fairytales-of-yesterday

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

64 Olso Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Pairings: John Deacon × (female + plus size) reader

Warnings: Eventual smut, you know how it is

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: some light… thoughts of…. smut….. lots of flirting and these two dancing around each other even more.

Note from author: thanks for sticking with this story! it’s so nice to see people enjoy reading it and it makes me so happy when people talk to me about it and gosh just anyway thank you!!

//

Chapter Six

Rita Caine went into labour on the morning of 1st June 1972. Her baby girl was born at seven o’ clock precisely, so her parents decided to call her Dot.

Dorothy Angela Caine was healthy and happy, and so were her adoring parents. Which was nice. Lovely, in fact. Except it meant that, for the last week, you had been running the bakery entirely by yourself.

You didn’t mind. Really, you didn’t. You couldn’t be more thrilled for Mickey. He’d been talking about starting a family ever since he met the girl of his dreams three years ago. His happiness gave you the strength to face that wall of hungry customers every morning and your cantankerous old kitchen.

But after one day on your own, you could barely summon the energy to hold yourself up. You simply let your body sink into a heap behind the counter, sliding down the wall until your bum hit the floor. You didn’t even have the energy to cry.

It didn’t matter that you’d spent days prepping, it didn’t matter that you were getting just a few hours of sleep and you hadn’t seen your friends or family in weeks, it still wasn’t enough to keep you ahead of schedule. Much as you tried, you couldn’t do the job of two people already doing the job of five.

As always, John was your only source of comfort.

You hadn’t admitted to anyone just how much pressure you were under. Mickey was able to come in a few days a week but you wouldn’t ever ask for more, and Gladys was like one of those comets you only see every 70-something years. You were barely getting by but hadn’t said a word. Somehow, John was able to sense it. Probably something to do with the way you gasped with joy and relief every time he stepped through the door.

That day, John was off on his rounds, dropping off little white boxes around the city on a bike borrowed from a girl on his floor, the same girl who leant him the flowery, red helmet. It turned out she’d painted the bike to match. When John turned up one morning, scowling atop his new wheels, it had kept you smiling all day.

When he finally returned to the bakery later that afternoon, just a few hours from closing, you were so relieved to see a friendly face, you almost kissed him. Almost.

You settled for resting your hand over the one he rested on the countertop and squeezing gently.

“Thank God, you’re here.”

John just smiled, puzzled but obviously pleased that you were happy to see him.

“Has it been bad?”

“No,” you lied. “Not really. But the last few hours are always a rush. How were the deliveries?”

“Great! Although, when I knocked at, er…” He checked his list, scrawled down by several different hands over the course of the week. “The one in West Brom? This one here. They weren’t in. The lady in reception said they’d gone out for breakfast instead, so.”

“Happens.” You shrugged. “That’s your lunch sor’ed, then.”

John gave you an almost weary look.

You only beamed back. John always liked to make a show of refusing every time you gave him food to take home but he’d never once left empty-handed. Today would be no different.

John couldn’t keep a straight face for very long. He shyly raised a hand to cover his smile, but he couldn’t hide those crinkles around his eyes and the way his cheeks bunched up, still pink from his bike ride.

He was much smilier now than when you met, like he’d almost been out of the habit of it back then. You weren’t sure what it was, his friends, the band, this job, but things seemed to be going right for John. A small, selfish part of you wondered if you might have something to do with it too.

Things had, admittedly, taken a bit of a pause in that area. There was still tension, little looks and touches that lasted far longer than they needed to, but John hadn’t said anything more about the date he’d proposed, and you were too terrified to bring it up yourself.

That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been any progress. If you could call unbearable sexual tension progress.

Exactly three weeks after he was mugged, John invited you to another of his band’s gigs. He was right, it went a lot smoother than the last one. The hall was bigger, there were far more people, and John didn’t look like he’d rather be anywhere else the whole time.

After digging through your wardrobe, you managed to find a sheer top with long, bell sleeves and some black velvet flares. You made sure to stand as near to the centre as you could so that you could get a good look at him and, more importantly, so that John could get a good look at you. You felt his eyes on you the whole night.

There was another gig just a few days later at a school hall in Wandsworth. By then, you knew most of the words to a few of their songs. You even brought along a few leftover treats from the bakery for them to give out to punters.

Nothing, nothing, compared to the feeling of looking up at John while he played, his long fingers tugging at the bass strings, his head bowed. The way he moved, it was so different to how he acted offstage. There was a confidence about him you’d never seen before, and when he shook his long hair over his shoulder and smiled down at you, his hips swaying to his own beat, you suddenly understood why people went mad for musicians.

John always managed to find you, despite the low lights and the now heaving crowds. It sent a thrill through your blood every time his eyes met yours. Of all the people in the room, all those pretty girls and boys who were beginning to worship Queen, John only had eyes for you. He walked home with you after every gig.

You fell into a routine together without having to say a word. If John’s shift ended late in the evening, he would come up to your flat to watch telly for a while before heading back to his lonely digs, or you would walk up and down the high street a few times, just talking and talking, laughing and talking. If he worked the morning shift, John would stay to help out, but only after you’d made sure he wasn’t just trying to get out of studying.

And then there was The Incident. You blushed to think about it, even now.

It happened last week, at the end of a very long shift for the both of you. The bakery was so busy, John had offered to stay behind to help.

Working beside him again was so lovely. John didn’t often have time to hang out with all the essays he’d been lumbered with, so you had lots of catching up to do. Standing there behind the counter, chatting away about everything and nothing while you made tea and dished pastries, it was the happiest you’d been in months. Your cheeks began to ache from all the smiling.

When things finally started to wind down, you took John back into the kitchen with you and, after he expressed an interest, you showed him how the bakery’s signature bread was made, a darker loaf made up of rye flour, as well as wholemeal and white.

You shaped the dough between your hands, weighed it, then rolled it over a tray of seeds that shone like tiny jewels under the bright lights above. Together, you and Mickey made forty of these loaves every day. You could probably do it blindfolded now.

After a while, John’s questions petered out and you worked in a comfortable silence, which you only broke to remind him of the next step or to compliment his technique. No words could describe how hard you worked to not stare at John’s big hands as they rolled and patted and kneaded the dough.

Whatever walls you both had, they were gone now, there was no denying it. Being around John had always been easy, even though your heart was usually pounding so hard you could hardly hear him speak over it. But now there was no shyness, no awkwardness or uncertainty. There was no one else you could just be yourself around, and you liked the person you were when you were with John.

You realised you were smiling to yourself and quickly glanced up to see if John had noticed.

To your surprise, he was watching your face, his eyes soft and faraway. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught him staring but you’d never actually been brave enough to call him out on it. For the life of you, you didn’t know why that day felt different, but you smiled and asked,

“What are you thinking about?”

John’s eyes seemed to focus again and he looked embarrassed. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at you at all. Perhaps he’d just zoned out and his gaze had only happened to land on you.

Feeling sheepish, you tried to laugh it off, but then John said,

“I was just wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you.”

You froze, the dough heavy in your hands, and stared. It was all you could do.

“What?”

John blinked.

“You’ve got flour…” He pointed at his cheek, then at yours. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You were thinking about kissing me?”

John baulked, shook his head, and made an odd sort of sputtering sound, all before he managed to choke out,

“That’s not what I said!”

He seemed so certain. For a moment, you wondered if you’d somehow misheard or even imagined it. But no, no, John had let whatever was in his head come tumbling out of his mouth, perhaps for the first time in his life.

“You said, ‘I was wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you’.”

“Well, exactly! So-”

“So you were thinking about kissing me.”

“No! Well, I…”

You couldn’t help it, you had to laugh. It was just so silly. John looked like he was about to turn grey and keel over, he was so embarrassed. For some reason, it only made you want to keep pressing.

“So, would you?”

“What?”

John’s voice cracked. It made your stomach flip.

“Get flour all over your face?”

It was a dare. You knew it. You knew John felt it. Suddenly the kitchen had gone very quiet.

You watched his lips press together. His steel grey eyes searched your face.

“I don’t know,” John said slowly, almost like he couldn’t believe he was really having this conversation with you. “Only one way to find out, I s’pose.”

He’d seen your bet and raised you. More than that, he’d given you permission, laid his cards out on the table and said, ‘Go on, then. Put your money where your mouth is’.

Your gaze dropped to his mouth again. He couldn’t have been more than a foot away. All you’d have to do was lean forward and he was yours.

John watched you, those clever eyes clear and bright. Were you imagining it, or had he turned himself towards you? Opened himself up to you and lowered his head a little?

Slowly (too slowly, you knew that now) you began to smile.

“I s’pose.”

John’s mouth twisted, then he laughed softly. It sounded hollow. He turned back to the dough and asked if it looked good enough to you.

It was only later that you realised your mistake. You’d been echoing him, a positive. John had heard an uncertain negative. You’d never wanted to kick yourself so bad.

It didn’t come up again.

/

On a bright day in the middle of the second week of June, you were setting up the chairs and tables outside the bakery when you heard a familiar bell chime.

John pulled up by the curb, his bike tires skidding across the asphalt. He looked pleased with himself, it was obviously a move he’d been practising. He’d certainly come a long way from careering into oncoming traffic, oncoming pedestrians, and several oncoming trees.

“You’ve mastered that.”

John smiled, wide and relaxed.

“You know, I had a scooter when I was a teenager.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Used to drive it everywhere. I’d choose that over this deathtrap any day.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

You tried not to sound too distant, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off John as he took off his helmet and shook out his long hair. He was so insanely beautiful, and you knew he liked to dress nice sometimes and he was always talking about what he wanted to do next with his hair, but John really didn’t have a clue just how gorgeous he was. At least, to you.

“I was big on The Who. I had this little Vespa 180.”

You nodded as if you knew what that was.

“Had the parka and the hair, and everything," John went on. “I was stopping by my friend Dave’s house once; he was in the band I was in back then. This car pulled out of nowhere and I skidded and came off it. Cut up my arms and my legs,” John scratched at his chin. “Had a nasty scrape here. Nearly fainted on my mate’s living room carpet from all the blood.”

You laughed because he did, though really, the thought of John as a teenager, just a kid really, hurting himself so badly that he was that shaken, it made your stomach twist.

He’d been doing that more often lately, telling you stories. Not just about his friends, his band, his classes, but about his home and his family, about the people he grew up with and the fun they used to have. It had taken almost half a year but John finally seemed to have relaxed.

“You were in a band back home too?”

You watched John dismount the bike, grinning to yourself when one of his long legs got caught in the frame. Still as graceful as ever.

“The Opposition, we were called. That’s where I learnt the bass.” John smiled, looking you up and down quickly. “You look lovely.”

You looked down at yourself. A skirt you’d pulled from the washing basket, an apron, and your coffee brown uniform shirt didn’t seem worth mentioning. With a pang, you wondered if you’d led the conversation down a path John didn’t want to follow and the compliment was just a distraction.

You looked back up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you’re…”

He looked you up and down again, slower now, taking his time, then smiled sheepishly like he’d forgotten himself for a moment. There was something so innocent and genuine about that smile too. It made John’s eyes sparkle and his nose wrinkle, and the small sound he made, a soft, shy laugh, was so endearing, all you could think about was kissing him.

“Thanks, er…”

You huffed, not sure what else to say. But John was still smiling. He knew.

Even though he’d bottled it, once again, passers-by must’ve been able to feel the tension radiating off of you. Your heart was pounding so hard, you were sure John would be able to hear it, even over the roar of morning traffic.

“Listen,” You shot him a look, wryly acknowledging that you were changing the subject. “I need to talk to you.”

John heaved an exaggerated sigh and turned his bike around.

“Oh, dear…”

You followed him down the narrow alleyway that separated the bakery from the haberdashery next door. There was hardly enough room to manoeuvre around the bins and potholes on foot, let alone fit a bike through, but he had the knack by now. You still managed to admire John from behind as you wound your way around the skips like an Olympic gymnast.

“I can’t make it tomorrow night. I’m really sorry. Gladys needs me to close up, she’s going out with…” You pulled a face. “Well, she’s going out. And I’m basically gonna have to work through the night to cover not having Micky still.”

You’d made plans to meet up before his next gig, what should’ve been your fourth. But there was just too much to do, and after two weeks of on-and-off help from Mickey and Gladys, you were exhausted.

“I’m so sorry, John.”

“It’s alright, love. Don’t worry. It’s tough at the minute, I know.” He squeezed your elbow gently, reassuringly, then turned to chain up his bike. “You’re gonna miss out on seeing my new outfit but…”

“Well, that’s why I wanted to talk to you...” You wrung your hands, half agony, half hope. “To make up for it, I wondered if you… If you wanted to come over after work tomorrow night? I could make dinner, help you get ready, do your make up…”

John laughed, soft and bright, all gap-teeth and eye crinkles. You could get used to seeing him this relaxed, you really could.

“I’d really like that,” he said, nodding sweetly, then he laughed to himself again.

You tried not to look as happily surprised as you felt.

“Good!” you said. “Cool.”

John beamed then raised his arm, gesturing for you to enter the bakery before him.

“Cool,” he repeated, teasing you.

You beamed.

“Cool.”

“Good.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Good.”

/

Friday night should be the best night of the week. You should be out with your friends, maybe going to the pictures or getting a drink in a nice bar in town. Instead, you were so exhausted, you could barely put one foot in front of the other, and climbing the stairs to your tiny flat felt like traversing the foothills of the Himalayas.

But you had become used to not seeing your friends, and there was never anything on at the cinema, and even when you could summon the energy to get all dressed up and buy yourself a drink with a fantastic name, all you could think about was the bakery, and all the work you could be doing instead.

That night, it took all your strength to not flop down onto the sofa, or even better, your bed. Today had been tough, tougher than usual. Fridays always seemed busier than you could handle, even though in terms of numbers, they couldn’t be much different to any other day. Everyone was desperate to get home, hardly caring that you were too.

Feet dragging the carpet, you went into your room and stood in front of the mirror. Blurred eyeliner, tangled hair, and an empty sort of look behind your eyes.

“C’mon, kid,” You patted your cheeks, then tilted your chin up, dragging your open palm down your throat. “You’re alright. You know you can do it. You’re alright.”

You slipped your fingers under the collar of your shirt and pressed them into your pulse.

“Still going.”

You stayed there for a moment, just looking at yourself as you felt your heart beating against your fingertips. You tilted your head to one side, then the other.

There was a threatening red patch by the arch of your left eyebrow where a spot was brewing, and the bags under your eyes were growing darker and darker by the day.

“Mickey will be back soon.”

Lying to yourself was a new low. Mickey hadn’t said when he’d be back permanently. Gladys had actually made a rare appearance that afternoon but you were both so busy, you hadn’t had a chance to ask what the plan was. You were just treading water, and the storm showed no sign of clearing.

There was a knock at the door, four short, sharp knocks. Very John. Right on time, as always, and just when you needed him.

You eyed your bed longingly.

When you opened the door, John was covering his head with his hands, pulling down on the edges of a brown baseball cap. He looked agitated and embarrassed, like you’d caught him in the middle of something.

“Hi,” he said, and despite his obvious uneasiness, he still managed a sweet little smile.

“Hi.” You laughed. “What’s that in aid of?”

John’s expression darkened.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” He dropped his hands with a sigh. “I tried to do my hair but I don’t think I did it right. Had to hide it all the way here.”

“Hide your-? How bad is it? What have you got under there?”

John gave you a look so hopelessly crestfallen, you had to laugh.

“Come in, come in. We can sort it. I hope you’re hungry.”

That brought back his smile.

“Starving,” he said firmly, and followed you into the flat.

He left his bag by the front door, beside your untidy pile of shoes. You half expected him to flop down onto the settee and stick the telly on, or go into the bedroom to get changed, but John stuck close to your side, waiting for you to tell him what to do. He still had that stupid hat on but you sensed it wasn’t a good idea to ask about it yet.

“You looking forward to tonight?” you asked instead.

You moved to the cupboard to grab some bits for dinner, nothing fancy but definitely soul-soothing. You sensed you both needed it.

“Yeah, yeah it should be good fun. Brian reckons we’ll pull a good crowd and he’s never wrong, so…” John rolled his eyes. “How was work? I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to help today. I could probably do tomorrow though and some days next week?”

“I’d love that. And it was good. Busy but… And I think I might’ve convinced Gladys we can afford more help.”

“Another baker?”

“Just someone to watch the front of the shop.”

John pouted.

“I thought I was gonna be your new sales assistant.”

“What? You’re joking. You’ll be busy touring the world soon! You’ll forget all about us.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your heart sank like a stone. You were only teasing, but there was a thickness to your voice, a tell-tale edge of self-pity, that John couldn’t have missed.

The thought clouded your mind most days. Whenever it threatened to sink its claws too deep into your chest, you had to turn the radio up or start a new dough, anything to distract, if not completely switch off your whirring brain. John couldn’t stay forever. You knew that. He knew that. But you were having a hard time accepting it.

John gave you a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t forget you, love.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand and slipped it round your wrist, gently, carefully.

“I couldn’t.”

His fingers were so long, they could wrap all the way around your wrist, his rings cold against your burning skin. It was all that kept you grounded.

He could barely hold your gaze when you first met. Now John could touch you like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world, because it was.

You kept your eyes on his hand. You couldn’t look at him, you couldn’t let John see just how much the thought of him leaving pained you, or how desperately you wanted to rest your hand over his and pull him closer.

He squeezed your wrist once, then took back his hand. It took everything in you not to grab it back.

John cleared his throat. His cheeks were a little pink.

“Anyway, the band is just a… It’s not forever. It’s just a laugh. Something to get us a bit of money.”

You frowned.

“Is that how you all see it?”

John looked away.

You’d obviously touched a nerve so you changed tack.

“D’you mind chopping the veg?”

You worked together in a comfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft chip chip chip of John’s knife against the chopping board as he sliced carrots and onions, and the crooning radio in the corner.

You let your mind wander to what it might be like to hear one of John’s songs on the wireless someday, what the DJ might say about him and his friends as they lined up the next track. Would they mention his degree? How hard he’d worked to get their little band off the ground? Would they mention him at all? John seemed happiest in the background, a silent but steady column keeping everything upright.

They wouldn’t mention you, you knew that. Or Mickey, or Gladys, or this bakery. They’d never know what a good influence 64 Oslo Square had been. They would never know how insular John was when he started, and how proud you were of him for wanting to get better. They would see someone quiet, distant, but smart, so smart, and never know just how far he’d come.

You weren’t part of his story. Or maybe you were, in a way. A book, tucked away in a corner of the library that only you and John knew was there. Either way, it wasn’t important. DJs and music magazines and record sales didn’t matter to you. Knowing John was better for meeting you and your home was all the acclaim you needed.

You looked over at John. He was smiling to himself as he fiddled with the papery skin of an onion, probably trying to decide if he’d chopped enough.

Memories of the boy who walked into the bakery on that rainy night flooded your mind. So nervous he could barely get his words out, so thin he was shuddering despite his old jumper. Now here he was, in your home, making dinner with you, smiling at you-

John had caught you looking.

You cleared your throat awkwardly.

The song on the radio changed to something more upbeat, a Slade song.

“So, this show, where is it again?” you asked, turning back to the pasta boiling on the stove.

“A club down in Soho, I think. The Regent? Le Régent? I don’t know. Freddie saw the name and picked it. God knows what the place is like.”

You shrugged.

“Sticky floors, horrible loos, grabby men. They’re all one in the same.”

“Yeahhh, I don’t mind you missing this one, to be honest. It won’t be glam.”

John turned and leaned against the sideboard. He was so tall, he could perch on the side without needing to hoist himself up.

You just kept your eyes down. If you stared at his hips for too long, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist pinning them against the counter.

“Don’t worry, when we go out, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

It was such a bold statement, it surprised you, and all you could think to do was laugh.

“Oh, really?”

“Only the best for my boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

“Aren’t you?”

When you looked back over your shoulder, John had turned his back again and was chopping vegetables innocently. His face was half hidden by his long, wavy hair but there was no missing the smirk in his voice.

You watched his arm move up and down, up and down, and marvelled at how slim he really was. You could see his bony elbow poking through his brown chequered shirt with every shunk of the knife against the chopping block, though you were pleased to find you could no longer pick out his ribs as his body turned. Your plan to feed him up a bit was clearly working.

Against your better judgement, you let your gaze travel slowly, slowly down.

John’s tiny waist seemed made for your hands. The contrasting curve of his hips made you dizzy. You could almost feel your fingers sinking into them, see his pretty face flush with embarrassment at how much he enjoyed you touching him, until your palms began to tingle. You rolled your open hands into fists, squeezing tight.

You could sweep his long hair aside and press kisses down his spine, your hands still kneading at his hips, until he had melted beneath you. So tall, far taller than you, especially in his heels, and now there was a thought.

All it would take was one hand on the small of his back, pressing down gently until he was bent over the counter, his face pressed into the cold linoleum and his arse in the air.

You couldn’t help thinking John always wore those tight trousers just to antagonise you. You ached to run your hand over him, to feel the soft black velvet against your skin, to hear John gasp as your fitted your hips against him and leaned down, your chest against his back, your hair tickling his neck, your mouth near his ear as you told him how pretty he looked and how long you’d been thinking about fucking him, just like this.

“I know a place near my uni. It’s nice there, you’ll like it.”

You looked up, your eyes heavy.

John was smiling at you. It was such a lovely smile, but all you could think about was the warmth of his flushed skin against yours, the pathetic whines and moans that would fall from his funny mouth, and the ache between your thighs.

He was right there. You could have him if you wanted. All you’d have to do is cross the kitchen and kiss him, hard, so hard he couldn’t possibly doubt how much you needed him, and then he’d be yours.

He’d be in your bed, looking up at you with those big, clever grey-green eyes and begging you for more, grinding down on your fingers, his pretty hair spread across the pillow, his legs wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck me, love. Ohhhn… Want you inside me, darlin’. Fuck…”

His mouth would fall open as he watched you spread his legs even further apart, boots still on, his pink tongue pressing against the little gap in his teeth.

“What do we say?”

“Pleasepleaseplease, make me cum, please.”

“Good boy.”

“I promise, no sticky floors and no grabby men.”

John sipped his cup of tea.

You swallowed thickly.

“None at all?”

He laughed and shook his head at you, but didn’t rise to your challenge, much to your disappointment. Instead, John poked at a slice of onion with the tip of the knife.

“Are these alright?”

They were perfect. Of course they were.

After dinner, John disappeared into your room to get changed into his stage gear. When he came back, you had to pick your jaw up off the floor.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected. The last few times you’d seen John perform, he’d either opted for jeans and a T-shirt with his band’s name on it or borrowed things from his friends. It seemed he’d finally gone shopping.

“Do you like it?”

John beamed as he turned this way and that, showing you his black satin suit from every angle. The material shone in the light, framing his body neatly. The jacket pulled in at the waist, its shoulders contrastingly broad, and was open enough to show off the silk shirt he wore underneath.

“Yeah.” You took a breath. “I love it.”

John grinned. He clearly felt good. He ought to, looking like that.

You let your gaze follow the length of the suit, from his open collar right down to his red woollen socks. They offered a sliver of another part of John’s personality, a homely frugality that you couldn’t help finding endearing.

Cute as it was, you soon found yourself staring at his chest again. John was usually so bundled up against the cold, to see any of his skin sent you into an almost Victorian stupor, and now here he was, his chest bared down to the bottom of his sternum. You realised you were biting your lip.

“It’s thanks to you guys that I could buy it. I’ve been eyeing it in the shop for weeks. Thought you ought to be the first to see it.” John was peering in the mirror above the mantle, angling his chin this way and that. “Do you really like it?”

“You look great.”

You meant to say more but John started to play with the buttons on his shirt, toying with the idea of undoing one more.

“Come on, then. Let’s see this hair,” you said quickly.

With a woeful sigh, John turned away from the mirror and went to remove his hat but stopped with his fingers wrapped around its brim.

“You promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” you lied. “C’mon, you’ll be late. How bad can it be?”

With an awkward smile, John took off his hat.

You pressed your lips together. When you were sure you had control of your smile, you tried to think of something reassuring to say. You came up blank.

“Oh, John…”

He groaned and let his head fall back, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony.

“My sister does it when she wants to make her hair curly,” John moaned. “She taught me over the phone but I don’t think I did it right.”

You couldn’t resist, you had to laugh. John had wound two pencils into the front pieces of his hair, not the craziest idea in the world, but they’d somehow become tangled and were now stuck. One pencil was sticking almost straight up in the air. You couldn’t imagine how long it had taken John to get them under his hat.

John looked wretched.

“Is it bad?”

“No.”

“You said that a bit quick.”

You offered what you hoped was a reassuring sort of smile.

“It’s fixable.”

“Darling,” John moaned, drawing out the sounds so woefully, you’d finished laughing by the time you realised what he’d called you.

“It’s alright! It’s alright, we can sort this. God, all those brains and you can’t curl your own hair,” you laughed and shook your head. “God help us all if you ever do become an engineer.”

You directed him to the sofa so you could get a proper look at the top of his head. While you poked and fiddled with the pencils, you tried not to think about how you’d ended up standing between his legs again, and how nice it was to have him looking up at you.

After a moment or two of you muttering under your breath and John wincing every other second, the silence clearly became too much for him.

“Where are you from?”

You frowned, carefully turning one of the pencils between your fingers.

“What?”

The stereo in the corner was still crooning on, something low and slow that the DJ had swooned over. ‘For all you lovers out there…’ he’d schmoozed. ‘Something to set the mood and get you feeling good…’. You and John had just tried your best to ignore it.

John shrugged as best he could considering his precarious position.

“I’ve just realised I’ve never asked.”

“You won’t know it.”

“Try me.”

You looked down, smiling.

“Wandsworth.”

John thought for a moment then shook his head - carefully.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know it.”

You laughed but stopped when you accidentally tugged too hard and it made John yelp.

“Sorry, sorry. How did you even manage to- It’s on the other side of the river.”

“Oh, the nice part of town?”

You snorted.

“Johnny, this is the nice part of town.”

“Ahhh, so you’re from the wrong side of the tracks? Or river.”

“That’s me, a real wrong’n.”

“Yeah, I see it now, you’ve got a streak a mile wide.”

Your fingers slipped and you accidentally tugged on John’s hair again. This time, the little whimper he gave in response made you press your thighs together.

Trying you best to keep your expression neutral, you asked,

“Murderous?”

“Hmm… Maybe when Alastair is about.”

You looked down at him again.

There was something about John knowing you, what you liked and what you didn’t, who you hated and what you wanted out of life, that made your chest lurch. You couldn’t recall anyone ever wanting to learn about you, to see you, or even listen to you like John did. Even if he did use it as ammunition to tease you.

“He won’t be around long. Gladys will see sense soon enough. She’s not as green as she is cabbage-looking.”

John exhaled sharply through his nose, agreeing.

You just smiled and tried to ignore the nagging doubt in the pit of your stomach. Hope that your boss would see sense, that Alastair would just leave you alone, was always closely followed by a grim stab of dread.

With one final twist, one of the pencils came free and you gave a triumphant little cheer.

“One down, one to go. No WHSmith trip for you.”

John leaned back, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror about the mantle. As he did, his hands came up to rest on your hips, an anchor so that he could lean back far enough without toppling over.

“How does it look?”

“Well…”

You couldn’t fault John’s sister’s logic. The pencil had certainly done the trick. John’s already wavy hair had pinged up into a perfectly coiled curl, though it probably wasn’t quite what he’d imagined.

Considering he had less than two hours to get to the venue and sort himself out, you decided you’d hold off on delivering the bad news for now. Instead, you slipped your hand around his jaw and turned John’s attention back to you. The other pencil was at a more hopeful angle but was much more tangled.

You grimaced, then gave a low whistle.

“I don’t know, New Boy. Might have to get the scissors.”

John snapped his head up, his eyes wide.

“Kidding! Kidding.”

His hands didn’t leave your hips until he got up to leave.

/

In an empty lecture hall in South London, rehearsals had been rolling on for seven hours now, and Queen had been arguing for at least six of those.

“I just think if we keep the refrain going for, you know, a more… It would sound better.”

“We’ve already got enough bloody refrain on this track. It’s practically trippin’ over itself with how much bloody refrain you’ve stuck on it.”

“Oh, don’t be fucking childish.”

Roger and Brian had started to bicker from the moment they picked up their instruments. What was meant to be constructive criticism had come out much more condescending than was probably intended, which led to muttered comments under Roger’s breath, which, in turn, led to Brian getting defensive.

“I just think it needs a bit more towards the bridge, there. It’s stopping and starting at the moment.”

“It’s stopping because you keep stopping it! It’s fine as it is! There’s more than enough guitar on this one already, the bloody concert’ll be- People wanna get home, you know!”

Fearing they weren’t going to get much work done at this rate, Freddie attempted to act as peacekeeper, but he couldn’t resist dropping in the odd unhelpful comment. Soon, they were all squabbling like boys on the schoolyard, arms crossed and bottoms lips jutted out.

John sat in the corner and watched. He had one long leg slung over the other, his bass a familiar, comforting weight in his lap. While he waited for his friends to finish their argument, he sighed and rested his chin on the instrument’s rib, its sleek black body cool against his skin.

His fingers itched to play. It felt like ages since he’d been able to just switch off his mind, close his eyes and pluck out a rhythm that would slot in nicely with songs formed months before he joined the band.

He shifted his bass again, so that it lay across both his thighs. It reminded him of you, of how wonderful you’d felt sitting in his lap the night you patched him up and saved him from the cold. John felt something in chest tighten, then roll through his body to his stomach. He blew out a long breath.

He couldn’t believe you’d actually worried about being too heavy for him. He couldn’t believe you had no idea how much he’d loved being close to you and how his body had missed yours ever since. John hugged his bass closer, wrapping his arms around it and catching his own wrist to hold it tight, until he could almost imagine its body was yours, warm, soft, and everything he dreamt of.

“John won’t go for that.”

He looked up at the sound of his name. Roger was smirking at him. Beside him, Freddie looked worryingly hopeful.

“Go for what?”

“I just think our look could be vamped up a bit!”

Freddie was already on the defensive and he hadn’t even explained his idea yet, a tell-tale sign that John wasn’t going to like this one bit.

John glanced at Brian, who looked indifferent, and Roger, who seemed excited to see his reaction. He raised his eyebrows and Freddie sighed.

“I just think we could try coordinating a little better. A strong colour scheme. All of us looking like a band.”

“Yeah, okay,” John said, shrugging. “I’ve got no problem with that.”

“And I was thinking we could wear a bit more makeup.”

John’s face fell.

“No.”

“Deaky.”

“No way.”

“Everyone does it!”

“I don’t!”

“Deaky, it’s fine,” Roger rolled his eyes. “It’s just a bit of eyeliner, it’s not gonna kill you.”

John wrinkled his nose but stayed quiet. He knew when to pick his battles and, more importantly, he knew when he was outnumbered and likely to lose. Still, logistically there were still some issues.

“Where do I even get eyeliner?”

John thought he heard Freddie mutter something like ‘oh, for fuck’s sake’ under his breath, but Roger cut in before he could protest.

“Shops, Deaky. Come on.”

“I won’t have time! I’m always either at uni or work. I barely make it to gigs with enough time to get changed as it is.”

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend! She wears eyeliner, I’ve seen it. And hey,” Roger grinned like a cat. “She could even put it on for you.”

John didn’t have the energy to argue. He shut his mouth again, his skin prickling with embarrassment as his friends murmured in agreement, smiling wicked smiles and whistling like teenagers.

“I’m not wearing any bloody makeup,” John said firmly, crossing his arms over his bass. “That’s the end of it.”

/

That’s how you found yourself between John’s knees, again, leaning in so that you could rub an eyeliner pencil dangerously close to his eyeball.

John was not taking it like a champ. For one thing, he kept bloody blinking. And he was gripping your elbow so tightly, you were starting to lose circulation.

“You know, John,” You smiled as you prised your arm from his grip for the third time. “This’ll only take a second if you just let me do it.”

John’s forehead creased, his funny mouth drawn into a thin line as he begrudgingly set his hands down by his sides. He slipped them under the lip of the table and held on so tight, his knuckles began to pale. So lanky, so smart, so sensible, and terrified of a pencil.

“So, this was Freddie’s idea?”

Immediately, you regretted asking. John scowled, almost making you drag the eyeliner across his temple.

“Stupid idea. I’m gonna look ridiculous.”

You couldn’t help smiling. You’d never seen John so cross and moody before.

“You’ll look fine.”

“It won’t suit me,” John pouted. “I haven’t got the right… Face for it. Roger and Freddie, even Brian, they’re…”

He trailed off, closing his eyes with a woebegone sigh.

Oh, no. You weren’t going to let him wriggle off the hook that easily.

You lifted John’s chin with three fingers, thinking it would force him to meet your eyes, but his stayed closed.

You slipped your thumb over his chin, his slight stubble rough against your skin, and pressed down gently.

“What?” you asked, giving his chin a little shake.

John didn’t open his eyes but you did manage to encourage a little smile out of him.

Pleased with your small win, you brushed your thumb across his chin again, more gently now, the tip of your thumbnail just skirting along the edge of his bottom lip. You ached to reach just that little bit further and tug it down. That would get his attention.

“You’re just as pretty as those idiots, Johnny. And twice as talented. And you’ve got one thing they ‘aven’t got.”

“What’s that?”

You grinned.

“Me.”

John finally opened his eyes and gazed at you softly. He looked tired, too tired for a boy his age, tired right down to his bones, his soul.

You watched his silvery green eyes cross your face, and found yourself wondering, not for the first time, what on earth he was thinking about when he looked at you like that.

“I’ve got you, do I?” he said quietly.

You tapped your thumb sweetly against his chin, then finally let him go.

“Actually, could you close your eyes again? It’s easier like that.”

John flinched when the tiny brush met his eyelid.

You felt bad. To his credit, John had never worn any makeup before so you knew it must feel odd for him. When he shyly brought it up earlier that afternoon, you thought he must be joking, but John had looked so mortified, you knew he wouldn’t put himself through it unless someone was making him.

You glanced at the clock on the mantle. Just half an hour before he needed to get going. John was already dressed and ready to go, you just had to make him look presentable, he’d said. A laughable idea. He looked amazing tonight. He always did. So amazing, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You smell nice. What is it?”

John opened one eye, almost sleepily.

“Hm?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Nothing.”

You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

John blinked, then shot you an embarrassed, lopsided smile.

It was difficult to ignore just how good it felt to be close to him again. John’s bony knees were at either side of your hips, pressing in ever so slightly whenever your eyeliner poked somewhere it shouldn’t.

You hummed to yourself, turning his chin to the left, then the right, making sure you’d jabbed the pencil everywhere you needed to. Neither of you seemed to realise there really was no need for you to be touching each other quite so much.

Instead, you just tried to focus on making sure you didn’t poke his eye out. It was infinitely more difficult putting makeup on another person, it was taking all your concentration not to make John look like a B movie monster.

“How’s school going?” you asked, breaking the silence.

John smiled against your palm.

“I love that you call it that.”

“It is school!”

He was grinning now.

“It’s going well.”

You held up two blushes, one deep red, one pale pink, then told him to open his eyes again. John wearily chose the latter, probably hoping it would be less visible than the other.

You dabbed a brush that had definitely seen better days into the powder and told him to smile.

“Are you top of your class?”

“It doesn’t really work like that.”

“But?”

You raised your eyebrows and John’s forced smile turned a little more real.

“Yeah, I am.”

“That’s my boy.” You dabbed at his cheeks, hoping it would look something like what Freddie had envisioned. “Teach me something.”

John shrugged then laughed when you told him off for shuffling around too much.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Which pliers are your favourite?”

John shot you a dark look as you lifted his chin again.

“You tease me far too much for someone who also claims to like me.”

“And you get shy far too much for a boy who once said he ‘fancied me like mad’.”

“I might’ve had a drink or two that night. Sorry.”

“Ahh, so you don’t fancy me like mad, that was just the Stella talking.”

John shot you nervous, crooked sort of a smile.

“I didn’t say that,” he said quietly.

Stunned, you stopped painting his cheeks. You knew you must be staring but you just needed to see him, to see into him, to know if he was just teasing you or if behind that shy smile, John really meant what he was saying. You saw nothing but real, if bashful, honesty in those clever eyes. It knocked you for six.

“See,” You poked his chest with the end of your brush. “Gone all shy again. You’re blushing.”

John rolled his eyes.

“That’s the make up.” Then, as if realising he had no real reason not to be honest with you, he added, “It’s hard not to blush when there’s a pretty girl holding my face and teasing me.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears.

“You like it when I tease you?”

“God help me if I didn’t, it’s all you do.”

His hands were warm on the backs of your bare thighs. When did that happen? He was keeping you close but without any urgency or force, his touch so gentle you hadn’t even registered his hands resting there.

“You’re easy to tease. You’re so ridiculous.”

You felt John’s fingers tighten, ever so slightly, against the backs of your thighs. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were wearing a skirt. All it would take was one act of bravery, from either of you, and those hands could be sliding up under it.

“How!”

“You’re just all…” You gestured at him, up and down. “Skinny little thing with huge hair and big fuck off boots and… You’re just brilliant. I like you so much.”

Those last few words came out a lot quieter than you’d intended. In fact, you hadn’t intended them at all. A shyness you weren’t at all used to began to settle over you as John’s kind, clever eyes searched yours again. He was smiling such a lovely smile.

“I like you too,” John said softly.

Was it your imagination or had he moved closer? His back was straighter, his chin raised. John’s fingertips were now pressing into the backs of your bare thighs in a way that was impossible to ignore or pass off as an accident.

But then he let go, and all the tension between your two bodies dissapited at once, like all the air had been let back into the room. John gave you another wonky smile, tucking his hands under his own thighs for good measure.

“Marks on the outfit tonight?”

Letting out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding, you tried your best to stoke a smile.

“Oh, ten out of ten. Especially like the, um… What is this?”

When John came into work that morning, he had carried with him several bags and his bass guitar, all balanced precariously on his borrowed wheels. After his rounds, he stayed to help in the bakery and to your delight, had asked if you’d help him get ready again.

You’d only caught a flash of dark silk cloth when he showed you his outfit, stuffed unceremoniously into one of 64 Oslo Square’s own pristine white bags. Now you could see the whole ensemble and you still weren’t entirely sure what it was meant to be.

John tugged at the front of the black tunic. It had long flowing sleeve and stark, white panels that fell like a cape down his sides and his back.

“It might’ve been a wedding dress at some point? I think that’s what Freddie said?”

You flicked at the ruffles at the tops of his sleeves and shook your head.

“Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I do love it though. All of it.”

You let your gaze slip down his front, from the white stripes that hung across his chest, to his shiny black and white platforms.

You loved those shoes. You’d often fantasised about telling John to keep them on while you tugged down his stupid, tight, faux leather trousers. There was just something about them. They made John’s already insane legs look even longer and so elegant, and the thought of him bending over the bed in them… But you’d only thought about John like that once. Honest.

You tapped the back of his hand, now sitting neatly in his lap.

“I love this ring.”

You couldn’t be certain but you thought you’d seen John wear the onyx signet ring almost every time you’d seen him. It was part of what made him John.

“It’s just an old thing.” He spun the ring around his finger a few times, then took it off and handed it to you. “My sister gave it to me. Well, my mum and my sister. For my eighteenth.”

You could feel John’s eyes on you and you studied the ring. It really was beautiful. Simple but wonderful, just like him.

Without thinking, you slipped the ring onto your index finger. The black stone shone as you held out your hand, turning it this way and that to catch the light.

“It’s lovely.”

John beamed and you felt like you’d unintentionally pleased him, like you’d struck a chord that ran deep through him. You liked the ring his family had given him. That was important to him, whether John realised it or not.

You tried to get it off. Stuck. You held your breath, trying not to panic, and twisted the ring just like John had before he took it off, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d been wearing the ring on his little finger, you remembered, it was only tiny really.

“Oh, shit.”

You twisted it again and again, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth, until John rested his big hands over yours.

“Hey, hey, don’t panic.” He closed his fingers around yours, smiling softly as he raised your hand up so he could get a better look. “I’ve got a trick.”

“W-”

“I’m not gonna bite you. Just- Look, trust me.”

You watched, heart in your throat, as John raised your hand to his lips. He gently folded down your other fingers, leaving your index sticking out.

“Saw this in a film once.”

John kept his eyes down, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. They were short and blunt, you’d never noticed that before. He was so intriguing. How could someone be so masculine in some ways and so beguiling in others?

Then your fingertips brushed his wonderful, funny mouth and you forgot how to think altogether. John carefully lowered his head until your finger had passed between his lips.

You stared, open-mouthed, as John put his teeth around the edge of the ring and gently pulled back, slowly, steadily, until it finally slipped off your finger.

He grinned, the ring caught between his teeth, then flipped it back onto his tongue and held it out for you to see.

You laughed, your cheeks burning. John was still holding your hand.

“See!”

John held the ring up with a flourish, as if he’d just performed a grand magic trick.

You nodded, breathless.

“Yeah.”

It was all you could think to say. You couldn’t think much at all.

John’s gaze slipped over your shoulder. He must’ve seen the clock on the wall, because he checked his watch and sighed.

“Shit.” He squeezed your hand before letting go. “Listen, I’ve got to make a move but- Thanks, love, for everything. Dinner was amazing and so were you and- Just thank you.”

Still feeling a bit dizzy, you tried to summon a smile.

“Anytime, Johnny.”

He had started to gather up his bags and his guitar, but stopped just to tell you,

“I really like it when you call me that.”

“I know. You’re not as difficult to read as you might think, New Boy.”

John looked away for a moment, shaking his head, then he said,

“Thanks again for the…” He gestured vaguely at his face. “I wish you were coming with me.”

“So do I. I’ll be humming your songs to myself all evening, I promise.”

John looked like he wanted to say something else but, again, seemed to think better of it.

“See you tomorrow,” he said instead, then gave you a little wave as he turned to go.

Always so taciturn, never speaking unless he felt it was important, never saying more than was needed, never putting his oar in when he knew it wasn’t necessary. John never said anything without careful, quiet consideration, and even though it had been lovely to watch him slowly relax, trust, and grow in confidence, it was also wonderful to know he was still so uniquely him.

He never spoke without meaning to. The thought chimed like a bell, echoing through your head again and again until realisation finally began to settle in. John never spoke out of turn. He never said what he didn’t mean. So when he said that he’d been thinking about kissing you, all those weeks ago, it hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. It hadn’t been a mistake. He meant it. John meant it.

Suddenly, it felt like your feet had been frozen to the ground. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. And all the while, a prickling, breathless ache swept through your body, until it felt like your heart might beat out of your chest and you had to ball your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

John had one foot out of the door but when you called his name, he immediately stopped. He leaned back in, surprised.

“Yeah?”

Tell him. Tell him now. Tell him how much you like him, how much you love him, love every bit of him, from his mad, fluffy, lovely hair, right down his ugly socks and his ridiculous shoes. Tell him that he’s the cleverest boy you’ve ever met and you love that he never makes you feel stupid. Tell him that he’s the best part of your day and you’d give anything to have him stay just five more minutes, because watching him leave is always torture.

“I…”

Tell him that you want to take care of him, listen to him, protect him, be there for him, love him, for as long as he’ll have you. Tell him. Just tell him.

But the moment you opened your mouth to speak, those worries that you so often had to push down, finally broke through the dam you’d built to keep them at bay.

John was top of his class at one of the best universities in the city. He was an incredible musician in a band whose popularity was growing by the day. And if all that wasn’t enough, he was gorgeous. What did you have to offer? What would he want with a girl who had never stepped foot in a university and whose future was bolted to a tiny, old, struggling bakery. Why would he want you?

John was still looking at you expectantly, the corner of his funny mouth tugged up into a small smile.

“You okay, love?”

You took a deep breath.

“Do you know why the bakery is called what it is?”

John looked bewildered for a moment, then he laughed.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

John still looked a little confused but he must have sensed you needed him to answer. He shuffled around his bass and his bag of clothes, then braced his shoulder against the front door to keep it from closing.

“Erm… Gladys was so happy to have her own business that she threw a bit of a do? So she was a bit drunk when she was filling in the forms. Put the address in the wrong place. And she spelt ‘Onslow’ wrong. It just stuck.” John laughed, shaking his head. “She told me it’s because she was in A Doll’s House in secondary school. She’s a mentalist, that woman. Why?”

Because you’re brilliant. And you love this place almost as much as I do. You know it and you know us. You care about something I care about, even though you have a million and one things going on in your life and the stakes are so much lower for you. Because you’re gorgeous. And kind. And just because it feels so new and odd and wonderful to be seen, to be known.

“Nothing,” You smiled and pushed the strap of his bass case further up his shoulder for him. “Have fun, rockstar.”

/

Queen played well that night. They were always brilliant but tonight just felt different.

Maybe it was because Mickey was able to come in today and you hadn’t worn yourself out to the point of tears. Maybe it was because Roger had grabbed you excitedly by the shoulders when he saw you, kissed your cheek and told you to come backstage after the show. Maybe it was because you’d spent the afternoon doing John’s make up again, and seeing a flicker of jealousy cross his painted and usually impassive face sent a surge of excitement through your chest.

Not even your deep running insecurities could deny that John, shy as he was, seemed to be playing to you that night. For once, he stayed near the front of the stage where you could see him. And what a sight.

You’d always been a sucker for a pretty boy, but John was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen, and standing there, his legs spread, his satiny clothes clinging to every inch of him, you found yourself pressing your thighs together with every thrum of his bass through the speakers.

You watched, transfixed, as his long, elegant fingers danced down the neck of his bass, the fingers of his other hand tugging and pulling at the strings with such strength and dexterity, you couldn’t help imagining how he’d use them on you.

You raised your heavy gaze to meet his. John was bobbing his head to his own beat, lost in the music. When he saw you looking, he smirked and tossed his hair back over his shoulder, his hips rocking enticingly back and forth as the music suddenly picked up its pace.

You couldn’t take much more of this.

After the show, you headed backstage as instructed, your ears still ringing from Brian’s outrageous guitar solo and the pounding of drums through the speakers.

You’d never been backstage before. There were no bodyguards, no dark heavy curtains or growled requests to see a pass, but it was backstage after a great gig, and that was pretty cool.

You picked your way through the cold, narrow corridors, following the signs that lead you to what had generously been called a green room. Queen’s name was sellotaped to the door.

Pushing your way inside, you found the band busy meeting their fans. There was a big crowd, surprisingly big actually. You stood in the doorway, taken-aback. You knew the boys had fans, but you didn’t realise they were this popular.

Brian was talking with a man in a dark suit, probably the owner of the club. They stood seriously in the corner, plastic cups full of something amber-coloured in their hands.

Roger and Freddie were in the midst of a big cluster of kids - a mixed group, all shapes and sizes - chatting, signing programmes and tickets, and posing for the odd photograph.

It took you a moment to find John. He was sitting in the corner on a small leather sofa, keeping out of the way. He had a drink in one hand that he hadn’t touched and was chatting quietly to a girl.

You hesitated. They were sat very close together. The girl was beautiful, all dark hair and big brown eyes, and she was listening intently to whatever it was John was saying.

Roger noticed you first. He thanked the lad he was talking to, then made his way over to you.

“Bakery girl! I’m so glad you’re here. Did you bring any cake? I’m Hank Marvin.”

“Hi, Rog. Sorry, love, not tonight.”

“I’m coming by tomorrow, you can’t lead a boy on like this,” Roger beamed. “Deaks, your girlfriend’s turned up empty-handed!”

At that, John looked up. When he spotted you, he immediately brightened.

You gave him a thin smile and mouthed that you’d meet him outside. You didn’t wait for him to respond before you slipped back into the corridor and out into the cool night air.

/

John was still hiking his bass onto his back when he found you standing under a lamppost, just a few feet away from the entrance to the club. Your eyes were down, your arms crossed over your chest. You hadn’t noticed him yet.

John was so pleased to see you, he wasn’t looking where he was going. He walked right out into the middle of the road, his feet barely touching the ground, he was so excited to reach you.

A car horn blared.

“Look what you’re doing!”

John almost jumped out of his skin and hurried the rest of the way across the road, just as an old Cortina went whistling past with a rude gesture out the rear window.

“What is it with you ‘n’ not looking where you’re going?”

You were shaking your head, smiling softly. The lamplight from above meant your face was partly in shadow, but the half he could see was looking at him so fondly, John couldn’t tell if his racing heart was from the shock of the car horn or because of you.

He shot you a lopsided sort of a smile.

“Distracted. Sorry.”

He offered to walk you home and to John’s delight, you accepted. You weren’t far from the bakery, maybe a ten minute walk, so you set off together instead of heading for the tube station.

John didn’t notice the quiet at first. He was never usually the first to start a conversation or the one doing most of the talking, but tonight he found himself chatting your ear off about the gig, the audience’s reaction, the trouble they had with the sound, everything.

When you finally did speak, it was quiet and considered.

“Lot of fans you lads have now.”

John laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s funny, I never really thought about that side of it. It’s funny hearing people sing along to the songs still. I had a bloke ask me to sign his shirt the other day. Me!”

You nodded slowly, lips pouted. John should’ve known he was in trouble then.

“Lots of girls around you back there.”

John shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful.

"Oh, I’m sure it's just that when they come round to get autographs, they move in a cluster from one person to the other.”

“That girl you were chatting to was pretty.”

John glanced across at you. Your head was down, your arms still crossed over your chest. He sighed and came to a halt, his bass knocking against his back.

You took a few steps past him before you realised he’d stopped. When you finally noticed, you shook your head at him, your eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown.

“What?”

You seemed to be making an effort to keep your voice steady and stern, but there was a flash of something behind your eyes. You were hurt.

John stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders almost up to his ears. As comfortable as he was with you, it was still strange to speak his mind. It didn’t come naturally but he wanted to get better, for you.

“Can we not do this?”

“What?”

“You being cross with me for something I haven’t done.”

“I’m not cross!”

That came out a lot louder than you intended. You looked away.

John watched you swing your arms, hardly able to meet his eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so nervous. He couldn’t help grinning. You were jealous.

“The girl I was talking to is Freddie’s sister. She’s in the year below me, she was asking about uni applications.”

He watched, still smiling, as you visibly deflated.

“Oh.”

There was a painful sort of pause.

John waited for you to speak again but you seemed to be struggling to string together a sentence. He resisted the urge to tease you about it. As much as you liked to toy with him, you’d never once made fun of him for being quiet. And he loved you for it.

John stepped closer, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes on yours.

“There were a lot of girls back there, yes. But I’m walking home with you,” he said, steady and quiet and sure. “It’s you who got me a job, and looks after me, and makes me laugh.”

You scoffed.

“That’s all you like me for, is it? Cos I gave you my bike and I make you laugh and feed you like a stray cat?”

“Yes. And…” John smiled. “And you’re kind to me. And you listen to me. And you’re beautiful and smart and… You’re so beautiful, you make my chest feel like it’s… I only want to walk home with you. I only ever want to be with you.”

John waited, heart pounding, for your verdict. You seemed stunned. In all honesty, he couldn’t believe he’d said those things either. But he meant it. He meant every word. It was about time he stopped mucking about and just told you how he really felt.

After what felt like an eternity, your astonished expression sank into a sweet smile, then a full on grin.

“You’re always full of surprises, New Boy,” you said, and laughed softly.

You fell into step beside each other again, stealing glances at each other just to catch the other doing it too. It was thrilling, the start of something wonderful, or just two people realising they had been in the middle of something for a long time and were relieved to find the other there too.

John couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed, so completely at ease, but it would probably be the last time he was with you.

“It’s mad that you live around here,” he said as you walked down a row of gleaming department stores. “It’s so posh, I don’t even wanna look in the windows.”

You snorted.

“I couldn’t even afford their coat hangers.”

“It’s strange the bakery’s struggling so much considering where it is. And there’s always a queue round the corner. Is it the rent, or..?”

“Er…”

You didn’t know how to answer. In fact, you looked a little embarrassed, like you’d never really thought about it before. Gladys had just always said that the bakery was barely getting by and no one thought to ask. Everyone was struggling right now.

“Well, yeah, I suppose,” you said, shrugging. “And there’s ingredients and the energy bills…”

“You just always seem to sell out and your customers are always pretty well-off.”

“Gladys does all the books herself. Maybe she’s just shit at maths.”

“I could take a look?”

He knew as soon as he said it that that was a step too far. They didn’t need his help. They could look after themselves just fine. He hadn’t meant to sound patronising but John still felt awkward.

“I’m sure Gladys knows what she’s doing,” he added quickly.

“Well, let’s not go mental.”

You gave a scornful laugh, then squeezed John’s hand to make sure he knew he hadn't offended you. He squeezed back gratefully.

You nodded at a glossy car showroom on the other side of the road. Ferraris. Chevys. Bentleys.

“You know, I’ve lived in this city all my life and I’ve never been in any of these shops.”

This part of the city was a honeycomb of luxury stores you would never dream of touching, let alone passing through their doors. They hurt to look at.

John shook his head.

“Me neither.”

“You might soon. Roger was telling me someone from a record company might come see you perform.”

John spoke without his teeth separating.

“They might.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” John’s smile was forced. “Yeah it would be. Good, I mean. It’d be good. Great, even.”

Of course, you never missed a trick.

“John?”

He sighed, pushing his balled up fists deeper into the pockets of his jumper.

“It really was just supposed to be part-time. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“What plan?”

“My plan.”

You knew a little about his childhood, the uncertainty and worry of it all, so he felt comfortable talking about it. Unpredictability made a boy grow up thinking about every penny. John liked to plan and think and organise because his life, so far, had been anything but. There was control in order, and safety in the ordinary.

You slipped your arm though his.

“It’s going to be alright, you know. If things do pick up with the band. I know it sounds terrifying but,” You grinned. “It’s also very, very cool, John.”

Your smile helped to ease the ache in his chest a little, but John’s mind was whirring.

“But what if-”

You stopped, and your arm looped through his meant he stopped too.

“You’re gonna keep them on track. You’re going to keep them safe. You’re going to make sure no one messes you around, or takes you for granted, or tries to take something you made and put their name on it. They need you, John. They can’t do it without you.”

He looked down at his shoes, shaking his head, almost in disbelief.

“You’re so lovely.”

Still staring at the floor, he missed your soft smile, but John felt you move closer. Just as his heart began to flutter, you took your arm back. He immediately missed your touch but before he could begin to feel disappointed, you slipped your hands into his.

“You said they went through how many bassists before they met you? They were looking for a good musician, yeah, but you’ve got something they didn’t. A brain.”

John looked up, laughing softly, but your gaze was clear and steady. He’d never felt so seen, so held.

“You’re so smart, John. You see things other people don’t. And if one day you decide you don’t wanna do it anymore then that’s fine. But if you don’t do it because you’re too scared? Well, then…”

John felt something in his chest shift. There had been a belt wrapped around his heart - growing steadily tighter and tighter by the day - ever since he learned about this man from the record company coming to see them play. You’d finally loosened it.

“It means I wouldn’t be able to be your delivery boy anymore,” he murmured.

That was perhaps the worst thing of all. His time was already fractionated into countless pieces. If music became a full time thing, he wouldn’t be able to see you every day. John wasn’t sure how often he’d be able to see you at all.

He thought your smile looked pained as you squeezed his hands. You’d been worrying about it too.

“You were always too good for me, darlin’. Us. For us. The bakery.” You smiled, soft and sad. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

John wanted to argue. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, he wasn’t too good for anything, but especially you. He wanted to stay. He loved his life, he loved the bakery, he loved being with you, learning from you, talking to you, making dinner with you, making you laugh, all of it, every moment. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere. But he also didn’t want to lie to you.

“They need you, New Boy.”

“Don’t you need me?”

“I want you, that’s different.”

John raised his eyebrows. To his utter delight, you shyly glanced away, your lips pressed together as you tried to keep back a smile.

“It’s not up to me,” you soldiered on. “You need to do whatever you need to do. But I’m gonna support you, no matter what.”

His heart was going like the clappers. John could hardly piece a sentence together at the best of times, least of all around you, but now, he could hardly gather a solid thought.

You were so good. He couldn’t believe he’d found you. In all the world, all its mess, all its people, he’d made one decision and found you, as easy and as simple as crossing the road and spotting the one shop with all its lights still on. A lighthouse, he thought, calling him home.

“Think maybe you’re the one who’s too good to be true, love,” John whispered.

Those soft, gentle eyes. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. You had this way of looking at him, of being with him, it made John feel like the only man in the world. You liked him, he knew you did. So why couldn’t he just lean forward and kiss you? Why shouldn’t he?

His gaze dropped to your lips, just for a second, but when he met your eyes again, John knew you’d noticed.

You started to smile.

His heart in his throat, John placed your left hand on his hip so that his right was free to hold your cheek.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch with a soft sigh.

“Of course, if you want to stay, you can,” you said quietly. “I’ve got used to having you around, New Boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

You seemed so small in his hands, but there was something there, in the way you’d looked at him before your eyes slipped shut, in the way your fingers pressed into his hip, ever-so-slightly pulling him into you. You weren’t surrendering to him. He was only taking the lead because you were allowing it. The thought set John’s heart racing.

“Maybe I could still do a couple of odd shifts. You know. Every now and then.”

“Weekends would be good.”

“You’re in charge, Captain.”

You opened your eyes. They were dark and full in the low light.

“I’ll hold you to that, Johnny.”

John swallowed hard.

A shout across the street made him falter. There was a crowd of young men, all six sheets to the wind and staggering on uncertain legs. They started whooping and hollering at you, waving bottles of beer starwards.

John let his hand drop back to his side.

“Idiots,” he muttered, mostly because he was fairly certain he’d been about to kiss you just then, and now he couldn’t feel his legs.

You rolled your eyes.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You nodded over your shoulder to the bakery, now just a few shops down.

It pained John to shake his head.

“Can’t. I have an exam in the morning, I should get home.”

You blinked, then laughed.

“You amaze me, Johnny.”

“Thanks for coming tonight… I haven’t told you… I’ve been meaning to… I wanted to tell you that it’s been really nice seeing you, um… I can’t think of a nice way to phrase this.”

You squeezed his hip in what he was sure was meant to be a reassuring way, but it took everything in him not to whimper.

“Just go for it,” you said, smiling.

John took a deep breath.

“Things are mad here, I know. And they always have been but especially now, with Mickey away so much and Gladys… You haven’t had any time for yourself and I can see it, you’ve been… You’re like me, you’ve felt stuck. But lately you’ve been going out and making time for yourself and… Look, I don’t really know what I’m talking about but it’s just really nice to see you so happy.”

It was probably the most he’d spoken in one go in weeks, maybe even months, but it didn’t feel as exhausting as it usually did. John knew that was because of you.

You squeezed his hip again. John had to bite back a moan.

“Thank you for reminding me that I’m allowed to have some fun,” you said, beaming.

You were good for each other, John knew that now. Physical touch no longer felt painful, because of you. Speaking his mind no longer felt like an impossibility. You hadn’t fixed him, as so many had tried to. You’d just given him the room to feel comfortable, to feel at home, and that was all he’d needed. You were good for him. Good to him. How could he ever give you up?

“Thanks for doing my makeup.”

It was a stupid thing to say, John knew it, but you were almost at the bakery door now and he didn’t want the conversation to stop, or this night to end.

“Oh, it was a pleasure. A very genuine pleasure.”

You reached up and delicately swiped your thumb under his bottom eyelashes, brushing away smudged eyeliner that he couldn’t wait to be rid of.

“It’s easy when you have such a willing participant. You were such a good boy for me.”

John almost tripped over himself at that. He recovered well, or at least he thought so. You were smiling ever so mischievously as you slipped your key into the door.

“You sure you won’t come in? The sofa’s got your name on it. Or, you know…”

Your boldness could’ve knocked him flat.

John wanted to say ‘yes’, and many other, much lewder things, more than anything in the world. He wanted to hold your face in his hands again and press his lips against yours, back you up against the door and kiss you and kiss you until you could hardly breathe.

He wanted you to pull him inside and up the stairs to your flat. He wanted you to shove him down on the bed, straddle him and just have him, take him, make him yours, and maybe even allow him to make you his in return.

But it was late. And your conversation had made him sad, though the conclusion had been a reassuring one. He was tired, and worried about the future, and not looking forward to getting up at the crack of dawn for this stupid exam.

“Soon,” John said. “I promise.”

He wasn’t sure if that last part was for him or for you. Maybe both. John just hoped you knew how painful it was to step back from the bakery, turn away from you for the night, and head home to his lonely, lonely bed.

//

Master List

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

i’m reblogging this bc jimmy buffett passed away and i miss him and also this was a p nice lil fic

A Pirate, Two Hundred Years Too Late

Pairing: Gardner Langway x reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: idk it’s really soft, if you’re rowan you’ll probably cry, there’s like.. one? swear word? and references to sex

A/N: Happy birthday, Rowan!!! You’re the love of my life, and I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have a best friend and soulmate like you :’) 

The title is from a Jimmy Buffett song (A Pirate Looks at Forty), I know it’s super long. I’m just really soft and I love Rowan that’s all, here we go, lads.

•

     You awoke to the sound of silence. Something you definitely weren’t used to anymore. Soft morning light peeked through your curtains as you yawned quietly. Stretching, you rubbed your eyes and looked out the window and squinted at the dim sky, realizing it was still extremely early.

     Much too early to be awake.

     If the sun wasn’t even up yet, why on earth should you be? You squeezed your eyes shut once more, trying to hold on to those last few moments of sleep, and rolled over to cuddle up with your husband. At least, you tried to.

     Your brow furrowed, eyes still shut, as you tentatively stuck your arm out and felt around the other side of the bed, as if Gardner was somehow hiding under the sheets. Whining quietly, you gave up and opened your eyes. Sure enough, you were alone. 

     With a small frown, you rolled over again to glance at the clock.

     Five thirty. Christ, what could he be up to?

     You moved onto your back, staring at the ceiling and letting yourself wake up. It was when you finally sat up that you realized you knew exactly where he was.

Keep reading

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

#artists

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

so i might have both a roger and a deaky fic kinda in the works

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

is the queen fan base still active on here

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

just a quick question since i was wondering as the fandom isn't as active anymore, how many of you are still active in the queen fandom and/or creating content ? 🥺

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

A persons fanfic tells you a lot about them, i , a fanfic writer, realize in terror

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

Hello! I recently found your blog and just wanted to let you know what an extraordinary writer you are! It's very evident all the time and care that you have put into your stories and writing. I particularly loved reading "The Fantastic Drowse". It's exceptionally well written--definitely in the Top Tier of Roger Taylor fanfics. I was curious if you had ever considered writing a sequel to it at all? Because I would read it in a heartbeat. Thank you so much. I hope that you have a great day! 😊

This literally made my day holy Shit??? I’m so sorry I didn’t see this earlier!! I can’t even begin to thank you, that’s one of the loveliest compliments I’ve ever gotten on my writing, I’m literally just speechless!! I’ve thought about doing a sequel, but I’ve never written a continuation of anything before? I’d be up to trying though!! Writing is a bit slow at the moment (I’ve never been the fastest, but college really hasn’t helped with my speed), but I’m gonna try to be better this coming semester!!

Thank you so so much again, I seriously am still in shock from your sweet words :’) I hope you’re having a lovely day/night!!!

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

Be Gentle With Me, Darlin’

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader

Warnings: None! 

A/N: Sick fics are gold dust in this time of terrible trauma, okay, I’m doing a public service

//

Before he went off to university, Roger’s friends had told him that there was no weather in London. The tall buildings, the concrete, artificial light pooling at your feet, it all meant that it was never too hot, never too cold, storms were rare, and you’d be hard-pressed to see the stars, even in the middle of the night. 

This didn’t seem possible to Roger, who was raised beside a sprawling coastline and couldn’t imagine some blank wasteland where the closest thing to rain was the stale water in the taps. 

Now, standing under the thin awning in the market, he found himself wishing they were right.

Keep reading

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

Touch Starved. Roger Taylor x (female) Reader.

Author notes: Hello to the Queen/ BohRap Fandom! Although most people probably won’t be that interested, I’ve been adventuring around to other fandoms but have returned upon fullfilling an idea to soothe some lonely souls. So this fluff-filled reader insert is for anyone struggling with touch-starvation. I know everyone will have different experiences with this, so I tried to keep it generic and I’m sorry if it doesn’t quite fit how everyone feels it; it’s more from my personal experiences. And please bare in mind that this is a work of fiction in the sense that I know touch starvation isnt a fairy-tale and isn’t just solved in one night, but for the sake of this fic working it makes sense to do it this way. I hope you enjoy the fluff! -Luna x

Roger had only been away a couple of months, but to you it felt like years. This was his first tour since you had been together, he always made efforts to phone you and keep in good contact; and often his soft voice at the end of the phone-line brought you to tears. You had longed to be in his arms, feel his warmth against you or his fingers running through your hair. And now, finally, he was back, and you leapt off the sofa to meet him in the hall.

“Roger!” You padded along the passage in your socks to see him closing the door. He whipped round upon hearing his name, eyes locking with yours as a massive grin spread over his face.

“Y/N.”

Within an instant you were enveloped in his arms, and you expected everything to fall into place as as a perfect jigsaw. But it didn’t. Something felt weird.

You slowly pulled away from the hug, only a few seconds early, and if Roger had noticed he didn’t pass comment on the matter.

“God I missed you sweetheart.”

You met his glinting eyes in the gloom of the corridor, and now he was no longer touching you, you could focus back on the nice fuzzy feeling that came with Roger being home.

“I missed you too. Come through, I’ve got dinner all ready for you.”

You smiled up at him sweetly and he brought his hand to brush over your jawline, something you would usually love. Instead you shivered. Where you would have felt excited butterflies, yet again you felt strange. Roger frowned but still, said nothing. Within an instant his soft smile returned however.

“Sounds wonderful, I’m starving.”

—————————————————————————-

Days passed, and the both of you fell back into your usual routine around one another. You watched tv together, you would go shopping and take turns cooking. Nearly everything felt just how it used to. But there was one thing that still wasn’t right. More and more you realised that touch was becoming overwhelming for you. It wasn’t bad, but it very quickly could become too much. But one thing you were sure of was that you still loved Roger just as much as before- he still felt like home. Regardless of whatever was happening it wasn’t him that was causing the problem.

But your boyfriend was observant. He noticed how more often than not, you would be the one to pull away from hugs way sooner than you usually would. You no longer tangled legs with him when you sat together. It wasn’t like you.

And Roger wasn’t one to bite his tongue, he had asked you what was wrong on multiple occasions, but you’d always shrug him off or change the subject.

It went on like this for weeks, and one morning while you were both making breakfast before work, Roger decided he’d had enough. He was going to find out what was wrong.

——————————————————————————

“Can you get the cereal for me love?” Roger was rummaging around to find some bowls, his voice muffled as he spoke into the cupboard.

“Yeah sure. Let me just…” You strained as you reached up to where it was always kept on one of the highest shelves, mainly because neither of you ate it that often. As Roger placed the bowls down, he looked up to see you balancing on your tip-toes. On instinct, he placed his hands on your waist to steady you. He startled as you flinch violently, nearly falling as you spun round with the cereal box in your clutches; looking up to see his lips drawn into a thin line of concern.

“God Rog you scared me!” You tried to laugh it off, but your boyfriend didn’t join in.

“Seems like I’ve been managing to do that a lot lately.”

He met your eyes and you could see the seriousness in his, silently asking you to tell him what was going on. But you continued to play it off as you sat down with your bowl.

“Maybe it’s just these long shifts I’ve been doing that are making me tired, you know I can get jittery when I haven’t had enough sleep!”

Roger sat down opposite you at the table, and you both reached for the juice at the same time, his hand falling over yours. You twitched once more, nearly knocking the jug over if it hadn’t of been for Roger’s sharp reflexes: catching it with a flick of the wrist.

He didn’t take his hand off yours however, instead he gently but firmly wrapped it between both of his. It took a moment, but you got used to the feeling.

You brought your eyes up to meet his with timid reluctance, expecting to meet a sterness in his. But instead, you were met with a gentle look, but one that you knew meant he wasn’t going to let up until he got what he wanted.

“Sweetheart, you can’t deny that something is going on with you.”

You began to shake your head, ready to go against the claim, but he didn’t let you.

“No, please, don’t do that, you can’t keep on hiding this.”

You didn’t try to speak this time, just bit your lip as you waited for him to continue.

“Love please, it hurts me to know that something is wrong and that you are trying to deal with it alone. Let me in, tell me what’s going on.”

With a heavy sigh, you nodded, leaning on your elbow and putting your forehead into your free hand. Truth be told, you knew the day would come where you’d have to tell him, so after rehearsing the conversation in your head so many times, the words came surprisingly easily.

“Okay, okay. But it’s really not a big deal. So… when you were gone, I barely saw anybody, I was always busy with work then would just come home and be alone. I didn’t really initiate physical contact with anyone for weeks on end.”

Your felt the grip on your hand tighten just a little.

“I didn’t think much of it, until you came back. But since the first hug we had, something just felt off. I had waited ages to be close with you again, do all those things we love, but every time we try, it’s something so foreign. I wanted it to be good, I so want it to be good again. And it’s not you, please don’t think that it is because I promise it’s not. And it’s not like it feels bad but-”

“Y/N stop.”

You ground to a halt mid sentence, feeling slightly flushed with embarrassment at how quickly you had spiralled. You brought your hand to cover your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You managed to whisper out.

“Love, please look at me?”

You hesitantly brought your head out of your hand and met his eyes. He looked so soft and kind that you wanted to cry.

“You have nothing to be sorry for okay? Nothing. This isn’t unusual at all- you’re just a little touch-starved, and it won’t last forever. I just wish you’d told me sooner sweetheart. You had me thinking I’d done something wrong.”

“I am sorry, I just didn’t want you thinking this was your fault.”

“Well, it is partly my fault.” Roger swallowed slowly, guilt evident in the pained expression he wore.

“I should have realised how going away for so long would impact you. Next time we’ll find a way to do things differently.”

“No really it’s-”

“Uh uh, you can’t fight me on this love.” He broke back into a grin.

“Anything that allows me to see more of you is always a good thing. But I’m really glad you told me what was happening, thank you for trusting me, and I promise we’ll get you through this.”

You blushed slightly at his words, offering a shy but meaningful thank you.

After finishing breakfast, you were the first to head for the door, with your boyfriend in tow as he wanted to say goodbye like usual.

“Is it alright if I uh, hug you?” He asked with uncharacteristic shyness, rubbing his shoulder under his shirt.

“Of course silly. Remember that I want to get back to enjoying these kind of things again. And it’s not that I don’t, it just doesn’t quite feel like before.”

You walked forwards to be enveloped in his arms as he nuzzled into your hair. For a moment, things felt good, it was a glimpse back into how things were before, apart from the sensations were stronger and edged towards overwhelming. But it felt good.

Eventually, you both pulled away, and Roger noticed how you were almost giddy and slightly breathless.

“Alright, love?” He asked with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah.” You breathed with a far away look in your eyes. You couldn’t quite explain it, but you got the feeling that Roger could sense what was going through your mind. He looked over you with affection as he kissed your forehead.

“See you tonight, sweetheart.”

——————————————————————————

Dumping your bag in the hall, your body ached from your long day. You could smell cooking from where you stood, all familiar flavours that made your stomach rumble. You made your way into the kitchen as your boyfriend turned to greet you.

“Welcome home lovie, hope you had a good day?”

He held his arms open as an invitation, and you walked into them with mild hesitance. He wrapped you up slowly, taking time to let you adjust, his care and attention to make sure he didn’t overwhelm you was endearing.

“My day was long but pretty good thanks. What about yours?”

“Yeah, mine was pretty good, although Brian and I had a small row over one of the songs. All sorted now though.”

You hummed into his chest, tentatively allowing yourself to feel the sensations of his firm hold. Again, it made you feel a little dizzy, but it wasn’t bad.

“Doing okay in there?” You heard him joke from above as his head rested on top of yours. You leant yourself back a little to look up at him to give a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, just testing the waters.”

“And how are they feeling?”

After a moment, you decided on a response.

“Not as stormy as they were before.”

At that, his face lit up.

“Well I think we’re headed in the right direction don’t you?”

Your both happily bumbled around as you tried and failed to help him make dinner; he insisted on doing everything for you. So together you sat down at the table and ate your food. He had made your favourite.

“This is delicious, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome love.”

You fell into an easy lull of conversation as you ate, the atmosphere he had set with candles and wine was such a sweet gesture: you teased him for letting his romantic side slip. But he knew how much you valued what he had done, although you couldn’t help but wonder what the occasion was. It wasn’t long before you found out.

“Love, since this morning I’ve been thinking about what we spoke about, and I was trying to think of things we could do to try and help you feel more like you did before. So I had an idea, but if you don’t want to give it a try then you can completely say no…”

“What is it?”

You paused the movement of your fork; intrigued.

“I thought we could have a bath together? ‘Cause I remembered that Brian had a girl who suffered from a similar thing, and he said that taking baths together used to really help her. Do you want to give it a try tonight?”

You mulled over the suggestion, the idea of the warm water was inviting, and although the whole thing did feel like quite a big deal, you wanted to give it a try.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Really?” Roger’s eyes glinted.

“Yeah, I want to move through this, and a bath sounds good.”

“Thank you.”

You tilted your head, confused. “For what?”

“For letting me to take care of you for once, I know it’s not always the easiest thing for you.”

You played with your fingers, feeling bashful under all the attention.

“I mean it, I’m proud of you love. My brave girl.”

You picked up your napkin and playfully slapped his arm.

“Enough of that or I’ll change my mind.” You tried to feign annoyance, but your grin gave it away.

Roger smirked back at you.

“Oh I think I’d still manage to convince you.”

——————————————————————————

From next door, you heard the creak of a tap being turned off, and the stream of water dwindled to a few drops, then stopped. You didn’t move.

“Are you nearly ready love?”

As you sat on the edge of your bed in your bath robe, you weren’t sure why this was the moment you suddenly felt anxious.

“Be through in a minute!”

You were confused as to your sudden emotional change, it wasn’t as if you didn’t like being held and touched by Roger, it was just how overwhelming everything felt that had you hesitating. The idea of the bath had sounded good at first, but being so close to him so intimately you just weren’t so-

“Thought you’d been swallowed up by the bed in here!”

Your boyfriend came bounding in, wearing his own navy bath robe that you’d bought for him last Christmas. As he took in your form, he stopped for a moment, then slowed as he took a seat on the bed beside you.

“Are you feeling a bit nervous love?”

You nodded, gaze pointed down to your lap.

“Hey,” He tapped under your chin to coax you to meet his eyes, careful to not let his touch linger.

“I’ve got you, yeah? We will only go as far as what you are comfortable with, and if you want to stop, or even not do this at all, just say the word.”

“I want this Rog, I’m just a bit… apprehensive.”

“That’s okay sweetheart. But all you have to do is be brave enough to lie back, relax, and let me take care of you. Can you be my brave girl and give it a try for me?”

You nodded, your breaths felt heavy, but you were more in control than before.

“I think so.”

——————————————————————————-

Roger led you by a gentle hand to the bathroom, and the sight of the room made you gasp.

He had placed candles on the window sill and edge of the sink, surrounding you in hue of warmth. The bath itself was filled to the brim with bubbles. You could tell that he had used your favourite bath products to whip up the concoction.

“Roggie, you really are a true romantic.”

“Maybe I am, but if you go telling anyone I may have to kill you, or eat you. I bet you’d taste good.”

“Alright mister cannibal.”

You both giggled stupidly at each other, your shadows dancing around the walls as the candle flames flickered.

“Right then, shall we?” Roger wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he slipped off his robe, leaving him in his underwear. He walked behind you so he could slip off your robe, tenderly gliding it off your arms before hanging them both on the back of the door.

You weren’t sure why, but you felt shy to be in front of your boyfriend in your underwear. You supposed it had been a while since you had been naked with one another.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You bit your lip, slowly lifting your eyes to meet his as he stood in front of you. It only took a millisecond for his to flood with understanding.

“How about I get undressed first, then you take off yours and slip into the bath without me looking?”

You nodded, grateful for how easily he dealt with every bump and hurdle. Your boyfriend immediately took off his underwear, not seeming outwardly uncomfortable in any way. You coyly looked up at the ceiling, breathing out a short puff of air, wishing you could feel the same. You snuck a look at Roger, who, being the gentlemen he was, had adverted his own gaze to the ceiling. His patience caused another smile to catch on your lips.

“It’s okay Rog, you can look.”

“You sure sweetheart? Tonight is about making you feel comfortable, and I don’t want to do anything that causes you to feel the opposite.”

“I’m sure.”

Without taking too long to think about it, you unclasped your bra and placed it on the hook with your robe. You didn’t meet his eyes, even as you used him for balance while slipping off your underwear. You were finding that holding his hand at least no longer felt weird- that was a small victory.

You still held onto him as you went to climb over the edge of the bath, but a double tap under your chin made you stop and look up. Roger’s pupils were blown wide in the dimmed light of the room, making you take in a gulp of air.

“You are the prettiest little thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Always will be.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond. Instead, you chose to place a chaste kiss on his lips, hoping it held what you were too shy to say.

You stepped into the bath, the cosy warmth sending goose bumps all over your body.

You softly giggled at the feeling, realising you still hadn’t let go of your boyfriend’s hand.

You slipped your body under the water, it was impossible to feel too anxious as the nostalgic smells and comforting water surrounded you. You closed your eyes for a moment, taking it in.

Roger waited for you to get acclimatised to the water- he watched as your body disappeared under the layers of foam. After seeing you smile at him, in a way that seemed to be a silent reassurance that you were alright, he got in at the other end.

You both spluttered with laughter as you tried to fit your legs round each other’s. The feelings were manageable for now, and you both finally settled quite happily at opposite ends, just making small talk.

“The guys asked how you were today, they want to organise a dinner with all of us and our girls- Brian said he knew a nice restaurant.”

“Oh yeah? Well that’ll be nice, it feels like ages since I saw them all. Hey, do you remember that time we went out and that pigeon-”

“Chased Freddie all the way round the car park?” Roger spluttered as he remembered the night.

“He was hilarious, screaming at John that the bloody thing was possessed.”

You both laughed at the memory, then settling into a comfortable silence. Your boyfriend cautiously looked over you, then softly ventured a question.

“Love, are you um- ready to maybe get a bit closer?”

You knew from the start that you weren’t going to stay in these positions for the whole bath, that hadn’t been the intention of the idea. But as the notion was raised, butterflies began waking up in your stomach.

“Al-alright.”

“How about, you lay back against my chest, yeah? Shall we give that a go?”

You nodded silently, going to turn around to put your back to Roger as he reminded you:

“You’re in control of this, if it’s too much, let me know.”

You nodded once more, the iron grip you had against the sides of the bath didn’t escape his notice.

“Are you ready love?” He asked gently.

“Yes.”

You felt hands at your waist, slowly guiding you until you felt your back connect with his chest.

Roger could feel the tension running through you, and his eyes ran over your face as he saw your lip held tightly between your teeth.

“Try and relax on me sweetheart, imagine breathing air into your muscles and try to let go of the tension.”

You tried to listen to his words, but the more you tried the more you began to obsess over the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. As the feeling started to overwhelm you, your breathing rate increased just a little bit. Roger instantly noticed, and by some miracle he knew what to do, he unwrapped his arms from around you, and instead chose to lace his fingers through yours at your sides.

“Woah hey, I’ve got ya, we’re alright. Take some deep breaths for me, you’re safe sweetheart.”

With what felt like more space to breath now he had removed his arms, the heightened experience dropped down to a more bearable level.

You turned your head that was resting against his shoulder to meet his eyes, he could see the glazed-over look that told him you still weren’t quite with him; watching you fumble with the feelings he could only imagine. He placed a small kiss to your lips.

“There’s my girl, being so brave for me, letting me take care of you. Keep taking those deep breaths.”

As you came back down from the state of overwhelm, your boyfriend could feel you minutely relax against him.

“That’s it.”

You stayed like that for a bit, Roger just talking to you easily about whatever came to mind, as you used the time to let yourself experience the feeling of his body against yours. It took a moment, but it began to feel nicer than it had before. It still wasn’t quite right, but it was another improvement.

You hummed out a breath, letting the vibrations run through your body, giggling to yourself. Roger stopped talking, observing you fondly as you splashed some water with your toes.

“Amusing yourself?”

“You could say that.”

“How are you doing?” He placed yet another kiss to your collarbone, pulling back to look at you.

“I’m doing okay, much better than before.”

“Do you think you’d be alright with me putting my arms back round you? Or is that too much right now? We’ve already made a lot of progress tonight so-”

“I think that’d be okay.”

Your boyfriend hadn’t expected that response, and he squeezed your hands.

“Just say the word if you need to take a moment.”

Giving you all the time in the world to adjust, you felt his strong arms move to secure round your body.

To begin with you were tense with anticipation, expecting the feelings to come crashing back at a hundred miles an hour, but they didn’t. It was strange, like when you get up after fainting, or when you try a new food for the first time. But it was good, almost like before.

You stayed in his arms for a long time, just talking softly to each other. You didn’t need to say that things felt better, Roger could sense that something was different. And the more you stayed in his comforting hold, the more your feeling shifted from aversion to addiction. When he slowly moved his hand over your stomach, you had to hold back a whimper from the feeling. You pressed yourself into him and he got the message, running his large hands up and down your stomach, arms, and thighs.

You felt breathless, verging on dizzy. But it wasn’t bad anymore, you almost needed him to be touching you now, and you weren’t sure what had made the change, but you didn’t want him to let go of you.

“How are you doing sweetheart?” He spoke into the shell of your ear, watching your eyelashes flutter.

“Good.” Your voice came out breathy.

“Yeah? Are you feeling ready to get out yet?”

You hesitated.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Roger chuckled from above you and the rumble went through your own chest as you curled around into him, feeling embarrassed. His warmth had become your sanctuary, you didn’t want to let go.

“I’m glad things are feeling a bit better for you lovie.” He spoke quietly, realising that it wasn’t the right moment to tease you.

“The thing is, I had something planned for us in the bedroom. Hey, don’t look at me like that! It’s nothing sexual. I promise you’ll like it.”

As Roger let go of you and gently moved you away from him to get out, you felt a loss at the disconnect immediately. But before you could complain, Roger had lifted you up by the waist and wrapped a large towel around you. You were soon hoisted up into a strong pair of arms.

Snuggling into your boyfriends neck, you hummed contently.

As you entered the bedroom, Roger went to put you on the bed, but you held on, hearing him chuckle softly.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere, my plan was to give you a massage if you’re up for it.”

You couldn’t help but grin up at him, letting him deposit you on the bed as he ran to grab his robe and another towel for you to lay on.

“Get comfy, on your tummy.”

You did as you were asked, making sure you weren’t going to get cold with your towel over your lower half.

“This may feel like quite a lot love, so if you need a break just let me know.”

You hummed in acknowledgment , slightly sleepy.

You felt the bed dip, as he gently straddled your legs, resting his palms on your shoulder blades for a moment.

When he began, goose bumps prickled all over your body. His hands firmly working your shoulders and upper back in assured circles. Your mind went completely fuzzy with the feelings, which were unlike anything you had felt in a long time.

“Is the pressure alright? Not hurting you am I?”

“No, not at all, ‘s’good. So good.”

You couldn’t see Roger, but you knew he was smirking at how blissed out you sounded. But you didn’t care, all you were concerned with were his hands, which had now moved slightly lower down your back.

He found some resistance in the muscles there, you groaned from the feeling, caught up in the sensation as Roger pulled away, concerned he had hurt you.

“Do you want me to work this spot or leave it be for now? It’s not gonna be too much for you is it?”

“It’s fine, keep going, please.”

“Alright then.”

He pressed his fingers into the spot that had tension, tightening his grip on you with his legs slightly to keep you still. You breathed out a long breath, soon the feeling was good, and you melted into the touch.

“There’s my good girl.” He leant down and placed a kiss to the back of your neck as he worked.

He continued his massage for a long time, but you didn’t want it to end. When he finally did, releasing you from between his legs, you curled up in a ball.

He was rummaging around drawers for a fresh pair of pyjamas for you, finding your favourites easily.

“Let’s get these on you before you get cold.”

Roger handed you your bottoms which you slipped on as he did the same, but he was faster at slipping his top on as well, so as you finished, he pulled you into his lap.

“Arms up sweetheart.” You did as you were asked, and before Roger slipped the T-shirt over you, he took a moment to run his hands down your sides.

Your eyes shut, nearly falling backwards but a strong hand came to your back to hold you.

“Easy tiger, god, what did I put in that bath-water?”

You giggled sleepily as the top was pulled fully over your head, being met by the warm gaze of your boyfriend.

He took you in for a moment, just smiling as his eyes moved over you, before he seemed to come to his senses with raised eyebrows.

“Right miss, I think it’s time we went to bed.”

You whined.

“Not yet, can we watch tv in here for a bit?”

Roger rolled his eyes, but willingly pulled you against his back, emulating the same positions you had taken to in the bath.

You watch a light sitcom for half an hour, Roger just running his hands lightly over your arms and sides. The hypnotic pattern of it had your head nodding as your eyes struggled to stay open.

Your boyfriend noticed, carefully reaching for the remote to turn off the tv.

He slowly began to move you both so you could lie down in his arms.

You stirred slightly, half opening your eyes.

“Roger?”

“Sshh love, go to sleep now.” “S’wanted to say thank you. For this evening. For everything.”

Your sleepy mutterings made his heart flip, as he placed a kiss below your ear, pulling you slightly closer to him as you burrowed into his chest.

“You’re most welcome sweetheart. I love you.”

“Love you too Roggie.”

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

hi, i just read your roger taylor fics, and i wanted to say you are so good, thank you for writing, it just made me so happy. that's pretty much it, love your work <3

this made my entire year oh!! I’m genuinely speechless!! :’) thank you so so so much!! I’m a bit slow going and definitely nervous to post, so this just made my heart grow like ten sizes!! I hope you’re having a good day/night!! thank you again!!! 

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

Open Wide | Roger Taylor

Pairing: Roger Taylor/Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader

Warnings: Some sexual innuendos (because lets face it, it’s Roger), but None

Word Count: 5,823

Summery: In an alternate reality where Queen didn’t get together to dominate the music world, Roger became a dentist. (Y/N) finds herself in his office with a terrible tooth ache, but her cavity isn’t the only thing the drummer turned dentist wants to fill.

Masterlist

Keep reading

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

i want your last name

summary: it’s only a year…

word count: 16k+ (holy crap i’m sorry)

warnings: idiot-strangers to lovers, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), frightening situations & suspense, alcohol consumption and drunkenness, language, innuendo, timeline inaccuracies

a/n: please bear with me as this is my first time writing rog and i’m relatively unsure about it. anyway, have a vaguely spooky fic just in time for halloween! xoxo! also: big thank you to @ineloqueent​ for helping with this fic! y’all, she literally held my hand and walked me through every paragraph what a saint

january, 1982.

“you’re off your rocker if you think i’m going to go through with this, jim.”

from his place on the couch, john snorts. “what? afraid she won’t be pretty enough for you, rog?”

roger levels john an uncharacteristically dark look, jabbing his finger through the air like a knight brandishing his sword or a cowboy his gun. “watch your mouth, deacon.” john holds his hands upwards in surrender, and roger returns his piercing gaze to jim. “i’m not getting married. that’s absolutely out of the question.”

Keep reading

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

hello! just wanted to make sure, but are you alright with minors following you? have a nice day/night! thank you for reading.

hi! minors are totally welcome to follow yeah!! thank YOU!! have a lovely day/night too!!🥰

[fairytales-of-yesterday]

The Fantastic Drowse

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: nudity, it’s not smut though, illness (the flu), allusions to sex, it’s really really soft and cozy, my first use of the f word in a fic, mentions of stretch marks

A/N: Oh my god I’m soft. That’s it, I’m just insanely soft. This is for all of you that need a hug as much as I do. And who doesn’t love a good old-fashioned lover boy sick fic?

/

    When you’d first started feeling bad, you hadn’t planned on telling anyone. You’d never liked asking for help, not wanting to inconvenience anyone. Although you did desperately want Roger with you, you’d gotten through countless colds when you were single, so you figured you’d get over it quickly and then laugh with friends about it later. Sadly, the universe had other plans, and by the fifth day of aches and shivers and sniffles, you were done. It really had started out fine, but after you got a bit too close to passing out just from trying to wash a few dishes, you knew you had to reach out.

    It took you around ten minutes to convince yourself to pick up the phone and call your boyfriend. You had it all planned out, you were gonna tell him you weren’t feeling well and ask for help like an adult. The call had started with questions about recording and how the boys were, but Roger was quick to realize you sounded off.

    “Darling, are you doing okay? You sound a bit… croaky.”

    Hearing the twinge of concern in his voice, you bit your lip and lowered the phone a bit, covering up the receiver. You could lie. You could just tell him your allergies were acting up, that you’d eaten something spicy, that you’d been tidying up your flat and inhaled a bit of dust. However, as a chill passed through you, your bones aching at the slight movement, you knew you couldn’t. You cursed your body as you held the phone up to your face again.

    “I…” you sighed, “I don’t feel great. When you finish recording, could you come over?”

    “Oh, my love,” he cooed quietly, “absolutely, I’ll be over as soon as I possibly can. What’s wrong?”

    “‘M just a bit under the weather, Rog, it’s okay, I’m alright.”

   You knew your reassurances were hopeless as he began asking you when it started, if you’d been getting rest and eating well. You felt awful for phoning, for worrying him, but a warmth settled in your chest at his concern.

    On the other end of the line, Roger stood in the corner of the studio, twisting the phone cord into knots similar to the ones in his stomach. The idea of you alone and feeling bad was not a happy one. He should be home. He was quiet for a moment, before sighing softly.

    “I wish you’d told me sooner, dove, I’d’ve been over days ago.”

    “Roger, I know you’ve gotta work, I wasn’t gonna take you away from the album.”

    His frown, audible in his quiet hum of acknowledgement, mirrored the one you wore. What you really wanted to do was ask how much longer he’d be there, but you already felt bad enough for worrying him and asking him to come over, so you kept your mouth shut. The boys couldn’t just call it a week because you were ill.

    He asked if you needed him to pick up any medicine for you on his way, and you politely declined, not wanting to bother him more than you already were. He sounded unconvinced, but didn’t press. He knew no matter what you said that he’d be making a few stops before he went over to your place. It was quiet for another moment or two before a shout from somewhere behind him told you it was time for him to get back. You held back a sad sigh.

    “God, I’ve gotta get back to those mugs, but I promise I’ll be home as soon as I possibly can.” He forced a quiet laugh, pretending he wasn’t coming up with worst-case-scenarios at a mile a minute. You couldn’t be fooled though, and you immediately brightened your tone, hoping to convince him you were fine.

    “No, no it’s okay! You tell them I say hello, and I love them!”

    You could hear the gentle grin in his voice.

    “Will do. Love you so much, and I’ll see you so soon.”

    “I love you too, Rog,” you whispered, not wanting to hang up.  

    You said goodbye back and forth a few times, trying to delay it as long as you could, but eventually you heard another shout from Brian, and you knew you had to let him go.

    As soon as the phone was back in its cradle, you wrapped yourself back up in your little cocoon, trying to stave off the shivers that had been plaguing you for the past few days. You turned the tv on and flipped to something mindless. Smiling softly to yourself at the idea of Roger coming home, your last thought before dozing off was if he’d be back in time for dinner.

/

    “Fuck,” Roger swore loudly as he hit a cymbal offbeat for the fourth time. The others flinched at the sound, watching as he slammed his sticks down, and stood up abruptly. He’d been frustrated for the past few hours, and it was showing. He could hardly focus, his mind elsewhere, and his friends could tell. They were worried but afraid to ask, knowing any little thing could set him off. They knew it had started after you’d gotten off the phone, and didn’t want to pry with him this upset, but it was getting to be too much.

    “Alright, Rog?” John was the first to speak up.

    Roger’s head snapped towards the bassist, eyes wide, as if he hadn’t even realized he was causing a slight scene.

    “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, sorry,” he sighed, trying to calm himself down. Brian gave him a look that said “bullshit,” and he looked away, frustrated, knowing he’d been caught. He just couldn't help it. His earlier goodbye had left a bad taste in his mouth. You were the only thing on his mind.

    “C’mon, love, what’s up?” Freddie moved to Roger’s kit, coming around so he could clearly see the drummer unobscured by cymbals. Roger sat back down, propped his arms up on his knees, and rubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry, not tonight. Sighing, he looked up at his friends.

    “Y/N just called and said she’s feeling poorly. ‘M just worried is all.”

    The boys’ faces softened a bit, now understanding his outburst. You and Roger had only been together for a few months, but they could see how absolutely taken he was with you. You’d become quite close to the whole band honestly. Roger was happier with you than he’d been with anyone in a long time, and the others adored you as well. They’d quickly started inviting you to hang out with them, sometimes even without Roger knowing. You had found a new best friend in each of them. John moved to stand beside Freddie and asked if you were alright.

    “Hm? Oh, yeah she’s- I mean, she says she’s fine, told me to tell you lot she loves you.” The others smiled softly, each planning on calling and checking on you at some point in the coming days. Roger smiled to himself as well, stricken for a moment by just how much he loves you, before frowning again. “But she said she’s been ill for a week.” Roger paused to rub his eyes again. “And I didn’t even know.”

    Deaky smiled sympathetically at his friend before glancing at Brian and Freddie, giving them a pointed look. They both nodded knowingly as Roger dropped his face back into his hands in thought.

    “Plus,” Roger continued, muffled only slightly by his palms, “she hardly ever asks me for help or anything. ‘M just worried it’s bad.”

    “Well, what are you still doing here then?” Freddie asked with a smirk.

    “Trying to record an album,” Roger chuckled in exasperation, missing the point entirely, his mind still on you. “Emphasis on ‘trying.’ Feels like I’ve forgotten how to bloody play.”

    The boys rolled their eyes, realizing he hadn’t understood what Freddie meant, and Brian came up, putting a hand on his shoulder.

    “Go home, you berk.”

    Roger’s head shot up almost comically.

    “Sorry?”

    “Mate, you’re worried, we’ve all been there. We’ve made a lot of progress today, and I think we’re all ready for a little break.”

    The blond smiled softly, still unsure if it was really okay for them to call it a day.

    “Are you positive? If you let me go, I’m not sure you’ll ever get me back in here,” he chuckled, trying to mask his concern.

    Freddie, John, and Brian each gave him a look that said “please just go home” and he laughed again, genuinely, shaking his head. As soon as he relented, the boys were basically ushering him out the door, giving him as many tips as they could think of while putting on their own jackets.

    “You boys know I studied biology, right? I can take care of my sick girlfriend,” he chuckled as he pulled his coat on. Deaky grinned, trying to wrangle his scarf.

    “Rog, just because you know how many bones there are in the body doesn’t mean you have any common sense whatsoever.”

    “Oh piss off,” he sighed, trying to hide his grin. “God, you fuck up one hard boiled egg and you’re branded incompetent!”

/

    When you woke later that evening, still cozied up on the couch, you hadn’t expected to see Roger sitting in the chair adjacent to you with his glasses on and a book in hand. But there he was.

    His hair was backlit by a dim lamp, creating a golden halo around his soft features. You couldn’t help but smile at your handsome love. He looked about as cozy as you did, with a blanket draped over his shoulders and a cuppa beside him. He had changed since leaving the studio, not that you would have known, and instead of his usual flashy getup, he was wearing an old, seemingly loved jumper that made you want to curl up in his arms and never leave. Forehead creased in concentration, he absentmindedly played with his own hair as his eyes scanned the pages, still not used to how short it was after years of having it down past his shoulders. Every now and again you heard him make little noises of surprise or agreement at whatever story he was caught up in, and you smiled, endeared beyond belief. A few tears sprang to your eyes as the sheer relief of seeing him home settled in. You knew you had missed him, but having him here now… gosh. He was a sight for sore eyes.

    Roger’s head shot up the second he heard you sniffle, his eyes meeting yours. He sheepishly ripped his glasses off his now red face, reflexively embarrassed to be seen with them, and moved from his seat to sit next to you.

    “When,” you paused to clear your throat, “when did you get here?”

    He smiled softly, brushing some hair out of your face as he responded.

    “About an hour ago, I figured I’d let you sleep.”

    You frowned as you rubbed your tired eyes. You hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. Before you could apologize though, he was tilting your chin up with his long fingers.

    Your breath caught in your throat as he looked over you. You always felt breathless watching him focus on something, but it always took the cake when he was focused on you. His eyes swept over your face as you tried to keep your breathing steady, and he asked you a few questions, about your symptoms and when they started. You answered him as honestly as you could, a bit confused as to what he was doing and lost in his blue eyes.

    After asking you what your last temperature was (and you shyly admitting you hadn’t taken it in a few days), he gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead and stood up. Muttering he’d be back in a moment, he went back in the direction of your bathroom. You remained on the couch, still a bit confused. He said he studied dentistry for a time, right? He wasn’t going to be a doctor? You could have sworn it was dentistry.

    You didn’t have much time to keep wondering though, as he quickly made his way back to you, thermometer in hand.

    “Alright, darling, open wide.”

    You didn’t know if it was the soft way he said it, the words themselves, or both combined, but you couldn’t deny the way your knees went weak at his gentle command. You saw his eyes darken slightly at the way you immediately obeyed, opening your mouth and letting him put the thermometer in, but sadly, the moment passed the second you almost sneezed it across the room.

    “Okay, let’s try that one more time, yeah?” He chuckled softly as you nodded, embarrassed.

    This time when he put the thermometer in, he made sure to hold it there, his other hand gently cupping your face. You couldn’t help the blush that darkened your features at the intimacy of the action. He was so close. His eyes met yours, still dark, and you swallowed hard.

    “Right I uh… I think it’s been three minutes,” Roger laughed hoarsely, as caught up in the moment as you were. Taking the thermometer from you, he looked at it once before huffing slightly and pulling his glasses back out. Your heart grew ten sizes as he slipped them onto his nose. Now able to see the small numbers, he frowned to himself.

    “38.2. Do you feel warm, love?” He felt your forehead as you shook your head and pulled your blanket tighter around you.

    His frown deepened slightly, but when he caught you looking at him worriedly, he was quick to reassure you.

    “I think you’ve got a mild flu, love, nothing to worry about, I’ve got ya.”

    You smiled gratefully and asked teasingly,

    “What would I do without you, Dr. Taylor?”

    The air shifted for a second, almost like you’d knocked the wind out of him. Now wasn’t the time to ask about it, but the way his eyes darkened at your words did not escape your notice.

    Dr. Taylor, huh? You’d remember to ask him about that later.

    Quickly though, he regained his composure, and smiled sweetly.

    “Crash and burn, my love. Same thing I’d do without you.”

    You grinned, but before you could respond, he was standing up. You scrambled to sit up all the way, not wanting him to leave you. He moved to take his glasses off, but you croaked out a soft protest.

    “Wait!” He looked at you questioningly, freezing with his hand halfway to his face. “Keep them on?” You paused to sneeze. “Please? You look really lovely.” You couldn’t help the blush that overtook your cheeks, now embarrassed about your outburst, but it was nothing compared to the shade Roger’s face had become. He smiled bashfully, and held his hands up in mock surrender, and left his spectacles where they were. Your grin at his assent could’ve outshone the sun, and he mumbled a quiet thanks, love before he flashed you a kind smile, turned around, and disappeared into your tiny kitchen.

    Adjusting the blanket around you once more, you listened to the sounds coming from the next room. There was a clattering of dishes as Roger did… whatever he was doing, and you smiled to yourself. You just hoped he didn’t break anything.

    You didn’t have to wait long before he was coming back with two plates and two mugs precariously balanced in his arms.

    “Rog, oh my god,” you croaked, moving to stand. His face reddened at your hoarse words, but he still shot you a look, maneuvering to sit next to you.

    “If you get up and try to help me, I will genuinely shove you back down.”

    You huffed a laugh, but stayed put. You did help him once he sat down, taking the mugs and your plate to let him get comfortable. He smiled gratefully, taking his mug back from you, and passed you some silverware he pulled from his pocket.

    “Dinner is served, madame,” he gestured to your plate, speaking in what you hesitated to call a French accent. You giggled softly, bowing slightly in appreciation.

    “Roger.. didn’t you take French?”

    “I have an A level in it actually!” He nearly dropped his fork as he laughed. “Doesn’t mean I actually know anything about it.”

    You stifled another giggle as you admitted he did have a point and turned your attention to your plate, starving after not eating all day. You paused though as you realized what he’d handed you.

    “Wait… did you get takeout?”

    He blushed a bit, putting his hand up for a minute as he finished a bite, and then nodded.

    “I stopped by on the way home! Knew it was your favorite.”

    Tears stung your eyes again, emotions running rampant due to your fever, and you took his free hand with one of yours. The second he noticed you were crying, his fork clattered to his plate.

    “Woah, love,” he was quick to take your other hand as well, “are you okay? What’s wrong, dove?”

    You tried to hide your face as you squeezed his hands reassuringly.

    “Don’t look at me!” You laughed through sniffles, “I’m okay. I just… I missed you a lot.”

    He laughed outright at that, a warm smile on his face, and leaned over to give you a quick kiss on your temple before digging back into his dinner.

    “I missed you too, darling. More than you could imagine.”

    Once the two of you were full, and once he’d coaxed you into eating just a few more bites, love, c’mon to make up for your lack of an appetite the past few days, you found yourself in his embrace. You lay down in his lap, and he soothingly ran his hands up and down your arms, telling you stories from the studio and watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. The only indicators that you were still at least somewhat listening were your hums of acknowledgement and your occasional quiet laughter. You were in heaven, really. Your nap had actually been restful, you’d eaten your favorite food, and you had Roger. You couldn’t even dream of ever leaving his arms. Until he went to play with your hair.

    You groaned weakly, trying to grab his wrists as he moved to massage your scalp. He looked down at you quizzically, immediately worried he’d done something wrong, but you quickly laced your fingers with his to let him know he was alright. “I haven’t showered in like three days,” you managed to chuckle sheepishly. His eyes softened, worry leaving his face, as you continued. “My hair feels gross right now.”

    “Well guess what?” You cocked an eyebrow at him before he smiled playfully. “I don’t care.” Before you could protest again, he took his hands from yours, and he was running his fingers through your hair. You groaned again, this time in pleasure. Chuckling, he scratched your scalp gently and watched as you melted in his lap. You still clung to his wrists, but instead of stopping him, you pulled him closer.

    “Y’know, darling,” he mused, trying to work out a knot, “I could wash your hair for you.”

    Your eyes fluttered open at his proposition. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, laughing when you gave him a slight shove, and pressed on.

    “I’m serious! I could wash your hair, give you a whole bath if you like! You’d feel so much better, little love.”

    Your face reddened at one of your favorite terms of endearment, but his proposition definitely piqued your interest.

    But god, he’s already done so much.

    You snuggled deeper into his lap, pressing your face against his soft tummy, and mumbled something, but it was completely muffled by his warm jumper.

    “What was that?” He couldn’t help but giggle as he felt you huff against him, your breath warming him through his shirt. You rolled over a bit so that you were looking up at him once more. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

    “I don’t wanna be a bother.”

    His expression softened, a sadness creeping over him. He untangled one of his hands from your hair to gently cup your chin and make you look at him.

    “Love, you could never ever come close to being a bother.”

    You blushed a bit, still nervous. You really didn’t want to be too much of a hassle. You had already taken him away from work and his friends, and he’d gone through the trouble of bringing you food. He’d already done more than you could have dreamed of.

    He watched with a small smile as your eyes clouded over. All he wanted to do was help you, and he could tell that you loved being looked after. But, you were so hesitant to be any sort of burden, even though you couldn’t be if you tried. He just cared about you so much. He wanted to show you.

    A soft tap on your cheek brought you back to reality. Roger’s voice was as gentle as could be.

    “Do you trust me?”

    You nodded, a few tears pricking your eyes.

    “Then let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

    Your vision blurred, and a lump formed in your throat as you nodded once more and whispered a quiet,

    “Okay.”

    Roger laughed softly as he scooped you up in his arms.

    “You’re a soppy little thing when you’re ill, aren’t you?”

    You hit his chest lightly in mock offense and smiled playfully.

    “I’m this sentimental when I’m well, and you know it.”

    He set you down when you got to the bathroom and started the water running before gently grabbing the hem of your shirt. He looked at you, the question in his eyes. Your gaze fell to his hands.

    The two of you had only been dating for a few months. You’d kissed, you’d said your ‘I love yous,’ you’d gotten a bit hot and heavy, but you hadn’t gone all the way. You really thought the first time he saw you would be a bit nicer than this. Maybe with some lingerie or some slow music. You hadn’t planned on it being with you not having showered in days and unable to breathe through your nose. Even well you were insecure. It hit you now like a ton of bricks.

    But then you looked up at him, into his kind eyes. He smiled at you softly, gently reminding you that you really didn’t have to go through with this if you weren’t comfortable. He could always turn around until you were in the tub, or he could carry you back to the couch and watch a nice movie with you. But you were positive. Taking a deep breath, you gave him the go-ahead. His eyes softened.

    “You sure? Really, it’s okay if you’re not up for this.”

     You nodded once more. You trusted him.

    “Alright, arms up then, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, a warm smile on his face. His fingertips tickled your sides as he lifted your t-shirt up and over your head. You giggled quietly, trying to squirm away from him, and he laughed brightly. “There’s my girl,” he grinned, tossing your shirt into the hamper and giving you a kiss on the forehead. You smiled, turning a bit red as you crossed your arms over your chest and watched as he kneeled to help with your pajama pants.

    He untied the little ribbon at your waist, looking up at you once more to make sure this was okay. Swallowing thickly, you nodded again, and he began to shimmy your pants down.

    “Just hold onto my shoulders, sweet thing, I’ve got you.”

    Had you been any stronger, you might have refused, still nervous to reveal yourself to him. But you knew your sense of balance wasn't to be trusted. Timidly, you uncrossed your arms and grabbed his shoulders. Your legs wobbled a bit as you stepped out of your pants, but Roger held you steady. After a few deep breaths, he did the same with your underwear. He couldn’t help but stare as you blushed down to your tummy, looking at the ceiling to avoid his eyes.

    With your gaze averted, you missed his reaction, but Roger was stunned. As he looked up at you from where he kneeled on the floor, he couldn’t help but moan softly simply at the sight of you. Your warmth, your gorgeous curves, all your little freckles and stretch marks. He wanted to kiss you all over, every little mark a target for his lips. His eyes roamed over your soft figure, tinged pink with your bashfulness, and he felt his heart flutter. You trusted him with all of you, you were willing to expose yourself to him, even now when you felt infinitely more vulnerable and insecure than normal. You were letting him take care of you. Your grip on his shoulders tightened slightly, briefly, as if to check if he was alright. As if to ask if he thought you were alright. Christ. He was in love.

    Humming quietly and beaming, he moved forward slightly to press a gentle kiss right below your belly button. You gasped slightly at the touch, finally making eye contact with him as he leaned his chin against your soft tummy, hands still resting on your hips.

    “You’re gorgeous, y’know that? Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

    Your blush deepened, and you smiled softly, not knowing what to say. Normally, you would redirect the comment or simply deny it, but when you saw his starry eyes, when you saw how genuinely in awe he was, you couldn’t.  You settled on a bashful thank you, and he squeezed your sides in response as he stood back up. You couldn’t help but squeal quietly in surprise, and his tiny smirk made your knees weaken, but you saw the gentleness in his eyes and knew it was a gesture of comfort.

    “Alright, love, now you just give me your hands, and I’ll help you in, okay?”

    You smiled, nodded, and did as you were told. Roger’s hands enveloped yours as he held them a bit over your head and helped you step carefully into the tub. You sighed immediately, the warm water feeling like heaven on earth. You couldn’t help the small moan that escaped you as you sunk down and settled in. Roger smiled softly, watching the bubbles surround you. Your smile was the best thing he’d seen all week, and as he sat down on the edge of the tub beside you, he realized that he never felt more at home than by your side.

    Once more, Roger moved to take his glasses off, and once more, you whined in protest. However, this time, he was not to be swayed.

    “I don’t wanna get them all soapy, love,” he chuckled quietly as he placed them carefully on the little shelf on the opposite wall. You pouted playfully, and he laughed loudly. “I promise they’ll make an appearance some other time. You can hold me to that.”

    You sighed in faux defeat and hung your head low, trying to evoke some sort of pity from your boyfriend. All you drew out of him was a bright grin, but you couldn’t complain, and you were quickly smiling back.

    Roger’s already dopey smile widened as your hand popped out from amongst the suds and took his. Another laugh escaped him before he planted a soapy kiss on your palm, knowing he’d get to hear your lovely, albeit slightly congested, giggle again. And sure enough, your raspy laugh immediately rang through the bathroom. His heart fluttered at the sound, and he gave you a wet kiss on the forehead as he went back to the sitting room to grab a pillow.

    Upon his return, he threw the cushion on the floor beside the tub and proceeded to kneel on it. Your brows knit in concern.

    “Won’t,” you paused to cough slightly, sending bubbles in every direction, “won’t your knees get sore?”

    He smiled softly, shaking his head in reassurance. “I’ll be fine, lovely, you just direct me to your favorite shampoo.”

    With another giggle, you pointed to a bottle, and with a salute, he took it. Before going any further though, he pulled his jumper and undershirt off and tossed them out the bathroom door into your hallway. He saw the way your eyes darkened at his bare chest and tried to cover up his pink cheeks with an eye roll.

    “Alright, easy tiger, I just don’t want my clothes all wet, yeah? Plus, now we’re a bit more even!”

    You smiled sheepishly and raised your hands in mock offense, flinging some bubbles out of the tub once more, but you just couldn’t look away. You nearly had to bite back a groan. His soft middle was definitely the eighth wonder of the world. You’d seen him shirtless a few times now, privately at least, but he always took your breath away. When you met him, so long ago, you’d expected him to be a twig of a man—the typical toned rockstar. But the first time you saw him drum with his shirt off at a concert, with his soft hips and pudgy chest on display, you were left completely speechless. Obviously he had muscles, he had a strength that was evident in every beat of his drum, but there was a softness about him that made you melt, and looking at him now reaffirmed every one of those feelings. your eyes trailed down his frame, and you felt a heat rising to your cheeks. The way his little tummy poked over his jeans - it made you downright feral.

    Roger chuckled bashfully once more as he watched your eyes slowly move down his body, and he tried to appear composed as he squeezed a sizable amount of shampoo onto his palm. He gently directed you to sit up a bit, and you complied, giving him access to your hair.

    The second his hands were on you, you let out a low, rumbly groan. He massaged the shampoo in gently, smiling as he felt you lean into his touch.

    “That’s right,” he murmured, “just relax those muscles for me.”

    Moans and quiet whines spilled from your mouth as you fought tears from spilling from your eyes. You were absolutely lost in how good it felt to be touched. You pushed against his hands, urging him to never ever stop please, and you had to suppress a sob when he eventually pulled away.

    He chuckled quietly and helped you sit up a bit before grabbing the cup you kept on the edge of the tub. He softly instructed you to tilt your head back slightly, and with one hand at your hairline to keep the water from running into your eyes, he rinsed your shampoo out.

    You smiled, blissed out, as the warm water ran down your back. Roger watched amusedly as you swayed slightly, doing your best to stay upright. His warm hands kept you steady though, and eventually your hair was soap free. Leaning back again, you looked up at your boyfriend with a sleepy smile as he found your body wash. He held it up for you to see.

    “‘S this alright?”

    You nodded, a bit more awake now at the prospect of his hands all over you. Once he’d lathered it up nicely, he beckoned you forward, and after a brief moment of apprehension, you complied. Your hesitation did not go unnoticed however, and he was quick to sit back a bit.

    “Hey,” his voice was quiet and gentle, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, love. You can get out and dry off now, and we can just watch something on the telly.”

    You were quick to shake your head.

    “No!! No no ‘s okay! I’m just… nervous is all. I’m okay.”

    “Nervous?”

    You hoped he’d attribute your red color to the heat of the water.

    “You’ve… we’ve never…” you paused to collect yourself, “You’ve felt me up through my clothes before, but not… without them, y’know? And it’s not that I don’t trust you!! It’s just new. I trust you, but it’s new.” Roger opened his mouth to respond, but you continued. “And I know you’ve already seen me, so it feels even sillier to worry, but what if... what if you don’t like the way I feel? Like it’s not what you expected or... or I don’t even know. The point is, it’s okay, I just worry a lot.”

    His face softened as your words registered properly. You seemed to have taken quite an interest in the bubbles floating around your belly. He ducked down a bit, getting level with you so you’d meet his eyes.

    “I know this isn’t quite how we planned things,” he said as you huffed a quiet laugh, “I’d honestly hoped to do something a bit more romantic, but I really will take any chance I get to look after you, love. You’ve got nothing to worry about either! You’re bloody gorgeous, like, I mean, fuck, and I really am very excited to touch you. I have no doubt,” he paused as you raised your eyebrows at him, blushing, “no doubt you will feel fantastic.”

    You moved to shush him, still trying to stifle a giggle, but he wouldn’t let you.

    “Even ill and scruffy and covered in vanilla soap. You’re perfect, Y/N, I’m serious.” He paused a moment, thinking, before adding, “Well, the vanilla is very nice, but you still get my meaning.”

    You couldn’t help but really laugh at that, and you leaned your head on the side of the tub to look up at your boyfriend. He smiled down at you, a faint blush on his cheeks, and leaned over to kiss your forehead.

    “I really promise, love. I firmly believe you hung the moon, and there’s not much you could do to change my mind.”

    Your smile mirrored his as he grabbed the body wash and gently brought you towards him. Any and all of your worries washed away with the last few days the second his hands were on you.

    He washed your arms first, running his warm hands over your smooth skin and whispering sweet things. His touch was firm but gentle, only barely keeping you grounded in reality. You couldn’t help the small whines that fell from your lips. It just felt so good.

    You didn’t think anything could feel better than Roger massaging your tender arm muscles, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of him gently lathering your breasts and tummy with soap. His touch had been overwhelmingly heavenly all evening, but this was the icing on the cake. His big hands kneaded your breasts gently, and he laughed softly in delight as your lewd moans filled the bathroom. His touch was cool on your feverish chest, and you found yourself relaxing like never before. He moved so that his hands were on your soft hips, and after giving them a squeeze, he began massaging up and down your sides. You giggled softly at the ticklish sensation, and he grinned.

    “There’s my girl, that feels good, yeah?”

    All you could do was whimper in response, a dopey grin on your face. Roger continued his gentle massage and watched your euphoric expression fondly.

    “Mm…” he smirked softly, “I could say the same.”

    He couldn’t lie, it was great to touch you, fantastic even. You were just as soft and grabbable as you looked, and he really... god he could spend the rest of his life doing this. But really nothing compared to the knowledge that he was making you feel better. He still felt awful for not having been with you until today, but he was over the moon that he was a comfort.

    Truth be told, when the boys had started giving him tips, he had worried that he wasn’t prepared to take care of you. The others had been genuinely trying to help, but they had mostly just succeeded in making him worry. Most of their suggestions were things he hadn’t even thought of. But the second he walked in your door and saw you asleep on the couch, he knew he would be just fine.

    After helping you wash away the layer of bubbles coating your torso, Roger pulled the drain and helped you stand. He pressed a quick, fond kiss to your forehead before turning around and grabbing a towel for you. Draping it over his shoulder, he took your hands once more and helped you from the tub. You stood still for him as he dried you off as much as he could, and then you were gingerly wrapped up and led to your bedroom.

    You sat on your bed, watching as your boyfriend, still shirtless, rummaged through your drawers to find some suitable pjs. He tossed some underwear at you first, and you pulled them on as you asked if he wanted some help.

    “No!! No, no don’t tell me, I’ll find them.”

    You sat down on your bed, covering yourself with your arms, and rolled your eyes fondly at his boyish delight. He went through your dresser like a hurricane, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his triumphant aha ha!! when he found the right drawer. He combed through your clothes for a minute or so before something caught his eye.

    “Hang on...” Roger cocked his head to the side as he pulled out a large, soft shirt from one of Queen’s earliest tours. “Is this mine?” He peered back at you over his shoulder and laughed as you nodded, embarrassed. It wasn’t your fault, he’d let you wear it one night at his place after the two of you had gotten swept up in a rainstorm, and you’d just worn it home the next morning.

    “You can have it back, I keep forgetting to tell you I have it.”

    “And miss seeing you wear it again? Yeah, as if.”

    You scoffed, but he could see you were blushing and considered that a victory.

    “It’s comfy,” you mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “And it smells like you.”

    His expression softened, going from teasing to flustered in two seconds flat.

    “Well then,” he beamed, pulling out some soft pajama bottoms and moving back to you, “you can definitely keep it.” Your heart fluttered at his sweet grin and his pink cheeks. You loved making him blush, knowing that it was usually the other way around. His smile widened at your soft expression, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

    “Alright, come on, silly thing, you know the drill. Arms up!”

    You blushed, uncovering yourself and lifting your arms. Roger’s adoring smirk at seeing your breasts once more did not escape your notice, but you just shut your eyes, too flustered to say anything. You felt him pull your shirt down over your arms, and once your head was out, you pulled the rest of it down yourself.

    “Y’know I could do this on my own,” you smiled as he crouched to help with your pants. He looked up at you in mock offense, putting a hand over his chest.

    “As if I’d let you,” he scoffed, pressing a kiss to your knee before pulling your bottoms over it. He helped you stand, so he could pull them up the rest of the way, and then sat you back down, grabbing your towel. You expected him to take it back to the bathroom, but he surprised you, settling down with you on the bed. You were about to ask what he was doing when he pulled you into his lap and began gently towel drying your hair.

    You melted in an instant, sighing happily as Roger methodically went from the roots to the tips, getting all the water out. You moaned a little, leaning into his hands as he massaged your scalp, and you felt tears prick your eyes at the sheer intimacy of the action and the affection in his touch. He was humming softly as he went, a tune you recognized but couldn’t place. You found yourself having trouble staying upright, his soft voice lulling you to sleep almost instantly. It was after he steadied you for the third time that he couldn’t help but laugh.

    “Doing alright, darling?”

    You hummed softly, a sleepy smile gracing your features, and Roger chuckled, putting the towel aside and pulling you close.

    “Getting a bit tired?”

    You nuzzled your face into his neck, nodding ever so slightly, and he wrapped his arms around you. He still hadn’t put his shirt back on, and his shoulder was cool and comfortable against your still-feverish skin. He rubbed your back sweetly, letting you drape yourself over him, and heard you mumble something into his shoulder.

    “What was that?”

    You giggled sleepily and turned your head so you weren’t muffled.

    “Been tired all week.”

    He chuckled softly, murmuring a quiet I know, dove, and kissed your temple. His grin widened even more as you snuggled further into him, as if you wanted to somehow get even closer, and he gave you a gentle squeeze. Your sigh of relief was music to his ears.

    “Ready for bed, little love?”

    Your answer came as a little hum from where you were snuggled against him. The vibration tickled his sweet spot slightly, and he giggled, reflexively tilting his head as if to cut off access to his neck, but all he succeeded in doing was leaning his head on yours. He felt you smile, and another laugh rose up in his chest.

    “I’m guessing that was a ‘yes.’”

    You lifted your head up, a dorky smile gracing your features as you spoke to an imaginary audience.

    “Wow, show the man what he’s won.”

    He laughed again, squeezing you tight.

    “Cheeky.”

    Smiling still, he helped you off his lap and lifted your covers, so you could crawl under them. After pulling your comforter up to your chin and making a big show of tucking you in, he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek and started to walk away. You caught his wrist.

    “Stay. Please,” you whimpered. You’d missed him so much.

    “No, hey, it’s okay, love,” he chuckled softly, moving closer once more, “I’m just grabbing my shirt! I’m not leaving you.”

    Your cheeks reddened at his reassurance, embarrassed that you automatically assumed he would leave you. Mumbling an apology, you buried yourself in the covers once more, barely peeking up at him as he looked on, absolutely endeared.

    “‘S perfectly alright,” he grinned, kissing your forehead, “just wanted to make sure you knew. I’m not planning on leaving until you’re well, darling.”

    You smiled bashfully but opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that you weren’t gonna hold him hostage, but he was already out the door.

    When Roger returned, though only a few minutes had passed, you were nearly asleep. You fought to keep your eyes open, sleepily grinning at him as he moved about your room quietly, turning your lights off and drawing the curtains. He hadn’t gotten his shirt as he said he would, and your brows furrowed slightly.

    “Where’s… where’s your shirt?”

    He huffed a quiet laugh as you realized he wasn’t wearing his jeans anymore either, and you grew even more confused. He began climbing in bed beside you.

    “Put it in the wash, along with my trousers,” he pulled the covers up around him, “which I’m sure you noticed.”

    A small blush rose to your face, but he wasn’t wrong, and he laughed as he pulled you in, so you were once again snuggled into his bare chest. He heard you sigh contentedly and rested his chin on the top of your head, grinning. His hand moved lazily up and down your back as you relaxed in his arms, clinging to him like your life depended on it. The quiet ticking of the clock on your wall was almost hypnotic, lulling Roger to sleep almost immediately. His heart had a similar effect on you, the sound of it beating enveloping you. Your ear pressed against his chest, your body moving along with his breathing.

    Roger was almost completely out when he heard, or rather felt, you murmur something against his bare skin.

    “Hm?” He cleared his throat. “What’d you say?”

    He moved to where your face wasn’t pressed into him, laughing softly at how this seemed to be a common theme tonight, and propped himself up on his elbow. He looked down at you fondly, his sleepy love. You smiled, eyes opening slowly.

    “Thank you,” you sounded far away, already halfway dreaming, “for… for looking after me.”

    Roger’s heart fluttered, and he felt a breathless laugh bubble up in his stomach.

    “God… you precious thing,” he brushed some hair out of your face, softening even further somehow, “‘was my pleasure. Love lookin’ after you, you know that.”

    Your sleepy giggle made Roger’s heart do somersaults, cartwheels, a whole gymnastics routine.

    “Yeah, I know.”

    It was silent for a few moments as you gazed at each other, taking in your favorite sights. The slope of his sweet nose, the way you seemed to glow in the moonlight that barely shone through your sheer bedroom curtains, his incredible eyelashes, the freckles that dotted your nose and around your eyes, the way his smile could brighten even your dark bedroom. You heard him sigh quietly, still smiling, before he leaned down and kissed your forehead then the tip of your nose.  

    “Come on, love. Let’s get some rest now, yeah?”

    You nodded, eyes half closed, and Roger hummed, continuing down your face, kissing you on each cheek, and then your chin. A sleepy giggle escaped you as you felt his lips trail down your neck, tickling you slightly. You murmured his name, your eyes falling shut, and you felt him smile against your skin. Your head involuntarily tilted back, pressing against the pillow to allow him more room to work. Chaste kisses fluttered over your collarbones as he worked his way down your body, and you squirmed slightly at the heavenly feeling, hoarsely and sleepily moaning his name once more.

    “Hey, hey,” he hushed you quietly, moving back up and cupping your cheek with one hand as he kept himself propped up with the other. “You’re okay, love, I’ve got you. Sleep, angel, sleep for me.”

    All you could do was whine as he continued, pulling your shirt up slightly so he could pepper your tummy with light kisses. His hands held onto your soft hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides.

    “C’mon, honey, relax,” he murmured, his warm breath fanning out over your exposed skin. You took a deep, albeit shaky breath and finally let yourself melt into his touch. He smiled against your hip bone, giving your sides another gentle squeeze. “That’s it,” he whispered, “there’s my sweet girl.”

    As Roger kissed his way back up one of your arms, you felt yourself begin to drop off, his soft pecks and sweet touches sending you to sleep in record time. Your last thought before falling completely came in the form of a slurred mumble.

    “L...love you.”

    Roger smiled softly as he pressed his lips to the soft skin on the inside of your elbow. He looked up at you, to meet your eyes, but you were out.

    With a quiet chuckle, he moved back up next to you and pulled you into his arms. Almost instinctively, you cuddled into his chest, getting as close as you could, even in your sleep. Learning down and pressing a kiss into your hair, he sighed softly.

    “I love you too, baby.”

    He felt you relax even further into him as a small, happy sigh escaped you, and his eyes began to fall shut. He tried to stay awake for just a few moments longer, just so he could stay in this moment for a few seconds more, so he could stay with you.

    He watched in sleepy awe as you snored softly, already out cold. Your chest rose and fell with each breath, pressing against him with every inhale and drawing back with each exhale. In his exhaustion, he found himself smiling every time your breath forced you up against him and missing your touch whenever your exhalation pulled you away ever so slightly. Your arms remained tight around him, making sure he stayed put, as if he had any other plans. Gently running his fingers through your still-damp hair, he felt his heart flutter.

    “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

    With a final featherlight kiss to your forehead, he let his eyes shut. He slowly ran his thumb up and down your arm, smiling slightly just at how soft you are. How perfect you are to him. He let your warm embrace, along with your soft, congested snores, pull him gently to sleep, just as his kisses had done to you, and as he slowly fell, his last thoughts were of how wonderful it was going to be to wake up with you in the morning.

[fairytales-of-yesterday]