, taking a menacing step forward. “And that’s all you have to say to me?” The way that he had brushed your statement to the side fueled more anger in your soul than the initial feelings when seeing him for the first time in so long which had been the cause of your previous omission.

“Y/N, you can’t hate me,” he replied simply, moving towards the middle of the room with wide strides.

“Why’s that?” you mused, frustrated.

“Because…” he faltered. You waited, arms crossed, glaring up at him despite your heart racing a mile a minute. Again, just like the last time you had seen him, he seemed to swallow his words, stand straighter and shift gears. “You haven’t told me why. Or gave me a chance to clear up what this could all be about.”

You scoffed, pushing a finger into his sternum. “You know exactly what this is about.”

His gaze trailed from the digit that was pointed at him, up your arm, over your cotton tee — which he couldn’t help notice was one of his own — and up towards your pinched lips, flared nose, and furrowed brow. “Don’t tell me you believe them over me,” he finally said softly, his features slackening with the idea that the one person he hadn’t felt tied to when he called them his own, would reject him over rumours and disgruntled acquaintances.

Your own eyes searched his for any sign of falsehood, scared to imagine a heartache that was worse than this unknowing. He was referencing the countless phone calls the two of you had shared while he was overseas in which he had brought up the lies the media was telling about his love life. He had joked that if they knew of the relationship you two were in, they’d have a field day because he wouldn’t hide any of the intimate details on how he really treats his girl. Deep down, you had always figured that a relationship with Roger was something only fleeting, all things considered. You’d get a handful of moments with the successful musician; a passing memory in that beautiful mind of his. So far it had been fun to pretend this was something more, but you knew that idea was something that scared the man in front of you more than it did yourself. His hand reached out to caress your cheek which was unexpectedly wet with salty tears.

“I don’t,” you relented, letting your head fall in his hand. “If we’re being honest, I could never really hate you. But I do hate myself for letting this doubt get so bad.”

“Hey now,” he protested, pulling your shuddering body onto his, moving the both of you onto the bed. He lied you down, his arms wrapped securely around your entire torso, placing his head on top of yours. His last words were mumbled against your hair, his breath warm in the still, cold room. “Do not hate yourself. I know how it looked, love, I do. I’m sorry for letting it get so terrible between us.”

What felt like a lifetime passed in his arms, and your bodies sniffles were washed away, leaving swollen lips and clumpy eyelashes, but you still approached your lips gingerly towards Roger’s. You pressed a heartfelt kiss there, moving one hand to cup his head, fingers stuck in the long hair that you had missed so tremendously. He returned the gesture, cradling your body down into the sheets, hand sprawled along your knickers line and around your hips.

“Undress,” he muttered on your lips, breaking the kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

After the fluorescent light was out, door closed, and the curtains undrawn to let in the street’s light, he returned, slipping his own trousers and shirt off on the floor, following you into bed.

In the half-light, you run your fingers over his arms and spine as though the skin is scattered with text that glows from his soul, giving a new definition of reading someone’s inner secrets. His thoughts seemed to be sprawled in the open only for you to see, and you knew then that he loved you; he did. Although he had not uttered the saying aloud, you knew at that moment what you had been doubting for weeks on end was just that — doubts.

“Didn’t I say the makeup sex would be breathtaking, angel,” he said boastfully, causing a light slap from you and a cascade of giggles to fall from both your mouths.

Stage Five.

With Roger, there was always something pending on the music front. Despite the band returning home, he was still unbearably busy. After the success of Queen’s first album and the abiding publicity that followed the American tour, the drummer was needed everywhere it seemed. He would bounce from the recording studio to promotional meetings and get-togethers with his bandmates — which were the ones that you sometimes tagged along too. The band seemed to get along with you smoothly and although some of their uncertainty concerning Roger’s ‘infidelity’ had dwindled, they still put up a protective front around you when anything remotely suggestive would come up during conversation.

You, of course, still had your own work to attend to, having graduated from university and now focusing on your career, but coming home to an empty flat weeknights felt even more lonely than before knowing that Roger was so close yet so unattainable.

On some of the spare nights he had off, the two of you would stay in alone, drinking tea and lounging. There always seemed to be an endless amount of conversation that rattled on into the early morning hours, which often became a pain in the ass the next day when one or both of you needed to get up for work. Mostly, however, the both of you would explore the city after the sun had set. Despite living there a good chunk of your lives, it seemed that with Roger by your side a whole world was hidden on otherwise ordinary rooftops and abandoned rooms.

These were easily Roger’s favorite parts of the evening. Sure, socializing was an added bonus as he was always up for meeting new people and experiencing new things, but when he was finally able to drag you into an empty closet or up the stairs to gaze at starry skies, he felt as if his insides were on fire, as if things couldn’t get much better than when he was with you. However, the actual idea of confessing these feelings aloud to you gave him excruciating anxiety. The mere vulnerability that came with admitting your heart was in another’s hands was not something that could be disclosed on a whim. He knew that as soon as the words left his mouth, his last bit of control over the situation and his feelings would snap, leaving him tethered to nothing but you.

As the weeks dwindled until Queen was to go to the south of Wales to compose their next album excluding any formal and normal distractions, every second that was spared from your schedules was spent with one another.

Like most weekends previous, the two of you ended up on a glowing rooftop, the ground glistening with recent rain as the streets bumbled past at alarming rates. The party downstairs was still raging, felt in the bass that echoed through the ceiling and vibrated in your chest as the two of you lied on forgotten blankets Roger had snagged from a hallway closet. Before he had come and got you, you’d been mingling with John and Brian, who’d been talking about how tightly wound around your finger Rog was. This had caused you to glance away while a wide smile crossed your face, flattered that his bandmates had assessed that much from the way you acted around each other.

The sky was now clear above you, illuminating at least two thousand stars that you could see with your naked eye. Roger’s feet were twisted with yours, one arm laid behind his head and the other under and around you, your bodies molded together perfectly, as cliché as that sounded. You felt safe and warm in the dark, and for the first time that day, you felt content, here in his arms.

In the silence of the night, you could hear only Roger’s heartbeat in his chest pounding steadily in your ear. You listened, soothed and lulled into a drowsy state as the world seemed to carry on without the two of you. It was just as you were drifting off that you heard the low words of “I love you” escaping from Roger’s mouth. Instead of freaking the poor man out by responding and acknowledging that you were still conscious enough to pick up on his voice, you sighed, cuddling into his side more and slept.

▶▶▶

The following morning, sunlight shone directly through your closed eyelids, causing you to wince and stretch away from the pain. Your head felt clear despite the drinks you’d consumed the following evening, and it took you a moment to remember what Roger had said before you crashed. You grinned, turning to stare down at the boy below you, slightly startled to find him already awake and gazing at you.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, his voice waking up slower than his mind.

You returned the greeting, raising your arms toward the sky to work out the kinks in your shoulders from sleep. Roger’s hands raised, too, but only to tickle your sides where your blouse had ridden up, which caused you to inhale sharply with laughter, collapsing back on top of him in fits. As his hands ceased, you gathered yourself, wiping the excess tears that had squeezed out from the giggling fit you had just endured.

You bit your lip, staring at the man beneath you and suddenly you didn’t want to forget the words he had uttered when he thought you were sleeping. You wanted to recognize and let out exactly what your feelings were between the both of you.

“Roger,” you say steadily.

He grunted in reply, his fingers wrapped around one of your wrists you were leaning on.

“I love you, too.”

You watched as the man’s vibrant eyes widened in shock and a bit of panic. His mouth sputtered like a dying fish, and his face went red in what might have been embarrassment or bewilderment. His mind reeled, thinking back to how he had assumed that you had been either asleep or out of hearing range the handful of times he had dared speak the exposing phrase.

You placed a modest kiss on his nose, smiling. “You don’t have to say anything, Roger, because I know that you love me.”

Finally swallowing his self-consciousness, he inquired, “How?”

You reflected fondly, pulling from your memories the scenes that you could feel his love for you. “I know that you love me from how you always have a lingering touch on me while we’re at a restaurant or relaxing in your studio. I know from the way that you let me bum smokes from you all the time even though it’s a five-minute walk down to the corner store where I could buy my own. I can see it in the way that you support me and let your guard down when it’s just the two of us. I can feel it when you kiss me or you share the bits and pieces of your life that might not seem like anything particularly interesting, but mean the world to you, and therefore the world to me,” you cease for a moment, taking a breath before tenderly continuing. “And I know it now. The way you’re staring at me like the sun isn’t blinding you at the same time and how your hands been around my wrist since I woke up.”

You stop, gaining his realization that you have been listing unconscious instances that he had probably thought weren’t all that groundbreaking but had actually blared with a significant love behind them.

“You’ve never said it to me before, Roger, at least not a time that really counted,” you explained. “But you’ve shown it to me. Actions can speak much louder than words.”

Roger absorbed this newfound information quickly, his mind finally making the connection that his heart had already found it’s pristine new home in you, but he also came to realize that it had been an even trade. Your love was nested in him and he beamed, trying to fully fathom how he became as fortunate as to be existing in this moment of time with you.

“I love you,” he announced, pulling your head down for a kiss planted perfectly on your lips. You melted with the affection, allowing yourself to be brought closer, in bliss at hearing the words audibly despite what you had just said. Roger seemed to catch onto this as well, pulling back to breathe out, “Nice speech too, by the way. Could tell I really get you going,” on your lips.

You exclaimed, trying to pull yourself from the dream beneath you, but the man kept you from moving, hands wandering about your back. Eventually, you relented, your mock hurt turned a bit erotic as you whispered against his ear, “Sometimes, Rog, you really, really do.”

Stage Six.

In the first few years that followed Freddie Mercury’s confession of his life-threatening disease to his ever-so-faithful bandmates, Roger had been having a tough time accepting the slow demise of this fellow coworker and, quite frankly, best friend. Although Freddie himself never wanted to mention or address it again, the news settled over the heads of his friends with a sadness that lurked in their everyday lives.

After coming home late, totally wasted, following one of the band’s practices before their performance at Live Aid, Roger had relayed the devastating news to you, his now wife. The both of you had sat in silence as the clock on the wall logged the time that passed in soft ticks and occasional chimes of the new hour.

Years later, the news a mere speck in the horizon behind, Roger still fought off inner demons that fashioned themselves in countless ways. Insomnia, aggression, and a few bouts of depression hit the artist in spite of the happy arrival of a darling baby girl, a five year wedding anniversary, and the overwhelming response to Queen’s return to the stage. He was able to hide it fairly well, particularly around Freddie himself, but after a long day, Roger returned home with his heart in his feet, shoes dragging across the dark wood.

Although you had brought up the topic of seeking some type of counseling for the everlasting effects of his woe, the man refused, chalking it up to being normal and tiptoeing around the shadows of his old life.

The most recent manifestation of Roger’s terminals was insomnia. You started to notice that he had begun to take precautions when getting ready for bed. He stopped smoking in the bedroom, or anywhere in the house for that matter. He wouldn’t have wine with his dinner anymore, and often he’d want to have sex right before bedtime in a hope that it would quiet his mind to have his only focus be of you. However, this would usually end with you being too sleepy to stay awake alongside him for much longer after the both of you had finished, leaving Roger alone and sleepless again.

Why couldn’t he just go to sleep? That’s all he really wanted — some damn sleep. A break from the reality of this world that seemed to be crushing his windpipe with every mismatched breath. It seemed as though sleep was always just out of grasp, and his eyes began to hurt from squeezing them shut, willing, praying that he would drift off. He felt the slight heaviness of your hand on his chest and he subconsciously thought of the how his tossing and turning was bound to wake you up soon. With a sigh of defeat, he carefully removed himself from beneath your grasp and padded delicately down the hall towards the living room, halting only once to take a quick peek at his daughter resting peacefully in the room over from his own.

He sat on the couch facing an open window as a cool breeze wafted in. The moon was a waxing crescent against a muddled sky, the light reflecting on his pale face and waning mind. Physically, Roger was tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he was able to snatch more than a couple hours of sleep at a time. His brain, however, refused to turn itself off no matter what the rest of his body was telling it. His feet were cold on the hard floor, but he paid little mind to this inconvenience and leaned back on the sofa, an arm thrown over his eyes in an attempt to perhaps quiet the racing in his mind.

Across the house, you awoke to an empty bed, having felt the lack of warmth beside you. You stole a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table. 03:47 glowed in the twilight. You frowned, climbing out of the four-poster, following the path your husband had taken not thirty minutes prior, looking inside your child’s room to see if perhaps your daughter had awakened the blonde. However, he wasn’t there and the girl was still resting peacefully on her back, thumb in her small mouth.

You found Roger sprawled on the downstairs couch and you instinctively reached a hand out, but the man must have sensed your approach because he tentatively verbalized, “I’m up.”

“I thought so,” you mused, retracting your hand, and moving to crouch beside him. “Why are you out here and not in bed with me?” Roger chuckled humorlessly, his arm moving to reveal his slightly bloodshot eyes. “Did you miss me, love?”

You smiled softly at him, quietly agreeing. You placed a warm hand on his cold cheek. “Come back to bed, Rog.”

Roger opened his mouth to accept the suggestion, but instead, a soft whine escaped his lips. Alarmed, you straightened, crawling to sit in his lap when he arms opened with an invitation. As your head leaned on him, you listened to his breathing as he miserably clarified, “I can’t, Y/N. I can’t fall fucking asleep.” He was near tears in frustration as he expressed the words, baffled as to why his body was doing this to him.

You wince at the desperation in his voice, trying to wrack your brain with any way to help him. “I read once that weight can help with sleeping. We don’t have any heavy blankets in the house though,” you mull over thoughtfully, your chin moving to look up at him.

“If we lay down, would you be comfortable?” he questioned, as he leaned his head to look at you. You nodded. “Then I think you can act like my blanket, don’t you?”

“Are you calling me heavy?” you mocked hurt.

“No,” Roger protested immediately. “That’s not what I —” He stopped speaking as he felt your laugh on his chest. “You twit,” he exasperated as you continued to giggle. “You think you’re funny?”

You shrug, pleased with yourself, feeling him pull you closer to his chest, the world stilling as the two of you stayed in this loving moment.

There is a myth that when you die, your life’s greatest moments flash before you in a reel of film or like a roller coaster ride created just for you. Roger wasn’t sure if that was true and even if it were, he’d only want one image to present itself to him. This one. The one where Roger stayed put in pure rapture, the weight of your body so close to his, your hands placed delicately on his shoulder and the other in his hair, and finally, finally, the blissful callings of sleep at the edge of his overexerted mind.

Roger decided then that if loving you were to suddenly be considered a sin in the eyes of the deity in the clouds above, then he wanted no place in heaven because the way your body molded perfectly with his was the epitome of nirvana for him.

A Rock ‘N’ Roll Love Affair — Roger Taylor

▶ Summary: in which roger taylor has a favourite groupie

▶ A/N: i do have somewhat of a storyline for a part two of this bc everyone knows you can’t be a groupie forever, just let me know if you’d be interested pleasee and thank you

▶  Warnings: mentions of drug use and sex (i’m afraid to post anything even remotely explicit now bc of the new terms and conditions fuxk), alcohol consumption, language

▶ Pairing: Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader

▶ Word Count: 5.1k+

1970.

Just shy your eighteenth birthday, you had seemed to have unexpectedly submerged yourself in a wild streak of sorts. It manifested itself in a fidgety feeling in your feet which was quickly followed by the overwhelming urge to dance naked in a flower field. You could physically feel summer creeping in through spring showers and the buzzing excitement of pending high school graduation which would be preceded by attending a college your parents had chosen for you, and suddenly, you found you were tired of the same old small town you grew up in.

One crisp early morning, you ended up on your knees reaching under your parents’ bed to grab the money box they kept hidden. You stole the crumpled dollar bills in clenched fists and caught an east coastline bus headed towards the legendary metropolis, New York City. This act of rebellion subsequently caused you to drop out of school a mere month before getting your diploma, and for you to cut family ties without a care in the world.

The following couple of years in the late 60s were a blur of drugs, alcohol, and sex, much of which you couldn’t recall the specifics. At times you would take so many tabs of LSD at once that real life and fantasy began to morph into one, leaving you confused and often stranded after you’d come down. After the iconic Woodstock music festival, you took part in a brief stint of following the Who as they toured which eventually dropped you off somewhere near central London.

Not one to look back, you opted out of calling up your former friends you had made on the road or your seemingly long forgotten family for any kind of monetary or emotional support, and instead, you applied for a job at a local fashion store, Biba. In the beginning weeks of staying in England, things were very much touch and go, seeing as the pay itself wasn’t all that great and you almost lost your job on multiple occasions as you were always one to put your two cents in even when it wasn’t wanted. If it weren’t for your fellow coworker, Mary Austin, who promised to vouch for you, you would have been back to square one in no time. Especially after she learned that you were essentially homeless, and had graciously struck up a deal for the two of you to split rent on her first floor flat together.

Soon enough, Mary and you were becoming closer; sharing clothes, makeup, and gossip as though the two of you had known each other for years rather than months. She even invited you to a group called Smile’s gig this Saturday night. You had cordially accepted the offer, body aching to fall back into your old habits of dancing, drinking, and just plain letting loose.

When the two of you arrived at the pub, she informed the bartender that you were on someone’s tab that had already been opened for the night before turning to you and sending you a mischievous wink, sliding a couple of shots into your hands. You smirked back, liking your newfound friend more and more. As the lights dimmed, you watched as the crowd, including Mary, cheered in unison at the sight of the band mounting the stage. Your bones seemed to buzz in the smoky room as the show began and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in your bloodstream or the vibe in the pub itself but you felt warm and bold.

There were three members — Tim, the bassist and lead singer, Brian, the guitarist, and Roger, the drummer. You couldn’t help but giggle at the bright crimson banner behind the band that read Don’t Forget To Smile with an adjoining pair of lips next to it. Despite not knowing the songs that they played, you could feel your hips begin to sway to the beat of the bass, hands steadily climbing into the air. As you became tipsier, you tilted your head back and listened to Mary giggle at the sight of you enjoying the night.

You grabbed her hand in response, making her move along with you. She was a bit more shy, as the two of you were now sticking out like swollen thumbs, but you didn’t care, letting your wild hair fill with cigarette vapor, heart thudding steadily with the band’s song about doing alright.

As Mary soon noticed nobody else was dancing, she let you drift on your own, and you did, lost in your own world when the guitarist spotted you moving against the flow of the crowd. He shook his curly-haired head and nodded towards the drummer, pointing you out to the man that sat behind the cymbals.

The sight made the musician fill with a slight sense of arousal at the sight of your body moving to the beat of his drums. You looked straight out of a magazine shoot in your black stockings and revealing dress. Your eyes find Roger’s as his drumsticks smash down on the beer coated instrument, the tempo picking up slightly. The man seems to be laughing a bit, probably at you, and you can’t help but giggle as well, your smile wide, completely entranced in the song and the flirty gaze from the heart of the stage. Roger had neat blonde hair and soft features which carried more than a trace of mischievousness when he smiled. You’d always fancied the drummers, despite the unspoken hierarchy in a band that told the tale of it usually being the lead singer who was the most sought after at the end of the night.

Once the show had come to a close, you found yourself back at Mary’s side as she made her way towards another group of woman who’d come to watch the performance. “Hullo, girls,” she greeted them with a bright smile to which they returned. “This is Y/N.”

“Hi,” you replied, waving a hand.

“Oh, you’re American!” one of them, a redhead in platforms, exclaimed. As you weren’t sure how to reply to this blatant fact, you simply nodded, smiling at the woman. “We saw you dancing. It looked like you thought you were at Woodstock or something.” This caused a majority of the girls to giggle, hands covering their painted lips and you frowned heavily, disappointed that this was the group of friends Mary hung around. The said girl looked apologetically towards you, seemingly embarrassed by their behavior.

“Actually, she was at Woodstock,” Mary defended you, and you ducked your head, grateful at her attempt to defend you although you knew this wasn’t going to better you in her friend’s eyes. Instead of sticking around to hear any of their retorts, you gesture towards the bar to signify you were going to get another drink. Mary seemed to understand, giving your arm a squeeze, and mouthing to come and find her after.

You knocked back another shot, finally hearing the tab name your roommate had put your drinks under — Staffell —  before turning towards the bathroom as the first of the alcohol finally made its way through your system. The minutes dragged from the liquor as you made your way through the dingy back hallway of the pub in search of your friend.

When you finally located her, she was thankfully standing with one of the girls who hadn’t laughed at the wisecrack aimed at you earlier. In fact, the dark-haired girl was very intrigued with your time as a roadie, gushing over how she herself had always wanted to be one. You had laughed at this, simply telling her to go ahead and commit if that’s what she really wanted.

You weren’t surprised when she faltered at the comment. Many people weren’t serious when they spoke their wishes such as this out loud, and in actuality being a groupie was an acquired taste as it could be difficult on the road with no money in strange cities. But for you, the feeling of being needed and wanted by someone who could hold the utmost attention of a crowd was enough to look past the skipped meals and nights spent on foul hotel floors.

Mary, who had been laughing at this exchange, leaned towards her friend and said, “Oh, I know. Hasn’t her life been so bizarre!”

You also laughed at this quip, having figured out that poking fun of her friends was Mary’s sort of humor, but found yourself discontinuing the action as you caught sight of a man staring at Mary. He had a big mouth, big eyes, and a jawline that would probably give you a papercut if you got too close. He was striking in a very unique way.

“You alright?” Mary inquired after some time, beginning to shift under his gaze.

The man bit his lip as he said, “Sorry. I was just looking for the band.”

Mary gestured towards the rear entrance. “They’re usually out back.” He followed her direction, turning away.

“Mind if I come with you?” you asked. “I want to congratulate the band on their performance.” He simply shrugged with a slight grin on his mouth.

Halfway out the door, he paused to direct another comment at your blonde roommate. “I like your coat.”

“It’s from Biba,” she replied.

“That’s where we work,” you added, sending a playful thumbs up towards Mary. You could hear her sarcastically thank you as you moved away.

The warm air threaded itself into your breaths as you stepped into the night, easily spotting the large loading van that was parked. The back doors were thrown open and two pairs of legs could be seen in the space beneath.

“I’m Y/N,” you filled the silence. “That girl who you were talking to, Mary, she usually works the day shift at the boutique off Kingston High Street.”

“Freddie.” He gave a peculiar look, one that was between appreciative and plain curiosity.

As you approached the car, a voice could be heard saying, “There was room for improvement, yeah.”

Immediately following, another voice joked, “I’ve got better things to do with my Saturday nights. I could give you their names.” Roger took a drag from his cigarette following this remark, which is when he caught sight of you and your newfound companion breaching from behind the doors.

“I bet that list starts and ends with your hand,” you contend good-naturedly, coming to a standstill in front of the members of Smile.

This earned snickers from Freddie and Brian whilst the drummer simply shifted, staring you in the face, retorting, “And here I thought the list would be starting with you, love.”

You jutted your chin out in amusement, asking if you could bum a cigarette. Instead of pulling out another one, however, he passed you the one that had previously sat between his pink lips, staring entranced at the way your own wrapped around it.

“Those were some charming dance moves you pulled,” Brian told you to which you answered the remark with a mock bow.

“We enjoyed the show,” Freddie spoke up.

“Thanks,” the guitarist responded.

“Yeah, thank you,” Roger said.

“I’ve been following you for a while, actually. Smile,” mused Freddie. “Makes sense for a dental student.” Roger seemed startled at the Asain’s knowledge of his studies, but the comment merely made you giggle thinking of the musician as a family dentist. “And you’re astrophysics,” Freddie addressed the curly haired man. “Makes you the clever one.”

This made Brain smile, as he stared directly at his bandmate. “Yeah; suppose it does.”

“I study design here,” Freddie said, maneuvering the conversation back to himself. “I also write songs. Might be of some interest to you.”

The Smile members glanced at each other before Roger spoke up. “Your five minutes too late. Our lead singer just quit.”

This seemed to perk the boy next to you up, however, as his face morphed into one of thought. “Well, then you’ll need someone new,” he stated with a lively glint in his eyes.

“Any ideas?” inquired Brian, subsequently agreeing with that fact.

“What about me?” he offered.

“Not with those teeth, mate,” Roger scoffed almost instantly. You frowned at this comment, watching as Freddie’s face fell. He seemed to go to leave, but stopped, turning back to the duo perched in front of him and began to sing their song to them. Eventually, the drummer and the guitarist opened their own mouths to harmonize with him, causing you to smile at the fresh sound they’d created. Freddie had heard it too because he simpled told them he’d consider their offer before waltzing away.

“That was wonderful,” you consider, inhaling another drag from Roger’s cigarette. The two boys nodded still staring at the spot where the confident man had vanished. “Hey, your lead singer’s name wasn’t Staffell, was it?”

Roger glanced at you. “Yeah. Tim Staffell.”

You shook with mirth. “Well, then, it serves him right to have unknowingly paid for all my drinks tonight, if he ditched you all.”

Brian shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe Mary is still pulling that.”

Roger finished off his beer, standing to place himself directly in front of you. “How about I buy you your next drink then?” You agreed with a sultry look on your face. A smirk graced his features as he wrapped an arm around your waist, leading you back the way you came. Little did you know, that this small interaction would be the starting point of a new life for you.

“Pleasure to meet you, Brian!” you called over your shoulder with a wave.

The man returned the sentiment, clearly thinking he’d never see you again.

1974.

“Y/N,” Roger called into the adjoining room of the inn. “Come on, love, you’re going to make us late!”

Huffing, you tripped, trying to put on your shoes while walking as you appeared in the doorway across from the slightly fuming blonde. “If I remember correctly, love, it was you who insisted on having sex just before we were supposed to hit the road, so if anything this is completely and utterly your fault,” you bite back, fixing your shirt and grabbing your coat from the hanger near where he was standing.

He smiled, his lush lips pulled back ever so slightly. “Stop tempting me then.” This comment was followed by a bold pinch on your ass as you maneuvered your way around him and out the hotel door. You squealed in response, practically skipping to escape his lingering touch as you headed through the hall towards the downstairs where a private car was waiting.

Following the night in which you had met the members of Smile — now known as Queen — you had continued to turn out and support the band. Preceding that performance, they had added Freddie as their lead singer which was not a surprise to you as Mary had shared this information with you a couple of days prior during her shift at work. A man named John Deacon had also been auditioned and hired as the bass guitarist. You found him fun to watch as he played his instrument with his fingertips instead of a plectrum and bopped along to the songs in a cute, introverted way. Witnessing this new lineup solidified your inkling that they would go far.

In fact, on a day much like this one, Roger had called you up, quite upset about his “perfectly good van” being sold off like a piece of rubbish. You had promised him you’d head over to his flat to lift his spirits if he would just stop whining; he was recording his first album for Christ’s sake. This was a cause for celebration not moping.

You hadn’t meant for your sexual relationship with Roger to occur more than that once, the night you met, but seeing as you were always around to support Queen, the both of you couldn’t deny the obvious attraction towards each other and your flings became monthly, then weekly. You weren’t complaining, Roger was everything you wanted out of this experience; he was a spitfire that’s for sure, but then again so were you. In fact, Roger loved that on the outside you were like any typical American dream girl, but when you climbed into the sheets, your vixen tendencies emerged to match his own.

Although never verbally spoken, your understanding of the relationship that had been established was that if he couldn’t find an alluring enough girl after a night performing with his band, he would approach you. Usually, you were willing to ditch the second-rate blokes you were picking up if he did come to you. It didn’t offend you in the slightest as this would usually give you a bed to sleep in for the night and grant Freddie and Mary some much appreciated alone time.

Roger did enjoy having you around. Your more mild, flower child vibe seemed to fit well with his passionate state. More likely than not, you were usually up for spontaneous late night drives or grabbing a quick bite to eat at the 24/7 dinner across town. Often, you’d find yourself seeing him for more than half of the nights in a week.

During your time spent, he began to notice an ever-growing list of small characteristics concerning you. He knew you were enticing, anyone could see that, but he started to observe that he enjoyed tracing the simple curve of your nose, and the way your brows furrowed with thought after Brian would say something particularly clever got his heart skipping beats. He also took pleasure in the way that your American phrases would appear in conversation despite being corrected by your British friends many of times prior. Soon it was known to many who hung around the band that you were simply his favorite.

Which was how you found yourself invited to join the band on their several month tour around the United States. You had experience as a roadie from your days with the Who, and seeing as Roger had some unusually persuasive methods (i.e. throwing tantrums) the band agreed to add you as a hired hand. You were excited. This wasn’t the first time you had followed Queen around — you had gone with to Japan for a few weeks and any European tours, you were right there with them —  but this was the first time in many years that you would be back in the United States since moving and officially becoming a citizen of England. Your family was even going to be attending the show that was closest to your old hometown.

The very commitment that Roger was complaining about being late to was Queen’s one o’clock soundcheck for that night’s show in New York City. On the drive to the stadium, Roger’s hand was rested on your thigh as you leaned into his shoulder, letting the breeze from the opened windows mess up both of your hair.

You felt a wave of nostalgia pass as you watched the familiar buildings go by. You pointed out one that you and a few fellow free spirits had rented a room out of during the summer of ‘68. There had been so many of you, the rent was mere dollars per person and you don’t think that you ever met all of the residents staying there at that time. Roger stared at you in disbelief, shaking his head at the former hippie next to him. His life seemed quite straightforward compared to the many detours you had taken to get to this point in your life.

When the car pulls into the back parking lot of the music hall, you kiss Roger on the cheek wishing him luck at the show and inviting him to join you as you visited your old stomping grounds before you left tomorrow. He replied with a direct kiss on your mouth promising he’d find you and he went to the stage while you went to find your boss who was bound to be annoyed by your tardiness.

As per usual, the show was sensational. Freddie’s lively personality matched the crowd’s enthusiasm as he strutted about in his unitard, smile glowing as bright as sunlight. Brian was a delight to watch as he interacted with the fans, serenading them from afar. John was naturally moving along with his beat and had even sent a wink your way as you watched the concert near the side of the stage. Finally, of course, there was Roger, who’s effortless falsettos were something you’d never get tired of hearing.

When the show let out, you were waiting downstairs with the band’s managers and other acquittances. There was a gaggle of lustrous girls who wouldn’t stop glaring at you from where they sat at the bar and you felt a bit of dejection sweep over you. Lately, you had noticed that instead of the other roadies approaching you with kindness as they had used to, they seemed to be throwing you a cold shoulder despite you having never met them before. You suspected this had something to do with a certain drummer, but you could never seem to prove it.

These thoughts were fortunately scrubbed from your mind as the first member of Queen descended into the room. Brian advanced towards you with open arms. “What did you think, Y/N?” he asked warmly, a look of true ecstasy on his face. This was common after a show. The giddiness and excitement that went hand in hand with performing didn’t discriminate against anyone.

“Terrific as always!” you say, laughing a bit.

Ever since the second time he’d met you, Brian seemed to be the first to notice that you would be sticking around indefinitely. He had not been able to ignore the stirring of revolutionary ardor that was on Roger’s face as he noticed you next to Mary during that following gig. Since then he had made a point to always let it be known that you were welcome and wanted around the band in whatever form that took.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he replied, something catching his eye from the corner of the room.

“Of course,” was all you said as Brian pulled away.

John was the next member to join the huddled groups of people, followed by Roger, and then, the actual life of the party, Freddie.

Roger approached you from behind, two drinks in hand from his brief stop at the bar counter. He gave one to you before whispering in your ear, “Hurry up and drink, love. I want to get out of here before I’m bombarded.”

You quirked a brow. “That’s quite pretentious, isn’t it?”

Roger just gave you a pointed look, gesturing with one hand from his head to his feet as if to say ‘Take a look and tell me I’m wrong.’ Disbelief was evident on your face as you smirked at the man in front of you although you did agree with his innuendo. You did as he asked and chugged the alcohol he’d brought you causing Roger to grin at your actions before taking your hand and pulling you towards the exit.

Once you emerged from the bowels of the building, he turned to you, his eyes a glow in the dim light. “Where to first?”

“Well,” you dragged the single syllable out, pulling away from his body but still gripping his fingers. “Usually, I would say your room…”

Roger caught you by the waist, wrapping his arms around your front, burying his face in your neck, humming his response into the space between your shoulder and head. “That would work perfectly, darling.”

You laughed from within his grasp, pulling away to look at him. “I agree. Although, I want to show you this park where I used to spend my evenings. I want to see if my old stash is still there, too.”

Roger groaned, not in malice but benevolence as he watched your face fill with eagerness to show this man a small part of your past. He really did love you. Four years was a long time for someone to be in a relationship without it evoking any type of affection for the other person. Likewise, you also felt this deep in your heart when you stared at the doe-eyed drummer.

“Come on, Rog,” you say softly, breaking the moment as you tugged him towards an awaiting cab — there always seemed to be a taxi nearby in this city.

The park was dark in the twilight. There was a group of college students drinking beers around a campfire on the edge of the walkway, but besides that, the place was deserted. You pouted with disappointment. In your late teen years, this place was usually packed with people, many of whom had known you by name which had made it easier to buy a smoke off of someone.

You lead Roger over to the edge of the woods. In the grass surrounding a tree trunk, there was a pile of dirt that had been slightly disturbed. Without explaining, you crouched down, shoving your fingers into the soil, digging for a string tied bag you had placed there. Eventually, you found it and brought it out for Roger to see. “It’s so dry now,” you said sadly, mourning the weed in your hand. “I really thought I would be coming back for it.”

Roger couldn’t help but chuckle at the miserable way you were looking at your once treasured item. “Why didn’t you?” he finally asked, when you gave him a glare for spoiling the melancholy atmosphere you were trying and failing to convey.

“Hitched a ride too far north. Couldn’t find one back down,” you replied, eyes glazed as your mind returned you to the previous decade. A lot of your past decisions were clouded with at least some regret — about being a bit too reckless or perhaps ditching good people that you had met along the way. You’d never been the greatest at goodbyes, and that feeling of restlessness you felt at the end of your high school days had never ceased which caused you to move around a bit too much, not stopping until you’d met Roger.

The wind blew your hair from your face, causing it to frame your cheekbones as you turned to look at the man next to you. You hadn’t realized this before, but the buzzing in your nerves and the prickle in your toes hadn’t been present since you had met him all those years ago in that smoky pub.

The said man had been watching you as these reflections raced through your head, not wanting to interrupt. He seemed to notice as you came out of your trance, locking your eyes with his. “There’s my pretty girl,” he said softly, his hand reaching out to stroke your face.

You smiled gently back, leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips. Roger responded by deepening it, eventually leaning his hand against the tree behind the both of you to support himself. Your hands found their way from his chest to the base of his neck, supporting yourself as he gripped your thighs up towards his waist, resting your back on the rough bark. Eventually, your legs were wrapped well around him, feet locked together just above his butt. You were in a paradise only he could take you to as he found the sweet spot on your neck. Biting your lip to keep from moaning you looked up at the moon.

“Roger,” you whimper.

He grunted in response against your chest, where his lips had now found themselves.

“I think those kids can see us,” you choke out, feeling his lips end their attack on your skin.

“Let them watch,” he finally said after a moment, leaning in to kiss you once more. You laughed quietly.

“I don’t think so,” you counter. “We don’t need another public indecency on our records.” You were hinting at the last time the two of you had indulged in semi-public sex in his old van off the side of a road. Luckily, you’d been let off with a fine, but that didn’t mean you wanted to get caught by a policeman with your knickers around your ankles and breasts in Roger’s mouth again. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, letting your feet back down on the soft moss beneath you.

“You got me there,” he said lightheartedly. “But just know, as soon as we make it to the hotel, I am going to ravish you.”

“Just know that I am completely fine with that,” you profess as a cheeky smile illuminates your features. Roger again found himself miffed at how the perfect girl for him was somehow still by his side after so many years spent together. Usually, he’d get bored with a fling, leaving them in the dust behind, but with you, it always seemed you were able to hold his attention whether it just be from your stories or the way that you bit your lip when glancing at him from across a crowded room. The more time you spent together, creating your own memories and stories, the more Roger felt that you were the one for him. The only one. He hadn’t been able to find anyone remotely as captivating as you after any of the last shows. While he used to have many lovers, nowadays there was just you.

When the two of you returned to his rented room, Roger kept his promise, so much so that you didn’t end up actually falling asleep until the early hours of the morning.

The following day was rushed, as the band and its crew moved to pack up the equipment and necessities needed for the next sold-out gig that management had booked for Queen. Despite the hectic atmosphere that surrounded you, by high noon Roger and yourself could be found sound asleep again on the back of the tour bus, his arms around you, jacket still smelling of cigarettes, alcohol, and expensive leather. At one point, the sound of a picture being taken awoke you. For a moment you thought Roger’s temper would emerge in a ball of fury, but instead, he simply looked over at you with a knowing smirk before drifting back to sleep.

You smiled yourself, snuggling back into his chest, deciding then and there that this right here was exactly what your anxious mind and wild heart were searching for all those years ago. To be in Roger Taylor’s arms, sleeping the days away and enjoying one another’s company all night long as the outside world whizzed by.

𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 +

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ ʀᴇx, ʜᴀʀʀɪꜱᴏɴ ɢʀᴀʏ, ʟɪᴀᴍ ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ, ᴇʟʙᴇʀᴛ ɢʀᴇᴇᴛɪᴀ, ᴀʟꜰᴏɴꜱᴇ ꜱʏʟᴠᴀᴛɪᴄᴀ, ʀᴏɢᴇʀ ʙᴀʀᴇʟ, ᴊᴜᴅᴇ ᴊᴀᴢᴢᴀ, ᴇʟʟɪꜱ ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Just know that these headcanons are made before the official release of the game in English, so expect inaccuracies in their personalities (occ). This also sorta came out as relationship headcanons, but eh, I'm hitting two birds with one stone

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊

#𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐗

He strikes me as someone who wants a partner who can challenge him, both intellectually and physically

People with a different set of opinions to his are often people who piques his interest. As long as you have a reason for thinking the way you do, this man will not rest until he picks every little thing inside your brain and understands it

He also seems like the type to like girls who fancy a bad boy. He is often mentioned as someone who "lives by his own rules" and is the "pure meaning of abominable evil", so if you're into that then he sees no reason why you can't be together

Also likes someone who is composed, someone only he can break. You could be doing the most mundane of tasks and he will appear behind you, whispering the filthiest words in your ear until you're as red as a tomato, your mind plagued with the words for the rest of the day

Likes to return to his bed snuggled up against you, literally can not sleep without holding you close to his chest

#𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘

Into someone who's jealous. He wants his partner to know that you can't live without him. Hell, he'll purposely make you jealous just so you can beg for his attention. And who is he to tell his little bunny no?

He's into short people, sorry to the tall people. I dunno, he seems like a guy who wants his partner to snuggle against his chest when they're in the crowded streets, or if you're shy... maybe he's more into shy people than short people?

He likes clingy people. Again, he wants his partner to depend on him. He loves it when you sneak up behind his back and hug him from behind. Sure, he can sense you coming from a mile away, but he's happy you took the time to "surprise" him like this

Into smart people. Well, not smart smart, just not dumb. He needs someone who is average in IQ. The only time he loves you being dumb is when you're dumb on his big co— anywho

He likes how you're the only one who can see through his lies. Everyone finds it impossible to notice, but you're better than that

#𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒

He loves someone who appreciates his work outside of the Crown. He is mentioned to work as a stage actor, so he loves it when he sees you invested in what he's working on

Someone who compliments him already is his friend. He loves compliments, especially when it comes from your pretty mouth

If you give him head pats he will literally melt, fight me. He closes his eyes and leans in closer to your touch, like a cat

He gets grumpy when you don't give him attention. Again, like a cat. He will whine and pout until you look in his direction, and then drags you away to help him work on his new play. He gets happy when you comply with no complaints

If you bake for him he will brag about it in front of people. Not even joking, he's all like, "Look Victor! My lovely darling made me cookies! Aren't they thoughtful?"

Also into someone who has many interests and hobbies so he can also be invested. May it be from playing chess to gambling, he's gonna support you no matter what

#𝐄𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐀

It's stated by many people, including translators that he has a weird obsession to pretty things, but leaves them messily in his room. So if you managed to be the romantic interest of Elbert, your insecurities are literally thrown out of the window and into another dimension

Likes a calm people, he's not into the loud and noisy people. It hurts his ears. He likes someone with an angelic voice, someone who can whisper a lullaby in his ear to help him fall alseep

He also appreciates someone who helps him with his spending problem. With all of the pretty objects he collects, he's probably in crippling debt, so he likes it when you try and coax him out of his spending problem

Unfortunately, he found a loophole. Yes, hd cannot spoil himself with a bunch of useless pretty trinkets to be stuffed in his room like trash, but he could spend it on you

Speaking of his trash room, he wpuld honestly appreciate it if you helped him clean everything up to make his life easier

#𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐀

This man. Holy, this man

Needs someone to keep him in check. Like a owner with their dog. Your job is less his lover in public, but more of not letting his impulse thoughts win

Like Elbert, he looks like he would be a massive spender, but he has it in more control than Elbert, so yeeeeaaaahhhh... good luck

Loves physical contact. He has something touching you 24/7. Be it his hand on your waist, your legs intertwined when you sleep, or simply him holding onto your sleeve like a child when you move through the bustling streets of London

Loves giving you hickies, especially your neck, where everyone can see how good he's making you feel. Also, he likes to mark more intimate areas, such as your chest and thighs

He also likes someone who's just as sly as him. He calls them your "adventures," and he can't wait for the next one

#𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐋

He seems like a person who's into that doctor/patient trope. He just wants to take care of you

He will melt if you see him mildly injured, like a paper cut or something, and you basically nurse him back to health. You make such a big deal out of the smallest things and it makes him love you more

Likes it when you feed him. Seems like the type to love strawberries, like Vlad. He thinks you feeding him is an intimate moment only for you and him and no one can take that

He finds it funny when you take his glasses, spare clothes, and pretend to be him. Jude could literally walk through the door and be treated by you rather than Roger based on limited experience, and lots of watching you probably made him worse, but go off, I guess

Lets you play with his hair. His hair isn't long and luscious like Victor, and there isn't a whole lot you can do with it, but you love it regardless

#𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐙𝐙𝐀

Hey bbg

He thought that he would like stupid people. He likes how his intelligence alone overpowers and intimidates them and how he will always be above them. But you're different

He always has a stoic/rude demeanour around others, even you. But once you're being closed doors, especially in the light, he becomes clingy. He won't outwardly say he wants attention. He just glares at you before you give in or lay you down on top of him, his head mushed in the crook of your neck and breathing heavily

Apparently, he smokes. Based on the translations, Jude and Roger were former doctor and patient, but I see him as someone who still has the problems he has but just covers it up so no one can see (this may not be true). You automatically assume it's because of his smoking and force him to stop, and while he gets pissy, inside he likes how you care for him

Likes to have baths with you. With your back against his chest and his head in the crook of your neck... I dunno, I guess he likes having his head in your neck

#𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

He's obsessed with the idea of happiness, so he seems like a dude who would go for a cheery and bubbly character

Would defo make flower crowns for you, I don't make the rules here. Also likes teaching you how to make flower crowns. He likes how you actually make an effort, and it comes out so bad. Will still wear it with pride, though

He's really tall, so if you're small, he would be the type to carry you on his back. He just wants you to know what it's like to be tall for once

Make him sweets, and he will never let you go. He needs your food to function properly. He may even become a little grumpy and forget to ask his daily question of "are you happy?" to everyone he meets, especially Jude

Wear his clothes and you're never wearing your own clothes again in public. After a long day of working in the trading company, all he wants to do is to settle down onto his bed and cuddle you wearing his shirt

#𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑

That man is a hazard to society

He likes someone who is willing enough to cause a bit of mischief with him, having fun like no one else could. You're like partners in crime

Of course, his number one priority is the Queen, second is you. You can't really complain when the Queen is above you, but later on, you will be of more importance to him soon enough

Likes it when you braid his hair. He's always open to trying new hairstyles and enjoys looking himself in the mirror, looking absolutely stunning. It just comes naturally, I guess

He also likes it when he paints your nails. You can not tell me he doesn't spend time doing his nails, so doing it for you just seems right to him

He likes those people who don't look what they seem. For example, an innocent, cute-looking thing starts cursing at someone or an intimidating darling randomly starts hugging him from nowhere demanding cuddles, and everyone's just like "???"

©️umi-adxhira [19/06/2023]