#roger daltrey x reader

[born-to-lose-writing]

Love Me Like You Do

Pairing: old!Roger Daltrey x fem!reader

Requested by anon

Summary: You and Roger spend Valentine's Day together.

Tags: fluff

Words: 1,836

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, everybody! I'm glad I could finish this one in time 💖

Tag list: @slit-skirts

Generally, you and Roger didn't need one day of the year to show your love for each other, but Valentine's Day was a nice occasion to go the extra mile and shower your partner in even more affection than everyday life typically allowed for.

You decided to buy him chocolates as well as a huge bouquet of roses. You weren't sure if Roger had been given flowers by his previous girlfriends, but you knew that he loved it when you brought him some every now and then, so you happily made it a habit.

On the morning of Valentine's Day, you were careful to get up without waking your boyfriend. Turning around to look at him before climbing out of bed, you smiled softly and had to resist the urge to caress his face. As quietly as possible on the wooden floors in the house you made your way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Luckily, Roger was still asleep when you returned to the bedroom with a full tray in your hands. You placed it on the bedside table and then leaned down to kiss his cheek, whispering, “Happy Valentine's Day, my love.”

He yawned, flashing you a wide smile as he rubbed his eyes and murmured, “Happy Valentine's Day, angel.”

“I made us breakfast,” you announced, putting the tray on the mattress in front of him and sitting on your side of the bed.

Roger's sparkling eyes followed you and once you sat next to him, he lifted your chin to kiss you. “Thank you. What did I do to deserve you?”

“You exist, and you're so good to me,” you answered, rubbing your nose against his before giving him another peck on the lips.

“Oh!” he said suddenly, reaching into the drawer beside the bed and handing you a flat box with a card on top. “Of course I got something for you too.”

“Aw, thank you! I have another thing for you in the living room,” you added.

“And I have another thing for you in the evening,” he grinned, putting his arm around you as you leaned against his chest to read the card.

This must have been the most heartfelt text he had written for you. Naturally, he was a romantic and liked to show his soft side, but reading those words he said to you so often written on paper was especially endearing.

Near the end of his love confession, your smile got wider and you reached up to lightly stroke his jaw with two fingers. “I love you so much,” you said, kissing the spot where your fingers had been.

“I love you too, so much you have no idea,” he replied, brushing his lips against your knuckles.

You felt butterflies in your stomach and proceeded to open the box, finding a silver necklace inside. It was adorned with both of your birthstones as well as the stone of your anniversary month in the shape of a heart. Eyes wide, you took it out of the box and Roger offered, “Shall I help you put it on?”

You nodded, giving him the necklace and turning around. He closed the clasp and let his hands run down your arms before pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his warm breath fanning against your neck sending shivers down your spine.

After taking a closer look at the charm, you turned to Roger and gently grabbed his face, kissing him all over, which made his nose scrunch up and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth appear as he laughed. You threw your arms around his neck and he kissed you below your ear while holding you. “I love it,” you whispered.

When you let go of him, you sat back and suggested, “Alright, let's eat first before the tea goes cold.”

Following a long breakfast together, cuddling up to each other and laughing, it was time to get out of bed. In the living room, Roger discovered the other gift you had mentioned earlier – the box of chocolates and the big bouquet arranged on the coffee table with a card on the side. Similar to his card for you, you hadn't been sparing with sappiness either. Some called it corny, you and Roger called it sweet.

Throughout the day, you had gotten increasingly curious as to what Roger’s surprise would be, but he didn't give anything away until the late afternoon when he put on his apron. “I've planned a candle light dinner with a home-cooked three course meal,” he announced proudly.

You loved the idea, partially because a three course meal meant there would be dessert, which he was amazing at, but also because you liked the touch of romance and elegance candle light added to almost anything. Despite you offering to help him in the kitchen, he insisted on treating you today as you had already made breakfast for him, so he sent you to go for a walk with the dog while he prepared everything.

When you came back from your round, you went to put on one of the dresses you knew made Roger weak and which you only wore on special occasions. After all, you couldn't spoil him too much or else he wouldn't appreciate it enough when you did. You stood next to the door frame of the dining room, calling, “Can I come in?”

“Yes!” he answered, excitedly walking over to you and extending his hand. As you stepped forward and took his hand, his eyes widened and he looked you up and down in awe. “Wow, you look gorgeous!”

“So do you, sir,” you smiled. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a bow tie, which made him look as handsome as ever. As much as you loved his casual outfits, tuxedos suited him very well, even more so the older he got.

He led you to the nicely laid table, pulling a chair out for you and kissing the back of your hand before lighting the two candles in the centre of the table. Then he disappeared into the kitchen and came back with the starter and a bottle of wine.

“Do you like this Valentine's so far?” he asked during the second course, jokingly adding, “Or have you been hit with the realisation that you should date someone younger than an old geezer like me?”

Although he had the usual smile on his face which could light up the world, you could tell he disguised genuine worry with this lighthearted question. You reached over to hold his hand and answered earnestly, “It's perfect. You have treated me better than any young man my age. Why should I go for either of them?”

Roger smiled in relief. “I'm glad you think so.”

“Perhaps it would be you who looks elsewhere,” you said teasingly, tilting your head. “An attractive older rock god must have youthful women at his disposal.”

He quickly shook his head, though feeling flattered. “I'd never want anybody else. You make me feel alive again, and I can't thank you enough for that.”

Your smile grew bigger and when you had finished the main course, Roger stood up to serve the last one, stopping beside you on the way to the kitchen. He put the plates on the table and cupped your face, leaning down to kiss you deeply. “I love you,” he whispered and you immediately returned it.

Roger carried the dirty dishes away, coming back with dessert soon after. You both continued eating while listening to soft music and sharing some favourite memories together, laughing and making new plans.

After dinner, you walked around the table and Roger willingly pushed his chair back. You sat on his lap and put your forearm on his shoulder, playing with his grey curls. He wrapped his arm around your waist, looking into your eyes. He giggled as you pressed light kisses to the corners of his lips and his smile lines.

Then the record player made a popping sound to signal the album was over and you thought of what to listen to next. “I know you hate hearing your voice, but can we please listen to Love Me Like You Do?” you pleaded, pouting and giving him puppy eyes.

Roger's fingertips danced on your thigh as he thought for a moment. He truly couldn't stand listening to his own voice and it ruined parties for him as soon as one of his songs started playing. Obviously, you very much loved his voice and his music. Ever since you had first heard this song, you had wanted to slow dance to Love Me Like You Do with somebody. If only you had known then that the somebody you would possibly dance to it with would be Roger Daltrey himself.

“Alright,” he agreed reluctantly, yet smiling. When you looked at him like that, he wasn't able to say no to you. He would simply have to ignore the fact that the person singing for the next six minutes was him.

“Yes!” You got off his lap and made your way over to the record player, searching for the record for a moment before putting it on.

“Now dance with me!” you asked, stretching your arms out to him.

“I think I'm a little old for that, love,” he chuckled, taking a small sip from his glass.

“Hey, you said there'd never be a time when you couldn't keep up with me. That extends to dancing too, whether you like it or not!” you insisted.

He stood up and put one hand on your waist while slipping the other into yours, holding it gently yet tightly enough as if he never wanted to let go. You put your free hand on his shoulder and giggled at Roger grimacing upon hearing himself singing on the record. You started dancing slowly, first looking at each other before he nuzzled your neck, taking in the scent of your perfume.

At the beginning of the chorus, Roger moved away to spin you around with a big smile, pulling you close to him before wrapping both arms around your middle and resting his head on your shoulder again. You crossed your wrists behind his neck as you swayed along to the music.

“I'm there when you're lonely, but I'd die if you ever left me,” he quietly sang, barely audible, yet you heard it due to his close proximity to your ear. You kissed the side of his head and buried your fingers in his hair.

After a while, his hands slid up your back to rest on your shoulder blades, keeping you as close to him as possible, and you closed your eyes. Usually, you talked while dancing, but tonight you didn't need to. It was too much of an intimate moment to break the silence. You felt happier than ever in his arms, dancing in the dining room late in the evening like you had only known it from movies and dreams.

[earthfire-75]

Kashmir

Chapter One, Part Two: Kashmir (The Trick is to Keep Breathing)

Author’s notes: co-written with @nature-and-music , beta-ed by @lady-jane-revisited

A lopsided smile tugged at his lips, “I’ll get them for you.”

“No thank you Robert, Grant gave me the money and I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh please, just one of them then?”

I shook my head, “No it’s fine. Besides, we need to head back.”

He pursed his lips and huffed, “Alright, if you say so.”

The purchase was completed and it was time to head out, however Robert was speaking to the woman behind the counter; or flirting no less. She nodded her head and wrote something down on a note by the dresses that he brought to her.

“Thank you darlin’, have a pleasant rest of your day.”

I chuckled, “Giving her the number to your hotel room?”

“Not exactly, Anjelika. Come on we better hurry, the party’s going to start soon and you still need to do your hair and makeup,” he informed.

Somewhere along the line, we lost the other three band members. Robert took me to the hotel they were staying at, figuring they would all meet up there anyway. He let me borrow his bathroom to change and do my hair and makeup.

“What kind of party is it? Formal or informal?”

“Well, I’m wearing a suit, if that helps?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ok.” I picked out the longer dress and started getting ready. I could hear Robert rummaging around in the other room and assumed he was doing the same. I just finished when Robert knocked on the door.

“I need the mirror, love. Gotta comb out my hair and beard.”

I flung the door open, grabbing the comb from the counter. “Don’t you dare take a comb to those curls! Tell me you have a pick.”

He swallowed. “Technically? I left it at home?”

I didn’t say anything else, but grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the common room and to the couch. I then sat, pulling him down next to me. It was then I noticed what suit he was wearing, and still with his beard. Fuck! He wasn’t yet wearing the jacket, but he had the vest on and the top two or three bottoms of his shirt were left undone. Now it was my turn to swallow hard as I leaned in with the comb to fix his beard. Then I started to run my fingers through his hair carefully.

“If you forget your pick again, use your fingers, not a comb or brush. You could ruin your curls otherwise.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Now, we should probably get going.”

We both stood and, as Robert grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, we left the hotel room and headed downstairs. “The party is being held in the hotel restaurant,” Robert informed me.

At first, the party seemed more like a meet and greet with the other roadies and their tour manager, who seemed unimpressed that I was “some bird” Jimmy picked up off the street. But none of the boys were having it. Robert happily reassured the crew that I was indeed more than “some bird,” that in fact I was assigned to be a part of the touring as well. To be equipped with the behind the scene matters and the roadies would simply need to learn to live with this sudden change. Being the new kid in town was never easy, and I was feeling beyond self conscious about this, however I had to keep my intrusive thoughts at bay. New learning opportunities would be coming up and it was all a matter of learning the ropes. Even if a fair amount of the crew thought of me as another to be shared among the members of the band, especially with Robert since he had locked arms with me.

The party started off fairly quiet at first as we all sat down at our tables to listen to a congratulatory speech from Grant. He had nothing but high expectations for everyone involved and that this tour would be bigger and heavier than the previous one. I felt a hand touch my lap and I followed the arm to see Robert’s concerned expression. I gave him a little smile to reassure him that I was alright. The last thing that I needed to do was interrupt Peter in the middle of his talk, and right before my first day no less.

A line was formed as everyone made their way to be serviced by the chefs. All manner of succulent cuts of meat, freshly cooked fish, bubbling champagne, and assorted hors d'oeuvres were ready to be served. Everything looked so delicious and oh so appetizing, I just simply couldn’t believe my eyes. As we stood in line, I overheard Jonesy and Jimmy mention something, although it was hard to hear amongst the chatter of Robert talking to Bonzo.

“How do you suppose they’ll feel about touring?” Jimmy asked.

Jonesy shrugged, “Well, hopefully their antics won’t take away from the show. And your guitars won’t get demolished as well.”

Jimmy scowled, “If he even thinks about touching any of my guitars, I’ll bash his head in!”

“If you do, she’ll end up giving you a black eye. You know that she has a bit of a ‘short’ temper,” the bassist chuckled. “Besides, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Well you're the bass guitar player, none of your things will be obliterated,” Jimmy whined.

Bonzo joined in, “Not unless a certain someone decides to shove a cherry bomb in the strings.”

Jonesy smiled and rolled his eyes, “Well I suppose I’ll just need to stand close to Thunderfingers won’t I?”

Guitars being destroyed? Cherry bombs? My curiosity peaked, however I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation. At least not until I knew a little more of what or who they were referring to. We made our way to the table and enjoyed our delicious food and sparkling drinks. The champagne flowed like rain down our throats as the appetizing meals made our mouths water. A few questions were directed to me regarding how I was feeling about the new job and I answered honestly.

I smiled meekly, “Well I’m very excited about this. This is going to be something different for me for sure, but I’ll do my best.”

“You will darlin’, you will,” Robert smirked as he patted my hand. “So how long have you been playing and singing?”

“Well, for a while actually. I just picked up a few lessons from my dad and just… learned a bit on my own.”

Jimmy noted, “I did a bit of session work when I was a lad. Learned a few things myself along the way.”

Robert butted in, “Well I hope we can hear more of your singing and playing while on tour. I think you’ll sound wonderful, and the audience will love it.”

I felt myself clam up a bit at the prospect of playing before a live audience, even though it was a touching notion on Robert’s part. I didn’t think it was necessary to get myself even more involved than necessary, especially since a fair amount of the road crew weren't exactly pleased with me being here. I gave Robert a little smile and a shrug and let him know that we could put that idea on the back burner.

“I’m curious though…who were the three of you talking about earlier? You mentioned something about guitars being destroyed?” I asked. I had hoped they would have said more by now, but since they hadn’t and my curiosity was getting the better of me…I had to ask.

Jonesy laughed a little. “Interesting wording. We were talking about another band who will be touring with us. Interestingly enough, they are called The Who. They’ve got a habit of destroying their equipment. Jimmy was concerned it might spill over to ours as well.”

I know of them, of course and of that particular habit, though I had thought they had stepped doing so by this time. Then again, it's a different universe, likely also a different timeline. “I see,” I said instead. Looking at Bonzo, I got his attention. It was as good a time as any to talk to him, but I didn’t know what the other boys knew.

“Bonzo? Can we talk? Alone?”

“Uh, sure. Looks like there’s a spot at the bar surprisingly clear of people.”

We got up from the table and walked over to the bar, ordering ourselves a drink before I started the conversation, but Bonzo beat me to it.

“So…yer a Nightbane too?” He asked with such nonchalance.

“Yeah, I am. So are you. Do they know?”

“Yeah, they do. Rob found out first. He was there during my Becoming. Scared the daylights out of ‘im, but it was like he still knew it was me. Jimmy found it ‘fascinating’. Jonesy took it the worst, almost left the band when he first found out. But he came around.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and downed my drink. How did the fact that they all knew Bonzo was a Nightbane make it both a relief and up my anxiety about them finding out I was one too? Would they be able to accept the creature beneath as easily as they had with Bonzo? Granted my other form wasn’t monstrous in the traditional sense, yet, I still worried it would scare them off at best.

Bonzo smiles a little. “Don’t worry, Jonesy might freak out a little, but I really don’t think you need to worry about Rob and Jimmy at all.”

“Thanks, Bonzo.”

Someone cleared their throat behind us and we turned to see Robert. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but the other bands just showed up. I thought you might like to meet them, Anjelika.”

He stepped to the side and I found the members of The Who standing there, looking at me. I knew each of them by name and face, even as they introduced themselves, though I did a double take as my eyes landed on the shortest member. There, with the same blue eyes I had seen so many times before, was a very feminine looking Roger Daltrey. Now I know I’m not in my own universe…

“Rogina Daltrey,” she introduced herself to me, her blue eyes never leaving mine.

“Anjelika,” I responded back with a smile and she in return gave me a smirk.

“Bonzo!” Keith uttered, a drink in one hand as he hugged his fellow drummer, “You gained a few stones since last I saw you.”

Bonzo rolled his eyes as he chortled, holding his head in a strong arm grip. Keith complained that his champagne would fall out, but that didn’t stop Bonzo from treating him like a sibling. “Moonie, why don’t you and the lads say hello to our new friend here, yeah?”

John and Pete made their acquaintances, Keith was able to give her a little wave of his hand until Bonzo finally let him go and gave him a good slap on the back.

“You’ll have to excuse Keith, he’s a bit loonie as you can see,” Pete explained. “So what brings you here?”

“Well I’ll be going on tour with the band, and it looks like I’ll be seeing you four as well.”

Rogina interjected, “Is that right? What will you be doing?”

“A roadie, so I’ll be around helping with getting everything ready,” I mentioned.

“She might even do a bit of performing as well,” Robert mentioned proudly.

I was silent as The Who stared at me, my throat becoming dry. I tried to play off his comment as a joke, “Good one Robert. He’s just kidding-”

Rogina tilted her head as she looked at me, “Are you sure? Because if you can sing, we’d love to hear you.”

My heart was pounding, all I could give her was an unsure shrug, “Um, another time… maybe. Say why do you all go get something to eat, the food is very delicious here.”

Keith was already off to find himself a plate, with John closing in behind him. Pete kept himself occupied with discussing business matters with Jimmy and Grant. Rogina on the other hand decided to stay and talk a bit more. Everything about this Roger was pretty much the same: The height, the golden corkscrew curls, ocean blue eyes, toothy grin, muscular arms, and stylish clothing. Still it was odd speaking with her, considering the obvious factors such as a slightly higher register in her voice and the presence of breasts that protruded from her suit.

“So how did you manage to work with Zeppelin?” Rogina asked.

I tried to answer as best as I could, “Oh well… you see Jimmy let me know that a spot was available actually.” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her that Jimmy had found me like an abandoned cat in an alleyway that he felt sorry for. A little of me to say, but still I couldn’t seem to add that in.

“Is it true what Robert said about you performing? I mean you seemed awfully quiet when he brought it up.”

I sighed at the question, barely keeping myself from pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m quickly learning that Robert's a little like a puppy…very excitable. I played a little bit for them to prove that I know what I’m doing with the guitars. Something came over me and I sang a little bit too. I never agreed to playing in front of anyone else. Let alone in front of a huge audience.”

Rogina’s smile softened at that. “He really is, though I’m sorry to hear you won’t be playing. The offer is always open and I meant what I said, I'd love to hear from you. if you change your mind.”

I returned her smile and I knew I was going to love this version of Roger too. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

G made his way over with a couple other people, one looked vaguely familiar, the other I didn’t recognize. “Anjelika! I want to introduce you to Ahmet Ertegun, owner of Atlantic Records. He’s here to support the boys. And this is Alice Cooper, joining us on the American leg of the tour.”

Both men stuck a hand out for me to shake. I took Ahmet’s first who placed his other hand over mine gently. “I must thank you for joining the road crew, dear. Though, I must admit, I was shocked to hear you were a woman. Forgive me, I mean no offense, it’s just never been done before.”

I smiled at Ahmet, trying not to take offense. It may be a different universe, but apparently the ‘70’s were still the ‘70’s. Turning to Alice, I shook his hand next, barely recognizing him without the makeup.

“I don’t know if shocked is the word I would have used, but I guess I am a little surprised. Didn’t figure I’d see a female roadie for another decade at least. Don’t get me wrong, I love that women are getting more and more involved in rock. And if anyone gives you any shit, just say the word.”

My smile grew wider at Alice’s genuine words. “Thank you, I appreciate that. Though, I assure you, I can handle myself.”

“I’m certain you can, but the offer is still on the table. I would like to stay and get to know you a little more, but I need to get back to my girlfriend. It was nice meeting you, Anjelika.”

“I’m sure there will be time to get to know each other more on the road and it was nice to meet you too.”

“Fair enough. See you tomorrow, then.” And with that he was off. G and Ahmet soon excused themselves to go talk to the boys and I was left at the bar once more with Rogina next to me.

Rogina sighed, “I know this must be all new to you. Believe me that being a woman involved in rock and roll seems to weird people out, especially guys.”

I gave her a reassuring grin, “Yeah, I’m sure you probably have gone through a lot.”

Rogina took a sip of her flute, “I may have a few stories. One of them involves Keith actually.”

I leaned in, “What happened?”

“Well let’s just say he thought that he could get away with copping a feel. He lost a couple of teeth that night,” Rogina chuckled. “The bastard will never live that moment down.”

I wasn’t sure if I could share a laugh with Rogina, even though she was able to find humor in such a terrible situation. All I could muster was a nervous smile and a nod.

Rogina took another sip of her champagne, rested her head on her palm, and pondered, “So is this your first time working with Zeppelin?”

“Yes actually. And I hope that I’ll do alright while on tour,” I admitted.

“I think you will,” Rogina claimed with a warm smile. “So what would you like to drink? The champagne is alright, but I think I’ll get a whiskey instead.”

I was taken aback, “Oh well… a beer sounds good.”

Truthfully, a Nightbane could easily drink any of these mortals under the table. As to how I would do against Bonzo, a fellow Nightbane, well that would be a matter for another day. Still I was grateful knowing that Bonzo could understand, and hopefully the remainder of Zeppelin, Who, and Cooper would as well. However it was too early to let the rest of them know. In time I would say something, only when the moment felt right.

As we waited for our drinks, I felt a strange looming presence behind me. My throat went dry the moment I turned around to see John Entiwistle, the Ox himself, towering over the two of us. Rogina on the other hand casually remarked, “I thought you were supposed to be babysitting our dear boy.”

“Well quite frankly I need a break from him,” John mentioned with a deep chortle. “I think as long as nothing blows up tonight, he’ll tire himself out eventually.” He gestured to the bartender and asked for a glass of cognac.

Rogina nodded and asked him, “Where did Pete go?”

“Probably talking some poor bastard’s ear off about Lifehouse,” he laughed.

“Oh come on John, the man just wants to share his work to the world,” Rogina noted.

John leaned in towards me, “She says that, but even she gets tired of his songs about teenage angst.”

Rogina scowled at him, “I do not.”

John raised his eyebrows, “Keep telling yourself that Rog. It was Anjelika right?”

I nodded, “Yes John.”

He responded with a handshake, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well”, I responded with a return of his handshake. “I take Keith's handful?”

Rogina and John laughed. “That’s putting it mildly some days.” John admitted.

“I swear the man can’t not cause trouble in some fashion or another for even a few hours.” Rogina adds.

“I think there’s some unspoken rule that drummers are all crazy,” I chuckled.

“That explains everything, actually.” John said with a chuckle of his own. Rogina just shook her head.

I looked up to see the time on a clock on the wall. Midnight. Where had the time gone? “I should head up to get some sleep, I want to be up early to grab a few things I forgot earlier today from the drug store across the way. Besides, I’m assuming the roadies will be up earlier than the bands to pack up the buses.” Downing the last of my beer, I shook John’s hand again. “It was nice meeting you.” I set the empty bottle on the bar and left a few bills before turning to Rogina. “Thank you for the beer.”

She surprised me by pulling me into a hug instead of giving me a handshake. “Any time. And I’ll add to what Alice said earlier. Anyone gives you any trouble, let me know, I’ll kick their ass.”

“Thank you. But I really need to go.” With that I went to find G to figure out where I would sleep tonight. I found him still with the boys, though it appeared that Ahmet had left. I explained to G that I wanted to get to bed and why, but it was Robert who interjected.

“You can stay in my room for tonight,” Robert offered. “The rest of your things are still there from earlier.”

I had forgotten about that. Hesitantly I nodded in agreement, even if I was worried about what the other roadies, especially Cole, might say. “Alright, as long as this doesn’t become a habit. Just for tonight.”

I could see the disappointment behind Robert’s eyes, but he agreed. “Here, take my key, just leave the door unlocked so I can get in later.”

Nodding, I took the key and thanked him before heading upstairs to the room, getting as comfortable on the couch as I could.

@brownskinsugarplum76 @m-faithfull @jimmys-zeppelin @lady-jane-revisited @firethatgrewsolow @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @callmethehunter @tremble-and-shake @tophats-n-lespauls @princesspagey @tangerine-page

[herewegoagainniall]

I’ll Love Her Still: Part 10 (Brian May x Female!Reader)

WELL. It’s certainly been a while, hasn’t it? I know that the whole world has just kinda....ended, but on the bright side, the quarantine has finally made me write more! I’m coming to the last few parts of the fic now, and I honestly can’t believe this journey is going to be over soon. Thank you to everyone who’s supported this story in any way, I’ll never be able to thank you all enough ❤️. 

TAGLIST: @alittlepeoplemagic​; @brianmayplease​; @brianmayscurls​; @chlobo6​; @d-illo​; @delilahmay39​; @kenzie-belle​; @killer-queen-xo​; @kiwithekiwi​; @lizzybeth1986​; @maryfree​; @moreinfinite​; @readinghorn​; @rogerscupboard��; @thelegumemother​ 

TRIGGERS: Guys there is so much angst here. Like seriously, the end of this chapter gets...kind of awful. It’s important for character development! But if fights or name calling triggers you, just sit this part out and wait for the next one. 

“Ladies and germs,” the sound of Freddie’s best flight attendant impression roused you from your slumber, “welcome to sunny California!!”

You rubbed your eyes and looked out the window at the sprawling City of Angels, feeling an excited smile spread across your face. You turned to Brian with bright eyes and held his arm tightly. “Brian!” you said through teeth that were clenched in an uncontrollable smile. “We’re here!”

Brian looked past you and out the window, smiling. “I know!” he mimicked your tone teasingly before pulling back to kiss you on the forehead.

The wheels of the plane touched down (so harshly that you and Brian literally bumped heads, something that the two of you laughed about for the next hour), and the usual production of going to the luggage carousel and declaring your belongings at customs had an added element of enchantment to it. You were finally here- Los Angeles. The American capital of the rock and roll world. Anybody who was anybody made their name out here. And now you were here with Queen; it was almost to surreal to think of.

You didn’t really get to spend much of that day with Brian- he and the boys had to rehearse at the venue and then do press, so you roamed the city with Amber. The dress she picked out for you to wear to the concert and the after party was tasteful, but still clung to your body in just the right ways. It made you feel beautiful. Hell, LA itself made you feel beautiful. Beautiful, happy and… free.

That night, Queen and Mott the Hoople played their absolute hearts out- you could swear that you watched both bands transform into rock gods right before your very eyes. Brian, Freddie, Deacy, Rog… it was a true metamorphosis for the four of them. It was the kind of life-changing performance that you could tell your grandchildren you saw, and say, “I knew them when…”

Still in the clouds after the performance, the Queen entourage made their way to the Continental Hyatt House (lovingly referred to as the “Riot House” by the rock stars you ran with) for the after party. The place was practically swarming with people of all walks of life. Hippies, rockers, groupies, roadies, rock writers, tour promoters- anyone who was anyone was there. It was an overpowering kaleidoscope of long hair and glitter eyeshadow and alcohol. LOTS of alcohol. You’d had the perfect amount- just enough to get you buzzing, not so much that you were going to regret it later. Brian had been by your side for pretty much the whole night, but he also knew that this night was just as much for you as it was for him. This was your chance to reconnect with the scene that you’d left to follow him around the country, and he wanted you to grab it.

You’d seen so many friends already- old friends, the kind you never think about in the day-to-day, and then the minute you see them, it’s as if no time had passed at all. But you were also seeing a lot of familiar faces. Here was the promoter you’d blown for Led Zeppelin tickets, there was the roadie you’d flashed so you could get backstage and catch Roger Daltrey’s eye. They were everywhere, and for the first time in a long time, you felt wholly yourself.

The sunshine glow from your fourth drink was warming you all over, and you felt like you were on top of the world. Then you heard him. “Lily, Lily, Lily. The only woman who was my kind.”

You whirled around and felt your heart soar.

“Joe Walsh, as I live and breathe!!” you laughed and let out a squeal as Joe wrapped his arms around you and spun you in a circle. Out of all the rock stars that you’d been with (before Brian, of course), Joe had been your favorite. He was talented, sweet, and never ever failed to make you laugh. Maybe in another life, something more serious could have happened between the two of you- but now wasn’t the time for that. For now, you were just grinning like a fool, and you felt so happy to see him. “I’ve missed you,” you exhaled.

“I’ve missed you too, sweetheart,” Joe chuckled and set you down. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I could ask you the same question! I thought you were in Ohio.”

Joe shrugged and laughed softly. “C’mon, Lily, you know there’s not a whole lot out in Ohio for us. We had to come out here to make it big.” You felt his hands rest softly on your hips, but you didn’t push him away. It felt natural, having him here with you. “What about you?? You finally made it out to LA, like you always wanted.”

“I did,” you grinned. “I’m here with Queen.”

“Aw, shoot, we wanted to see them but we had things to do.”

“Well, you should see them if you can. They’re going to be legends.”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Legends, huh? Well, Lil, if YOU say it, then it must be so.”

You chuckled softly, finding yourself falling more and more into Joe’s eyes. God, you’d forgotten how captivating he could be. But you didn’t want to take it any further, obviously: you were here with Brian. Where WAS Brian anyway?

“You know,” Joe smirked, “I thought I saw Delphi from Sacramento somewhere here. You maybe wanna grab her and a bottle of José Cuervo and see where the night takes us?”

“Easy there, cowboy,” you laughed, nodding over to the other side of the room, which was the last place you saw Brian, “I’m here with someone else.”

“So he doesn’t let you have fun?” Joe grinned that jackal grin that had always made your heart skip a beat. “I really have missed you,” he added, his voice becoming a little softer.

You tucked Joe’s hair behind his ear and smiled. “Maybe another time, Joe, okay?”

Joe nodded slowly, pressing his lips to the place where your thumb met the rest of your hand. “You must really like this guy, huh?”

A sunny feeling spread across your heart and you nodded. “I do,” you confessed. “He’s different, Joe, he really is.”

Joe was about to say something, but a sing-song voice called, “Jooooooooe” from across the room. The jackal smirk returned to his face again and he sheepishly said, “Guess I’ve gotta go.”

You nodded, understanding. “I’ll see you around, Joe,” you gave him one last smile.

Joe bent down and pressed his lips to your knuckles, a gentlemanly gesture completely at odds with his personality. “Take care of yourself, flower,” he murmured, already halfway to the other voice that demanded his attention.

It was odd- watching Joe leave normally made your heart drop slightly, the feeling of not knowing when you’d see each other again difficult to bear. But it wasn’t there this time. Maybe you were growing. Or maybe you just missed Brian. You decided to go with the latter and try to find him.

Making your way through the maze of glitter and flared jeans, you found yourself in the hallway. After you gave a quick hello to a couple more familiar faces, you saw Brian leaning against the wall, arms crossed. You didn’t pay it any mind- he was probably just tired or cold or something.

“Hey stranger,” you smiled at him.

Brian turned his head slightly and mumbled, “Hello.”

“Where have you been?”

“Around.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You sound like you just walked through the catacombs and the skulls started talking to you.”

Brian smiled unwittingly, lulling you into security. “’M just tired, I guess.”

“Why don’t you go to bed then, granddad?” you teased him slightly. “I’ll come up with you.”

“No.” The harshness of his tone surprised the both of you, and Brian cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine,” he clarified, his voice a bit softer.

His words were falling on deaf ears-  you were already turning around, the pull of an LA party too strong to make you want to leave. “You sure?” you called over your shoulder.

Brian didn’t respond, so you filled in the silence for him. “Okay, then I’ll just-”

“Exactly how much of a slut are you??”

You froze in your tracks. He didn’t… he did not… You turned on your feet slowly. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Brian’s eyes were ablaze. “How many people have you fucked before that I’ve met tonight? Hm?”

“Brian, that is… there’s no stretch of the imagination where that could matter in the slightest!”

“How many?” he repeated.

“I-I don’t know, I…” you were sincerely racking your brain, trying to think of who was at this party. “Who’s here?”

Brian scoffed and shook his head, running a hand over his face. “Unbelievable,” he murmured.

“What?” you could feel your mood beginning to sour. “What’s going on with you?”

“‘What’s going on with me??’” Brian laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t realize taking you to L.A. meant I’d be confronted with every guy you’ve ever given the time of day to.”

“I… honey, I didn’t know that there would be so many of them here, okay? I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“Yeah. Well. It is.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Look, Brian, I get that you’re jealous, but that’s no reason t-”

“Jealous?” Brian said mockingly. “What do I have to be jealous about? I’m not some groupie who just goes around letting complete strangers into her bed night after night.”

The confusion in your heart was slowly starting to transform into anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Pretty obvious what it’s supposed to mean, isn’t it?” Brian scoffed. “I’ve got no reason to be jealous of someone like you, hopping from one sucker to another, lying about who they are and thinking that everything’s just going to be hunky dory.”

“Brian,” you said in a tone that you hoped conveyed just how pissed off you were becoming, “I don’t know where this is coming from, but it needs to stop. Now can we please just go back to the party?”

Brian’s eyes narrowed. “So you can find my replacement, right?”

You could feel your hands ball into fists. “You knew what you were getting into with me,” you growled. “The first night we met, I asked you if it bothered you that I was a groupie, and you said ‘no’. You haven’t had any complaints at all before tonight, and now all of a sudden, I’m just trash, is that it?”

Brian shook his head. “You don’t get it, Y/N. Or Lily, or whoever the fuck you are.”

“Brian, if you have something to tell me-”

“I LOVE YOU!”

Oh God.

The silence between the two of you was suffocating. It was a horrible, choking silence that completely knocked the wind out of you. “What?” you gasped, terrified to speak in anything above a whisper.

“I… I love you,” Brian repeated, softer but with the same intensity as before.

Words escaped you. It was like a nuclear bomb had gone off, but you and Brian were the only ones at the detonation site. “Brian,” was all you could say. Not even say, whisper. Hell, not even whisper- it came out like a breath.

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” Brian’s voice cracked slightly despite his best efforts to seem strong.

You took a shaky breath. “I don’t know what else to say,” you admitted, lamely.

“How about, ‘I love you too?’”

You let the sentence form on your tongue. It rolled around in the back of your throat like a marble. But you couldn’t speak it. It couldn’t fall from your lips.

Brian ran a hand down his face. “I knew it. I fucking knew it,” he grumbled. “What were you playing at?” he spoke clearly again, making sure you felt every jab of his words. “Why did you pick me out of everyone in the band? What, was Roger too easy? Was Freddie too smart?”

“Brian, stop it!” you begged. “How could you even think something like that?”

“What else can I think? You have every fucking part of me, and you’ve given me nothing in return!” The hurt in Brian’s eyes was palpable and shot like a rocket, straight to your heart. “All I want is for you to be mine. To go back home after a long tour and have you by my side. To wake up next to you and go to sleep next to you. Take you out on proper dates. Fight over whose turn it is to cook dinner or do laundry. Have you meet my parents. Show you where I grew up. It’s all I can think about, being with you for real.”  

You could feel blood rushing to your head. Where was all of this coming from? “Then what?” you asked harshly. “Marriage? Babies? Eventually leaving me behind while you go on tour and find another girl in every city, just like you found me? Is that really what you want for us??”

Now it was Brian’s turn to be gob smacked. “Y/N… I wouldn’t. I would never,” he said softly.

“And it’s not even that,” you shook your head. “I don’t know if I even want to get married or have kids. I don’t want to be locked down before I even figure out what I want!”

“You think I’m going to lock you down?” Brian said incredulously. “Would being with me really be so bad?”

“No, Brian, I-”

“So then what’s the problem??”

“Because I don’t know if I want to be with you! I don’t know if I want to be with ANYBODY!” you ran a hand through your hair. “I happen to love my life just as it is, and I don’t see any reason to change it or apologize for my choices. Least of all to you.”

You watched Brian’s expression morph from pain back to anger. “What are you going to do if I leave right now?” he snarled. “What if I walk away and just leave you here?”

“I don’t care what you do, because I’M NOT YOURS, BRIAN!”

That was it. Brian spun on his heels and stalked away from you, seemingly ignoring the, “Fine, walk away, real fucking mature!” that you threw at him.

Red clouded your vision, and the noise from the party shifted into a dull drone. You felt like you couldn’t even stand anymore, and you stumbled over to the wall, leaning against it and letting your head fall into your hands. What the actual fuck just happened?

“Oi oi!” You pushed a hand through your hair and slowly turned to see Roger coming down the hall from the same door that Brian had walked out of. He was certainly enjoying himself. “There she is, our sweet Peaches.”

Goddamn it. It was like the mere sound of the nickname popped the balloon that your anger had become, and the tears started to spill out of your eyes. “Fight with Loverboy?” Roger asked, clearly trying to do the “cheer the sad girl up” thing and failing.

“Don’t,” you spat out. “Please, Rog, just…”

“Okay, hey, hey,” Roger said softly, bringing you into his chest and rubbing your back. “Easy there, lovey.”

You knew he was just trying to help, but you also knew you couldn’t bear to be around anyone right now. Least of all, one of Brian’s best friends. You let out a huff and balled your hands into Roger’s shirt. “Can you walk me to the elevator?” you muttered into his chest.

“Course,” Roger replied, not letting you go for a second. The feeling of his arm around your shoulders was the only thing that was keeping you grounded as you made your way to the elevator. Roger pushed the “down” button and looked at you, eyes filled with concern. “Do you need me to stay with you?”

You shook your head. “No. I can’t… I can’t be around people right now.”

“Lily, if there’s something Brian did-”

“Don’t be mad at him,” you found yourself saying. “It’s something between the two of us. We’ll handle it.” Your voice actually felt like it was disconnected from your body.

With that, the elevator doors opened and you broke free of Roger’s embrace. You entered the elevator and pressed the button that led to your floor and watched as the elevator doors closed on Roger and the party you thought would be the best night of your life.

Welcome to L fucking A.

[stormtrprinstilettos]

Fun’s For Free - Chapter 5 (Roger x Reader) (smut)

Summary: It’s 1978 and you’re assigned to follow Queen on their North American tour to promote their new album. Only problem is the magazine you write for has not been kind to the band in the past, and someone has a hard time letting go of that fact.

Series Masterlist here!

In this “episode”: More? What does that mean?

Word Count: ~3.7K

Warnings: Language, smut (oral) and even some fluff. 18+

[A/N: I’m seriously blown away every time someone asks to be tagged in any of my stuff. Thanks to all of you who have ever sent me a kind word on anything I’ve ever posted here. It really means a lot. Hope you all keep enjoying this story. I know I say it all the time, but this one is really fun to write!]

November 12, 1978 – somewhere around Cleveland More. He wants more. What is more? You haven’t found out. The two of you hadn’t had the chance to talk since he told you that two days ago. It was driving you crazy, but you couldn’t focus on that. There was finally peace and quiet on the bus – everyone was sleeping except for you, so you were taking the chance to write. After Boston tomorrow night and Providence the night after, there would be four days in New York – your home base – and Mike, your editor, was expecting the first part of your article to be turned in.

You were so focused on writing that you didn’t notice your company until he started to quietly chuckle as he sat next to you. “Such concentration,” you hear Roger say before looking up at him. “And those glasses? You look like a sexy school teacher.” You roll your eyes and throw your pen at him. “I hope you’re only writing nice things about me in there.”

“So I shouldn’t put this part in about how you’re incredibly annoying and a major pain in my ass?” you ask with a cheeky smile.

“At least put in there that I’m good in bed.”

“Now why would I want to ruin my reputation like that?” you joke. “I’m still hoping to snag Roger Daltrey. It’ll never happen if he knew I let you have me.”

He smirks at your joke and chuffs when he accepts the fact that he can’t come out with a retort to it. “Tell me something about you. Your dreams, your fears. Your likes and dislikes.” He starts to chuckle. “I need to know you more than just intimately.”

“Well, I’m living my dream. I always wanted to be a writer,” you start. “I’m scared of heights and failure. I like sunny days and chocolate cake and I don’t like pineapples and boredom.”

For the next hour, you and Roger sit together on the bus, talking – not arguing. The conversation flowed smoothly, the laughter was immense and often, and you don’t think the smile ever left your face, or his. You don’t know how it went from complete loathing between the two of you to this, but it did; neither of you wanted to question it. It felt… right. It felt like this was how it was all supposed to be. You finally realize may be the “more” that Roger wanted.

“You’re sleepy,” he murmurs with a soft smile, noticing your heavy eyes. “I’ll let you sleep.”

He starts to stand up but you pull him back down. “No!” you whisper loudly. “Stay.” He sits back down and you put your head on his shoulder. He, in turn, wraps his arm around you and holds you close, and you both drift off to sleep.

November 13, 1978 – Boston, Massachusetts You and Roger woke up before everyone else, so it was easy to keep your little secret. Confusion was abound, however, when the two of you managed to walk off the bus and into the hotel lobby without arguing about something. “Are you feeling okay?” John asked, somewhat joking. “You haven’t had an argument in two days.” You roll your eyes and giggle before walking into the elevator to go to your room.

For the show tonight, you’re sitting with the rest of the press in front of the stage instead of on the side like you normally do. That’s where you meet Charlie, a reporter for one of the local newspapers. He’s tall, he’s got a nice body, he’s funny, he’s got great hair, and a great voice… basically everything you’ve ever looked for in a one night stand, but you weren’t looking for one.

Keyword: Weren’t.

After the show, Charlie followed you backstage. You introduced him to Freddie, John and Brian and left him to chat when you went look for Roger. You found him. With a girl, of course. It wasn’t any different than any other day, but tonight it stings.

So you invited Charlie back to the hotel for some drinks. And then to your room. But he was so drunk nothing happened. You were relieved, actually, but his snoring is making it impossible for you to sleep. Frustrated, and looking for any reason to leave the room, you throw on a sweatshirt over your tank top, slip on some shoes, grab the room key, and go for a walk. You have no idea where you’re going, but you had to get out of that room.

When you make it to the hotel lobby, you see Roger sitting at the bar alone. “Well this is something I’ve never seen before,” you joke as you sit next to him.

He doesn’t even look at you, instead looking at his drink. “What? He wasn’t good enough so you need me to finish you off?”

“Excuse me?” you say, actually offended.

He turns and glares at you, clearly pissed off. “Then what do you want?”

You stand up from the stool and start to walk away, but quickly turn back around and go back to him. “You have absolutely no right to be angry with me,” you tell him, your voice quite forceful. “No right at all.”

“I’m supposed to be happy I’m your second option?” he asks, his voice equally as forceful as yours.

“You think I’m here for sex?” Now you’re seething. “I saw you here and I came to say hi.” You turn to walk away again but you can’t let this go. “You know, fuck you. You want to talk about a second option? What about me?”

“What about you, Y/N? What?” He stands up and pulls you off to the side, away from the bartender’s ear shot. “You think I…”

“Every night, Roger,” you fuss. “Every night except for three I’ve seen you chatting up some girl. The three nights you didn’t were the nights you were with me.”

“And how many of them do you think I spent the night with?” he dithers. “None. Not a single one. Do you know why?” He grabs the top of your arms and pulls you close as he bends down to get close to your face. “Because I don’t want any of them. I only want you.” Your mouth drops open and you’re rendered speechless. He quickly lets go of your arms and walks out of the bar, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

November 15, 1978 – New York, New York The relief you felt as soon as you stepped off the bus was indescribable. Home. You’re home. They have three shows in New York in four days and you get to sleep in your own bed, see your friends, relax and rejuvenate. As soon as you were able, you grabbed your suitcase from the bus and scurried to grab a taxi. “You really are in a rush, aren’t you?” you heard Brian ask from behind you. You turned around and he was standing there chuckling. “I was going find something to eat. Would you like to join me?”

You were hungry, and you’ve taken a huge liking to Brian – as a friend, of course – so, while you were really looking forward to being alone, you caved and nodded your head. “Why don’t you come with me? I just have to drop this off at my place and there’s a great pizza joint right next to my building.” Neither one of you noticed Roger watching and seething as you both climbed into the cab to leave.

No, nothing happened with you and Brian. He didn’t even come up to your apartment when you dropped off your suitcase. You introduced him to the best pizza in Brooklyn, and an hour later he went back to the hotel. You took the rest of the day for yourself. It had been a mentally exhausting 24 hours and you wanted to get away from any and all drama for as long as possible. Roger wasn’t speaking to you, and the tension felt like it was at an all-time high. He was barely even looking at you, and for some reason it was eating you up inside. It was eating him up inside, too.

November 16, 1978 – Madison Square Garden “Mike says you’re having the time of your life,” Daisy, a co-worker, says as she tries to stifle a laugh.

You roll your eyes and start to giggle. “I could seriously strangle you and Barry and any of the other critics who ever said anything negative about them,” you tell her. “They’re great, but fuck. Roger has been…” Your voice trails off and you sigh. “Let’s just say it’s been interesting.”

The two of you are sitting on the side of the stage as the guys are preparing to do their soundcheck. Freddie, being nosy as he tends to be, is curious about who your friend is, so you introduce them. John and Brian soon come over to meet Daisy, too, but Roger doesn’t. Not that you thought he would, but he did walk by and immediately sat at the drum kit. “He’s not speaking to me either now,” Brian tells you in your ear. “I don’t know why.” He shrugs his shoulders and walks away.

Roger keeps glancing and you, and you at him, and Daisy immediately picks up on it. “So what’s the story here?” she asks. “With you and pretty boy.”

You give her the rundown, about how he completely hated you before you even met because of negative things printed about them in the magazine. “It’s beyond frustrating,” you sigh. “Just when we start to get along, something happens and we start despising each other again.”

“Well,” she starts. “Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked him.” You look at her, mouth completely dropped open, and start to deny, deny, deny – but she stops you. “Don’t even try to tell me that you haven’t.”

You give her a side eyed glare but can’t stop yourself from giggling. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“They let you bring friends along now?” you hear Roger snip as he takes a drag of his cigarette, not even realizing he had walked over.

“I’m Daisy,” she says as she stands up and holds out her hand. “I write for…”

He doesn’t look at her, only you. “Now there’s two of you?” he asks. “One of you is hard enough to handle.” Daisy stops talking, instead paying attention to the interaction between you and Roger.

“She’s here for the show tonight,” you tell him. “Don’t worry.”

“That’s all I need. It’s bad enough I have you to deal with every night. Now you’ve multiplied and I’m going to stress doubly.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, Roger.” You turn to Daisy and give her a tired look. “See what I mean?”

He bends over and grabs your arm. “We need to talk.”

“No,” you say as you tug your arm away. “We don’t.”

“Will you just fucking…” He’s being loud, but quickly tones it down. “Stop being so difficult.” He gently holds your arm again. In order not to cause yet another scene, you excuse yourself and follow him down the backstage hall and to their dressing room. You walk in, but he stays standing in the doorway.

You stand there in silence, waiting for him to talk for what seems like forever. He walks closer to you and takes your face gently in the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he leans in for a kiss. Not a kiss tinged by alcohol. He’s completely sober, as are you, so that’s why your mind is completely blown right now. You grab the waist of his pants, pull him into the room and he kicks the door closed behind him. His breathing is uneven as he looks into your eyes, and they’re burning with a lust that matches yours. Your mouths meld together and his tongue effortlessly glides over yours with satisfying strokes.

“Roger,” you whisper as you stop the kiss. “We can’t… You have to do the soundcheck…” Your voice is somewhat hoarse and he responds by kissing you more. You pull back again, unable to open your eyes for a few seconds and start to talk again.

“Shh,” he whispers, still holding his palm to your cheek. Neither of you even know what to say. That kiss completely melted the both of you. “Why are we like this?” he asks, genuinely wondering why.

His eyes. His fucking eyes are amazing and you wonder how, after all of the glaring and staring you’ve done at them, how you never realized just how perfect they are. “I don’t know,” you whisper back. The door starts to open and you both quickly move away from the door and from each other.

“Come on, Rog!” John yells as he walks in before walking right back out. “You can finish the argument after we’re done.” Roger flashes you a soft, gentle smile before he follows John out, and every inch of your insides flutter.

You walk back out after taking a few minutes to regain your composure and take your seat next to Daisy again. “These guys are hilarious,” she says with a giggle. “They’re so… bitchy.” You just smile and turn your gaze to Roger. He gives you a wink and forces his focus to what he’s supposed to be doing.

After the show, you and Daisy are standing outside, away from prying ears, discussing the show. She hated it. The music was good enough, but she found the performance drab. “I am begging you, please, be gentle in the review. I still have another month…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’m always honest,” she says. “But never mind that, tell me about Roger.” She nudges your arm and gives you a sly smirk. “How many times? Is he good? I bet he’s good.”

You roll your eyes and light a cigarette. “I am here to write a story. My judgment won’t be clouded by a pair of blue eyes.” You take a deep sigh and look out into the parking lot, seeing the crowd has thinned significantly. “I’m heading home. I miss my bed.” You give Daisy a hug, promise to hang out before you leave again, and head back inside to grab your purse.

And, of course, the first thing you see when you walk in is Roger, smiling his toothy smile, surrounded by giggling girls. Only this time, you don’t feel jealous or angered in any way. Not after that kiss. There was something different about it. He doesn’t notice you walk by. Freddie does, though, and he calls your name, blowing your cover. “Where are you sneaking off to?” he asks. “We’re just getting started, darling.”

“I’m going home,” you tell him. “I know. I’m boring. But I have to go to the office in the morning.” You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “But I’ll be here tomorrow in time for the show.”

As soon as you walk outside, you hear a voice from behind you. “‘A colossal sonic volcano whose eruption maketh the earth tremble,’” he says. “I read it last night.”

“Yeah,” you smirk as you turn around. “Are you surprised, Mr. Taylor?”

“Yeah, I am,” he smiles. You raise a brow and continue to smirk. “Especially considering you wrote that in Dallas. I guess I misjudged you.”

“You did,” you giggle. “But I didn’t misjudge you. I still think you’re a dick.”

He inches closer to you. “Where you off to then?”

“Home,” you tell him before taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

“Well, that depends,” he says, inching even closer and bringing his same hand up to you cheek like he did earlier. “Depends on if I get invited anywhere.” He smiles and you can’t resist it.

November 17, 1978 – 11am, Brooklyn, New York “Yes, Mike, I’ll be there,” you groan. “I don’t know why you can’t wait until tomorrow.” Roger’s under the sheet and keeps nibbling on your thigh and you’re trying not to giggle. “No, Mike, there’s nothing going on.” Roger’s now positioned himself in between your legs and is trying to open them, but you’re trying to stop him and start tapping on his head. “I don’t care what Daisy said, nothing’s going on.” Roger’s won the battle, and he’s now starting to tease you with his tongue. You try your hardest to stifle your gasp. “Mike, stop. I’ll be there at 1.” You slam the phone down and start laughing, and you can feel Roger’s chuckle against your core. “You could have just gotten me fired,” you laugh, but enjoying the feeling he’s creating way too much to fuss too much.

“Shhh,” he says, moving away for a moment, throwing the sheet off. “I’m trying to work here.” He laps and sucks on your swollen lips, his tongue moving unhurried over your clit as he hums over your sensitive flesh, making you quiver. You prop yourself up so you can watch him, and you see his eyes looking up at you, leaving you unable to take a breath deep enough to clear the euphoria he is creating right now. An excitement cry escapes your mouth as he starts to suck harder, flicking his tongue over and over until the last drop is sucked out of you. Each muscle in your body tenses as he takes you over the edge and fucks you with his tongue until you cum. He takes one last lick up before looking up at you, quite pleased with himself. “Did I ever tell you how absolutely delicious you are?” he smirks. “I just couldn’t resist.”

You start to giggle and pull him up to you. He gives you a deep kiss when he reaches your mouth, cupping your neck as he kisses you. “If we get caught I can get in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles as he kisses your neck. “Then I guess we better keep this our little secret.”

“I’m serious,” you giggle. His kisses are tickling you so you nudge him off, making him lay next to you on his back. “That’s what Mike was calling for.” He looks confused. “His exact words were ‘if I find out you’re fucking around with one of them I’m pulling you out.’”

Roger starts to grin and you can’t hold in your giggle. “Well it’s his own fault for sending someone pretty to us then, isn’t it?” You roll your eyes, but can’t stop giggling. “Hey, our secret. Promise.”

“Wow,” you say after you stop giggling and stare up at the ceiling. “So I’m actually getting paid to be a groupie.” You turn and look at him, keeping a serious face. “I’ve always wanted to be a groupie.”

He starts to laugh. “Yeah, but unfortunately, you’re a groupie for the wrong Roger.”

“That’s okay. I’ll consider this practice for when I get the right one.” You flash him a cheeky smirk before sitting up. “I have to get ready to get to the office before Mark comes and finds me.”

1:00pm – Midtown Manhattan You sneak in Mike’s office before anyone can catch you. Candice, the assistant editor, sees you and rushes in, excited to see you. “Soooo, how’s it going? Mike said you were having a little issue with Roger Taylor.” She sits in Mike’s chair, a big smile on her face, eager to hear everything.

“We’ve worked it out, actually,” you inform her. “At least I think we have. He doesn’t hate me anymore, so that’s progress.” As you fill Candice in on everything, Mike walks in and slams the door, startling you.

“Did you get to the part when you started banging the guy or no?” Mike is angry. Seething. You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always happy around you, jovial, sarcastic… everything but downright angry. “Don’t even open your mouth to tell me that you didn’t. Daisy told me…”

“Daisy?” you yell. “Daisy who is pissed off that I got this gig and she didn’t Daisy? That one? How would she even know?”

Mark calms down, takes a deep breath and sits on his desk, directly in front of you. “Look, Y/N, I just want this to be a fair article. It’s not just your journalistic integrity at stake, it’s the entire magazine.”

You reach down into your bag and hand him your notebook that is stuffed with other papers. “My typewriter broke so most of it is jotted down until I can type it up, but that’s it. That’s what it is so far.” Candice rushes over to sit next to Mike and they start reading what you’ve written. “If you read this and can honestly tell me that it’s written from the point of view of someone who’s fucking the drummer, or all of them plus the road crew, I’ll walk away.” You stand up from your chair and start pacing. “But I’m quite proud of what I’ve got there so far, and I really want to finish this, Mike.” He looks up at you. “You’re the one who sent me.”

He stands up as he hands everything to Candice, who is still reading. “I sent you because of your attitude. I knew if anyone could handle these guys for two months it would be you.” You stare at him, wondering why he seems to be feeling like he’s made a mistake. “We’re the only magazine they’re letting in, and …”

“Mike,” you say as you place a hand on his shoulder. “This is a huge chance you’ve given me. Do you really think I’m going to fuck it up?”

“This is really good, Mike,” Candice pipes up. “You should read it all.” She stands and holds your notebook in her hand, pointing down at it as she walks over to him. “I mean, do you really think she would have written this part about how childish he is if she…”

As you listen to her point out all of the negative things you’ve written about him – not that there was many – you realize exactly what Mike was worried about. If you leave all of that in, Roger will be pissed. If you take it out, you’re not exactly going to be telling the whole story.

“Stay on it,” Mike tells you. “And get a new typewriter because you can’t turn this mess in.” You smile and take the notebook from Candice. “Y/N, I’m serious. If I find out…”

“You won’t find anything out,” you smile.

Permatags: @clogwearingspacepoodle @briansfatbottomgirl @culturefiendtrashqueen @jennyggggrrr @shutup-sorry @dontstopmemeow @letmelivetaylor @tommyleeownsme

Series tags: @toomuchlove-willkillyou @sunshine112 @ohtheseboysilove @luvborhap @painkiller80 @hannafuckingsucks @itsametaphorbriansblog @biscuit-barrel @capsparrowtara @asquiresofftime @aridrowse @geek-and-proud @a19103 @nicholeh7 @caborhapch @catch-a-deak @thebelgiancompanion @ultrablackwidower @maggieroseevans @protectrowanwhitethorn @mercurycrowley @amy-brooklyn99 @bellas2silly @rogxrtaylxr @gylfsz @amagicmess @thessxoxo @mariekuuuuuh @drowseoftaylor @luvborhap @bohemiansweede

[born-to-lose-writing]

You Make It Feel Like Christmas

Pairing: old!Roger Daltrey x reader

Requested by anon

Summary: You spend the holiday season with Roger.

Tags: fluff, one sexual reference

Words: 1,321

A/N: Since I've been down bad for old man Roger lately, here's some Christmas fluff 💖

Tag list: @johnentwistlesbassguitar

These weren't your first holidays with Roger, but the first you spent with him entirely after you had only had a small personal celebration on the 23rd last year before spending actual Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with your families, respectively. To say the least, you were excited to experience the whole holiday magic as you now lived with him and had the chance to prepare for and celebrate Christmas with someone you loved like you had dreamed of.

However, Roger was a worthy opponent in the battle of who was more excited. Since mid-November, he had pointed out nearly daily how many days there were until Christmas. You adored how he was still looking forward to it this much while most people his age weren't too invested anymore and only saw the stressful side of the holidays. Despite having played Ebenezer Scrooge, he wasn't one at all.

It was almost like he was a child again, especially when you started decorating the house. He had plenty of decorations—many from the time when his daughters and sons were little—and he let you go through them all and choose this year’s theme. In case you found you needed more, he offered to buy some with you, but his selection was good enough and you only ended up getting a new table runner while you accompanied Roger buying presents for his kids and grandkids.

You had met them all separately before during your time with Roger, but this year, you were going to be together with his whole family for the first time as they were coming over for Christmas Day. You were a little anxious, even though there was no real reason to be, yet you also couldn't wait to see them all again, not least because Roger was happy whenever they visited him.

First, you decorated outside the house, but it was inside where you got to be more creative, putting up fairy lights, candle arches, paper stars, bows, snow globes, nutcrackers, porcelain figures and whatever else you found in his collection. You regularly asked Roger if he thought it was too kitschy, but he just watched you adoringly, handing you more decorations with sparkling eyes and saying he got to decorate every year, so you were welcome to do whatever you wanted.

Obviously, you let him help you decide where to put the items you had picked. That way, it was more fun for both of you and to reward yourselves afterwards, he made some eggnog and you cosied up to the fireplace in the living room together.

“We should get matching socks, shouldn't we?” you suggested, rubbing your leg against his.

“I wasn't going to reveal it until Christmas Eve, but I got us two pairs,” he said after a short pause. “It's not the only thing I have for you, so if you want, we can wear them earlier than that.”

“You really think of everything, don't you? It’s up to you, I don't mind only getting them for Christmas either,” you shrugged.

Roger put his mug down and wrapped both arms around you. Suddenly, you started giggling. “What is it?” he asked, smiling because you sounded like you were up to something.

“I also got matching outfits for us, but you'll definitely only see them in three weeks.”

“That’s okay, I like surprises,” he laughed, interlocking his fingers with yours. He did like surprises, but he was curious what your matching outfits would be; he had a feeling it would either be ugly Christmas sweaters or those silly costumes you could get at department stores.

Besides decorating and other projects Roger had to keep busy and liked to involve you in, you took walks on most days and when it snowed, it was even better. There wasn't enough to build a snowman or make snow angels, but it was nice to just watch the snowflakes fall and realise that Christmas was coming closer.

Of course, you also baked at least twice a week and always together. Roger's recipes were the best and it was no wonder the cookies, cupcakes and cakes you made were gone within two days.

You put down the tray of cookies and turned around to get a plate from the cupboard, but bumped into Roger, who was puckering his lips. “Give me a kiss!”

“Again?” you asked, surprised. He had just kissed you before turning off the oven when the timer rang.

“Didn't you see the mistletoe?” He grinned and nodded up at the mistletoe dangling from the ceiling above you.

You wondered where he even picked as much mistletoe as he hung up all over the house, insisting it's tradition every time you were standing underneath one. However, you were not complaining at all. You would kiss him all day if you could and he was committed to getting as close to kissing you all day as possible. His smile each time you leaned in to give into his gentle demands was the cutest thing.

You chuckled, putting your arms around his middle and pointing out, “You put them up everywhere, and I know you have one behind your back.”

Roger moved his face towards yours and closed his eyes, mumbling, “Mhm, that's for special kisses.”

Then he raised his occupied hand above your heads and eagerly kissed you—deeper than your usual chaste and sweet mistletoe kisses. In the heat of the moment, he pressed you against the edge of the counter, but he soon pulled away and reached up to open the cupboard, handing you the plate you had almost forgotten about by now.

“Thank you,” you said, still playing with the curls at the back of his head and pecking his lips before he stepped aside to let you get back to what you had been doing.

Finally, the day to see your promised matching outfits came. You had wrapped them in pretty paper and gave Roger his, leaving the room to get dressed yourself. Watching each other change was no issue at all, but you found it would make for a more dramatic reveal if you did that separately. Your costume probably looked more stupid than his, but you liked wearing it for a laugh.

You heard footsteps getting louder from the doorway of the living room and before you stood Roger dressed up as Santa Claus, wearing his classic wide smile. As you looked him up and down with a grin, he put his hands on his stomach and laughed exaggeratedly. Due to the way his normal laugh often sounded like a jolly elf, your costume may have been fitting for him too. Perhaps next year. However, he looked better in this outfit than you had expected. A little silly, but it suited him and he seemed to be having fun with it.

“Father Christmas? More like Daddy Christmas,” you purred teasingly, walking up to him and placing the matching hat on his head.

He put his hands on his hips and looked over the edge of his glasses. “Don't make me add you to the naughty list.”

“Oh come on, I’m only guilty of innocence,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him. God knows he had been naughtier than you, though much less now than back in the day, which you appreciated in certain aspects.

Roger sat in the armchair next to him and you immediately took a seat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He gently put a hand on your thigh to keep you in place and smiled, stroking it with his thumb. Then he straightened up and asked like a mall Santa, but with genuineness in his tone, “What's your wish, darling?”

You stayed silent for a moment, getting lost in his blue eyes. “I have everything I could wish for,” you replied, gently pulling down his fake beard and cupping his cheeks as you leaned in to kiss him.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 11

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: angst, sexual references

Words: 1,176

A/N: Here comes the angst doo doo doo doo

Tag list: @slit-skirts

You watched Roger while he was sleeping, looking like an angel with his curly golden hair forming a sort of halo on the pillow, his parted lips and his beautiful face shape. You were glad he still had his eyes closed because those big blue eyes could put you in some sort of trance if you stared long enough.

Ever since he had come home from America and things had gone back to normal after a rather dry and impersonal period, you had reconsidered how you felt about him. Initially, he had only been a cute singer you had coincidentally gotten the chance to hook up with, then you did that more often, but without any kind of feelings involved other than lust. At some point, you also talked about normal things and met up like friends did – no, you were friends. Good friends actually, and at times you seemed to be a little more than that.

Still, you had never caught yourself extensively thinking about him like you did more often now. You had never wanted to go on actual dates with him. You had never wanted to kiss him softly to wake him up. You had never felt lightheaded when the sex was closer to making love than the desperate horny hookups in small backstage areas. You had never wanted to spend a whole weekend alone with him, maybe going someplace else. You had never wanted to have the almost uncomfortably deep conversations with him and get to know the real him. Although you had known him well for quite some time, you weren't sure if the side he showed you of him was the normal Roger or a lighter version of his stage persona.

You had never gotten so jealous you got mad at yourself when seeing him flirting with other people at gigs despite you being the one who followed him into the dressing room. After all, you were in the same boat as them, except you liked to jokingly call yourself a ‘premium groupie’ as you had been seeing him regularly for the past two and a half years and apparently, Roger liked you enough to keep you around for so long.

What you were starting to think about him had felt like a crush at first and you had assumed it would pass quickly because you probably only got a little attached after spending so much time with him and getting physically close so you wanted to get even more emotionally close as well in a different way than friends did. However, it had been several months since then and instead of getting less, your feelings for him were becoming more serious with every time you saw him, sometimes nervous about what to say and do or how you looked, which was completely new when it came to him. The last time you had worried about that he hadn't even given you a backstage pass yet. You were close to yearning and frankly, you were scared.

If you let your feelings show, you would surely scare him away. If you suppressed them, you would tear a hole in your heart that would grow bigger and bigger. You didn't know what to do. As far as you knew, Roger was single; otherwise he wouldn't have had so much time to meet you in between gigs and tours as you figured if there was a partner, he would prefer to spend more time with them than a groupie who had been on his heels since 1966.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice Roger was awake by now. He smiled and rubbed his eyes, uttering a raspy, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you replied, your stupid adoring smile being replaced by a frown. You were angry at yourself for slowly developing feelings for him – feelings you had sworn you would never catch. You had made it clear to him early on that nothing more would come of this and he agreed. How would you explain this change of heart then?

Even more than that right now, you were angry that he certainly noticed you staring at him with a look in your eyes that gave it all away. You had thought you were better at hiding your emotions than this. What would he think of you now? You couldn't appear like one of those embarrassing fans who were naive enough to think their favourite musicians would magically fall in love with them. You were not one of them, you convinced yourself, you were simply someone who frequently hung out with him. You were not in love with him, you were only here to hook up, get into concerts for free and talk to an objectively cool person, for one because it helped your ego, but also because he was interesting and you enjoyed his company in a normal way. Lies.

Roger leaned in to kiss you, but before he got too close you turned away. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed your t-shirt, putting it back on. “I think it's time for you to go,” you murmured, frustration in your voice coming off as rather annoyed and bitter.

He blinked and looked over at you with furrowed eyebrows, but you didn't turn around, nor did you explain why you were in such a hurry. Hesitantly, he got dressed, at first taking his time because he wanted to see if you would say anything else, but he soon realized you wouldn't and swiftly zipped up his jeans and threw on his pullover.

When he sat on the bed and bent down to put on his socks and shoes, he felt like you were looking at him from behind, but when he stood up, you were standing by the window, looking down on the road while fiddling about with a loose thread on your curtain.

“Bye, see you around,” he said after a pause.

“Yeah, see you,” you replied, forcing a smile as you glanced at him before he walked towards the door, raising his hand to wave, but you had already turned away. With a sigh, he closed the door behind him.

He had no idea what was wrong all of a sudden. You surely didn't mean to be rude, but he was going to wonder what was going on in your head for the rest of the day – perhaps for the rest of the week. Why would you ask him to leave in a less gentle tone than usual after you had spent a regular night together, listening to some records and chatting before having sex? He hadn't considered anything about it abnormal. In fact, it was the same as your other meetings since last year. You had even asked him to stay the night after you had originally only invited him for dinner and music, so why were you so pressed about him leaving before he was fully awake and oriented? Were you seeing each other too often? Did you want to continue seeing him at all?

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 5

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, sexual references

Words: 1,115

A/N: This update is kinda late, but I promise I'm not abandoning it! Actually, I was thinking about the order of events so this will end up having twice as many chapters as originally planned!

Tag list: @slit-skirts

As the months passed, you developed a closer friendship with Roger and during many of your meetings you didn't have sex or even make out, which was unusual for you at first.

Once in the middle of the recording sessions of The Who Sell Out, he managed to get a day off and miraculously decided to spend it with you rather than unwind at his own home. While you had proposed to get his mind off work, you didn't get annoyed at him for talking about how stressed he was, among other reasons, due to the expectation to contribute his own songs.

“Last time I had to write one to get 500 quid in advance. I didn't think it would become a habit,” he groaned, tugging at his hair.

“I liked See My Way,” you remarked with a smile, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.

Roger sat up. “Thank you, dear.”

You couldn't really help him with this specific issue, but you didn't feel like not writing a song for the album would be as huge of a deal as he thought. He had a unique voice and stage presence that could hardly be outweighed by the fact that he wasn't going to be one of the principal songwriters in the band. Still, you gladly listened and didn't play the problem down or give him unsolicited advice.

He sighed and looked into your eyes. You cupped his cheek and kissed him softly in reassurance. As usual, he immediately returned it, but this time he didn't deepen it, put his hands on your waist to bring you closer or make any advances otherwise.

You were so used to having sex when he was frustrated – even more so if he had been very busy recently to let off some steam – that this felt strange. For a moment, you thought he didn't want you anymore, but the warm look in his eyes when he pulled away told you that perhaps he just wasn't in the mood.

“Thank you for listening to my rambling, it means a lot,” he said sincerely, reaching up to wipe away a loose eyelash on the side of your nose. Then he held his pointer finger up in front of you, whispering, “Make a wish.”

You closed your eyes and after a few seconds of thinking carefully, you blew on it. Of course you weren't going to tell him what you had wished for, even if it involved him.

Following the conversation about his songwriting dilemma, the two of you baked shortbread fingers, which you were planning to take to the park for a picnic later.

It was your first time working in the kitchen together and you had to admit baking with him was much more fun and more productive than baking on your own. Once winter came around, you would have to invite him to make gingerbread if his schedule allowed for it.

Having fun in the kitchen didn't mean throwing the ingredients – though there was the obligatory flour dot on each other's noses – but the chatting and joking around as well as the spontaneous decision to make double the amount of biscuits and Roger's eagerness to roll the dough you were separating into smaller parts next to him.

While the trays were in the oven, Roger picked up a book from your shelf and sat on one of the chairs around your small table. “What are you reading?” you called from the sink, bending to try and catch a glimpse of the cover.

Grinning, he held the book up for you to read the title before placing it on the table again. Love Poem Collection. The poetry book he had bought for you a couple of months ago and which you had read through several times since then, even adding your thoughts on the side written in pencil.

You smiled and sat down across from him, leaning over to see on which page he was. He didn't let himself be bothered by that and continued reading without looking up before turning the book to read your annotations. At that, you sat back, mildly embarrassed.

You hadn't expected him to read it – or this book at all – so you had written down whatever had come to mind, thankfully staying vague enough, although you weren't sure what you had written in regard to this poem as it was one you found you related to quite well. It wasn't like you had scattered deep love confessions for Roger across the pages – you weren't in love with him anyway – but even your unrelated feelings were too personal in your opinion to let anyone read them.

When he had finished reading your additions, he slowly looked up and wordlessly smiled at you. Then, the timer rang and you turned off the stove, taking the first tray out. You took one of the shortbread fingers and walked over to Roger. “Open up,” you said and he took a bite, giving you a thumbs-up as he chewed.

After the biscuits had cooled down a little, you put them in jars and packed something to drink along with a blanket, which you put in the boot of Roger's car. You let him pick the location because you trusted his choices and you had already taken him to your favourite café last time you had met. Besides, he was busy and stressed enough at the moment, so he deserved to have a say in where he would spend his free day in between studio sessions and gigs.

The picnic was relaxing and to your surprise, barely anyone recognized him or if they did, they left him alone except for a sudden smile from afar. You absentmindedly picked some flowers around you and stuck them in Roger's hair behind his ears while he poured two glasses of wine. He grinned at the tickling feeling on his scalp and turned to face you with big eyes, making you giggle at the sight.

“Hold still, I'm taking a picture!” you exclaimed, rummaging through the bag to find your camera at the bottom. The different lengths of the pedicels and almost connecting blossoms in the centre with the afternoon sun shining through made it look like he had a halo. In conclusion, the perfect motive and you hoped it would have the same effect on film.

Roger kept smiling for long after you had taken the photo and asked, “Can I get a copy of that one?”

“Maybe,” you teased, only now realizing that you hadn't given him any of the other pictures you had of him. That could make for a proper, different kind of physical birthday present next year.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 6

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, light smut

Words: 1,632

A/N: Slowly introducing the subconscious yearning 😌

Tag list: @slit-skirts

For once, this month was not going to be as busy as the rest of the year, which – as much as he loved his job – Roger was very grateful for. He had just returned from their US tour a week ago and the next gig was set for New Year's Eve. The new album was to be released on the 15th and although the band was nervous about how well it would do in the charts, December was starting to be more relaxing to round off the year.

That also meant you and Roger would spend more time together. In fact, you were the first person he had gone to see back in England as he had stood on your doormat the morning of his arrival, explaining that he didn't have the energy to go the rest of the way to his own place and you lived closer to Heathrow, so you had let him stay there to sleep without questioning him.

During this time, the two of you visited each other several times a week while also meeting up to wander through the city and look at Christmas decorations together. This weekend you were spending entirely at his apartment and by Sunday morning, you started to feel strange. It was almost like you were living together as Roger made it feel so natural that you were here and there was more calmness than you knew from sleeping over at school friends’ houses where there was always some kind of tension as you were only a guest. Maybe he was simply a good host and you were close enough to him to be at ease in his presence.

Your grip on Roger's shoulders loosened as you collapsed on top of him. He cupped your cheeks and kissed you passionately yet more exhausted and meant as a ‘thank you’ than to initiate another round. When he pulled away, he smiled and laid your head on his sweaty chest, his fingers lazily massaging your scalp.

After he calmed down a little, he reached over to grab a cigarette and his lighter from the drawer beside the bed. Taking the first drag, he put his free hand back on your shoulder, fingers sprawled over your collarbone.

Listening to his heartbeat, you felt weirdly comfortable in this position. You didn't know at what point the sex the two of you had ended with lying in bed together for a little longer, often cuddling, having a chat or not talking at all - which surprisingly didn't feel awkward - but while you had originally planned to only hook up with him at shows, you were more than fine with it.

It had been obvious early on that this wasn't going to be a one-off thing, but not seeing one another aside from those shows made it feel less committed in a way. Still, this was exactly what you had been doing for almost a year now after the first six months had passed with you attending nearly all of The Who’s gigs in Southern England, at first acting as if it was a coincidence and you were in the area anyway until he caught on that it was rather unlikely.

Later Roger added you to the guest list to spare you the trouble of sneaking backstage every time. But even then you never met up separately except for his occasional visits to return clothes you had forgotten until he figured you saw each other often enough to just keep your things for a week longer. In fact, he ended up keeping some ‘trophies’ as your closet looked slightly emptier than before you had met him.

It was only after another four months that he started inviting you over to his place sporadically, mostly for sex still, although by that time you had formed a kind of friendship. Now you even just invited him to cook together, went out for lunch or window shopping. And today you were spending the third day in a row together, which came with a certain sense of domesticity.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Roger held his cigarette in front of your face and you parted your lips, inhaling as he put it in your mouth. In a way, this action felt almost as sexual as what you had been doing for the past hours. He removed the cigarette and gently pulled your head back by your hair to watch you puff out the smoke. Smiling in satisfaction, he brought it up to his own mouth, mixing his smoke with yours as you locked eyes.

Then he eyed the filter, noticing your lipstick mark on it. “A miracle there's still some lipstick left. And I tried so hard to smear it,” he teased.

“Maybe it's yours, you did kiss me hard enough,” you retorted, reaching up to drag a finger across his lips, showing him a little red stain on it.

Roger chuckled and licked it off your finger before leaning back and finishing the cigarette.

“You think we look pretty good together…” he suddenly began singing and you knew he had that bright smile on his face without even having to look up at him. “We do actually, some bouncers ask if I’m your boyfriend, but you're my favourite groupie, so I just say yes to give you easier access,” he laughed.

Intrigued, you rolled over to lie completely on top of him, crossing your arms under your chin and raising your eyebrows. You got a funny feeling upon the implication that he told some people you were in a relationship, on one hand anxious because you weren't ready at all and on the other hand… excitement perhaps? Nothing except for your frequent meetings - of which the public appearances could very well be interpreted as platonic - and you getting backstage at all their concerts could give someone the impression. That and how you greeted each other in a more familiar way than the groupies who came to Keith for a one night stand.

“Really?”

Roger nodded and added with a grin, “Can't have them shooing you away when I've been looking forward to getting laid all day.”

“Finding girls to shag isn't hard for you,” you pointed out, playing with his curly ends. You decided not to ask him about the original topic to avoid awkwardness. This weekend had been too nice, you could still talk some other time if he brought it up again.

“That’s true, but with you it's easier to get my point across because you know everything I'm into by now, plus I can rely on you being great in bed.” He lightly slapped your ass for emphasis and took a short breath as if he wanted to say something else, but he didn't.

“Thank you,” you smirked and stretched to get closer to his lips but decided to turn away at the last second and bite his earlobe instead, catching him by surprise as he had expected you to kiss him.

“Hey! Still haven't gotten enough?” he teased and flipped you over so he was on top of you, a devilish grin on his face.

Originally, you had only made this move because you had feared giving him an almost loving kiss would be unsuitable. And actually, you did have enough for today, but you admired his stamina. However, the sight of him hovering over you with his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and his blue eyes darkened with arousal changed your mind. If you weren't on top this time, you could go for yet another round.

You wrapped a leg around his waist and returned the grin, tilting your head. “How did you know?”

Roger lowered his head to leave a trail of kisses from your chest up to your jaw, murmuring, “Intuition.”

He gently grabbed your wrists and shoved your hands into the pillow above you. Once you were trapped and had no room to move, he kissed you deeply, slower but not less hungry than usual. He pressed his upper body against yours to be closer as he went for another kiss after taking a second to breathe.

Still not releasing your hands, he sat back and put your palms on his thighs. You happily let your fingers wander higher, smirking at him as he let go and lifted your chin with a lustful expression on his face.

Suddenly, Roger's dog – which you had always thought resembled Pete – came padding towards the bed, putting its head on the edge of the mattress and looking at you with big eyes.

You shifted and pulled your hands away, leaving Roger perplexed at your feet. “Aw come here, Mouse!” You patted the dog's head and it jumped up on the bed, enjoying the affection it got from you.

“Good girl,” you cooed repeatedly, scrunching up your nose as it licked your cheek.

“I'm starting to think you like my dog more than me,” Roger commented, chuckling as he laid down next to you, patiently waiting for you to finish.

“Well, unlike you, Mouse wants cuddles without ulterior motives,” you teased, holding his dog close and gently running your hands through the fur.

Roger scooted closer to you, resting his chin on your shoulder and joining in on stroking the dog's fur. “When do I have ulterior motives, h–?”

Either your hearing was playing tricks on you and he was beginning to say ‘honey’ but stopped in time, or he was breathing out a laugh. Surely it was the latter.

The next round seemed to have been forgotten until further notice as you both laid there, giving Mouse the attention you and Roger admittedly had given each other more of this weekend, but as this was your last day, the dog deserved all the love now.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 3

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: smut, some fluff

Words: 1,395

A/N: Forming friendship! We're getting there <3

Tag list: @warriorteam1924 @slashscowboyboots @losers-yurio @lost-in-the-80s @jennyggggrrr @tuffduff @jonesyownsmyheart @smells-like-perfect-senses @slit-skirts (let me know if you want to be taken off the list)

For the next half year, you continued attending their gigs, even travelling most of Southern England when you could manage. Every time, you went to see Roger afterwards. Sometimes he noticed you during the set, although he always looked over the crowd to the back of the room and mainly spotted you before leaving the stage or while pacing about by the side curtains before the show. Sometimes he asked you the previous time you met if you would be there at the next gig too. Sometimes the music took him somewhere completely else the entire evening so that he was pleasantly surprised to see you waiting by the ‘staff only’ doors.

One night Roger asked, “So you're expanding the radius where you come to see us?”

“Yeah, from London into the Southern English small towns,” you replied, still hoping you didn't come across as a stalker.

“That’s what I call dedication,” he smiled.

Naturally, you were at another concert a couple of days later. As you waited in line to buy your ticket, the bouncer looked you up and down, saying, “You're on the guest list if I'm not mistaken. What's your name?”

You answered and to your surprise, you actually were on the guest list. In addition, you got a backstage access lanyard. Now that you were officially allowed into the sacred area, you confidently walked down the hall after the show had ended and while figuring out which was Roger's dressing room, you felt an arm wrapping around your waist from behind and a head resting on your shoulder.

“How does it feel to be here legitimately?” At the latest by this comment, it was clear he was none other than Roger.

“Feels good not to come up with excuses why I need to go backstage, even if I've mastered that discipline,” you smirked in reply.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it. I had you added to the permanent list for shows around here. If you want to come up to Scotland or something, let me know and I can arrange it for those too.”

You turned around and kissed his jaw. “Thank you.”

You had thought the backstage pass was just a treat for tonight, but you absolutely hadn't expected him to go out of his way to add you to guest lists for future gigs. Then your behaviour following them around a little couldn't have been too creepy.

Roger moved to kiss you on the lips, keeping you close by slipping his hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “Not a permanent groupie, yeah?” a voice said and you turned to see John walking past you.

The blonde rolled his eyes, though you could tell he wasn't seriously annoyed. After all, you were, in fact, his permanent groupie now, which he confirmed by giving you a backstage pass. “Why do you even get involved? Pete was the one who asked me last time.”

John had already disappeared in his dressing room and Roger shook his head, grabbing your hand to pull you into his own room. “Now we should have some peace and… well, maybe not quiet,” he grinned, pouring you a glass of whiskey.

You sat down on the sofa and he walked over to hand you your drink, taking a seat next to you before clinking glasses. While drinking, you kept staring into each other's eyes. Like so often, his bright blue eyes were darkened with lust and when you put your glass on the table, he cupped your cheek, urgently crashing his lips into yours.

Before he could get on top of you, you straddled his lap, grinding your hips against his as you deepened the kiss, not giving him a chance to breathe until you moved down towards his neck. He sighed and helped you unbutton his shirt, which you took as an invitation to bite his shoulder. In response, he threw his head back, groaning softly and digging his fingers into your thighs.

You didn't stop rolling your hips as you felt him getting harder underneath you. This time, you were going to tease him a little as you weren't as desperate yet as he seemed to be. You pulled away to take off your shirt and he immediately reached out to touch you, but you grabbed his wrists and pushed them against the wall behind him, looking at him mischievously.

“Oh come on, this is the thank you for giving you a backstage pass?” Roger huffed, even if his bulge told you that he was enjoying it. You shrugged and leaned down to plant a kiss on his collarbone, sucking lightly. After looking at the forming red mark in satisfaction, you got off his lap and took off your jeans.

However, your plan to tease him didn't work quite as well when he hurriedly removed his own pants and pulled you back onto his lap, pressing you up against his chest. “Next time tie my hands to keep me from moving,” he smirked.

“Noted.” You nodded in defeat, slowly rocking your hips and cupping his face to kiss him passionately. The room was hot – after all, it was late summer and the windows looked too unsteady to dare to open them – and his sweat combined with your frantic tugging at his hair made some curls form at the nape of his neck.

You liked the feeling of his curls around your fingers and you were sure he looked really handsome with a full head of them, but there must have been a reason he always straightened them with hair gel, so you didn't say anything.

When you were finished, Roger pushed a few pieces of hair that stuck to your forehead out of your face and reached over to grab his cigarette pack, taking one out. With one arm slung around you, he put the cigarette between his lips and you took the matchbox to light his fire. “Thank you, dear,” he smiled after inhaling the smoke and placing his elbow on the armrest.

You took another sip of your drink, which was almost too warm to taste good by now, and Roger started asking you about your hobbies and a couple of more topics you hadn't talked about before.

While you had always gotten along well and had chatted in addition to having sex, proper conversation often came too short – partially because the venue closed too early, partially because there were other fans waiting for him, and partially because the need to get physically intimate was bigger than the need for an intellectual talk.

Over the course of the night, you found out you had quite a few things in common and you completely lost track of time until somebody knocked on the door, calling, “Are you coming, Rog?”

“Just a minute,” the singer replied, picking your clothes up from the floor. After both of you had hurriedly gotten dressed, you followed him outside, where his bandmates were waiting.

You were beginning to say goodbye and leave when he held your arm, asking, “Are you getting home?”

“I don't want to bother you,” you started a little sheepishly.

“We’re heading to London anyway,” Keith added with a warm smile.

The blonde nodded and you agreed to go with them. This time you had come by train and frankly, you had no idea when the next one would arrive, so this opportunity was very welcome, even though you wouldn't have asked them if Keith and Roger hadn't offered to give you a lift.

Roger was driving and you were in the passenger seat while the rest of the band was in the back of the van. They made small talk with you, probably to be polite and make the longer car ride less awkward, especially at night. The only one aside from Roger who was very talkative and slightly flirty was Keith while John was rather quiet as usual and Pete seemed exhausted from the gig.

Before you reached the London area, the guitarist asked where you lived and after Keith, you were the second person to be dropped off. Getting out of the car, you thanked them for taking you home and they thanked you for loyally coming to their shows. When you turned around to close the door of your building, you saw Roger waving at you as he drove away.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 9

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, angst, sexual references

Words: 1,139

A/N: This update is quick because I'm on a roll and wrote this basically right after posting the last one

Tag list: @slit-skirts

As expected, Roger never mentioned dreaming about you again. In addition to that, his tough guy persona slowly extended into the way he acted around you. As soft-spoken and emotionally intimate as he had been that night he had given you his jacket, so nonchalant was he now, which didn't help your anxiety about your spot on his priorities list at all.

Of course, he was still nice and you enjoyed spending time with him, but suddenly he wasn't as vulnerable around you as he used to be. Had you done something wrong? Had he found someone else to share these kinds of personal conversations with? Did he want to continue seeing you at all? Did he get a girlfriend now and had no need for as much quality time with you? Were you going back to the beginning when you had only met to hook up? Was it actually his normal behaviour and you had simply read too much into his previous actions that he seemed colder now in comparison to the Dostoevsky quote on your doorstep?

Soon enough, he went back to the USA for over two months – but not before inviting you to have sex several times in the weeks leading up to the tour. “So I’m not out of practice,” he jokingly explained, and although he probably didn't mean it as a hint at the American women waiting for his return, it nearly made you sick and furious to think of him rolling around bed with someone else who may or may not have a similar type of relationship with him as you had.

However, that didn't stop you from coming over every time he asked. Maybe you were turning into the desperate puppy you had tried so hard not to become. Once he was across the pond, you were planning to comb through the live music venues of London again to see your friends. They would know what to do when your frustration related to Roger set in, just like they had during his other tours abroad.

On a late evening in early September, your doorbell rang. Almost expecting who it would be, you opened the door without putting something more modest on than what you were wearing anyway. Despite your suspicion, you were a little surprised to see Roger standing in front of you, a sleepy yet happy smile on his face and a suitcase in his hand.

At this point, he didn't even come up with an excuse anymore like he had the first time he had stayed with you the night after returning from a tour, claiming your flat was closer to the airport than his – which was true, but he didn't live so far away he couldn't manage to get there.

From then on, it had become a habit to let him sleep at your place after a long tour, often for the first night only, but if the trip had been especially exhausting, he extended his stay by another day. Honestly, you were happier than you should have been that he decided not to break this little tradition after your interactions outside of the bedroom had been a little minimalist shortly before he had left.

“Hello, dear,” he whispered so as not to wake your neighbours and you stepped aside to let him in.

“Welcome home,” you said and he put his luggage down to hug you, burying his face in your neck.

“How have you been?” he asked, his chin still resting on your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him.

“I've been good, was the tour fun?” You played with his curls and he nuzzled your neck again.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I missed you, though.”

“Well, I'm right here now,” you replied, hoping he wouldn't feel your heart beating faster in response to him saying he had missed you.

Roger pulled away and smirked. “Thankfully. You should start following me around again, the backstage pass offer for shows abroad still stands.”

“We'll see,” you smiled, secretly wishing you could travel after him, though not exclusively to see him because you saw him often enough in London, but also to see the places you heard him and his bandmates talking about as well as some you had wanted to visit for a long time.

He walked over to your bed and started taking off his street clothes. Not for decency's sake, but to get ready for bed yourself, you disappeared in the bathroom. “You know, it was fun checking where you're playing and figuring out how to attend as many shows as possible,” you admitted, feeling a little nostalgic at the memory of how you had sneaked backstage at any given opportunity two and a half years ago.

“Wasn't it?” he agreed, slightly drowned out by the tap water running as you brushed your teeth. “I liked how you tried to act all mysterious at the beginning, as if you didn't really care for me and were only there for the music.”

“I was only there for the music, believe it or not! I didn't go just to get laid by you. Initially,” you added with a laugh.

“I don't know, for someone who didn't want to get laid, you were pretty eager,” he retorted and without seeing his face, you knew he was wearing that big grin of his. “Who was your favourite member anyway? Or was I your second choice because I was the first to leave the dressing room?”

“Don't be so cheeky or I'll say it was Keith, I’m sure he’s still interested,” you warned him teasingly, briefly peeking your head through the door to giggle as you saw his jaw drop.

“I'm not going to ask about ‘still interested’,” he huffed, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Don’t worry, he never made any serious advances and I didn't engage in them either way,” you reassured him. “Actually, I had no favourite member before I first saw you live. And don't ask who my favourite is now or else you know where the door is.”

You only heard a faint chuckle followed by long silence and you continued, “I'll see if I can visit you when you're in Europe. That should be easier than going to America for now, but no promises.”

Walking out of the bathroom, you saw that Roger had already fallen asleep. He lay almost diagonally, mouth half open and one arm hanging over the edge of the bed. You turned the light off and softly smiled as you picked up a blanket he wasn't lying on and covered him with it. Then you laid down next to him, also diagonally in a weird but not too uncomfortable position to avoid waking him up, and shuffled close to him so you got a piece of the blanket as well.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 15

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, smut

Words: 1,712

A/N: Another late update, but now it's only two chapters until this series is finished!

Tag list: @slit-skirts

One day on tour, Roger decided to buy a postcard because he remembered upon their arrival in this city that you had mentioned always wanting to visit this place. Now that he did get the chance but couldn't take you with him due to your own job, he figured it would only be fair if he at least sent you a little souvenir. In fact, the idea to get you to join him had bloomed the moment he had received the schedule and noticed that specific date, but despite his attempts, you had to pass this time.

He wasn't sure what to write to you. He wanted to tell you so many things, but there was only so much space on the back of the card. So he wrote some drafts on napkins from the hotel restaurant where he didn't actually eat – not more than a hamburger a day, that is. After rereading them repeatedly, he considered them too romantic each time, scrapping them and trying again.

At some point, he was content with the message he ended up writing on the postcard, talking about how interesting this city was, recommending you a restaurant which he hoped would still exist by the time you got to go there yourself, talking about how fun this tour had been so far – and that he was starting to miss you.

He had done a pretty good job editing the text to make it less sappy. You weren't dating, who would you think he was writing you what got close to a love letter? However, certain rather heartfelt phrases were left in. On one hand, he only noticed after he had written the final version, on the other hand, he hoped you would get the hints by reading between the lines. If he was going to get straight to the point, he was going to do it in person and not in a postcard written miles away without the opportunity to have a proper follow-up conversation. Besides, he was too busy to be anxious about whether you reciprocated or not until he returned to London.

At the next post office, he had it sent to you. He wasn't sure if you would receive it before the end of the tour, but it was the thought that counted. It showed that even on a different continent with plenty of women at his feet, you were on his mind and in his heart.

Roger was still in the USA when you opened your usually empty letter box to find a colorful postcard with big letters on the front falling out. You picked it up and as you took a closer look at the state map surrounded by smaller motives around it, you assumed it was Roger. It could only be him; you didn't know anyone else who was overseas at the moment. Before you would turn it around to scan the text, you rushed upstairs to your flat.

Thankfully, you were alone because you must have had the most stupid smile on your face while reading his message for you. Every word, every line made your heart beat faster. You were probably interpreting too much into it, you thought, although some phrasings did seem deliberate and you couldn't interpret them any other way.

‘Halfway through this leg of the tour and I'm already missing yours giving me a better kind of sleepless nights. All jokes aside, I wish you were here.’

Other parts left you pondering whether he meant what you thought he might, but it wasn't clear as it could also be simple friendly words. However, the more direct passages nearly cancelled that out.

Instead of worrying about the psychology of his postcard, you reread it a few more times while just being grateful he was thinking of you too and you were worth sending something to before he would come back home.

While you had met the other members of The Who on various occasions before, you unfortunately didn't know any of them well enough to comfortably ask if they happened to know how Roger felt about you without sounding like a freak. It wasn't like they disliked you or acted especially distant, but you wouldn't call them close friends out of whom you could squeeze some information on your crush who happened to be their friend and bandmate.

So you were left to figure it out by yourself or ask him yourself, which you weren't going to do anytime soon. For one, because he was on the road, but also because you didn't feel quite ready and instead decided to gather hints and connect the dots one by one. Some of your friends wondered how many more dots you needed at this point, but you couldn't be sure enough.

Suddenly at night the phone rang and you took the call, hearing the last voice you expected on the other end. “Hi baby, how are you?”

Roger never called you when he was on tour, not when he was traveling across the UK and even less when he was abroad. Something told you he did not simply want to ask how you were doing.

“I’m good, how about you? Had a fun gig?”

“Absolutely, the crowd was better than yesterday’s. Did you get my postcard?”

“I did! Thank you so much, it's lovely.” You were contemplating asking him about it, but you decided not to ruin this call with another misunderstanding.

“You're welcome,” he replied softly and paused before asking in a voice that was all too familiar, “Are you alone?”

You smirked, knowing your gut feeling was right. “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Weren't you busy tonight?”

“It went quickly. I don't feel like going to a bar though, I need to save some of my energy,” he explained. “How late is it for you?”

“Late. You can be glad it's Saturday.”

He laughed. “Okay, I'll let you boss me around a little as a peace offering.”

“You're forgiven,” you smirked. “Then I order you not to touch yourself for now.”

“I already regret it,” he groaned. “Next thing you're hanging up and I don't get to jerk off.”

“I'd never,” you gasped dramatically.

“Please at least tell me what you're doing so I can use my imagination.”

You proceeded to tell him in detail how you were touching yourself, interrupted by occasional moans. It wasn't like you never masturabted when you didn't have him or any of the other musicians you sometimes met to hook up with, but you had to admit phone sex with Roger was the hottest thing ever. Aside from actual sex with him, though only hearing each other's moans and descriptions of what you were doing without having a chance to touch them yourself was perhaps even more arousing.

From your longer breaks and increasing volume of gasps and moans, he could tell you were close, but you seemed to be going too slowly, edging yourself almost.

“God, go faster,” he said.

“Be quiet, I'm the one with permission to boss you around, remember?”

“Yes… Sorry.”

Eventually, you did speed up and pushed yourself over the edge because you couldn't take it anymore. You only numbly heard a string of praises from the receiver that was sliding down your shoulder. When you collected your thoughts and laid on your back, you took the phone back in your hand and, slowly catching your breath, you asked, “Enjoyed the show?”

“Very much, thank you. I almost came just from listening to you.”

“Didn't I tell you-”

“I swear I didn't! Now please let me do something,” he nearly whined, which was unusual for him.

“So impatient?” you teased, twirling the telephone cord. “Fine, you may touch yourself now.”

“Thank you, fuck,” he said in relief.

“But go slow, I want you to enjoy it. It's got to be longer than your other fling.”

“Oh, it already is,” he chuckled. “Hell, I was already hard when I heard your voice as you picked up the phone.”

You didn't ask him for descriptions of what he was doing. Instead, you closed your eyes, listening to his moans, and each time you thought they were getting too hasty, you reminded him to slow down. In response, you got a whine followed by more desperate sounds the more time passed.

His voice had always been nice to listen to, whether he was singing, simply talking or moaning and panting while you had sex. You couldn't ignore it, but only now that you depended on his voice alone you realized just how hot he sounded in moments like this.

You found a liking to being the more dominant one for once. When he got back from the tour, you would ask if you could do it again.

At some point, you decided to be lenient with him and allowed him to cum. You didn't have to say it twice as the sounds he made told you it didn't take him much more than that. “Good boy,” you cooed, knowing he didn't really like being called that, but in this case he didn't seem to care.

“That was great. I've never done this before, I didn't think it would be so hot,” he breathed when he came down from his high.

“Maybe we should do it more often,” You agreed. “But I don't envy the bill you'll get from the hotel for this long distance call.”

“If Keith can blow up toilets and milk our fees for reparations, I can spend a sum on calling someone I miss,” he defended himself. “Thank you again. Good night, or good morning, however you want to see it.”

You smiled, so hung up on him saying he missed you that you almost didn't notice he was about to end the call. “Thank you. Good night and good luck for the rest of the tour.”

In the last moment, you held back from adding ‘I love you’ at the end. You did love him, that was for sure now, but you couldn't tell him that, as much as you wanted to.

While you wanted to think about this conversation some more, you hadn't gotten enough sleep and after this session, you were too tired to do more than put the telephone back on your nightstand.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 14

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, angst

Words: 1,366

A/N: I'm so sorry for the silence! Recently, I've been somewhat busy working on my own groupie turned crush situation myself 👀 Anyway, this gave me more inspiration to continue with this!

Tag list: @slit-skirts

Roger's career progressed and you couldn't be prouder. However, the success also brought more time away from him with it. As much as you would have liked to travel with him as you had been talking about, your schedule canceled that idea. You tried to console yourself with the saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’.

To make up for you not being able to join him on the US tour, he insisted on you accompanying him to the airport. Accordingly, you both woke up early in the morning to get ready and go over his luggage once more to make sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything.

You let Roger get dressed before you while you stayed in his bed for a moment longer, thinking about last night and how much you would miss this over the next couple of months – how much you would miss him.

Before you had gone to bed, you had considered finally confessing to him but were distracted. Today after the alarm had rung and you both had turned around to face each other with sleepy smiles, you had considered it again, but he must have had too much on his mind already and you couldn't waste time you could need to prepare for his trip.

So you simply said good morning and asked if he wanted to use the bathroom first. Despite his flat being slightly larger than yours, the bathroom still didn't allow for two people in a hurry to get ready at the same time without going mad.

You were torn whether or not you should say anything at all. Would it be best to speak now or forever hold your peace? There seemed to be no in between, you either had to tell the truth now or never.

You picked up a daisy from the flower crown you had made yesterday and started ripping out the petals in true schoolgirl-with-a-crush fashion. You dropped the last one at ‘do it’. With a sigh and a racing heart, you took a small piece of paper and wrote on it, “Have fun in America! I'm in love with you”. Then you folded it once and slipped it into the back pocket of the pair of jeans he had laid on the bed to wear.

Returning from the bathroom, he climbed into the trousers and put on one of your shirts – this time one from the collection he had accumulated over the years instead of one he pulled out of your wardrobe, which didn't change the fact that it was yours, but he didn't steal even more from what was left of your clothes. However, that shouldn't matter as he had given you a spare key, so you could technically come and collect your things anytime. You didn't want to, though.

“I still wish you could come with me,” Roger said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

“I am coming with you,” you teased, a melancholic smirk on your face as you got up to head towards the bathroom.

“But only to the airport. I mean on tour, you’d like it there, I think.”

“One day,” you murmured, lightly smacking his butt before you closed the door behind you.

Standing in front of the mirror as you brushed your teeth, you reconsidered whether you should tell him personally instead of with a scribbled note. Maybe he wouldn't even find it and it would dissolve in the washing machine. Then again, you had already proven that you weren't great with verbal face-to-face confessions when you had asked him to come over after your little misunderstanding. In addition to that, you feared rejection and it might be easier to just let him read the note and pretend it never happened rather than sit in uncomfortable silence, or worse, end it with an argument.

You were so lost in thought that a brief look at the clock nearly made you choke, realizing you were going to be late if you didn't hurry up. Before you stepped out of the room, you forced a smile as if your feelings weren't eating you up from the inside.

“Ready to go?” Roger asked, ticking off the last item on the packing list and closing his suitcase. Nodding, you put on your shoes and grabbed the car keys.

Every second of the way to the airport was filled with the two of you talking. After all, you wouldn't get the chance for the next two months. In hindsight, you wished you had begged your boss for at least a week off. Although you would have had to apply for a visa as well. You were going to miss Roger a lot, more than usual, and you hoped you would manage to go to a few of his shows abroad soon.

The more time you spent together, the more your assumption that you were in love was confirmed. During his stay in England, you barely went four days without seeing each other. Maybe you were being delusional, but you had the feeling the air had shifted between you both. You wouldn't exactly call it romantic, but by Roger's standards you felt like it could be. Still, you weren't sure if your feelings were required or if this was simply how he acted once he was comfortable around somebody.

Of course, as soon as you had come to the conclusion that you really did love him, he had to leave again to let you ponder and tiptoe on the verge of frustration once more. At this point, you wanted to get it over with and tell him how you truly felt. However, you were waiting for the right moment which never seemed to come. And when you thought it was the right moment, you quickly chickened out.

Before you got out of the car upon arriving in the car park, Roger turned to look into your eyes, taking a breath and placing a hand on your thigh. Your heart started racing. Was he going to say what you were too afraid to say? Then he exhaled and hesitantly pulled his hand away, averting his gaze to look through the front window. “Let’s go.”

There wasn't a bitter atmosphere between you, though you couldn't help feeling disappointed. He opened the car door for you and you walked towards the airport arm in arm. Your heart fluttered at the casual proximity that didn't feel so casual to you anymore, as well as at the prospect of him discovering the note you had hidden. Now you hoped even more he would. Perhaps that would encourage him to speak up if he felt the same way.

At the terminal, his bandmates were waiting and you all started chatting a little, Roger not leaving your side. As his hand dived into his pocket to grab his lighter, you subconsciously clung tighter to his arm, but then you saw he only reached into the right pocket, which you had left empty. He flashed you a smile, probably thinking you wanted to catch his attention, and kissed your cheek before putting a cigarette between his lips.

When the time for final goodbyes came, you suddenly got insecure. Saying something as important as this with a note you had scrawled on a whim was a bad idea and so was saying it in a moment when he already had enough on his plate and couldn't need a – possibly unrequited – love confession for which he had to come up with a suitable response while having a whole tour ahead of him until he would be able to properly talk about it with you.

Roger pulled you in for a tight hug and you took the chance to slip your hand into his back pocket and take the note out, crunching it up in your hand. Facing each other again, he cupped your chin and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, followed by another more passionate one.

“I'll miss you, but I'll bring you some kind of souvenir, I promise,” he smiled, squeezing your hand before eventually letting go as he walked away, turning around to wave every now and then until he disappeared by the gate.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 13

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, sexual references

Words: 1,553

A/N: Originally intended as a filler chapter, but I got carried away a little

Tag list: @slit-skirts

“Happy birthday, Rog!” you greeted him in a sing-songy voice, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he turned his head to meet your lips.

“Thank you, dear,” he smiled, pulling you on top of him. “Do I look old yet?”

“You look as fresh as a flower, just slightly messy hair,” you teased, twisting a few strands around your fingers to keep them out of his eyes.

“I reject this accusation, it's not my fault,” he tried to pout but grinned too widely to make it believable. “Can you believe we first met three years ago?”

“Crazy, isn't it?” you agreed. “And this time you get a material present! Wait…”

You rolled off him and he sat up as you walked to the table, coming back with something that seemed to be a book wrapped in nice paper. “I did like the immaterial one too,” he commented as you sat next to him, handing him the present.

“Charmer.” You rested your chin on his shoulder while he unwrapped the gift.

It was the size of a photo album and on the cover you had put a rectangular piece of paper, on which you had written in capital letters to look like a sign often seen at The Beatles’ concerts ‘I love you Roger!’ with a heart replacing the word ‘love’.

“Oh,” Roger laughed out loud. “Thank God you don't scream so loudly at shows that we can't hear ourselves. And you're not 14 years old.”

Aside from the funny idea, you had thought it would be a lighthearted way to tell him you loved him. Obviously you weren't going to ruin his birthday with that, but you already felt better having written it out, even if he probably interpreted it as nothing but a joke.

He opened it to read your short foreword. ‘You know I’ve taken a couple of photos of you over the years. As you asked me to give you copies, here's a collection of all of them.’

There was so much more you had wanted to say; in theory you had enough words to write a letter to him every week, yet you had decided to keep it brief. Normally, you wrote lengthy birthday cards to family and friends, but in this case you would have felt almost embarrassed doing the same for him. He might have found it corny.

You had tried to sort the photos in chronological order and write next to them when and where they were taken – as far as you could remember. The first picture was one from July 1966 when you had first started carrying a camera. It was a shot from below that showed him onstage, looking towards the back of the audience. Seemingly from the same day, considering Roger's outfit and the appearance of the venue, another photo was of him standing in the ‘staff only’ corridor and looking away from Pete mid-conversation to flash you a smile.

“Ah the straight hair, the guys called me names referencing Dippity-Do,” Roger chuckled. “Thank God you told me the curls look better, you could have done that earlier.”

“I couldn't just tell you within the first months of seeing you what to look like, I'm not your hired stylist,” you reasoned and added with a light tug at his hair for emphasis, “Be grateful that girls don't have to fight through layers of sticky gel to pull your hair anymore.”

He simply smiled for a moment before saying nonchalantly, “I don't let many pull my hair. They’ll go too crazy with it if I let them.”

For some reason, you were relieved. The idea of you being the only one who he let do certain things to him made you feel special. At this point, you could even be on top without him insisting on switching for the next round. That was one thing he usually didn't let his groupies do, as you had soon found out most musicians didn't either.

A few more photos were of Roger onstage from your regular spot in the front row. Many pictures were from your backstage days until around the summer of 1967 before you had started seeing each other more frequently outside of shows, which you now considered dates – just like your friends had told you early on, though you hadn't believed them then. They were purely platonic meetings. Or so you had thought until you started being around your friends more often while Roger was on tour when you realized that there was indeed a difference.

One showed Roger sitting with his arms crossed upon your small dining table and an exhausted yet warm and content smile on his face. His clothes looked like one of his stage outfits and he had already started growing his hair out. Nothing else indicated on what occasion you had taken it.

“I didn't remember where this one was from,” you admitted, pointing at the blank space on the side.

“Your birthday last year. I was hurrying to get home in time while the others were staying a little longer. See my tired expression?” he smiled, tilting the book for you to see. “I'm glad I made it, even if I forgot to buy you something.”

“Wait, you gave me a necklace, didn't you?” you reminded him.

“It was my own,” he grinned sheepishly. “I felt embarrassed showing up without anything but smelly clothes and dark circles under my eyes.”

Roger looked down your neckline and for the first time you didn't feel like it was lustfully. His smile widened a little and he looked up into your eyes. “You still wear it?”

You followed his gaze to your necklace and lifted the charm. “Yeah, pretty much every day.” Not only that, you did wear it every day.

The album also included the photo from your picnic two and a half years ago of Roger with flowers in his hair, as well as one of him playing the guitar with his dog Mouse sitting next to him. Of course, you had taken some with his beloved Aston Martin and the Volvo that followed later. Most of those he knew about, but he slowly got to the candid pictures whose existence he wasn't aware of.

“Did you move me to look like a pin-up here?” he laughed, showing you one of him lying on the bed in an almost seductive pose if he had looked more feminine. Accordingly, you had annotated it ‘Pictures of Lily? No, of Roger’.

“It's not my fault you slept like that!” you defended yourself. “Bettie Page has got nothing on you.”

“I bet you'd make for better postcard motives,” he joked, yet you weren't sure whether he wasn't getting ideas from this silly shot.

More images followed and so did more with the city or countryside in the background. This winter, you had started spending free weekends somewhere else to get away from everyday life. Naturally, that inspired you to photograph him more, along with the places you visited, which you kept in your separate drawer at home. After all, this was a birthday gift for him with photos of him or the two of you together, which often turned out a little shaky, but you could practically feel the joy spilling out by looking at them.

“I think I need to add some of my photos of you to this album,” Roger noted, turning to a double page with only two more pictures on the left.

You had hoped he would say that. You were curious to see them because every time you asked to see the photo after he had taken one, he only grinned and shook his head.

“Do you have that many?” you asked. Actually, you weren't aware of the amount he seemed to have. Often you saw him pull out a camera from the corner of your eye while you were busy with something, which kind of limited the incidents you remembered of consciously having your photo taken.

“I need something to keep me company on tour when there's a drought of ladies in between shows,” he explained teasingly, kissing your jaw before adding, “Some of them don't exactly like Englishmen.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, secretly intrigued by the thought of him carrying your photos with him while on the road and possibly doing more than just looking at them fondly.

“Speaking of… say cheese!” he said cheerfully and suddenly he held his camera in his hands.

He didn't need to tell you twice as you were still smiling from his cheeky remark, not posing in a certain way. For one, because you couldn't think of anything spontaneously, but also because you didn't feel like it and if he had wanted you to do anything fancy, he wouldn't have decided to take a photo of you in your pajamas sitting on the edge of the bed on a Saturday morning.

“Perfect,” he smiled before he lowered the camera, seemingly happy with the first try.

Then, Roger put it away and shuffled closer to you, lifting your legs up to rest on his lap as he leaned in for a kiss. “Thank you for this, it's a lovely gift. I do think it was a sign you were brought to me in time for my birthday back then.”

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 1

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: smut

Words: 1,348

A/N: Finally I actually write a fic I've been talking about writing! It's my first attempt at real slow burn (the timespan is 1966 to approximately 1969/70) and I hope I'll do it justice xx

Tag list: @warriorteam1924 @slashscowboyboots @losers-yurio @lost-in-the-80s @jennyggggrrr @tuffduff @jonesyownsmyheart @smells-like-perfect-senses (let me know if you want to be taken off the list)

You had known The Who before, but now that you lived on your own, you got the chance to see them without your parents wanting to know where you had been all night. You were lucky enough to stand right in front of the stage, which resulted in the lead singer, Roger Daltrey, making eye contact with you and shaking your hand with a wink before leaving after the set. Their gig was amazing, their playing was even better than on the album you had at home, and being noticed by Roger made you feel unreasonably giddy.

Frankly, you were primarily interested in the music and never gave who your favourite member was too much thought. However, Roger was very cute and you felt the need to meet him now. You only prayed they didn't have strict security at this venue. When you found the backstage door without anyone guarding it, your lucky streak continued. Just as you were thinking about how to approach him, the door swung open and a tall woman with smudged lipstick walked out, followed closely by Roger who halted as he saw you and flashed you a wide smile. “Hey you!”

“Hey, I loved your show!” you said truthfully, hoping that would be enough to spark a conversation.

“Thank you,” he answered, tilting his head. “I usually don't notice single people in the crowd, I always sing to the back wall. But I saw you were having fun down there, I was hoping you weren't just a good actor who actually thought we're pants.”

“Oh no, I have your debut album, I only now got to go to one of your shows and I must say you're probably the best live band around.”

“Really? I'm honoured,” he bowed jokingly. “Which ones have you seen?”

“None of them,” you laughed. “I just think you are.”

“Well, thank you anyway, I hope we haven't spoiled you for future gigs,” he grinned. “Though that's what we want to achieve in a way, we try to drive our music through the crowd and I'm glad it seems to work.”

Roger proceeded to ask you about your favorite artists and where you were from. When he found out you were also living in London, you gave each other tips for hidden clothing shops you wouldn't pass by coincidentally if you weren't looking for them.

“You want something to drink?” he asked mid-conversation, holding his glass up to you.

“Just a sip maybe,” you asked a little shyly. Your throat was getting dry after the energetic show and talking with him.

He handed you the glass, which you sipped on, but when you wanted to give it back to him, he shook his head. “Come backstage with me,” he offered, “We even got drinks there without a cut of our pay being taken for it – not that I know of, at least.”

You hadn't thought it was this easy to get backstage, but it probably helped that you hit it off right away and your conversation didn't feel awkward or forced like you were only waddling up to him to ask for an autograph before leaving without another word. For your first concert you attended by yourself, that was pretty good. Additionally, a drink on the house sounded tempting, although you had half a glass of soda now.

The venue wasn't big enough to get lost, even less the backstage area, but Roger took your hand to lead you to the dressing room. He told you he shared it with Keith, who had already gone to the next bar, so you were alone anyway. As you entered the room, he closed the door behind you and still didn't let go of your hand. He shuffled closer towards you and put your empty glass on the table next to the door, eyes not leaving yours.

“You're over 18, yeah?” he asked again, despite both of you already revealing your ages earlier, but he wanted to make sure.

You nodded, forgetting how to speak for a moment as his hand that wasn't holding yours moved from your thigh up your side. Of course, you had noticed his eyes before, but you hadn't realized they were this big and blue, though now they seemed a darker shade, filled with lust he was doing a terrible job at hiding.

Apparently, he didn't need anything more than that and your parted lips, silently begging him to kiss you. He leaned forward, pressing his lips and body against yours, trapping you between him and the door. You immediately closed your eyes and put your hand on the back of his head. When he released your hand, he pulled you closer by the waist, breaking the kiss to nibble on your neck, which sent shivers down your spine. As he started to take off your shirt, his mouth gradually moving lower, you bucked your hips into his knee between your legs.

Roger chuckled and took a step back to unbutton his shirt, looking at you finish taking off yours. “Like what you see?” you asked, feeling bold.

“Definitely,” he grinned, licking his lips and cupping your face to kiss you again, more forcefully this time. You gasped at the feeling of his growing bulge rubbing against you and gently grabbed his hair, which felt sticky from hair gel.

Still making out, he walked backwards in the direction of the small couch, falling down on it. You took the chance to straddle him, running your fingers down his chest to his belt, toying with the buckle for a moment as you took in his appearance. He looked even hotter lying underneath you.

“Please,” he groaned and you undid his belt and his trousers, at first wanting to go slowly to tease him, but you couldn't wait any longer either, so you climbed off him and swiftly pulled them down. On this occasion, you also took off the rest of your clothes, surprised that Roger was waiting patiently – or as patiently as a horny frontman could be, pulling you back on top of him and immediately taking the lead despite him being the bottom.

In ecstasy, you leaned forward to crash your lips into his once again, tugging at his hair as you rocked your hips back and forth. He moaned and bucked up into you, making you nearly choke on air at the sudden thrust. You pushed yourself off him again to continue riding him, knowing you were close to reaching your climax. You kept your hands on his abdomen and his hands were gripping your thighs.

“Fuck,” Roger muttered as he was unable to hold back any longer. Your head started spinning as you collapsed on top of him.

Both of you were trying to catch your breaths and he rested his arm on your back, waiting until he wouldn't be seeing stars anymore. You were grateful that he needed to recollect himself too because you would rather not stumble out of the room after having barely gotten dressed, looking like you were blackout drunk when you had just not fully gotten over your orgasm – even if admitting either of these two would be equally embarrassing.

“Oh, this was the best birthday present ever,” he laughed as he looked at the clock to figure out when the venue would close and he would have to leave if he didn't want to be locked in until further notice.

“Really? It's your birthday?” you asked, turning your head to look at his face.

“It is now. Happy 22nd to me,” Roger smirked and gently grabbed your chin, kissing you again, not quite as fervently as earlier, but not softly either. Instead, it seemed like a deep kiss to thank you for your ‘present’.

“Happy birthday then,” you smiled, starting to put your clothes back on and saying goodbye to him before leaving.

Maybe it was fate that you met on the night of his birthday, who knows? One thing was for certain, this was not the last time you saw him. You would make sure it wouldn't be.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 12

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: angst, smut

Words: 1,156

A/N: We're getting to the almost confessions hehe

Tag list: @slit-skirts

Soon after Roger had left, you started to feel guilty for how harshly you had asked him to go. It wasn't like you didn't want him near you, or didn't want to lounge in bed for a while, or didn't want to have breakfast with him. In fact, the problem was that you really wanted him near you. You didn't want him to go, yet you told him to go. You weren't sure whether you wanted him to insist on staying and were disappointed in him for obeying, or whether he had done the right thing by leaving without complaints.

You began to feel like you were falling in love with him. If you wanted to at least keep whatever you had up, you couldn't let this issue remain unresolved. You were anxious about talking to him, but the longer you waited, the more difficult it would get.

Still, you decided to give yourself some time to think about what exactly you wanted to say – and especially how. Perhaps he would call first in the meantime, which you doubted but wasn't entirely unrealistic. On one hand, he never held grudges, but on the other hand, he didn't depend on you as much as you sometimes hoped he would, so if he chose to let your thing fade away, it might not affect him drastically.

After four days, you still hadn't heard from him, so you called Roger and thankfully, he picked up the phone. Hearing his voice on the other end made you feel even worse about the last time you had seen each other. You already missed him and you hoped this wouldn't be the last time you heard him speak to you. “Hey, it's me. Are you free tonight?”

The short silence made your stomach turn. Please let him agree to see you, you thought. You couldn’t have lost him for good. “My place or yours?”

“Mine. I owe you an apology,” you added to signal you felt remorse and didn't want to simply sweep it under the carpet with another hookup.

“Is 20 o'clock fine?”

“Sure. See you then!”

In the evening, you heard a knock on the door and opened to see Roger with a polite smile on his face, yet you could tell he was still hurt from the last time you had invited him over. The sparkle in his eyes was missing, as well as the lines around his mouth when he genuinely smiled showing his teeth.

“Come in,” you said, stepping aside and holding the door wider open.

Usually, he would take a seat when he arrived at your place, as did you, but today he just stood there with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, unsure if you were simply going to apologize or tell him you wanted to stop seeing him. After all, you had only directly invited him over because you owed him an apology.

You followed and stood in front of him, taking a sip of your tea before starting, a little nervously yet pretty certain what you wanted to say. You had practiced it all day, what could go wrong now?

“About the other day… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's not that I don’t want you around at all.” You paused, carefully examining Roger’s reaction, but he just listened patiently, neither a raised eyebrow nor any other kind of facial expression that indicated doubt. “Actually, I want you around more than anything else and I started panicking a little because of how badly I want you. I need you.”

Initially, you had planned to confess to him how you felt right then and there, but in the last moment you decided against it. How could you apologize for a mistake you had made while proceeding to make the next one in the same breath? You weren't entirely sure of your feelings yet anyway. If it really only turned out to be a temporary crush in the end, you would risk ruining this strange but nice sort of friendship you two had for the sake of revealing a theory that would be proven wrong later. So near the end of your statement, you saved it by replacing the ‘I love you’ on your tongue with ‘I need you’.

The next thing you knew, he crashed his lips into yours. He was relieved to know you still wanted him and he felt sorry for cutting off your explanation, but you were not complaining. Not for now, at least. What mattered to him was that you formally apologized and he got reassurance that you hadn't suddenly lost interest. What mattered to you was that he was not mad at you and you didn't embarrass yourself by being honest about what was on your mind. Sometimes telling the complete truth wasn't the right thing to do.

“You better,” he smirked during a brief break to catch some air. At first, you didn't know what he was referring to until you recalled where you had left off.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him in for another kiss, pressing your body against his. His hands wandered down to grab your hips as he deepened the kiss, squishing your noses together.

Roger pushed you against the edge of the table behind you before he shoved the cup on it to the side and laid you back on the table, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck down to your lower abdomen while he unbuttoned your shirt. You wrapped your legs around his waist and tugged on his curls as you arched your back, just as desperate for his touch as he was for yours.

This heated session felt like your early, eager, horny hookups. The aggressive kissing, not being able to wait any longer until you got to a bed or a couch at least, more dirty talk than any other conversation, nearly ripping each other's clothes off, leaving marks on each other's skin – just like in the first months of you going backstage at various concert venues in England.

When your mind was somewhat clear enough to form any coherent thoughts, you realized that maybe this was what you needed. You needed things to be more exciting between you again after you had almost led a domestic – though not necessarily boring – life lately. Maybe it felt strange and like something was missing because you tended to focus on the friendship aspect more at this point. Maybe you weren't actually in love and you were only searching for ways to change up the dynamics and your situation and drag yourself out of what was threatening to become a routine.

Either way, tonight was not the time to articulate your thoughts and feelings. You might be able to some other time, but for now you felt like you were getting closer to figuring out what you really wanted from Roger.

[born-to-lose-writing]

No Road Romance – Chapter 10

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, implied smut

Words: 1,165

A/N: Enjoy the fluff while it lasts >:)

Tag list: @slit-skirts

When you woke up the next morning, Roger was still sleeping, not seeming to hear your alarm clock, which you quickly turned off. As much as you would have liked to snuggle with him a little longer, you had to go to work, so you carefully slid out of his arms, which were unusually tight around you.

He looked exhausted and you couldn't bear to wake him because he needed some rest after a draining tour. Still, you wrote a note after you had gotten ready to leave, saying you hoped he had slept well and that you left him some pancakes, which you put on the nightstand.

Back at home, the sound of the tap water running told you Roger was still there. Soon after you locked the door behind you, he stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair and a towel around his hips. You only now realized that you had never seen him like this before, but you were not complaining about the sight. His bare chest, including the scar on his stomach he didn't mind you tracing with your fingers, paired with dripping curls, a towel that was nearly too small and this smile that formed lines on his cheeks. In fact, you were staring.

“I hope you don't mind me showering, I didn't really get to regularly in the last months,” he said, breaking the almost embarrassing silence and making you look into his eyes instead of… other features.

“Without me?” you asked teasingly, putting your bag down and taking a step towards him.

“Next time. My shower is slightly larger for certain activities.” Roger grinned and kissed you, his fingers digging into your waist.

“You know, I dreamed about you a lot on tour,” he started as you pulled away and brushed some hair out of his face. “I don't remember what, though.”

You got excited that he brought it up now when you had almost forgotten about that night he had quoted Dostoevsky to you. Of course, you had dreamed about him before, but you would never tell him that. He, on the other hand, was allowed to tell you whenever and in as much detail as he liked. “I do remember last night's dream,” he added.

“What was it about?” you asked.

He hesitated for a moment and looked down at the floor before looking back up at you, answering, “We were… You were on tour with me… But it was different than when you go to our shows in England…”

He didn't elaborate, but that alone – knowing he dreamed about you at all and more than once – was enough for you. You assumed that your last conversation before falling asleep had probably inspired this dream.

“That sounds nice,” you said, playing with the ends of his curls and the idea of what he could have possibly meant by ‘different’. Was the location different or did you travel with him directly in the van? Was it as the frontman’s groupie who travelled them like the women John picked to accompany him for an entire tour or was it more like a private holiday? “I'll see if I can join you on tour sometime.”

His eyes lit up. “Please, I'd really like that. Even if only for a few dates, I won't try to take away all your free time.”

“I know,” you nodded, smiling at his reaction, and gave him a peck on the lips. “The planning is in your hand, you know my schedule, but yours always changes too much for me to keep track.”

You went to the wardrobe to change into something else, pulling out your favourite shirt that was folded on top of the pile. As you put it on, you remembered there had been a hole under the right arm for longer than you would have liked to admit. You had been meaning to fix it, but hadn't found the time or energy to do so yet. Turning in front of the mirror and tugging at the sleeve, you noticed the hole had been sewn.

Knowing it could have only been him, you looked at Roger with a smile. “Thank you,” you said and frowning slightly, he walked up to you.

“Hm? Why?” he asked, but upon seeing you wearing that shirt, he smiled back. “Oh yeah, I just saw it had a hole earlier and thought I'd patch it up. Don't worry about it.”

You knew that Roger had modified his schoolmates’ uniforms back in the day and he still liked doing it to some of his stage outfits, but you hadn't expected him to fix your clothes without being asked. It wasn't like you didn't know how to do it yourself, but you found this act very endearing.

He grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt from your armoire. “And this is why I'm going back to my place. I have nothing fresh to wear anymore,” he explained before you could scold him for taking your clothes. “I promise I'll give them back, though! Maybe not these, but some of your clothes for sure.”

Chuckling, he put them on and you shook your head as you counted the free hangers, empty drawers aside. “Next time I visit you, I'm stealing some of yours!”

“Feel free,” he smirked. “Seriously, I don't mind. That way part of me is with you when I’m far away. Also, you looked great in my jacket, I'm sure more of my wardrobe would suit you.”

His jacket had certainly helped when you had missed him over the summer and it was a small miracle it still smelled like him. A faint scent you would barely notice when he was around but comforted you when he was not and made you value it even more when he returned. You also appreciated the invitation to borrow his clothes, which you were definitely going to make use of.

“Are you leaving tonight or tomorrow?” you asked, a hint of hope in your voice.

“I was thinking today, I just wanted to see you before I go.”

Your heart fluttered at that, but at the same time it sank a little. After your short reunion yesterday, you had hoped you would get to spend another night with him.

“Unless you want me to stay,” he offered after you didn't respond, looking up at you from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Please?” In this moment you didn't care if you sounded desperate, you thought you had gotten past the point where you needed to act like you didn't care and only wanted to be with him because it was convenient.

Roger smiled and grabbed your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You straddled his lap and buried one hand in his messy hair while another finger was hooked into one of his belt loops. “What did I even put these on for?” he laughed and you giggled, pushing him back onto the mattress.