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theimpossiblehologramtree · 4 years ago

Text

Making Queen members flower crowns would include

Pairing: Queen members x reader

Word count: (altogether) 1800+

Warnings: some sickening fluff, oh and swearing but that’s a standard, some slightly suggestive themes in john’s (implied sex) but nothing accually happens except a kiss

A/N: Hello you beautiful people! I’m back (don’t get used to that tho lol) I thought of this two years ago when i first saw Bohemian Rhapsody (SO 2 FUCKING YEARS AGO). Freddie’s is gender neutral. I tried to add a “keep reading” button but I’m not sure it works tbh because this hell of a side never cooperates.

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

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Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to the owners.

Brian May

You were laying on Brian's lap, the sun hitting your face pleasantly. This week the weather was nice and warm, which was something extremely unusual in England, so the two of you decided to head out to the country and have a little picnic.

After what felt like hours spent in the car ("Brian, for Christ's sake, would you open the bloody window, I can't breathe!" and "Bri, I love you, but if we don't get there in five minutes, I'm going to murder you, I swear") you finally found a nice clearing, where you could relax and forget about the stresses of city life.

Brian put down a blanket on the grass, near a small stream that flew through the forest. He brought the bag with food and drinks (you didn't have a basket, so you had to improvise).

You quickly put some sunscreen on your face and laid down, keeping your head propped on Brian's lap. He put a hat over his face and fell asleep, his chest rising steadily.

After some time (that fucking wasp didn't let you sit in one place), you stood up and noticed many beautiful flowers, growing on a nearby bush. You got lost in picking up the most beautiful ones, admiring each one carefully. When you got enough, you sat back down and started tying the stems together.

Suddenly you got an idea. Careful not to wake him up, you began sticking the flowers in Brian's dark curls.

Your now decorated boyfriend woke up and stretched, not noticing the colourful addition to his hair. This made you chuckle softly, but you decided to see how long it would take him to realize.

+"What is it, babe? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, Bri, I just remembered a funny joke, that's all."

"Oh tell me, then."

"What’s the difference between a lawnmower and an electric guitar?"

"Hm?"

"You can tune a lawnmower!"

You both enjoyed the rest of the day swimming in the stream, sunbathing and eating the snack you brought. And Brian somehow still didn't notice.

Until it was time for you to get home.

You got in the car ("Open the window now, it's like in the oven in here!") and Brian looked into the rear-view mirror.

+"Hey, (Y/N), what the fuck is that? I love it."

Roger Taylor

So honestly it would probably happen during one of his concerts.

You were backstage watching the show, enjoying every second of it. Freddie was in the middle of shouting some (very inappropriate) compliments to Brian's ass, slapping his buttcheeks. The crowd immediately went wild hundreds of fans screamed in unison. You chuckled under your breath, flashing a white smile at your beloved boyfriend Roger and his bandmates. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes meeting Mary's.

+"What's up, kiddo?" she smirked and patted your back.

"Oh, nothing much. Just Freddie being Freddie," you replied, making both of you erupt with laughter.

Suddenly you felt a familiar feeling form in the pit of your stomach. Out of nowhere, your hands became shaky, your breath shallow and quick. Feeling like you need some fresh air, you excused yourself.

+"Are you sure you're okay, (Y/N)?" Mary watched you carefully, her hand supporting you in case you fainted.

"Yes, Mary, I just need some fresh air. I'm extremely tired, and I haven't eaten anything since this morning" you reassured your friend. "I'm just gonna sit outside for a while."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, still not convinced about your well-being.

"Yes, I wouldn't want to spoil the gig for you. I'll be back before you know it" you squeezed her hand and, after promising her to be careful, you headed outside.

You took a walk alongside the small patch of lawn beside the exit. After taking a couple of deep breaths, you noticed some daisies grow in the green grass. Without thinking much, you sat down and started picking them up and tying their stems together.

Your fingers worked quickly, making a beautiful flower crown, mindlessly.

Meanwhile, on stage, the boys were singing She makes me - a song that reminded Roger of you. He quickly glanced to his right, expecting to see your beautiful figure standing with Mary. But, much to his surprise, he couldn't see you anywhere. It was no secret that his eyesight was shit but, bloody hell, it wasn't that bad. His blue eyes were searching for you, frantically.

When the song ended, he quickly motioned to Freddie to take a quick break, while he went to check up on you. He practically sprinted to Mary, almost knocking down his drumkit and John.

+"You dumb fuck, watch where you're going, Rog!"

Usually, Roger would reply with some snarky comment, but at that moment he really didn't care. When he reached Mary, he didn't even need to ask her about you.

+"She's outside. Needed some fresh air" the girl shooked her head towards the exit.

Roger quickly walked outside, knowing that he couldn't stall the audience for too long. But at the same time, he must have made sure you were all right.

He got out of the building and searched for you. He spotted to sitting on a small patch of grass, holding a pretty flower crown in your hands. His heart ached at this sight.

+"Hello, love" he whispered, kneeling next to you. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am, Rog" you kissed his cheek. "I just felt a bit off, that's all."

You felt your boyfriend press a kiss to your hair. You smiled at the feeling, leaning into his touch.

You finally placed the finished flower crown on his head, brushing away loose strands of sweaty hair from his face, your hand gently brushing his temple. He took your tiny hands in his and kissed your fingers.

+"Do you wanna go back in there, sweetheart?" he asked sweetly, looking deeply into your eyes.

You nodded and pecked his lips, "Of course, Rog, I wouldn't want to miss any more of your show."

He smiled and lead you inside, placing his hand on the small of your back. You returned to Mary and wished your boyfriend good luck.

Roger kept the flowers on his head throughout the whole gig, sending you a dashing smile and winking at you every now and again.

I just think Roger would look sososo pretty in a flower crown.

John Deacon

It was a lovely afternoon in London. You and your fiancé John decided to take a walk after the whole day in the studio, recording songs.

Taking a walk in a nearby park was a great way to destress and release the tension accumulated during the day. It was something John realized pretty early on in your relationship and took full advantage of it. He loved wandering along the pebbled pathways that swirled around beautiful trees and bushes full of colourful flowers. Being in the presence of nature made him feel at ease and helped him relax.

But the real reason why he enjoyed your walks so much was you. He adored seeing your face light up with joy when you saw a squirrel run up a branch of an old oak or when you spotted a particularly beautiful fish in the small pond. He could watch you pick up fallen leaves for ages and hear you talk to little kids in a playground, showing them the shiny rocks you collected along the way.

To be honest, he always dreamt about starting a family with you and seeing you get along with kids so well only increased that desire.

Often after a walk, he was in the mood™, which, considering his shy nature, always took you by surprise.

Oh man, he just loved taking a walk in the park.

And today was no different.

You were walking hand in hand, admiring the blossoming flowers. Occasionally, you would stop and pick them up, making a small bouquet in the process. White daisies, pink clovers and blue forget-me-nots accumulated with every step you took.

John was telling you about the new idea he had for a song, kissing your cheek every now and again.

Listening to him, you started to fiddle with the flowers, tying them in knots. After a while ("And then, I think, we could include a gong, you know?") you were done with your creation.

You put the flowers on John's head and kissed his temple.

+"What's that, darling?" he asked you, surprised.

"Nothing, but I think you look sensational, my love" you replied, smiling innocently.

You felt John's hand bring you closer to him. He kissed you, entangling his long and incredibly skilled fingers in your hair. The kiss soon turned into more heated one.

+"I'll show you how sensational I really am, pretty girl."

Freddie Mercury

So with Freddie, it was probably at one of his parties.

He invited you along to have a drink with him and his bandmates.

You usually weren't the one for big and loud parties, but he kept asking you and you gave in.

+"Oh okay, Fred, I'll do it," you said after the twentieth time he had asked you.

"Fantastic, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed, loudly clapping his hands. "Just remember to wear a costume."

But you didn't really want to dress up in fancy dresses or costumes from different eras. Calling Mary, you asked her for advice and she told you to just wear some accessories.

So before the party, you went to a small flower shop and bought a small bouquet of purple lilacs. At home, you made a flower crown, hoping that dressing up as a nymph would be enough.

When you got to Freddie's house, you were greeted by a crowd of people in colourful skirts and suits with fashionable patterns. That's when you found Freddie, Roger, Brian and John, chilling on a couch with their dates.

+"Oh, (Y/N), you look marvellous, darling!" exclaimed Freddie dressed as a king, while he stood up to embrace you in a warm hug.

"Thank you, Fred, I made it myself" you smiled shyly.

You got some champagne and joined the conversation.

Suddenly, you felt a pat on your shoulder, and, when you turned around, you saw Freddie holding out a hand to you, asking you to dance with him. You gladly accepted and got up.

+"I really meant it, darling. You do look marvellous tonight" he whispered in your ear.

"Thank you, Freddie, you can have it if you'd like" you sent him a warm smile.

You took off his golden crown and set it aside. Gently taking off the flower crown from your head, you placed it on top of Fred's. He beamed at you and put his own crown on top of your head.

+"Now you rule here, darling."

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paulsmashedpotato · 4 years ago

Note

Do ya think you could do 68 with like, platonic queen?? So all the members x reader but all besties 🥺 maybe they all live together and the boys steal something of readers and idk if you can but have like a cuddle party with them somehow?? Idk how the heck this’ll work but let’s see if you can work more of your magic 😉

Cuuuuuutieieeie thanks for this!

Prompt List

Masterlist

Bedlam

Pairing: Just Philia between Queen and reader ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: cursing

"NooOooOOo!"

You jumped in surprise from the sudden scream that echoed throughout the whole place. Roger, you thought, knowing damn well he's the only one in the world who has that shrill scream. Here comes another complaint from the neighbours. You got up from your bed, stomping out to the living room to see Brian just seating peacefully on the floor with his guitar. "Where —"

He pointed to the bathroom before you could even finish your question. You knocked loudly on the bathroom door. "ROGER!" You shouted, he immediately opened the door, a towel was loosely wrapped around his waist and a puddle was slowly forming on his feet. "My ring fell down the sink!"

"Did you have to scream that fucking loud for a fucking ring?" You asked, your hands on your waist like how mothers do when scolding their child. "That fucking ring was fucking important and I fucking loved that fucking ring."

"Stop saying fucking."

"Fucking, fucking, fucking."

"I —" You breathed, trying to calm yourself down. "The landlord's gonna kill us again if another complaint is sent to this fucking room and you're gonna have to prepare extra money because you're paying 25%!"

"Roger, get dressed and wipe the floor, if Deacy slipped there, I'm gonna cut you," he says, putting the groceries down on the table. "Fred, my ring fell down the sink," Roger says with a frown.

"Everyone alright?"

You and Roger turned to the door. Freddie just arrived, closing the front door with his foot with two bags of groceries in his arms. He was the one assigned to go grocery shopping today and you're glad you didn't have to remind him anymore about it.

"This turd screamed so loud," you said, walking away from Roger and seating on the couch where Brian was leaning on. "Oh. Is that why the neighbour was rushing downstairs?" He asked rather calmly, walking to the kitchen.

"I'll buy you another one just go get dressed and wipe the floor clean," Freddie replied, taking out a carton of milk. "Yes!" Roger happily beamed, tiptoeing to his shared bedroom with Brian. "What a kid," you muttered.

"Did you get a tub of ice cream, Fred?" You asked, leaning on the couch's back to look at Freddie, "Yes, darling. Vanilla and strawberry."

"Yes!" You cheered, getting up and skipping to the kitchen. "What a kid," Brian muttered, mocking you. You sent him a glare, making him laugh.

"It's a bit melted so let's leave it in the freezer first," Freddie says, taking the tub out and putting it in the freezer. You nodded excitedly, helping him put the other groceries into their respective places. "I bought chips too! We're having a sleepover tonight!"

"A sleepover? Aren't we having sleepovers every night?" You asked, sitting down on one of the chairs. "That's different. I meant sleepover, like sleeping together on the floor, there in the living room," he says, pointing to where Brian was seated.

"That's a mess," you gasped, "I'm excited!" You high-fived with Freddie, an excited grin plastered on his face. Roger walked out from the bedroom, jogging towards the bathroom and mopping the floor. "Rog, we're having a sleepover!" You squealed, hitting his arm from excitement. "Ouch! What'd you do that for?" He asked, rubbing the spot where you hit him, the skin reddening a bit. "I'm excited!"

You asked Brian to carry their mattress out to the leaving room while you get yours out as well, dragging it outside. "This will be fun," you said, pushing the couches to create more space.

"Fred, can you get your mattress out? I think Deacy's sleeping," you said, fixing the mattresses on the floor. "I'm washing the dishes, dear. Just go in there and wake him up."

You huffed, walking to their room and very gently knocking on the door. "John?" You called, opening it a little and sticking your head in the room. "Hey, we're having a sleepover," you invited, inclining your head to the living room. He put down his book to look at you, "a what?"

"A sleepover. Come on, let's bring your mattress out." You walked inside the room to help him take out the mattress. "Whose idea was this?" He asked, pushing the mattress. "Freddie's," you grinned.

You fixed the mattresses on the floor, spreading multiple bed sheets and duvets to make it more comfortable. You threw in your pillows and comforters and once the bed's all made, you all plopped down the floor excitedly.

"Don't go stealing all the blankets at night, Brian," Roger warned, pulling in as much blanket for himself as he can. "You're accusing me of stealing the blankets when you're the one who wakes up fully wrapped!" Brian retaliated, pulling a different blanket for himself.

"You share blankets?" Freddie asked, grabbing a few pillows for himself. "We're broke," Brian says, lying down.

"I'll sleep next to Deacy, he's probably the calmest," you said, putting your pillow next to Deacy. "Wrong — he'll snuggle you to death," Freddie says, building a barricade of pillows between him and Roger.

"I'll sleep here then!" You said, removing Freddie's barricade and lying down next to him. "I don't want to sleep next to you!" Roger says, throwing a pillow at your face. "Wow, you're choosy for someone who's voted the worst sleepmate in this house!" You picked up your pillow, got up again and transferred back next to Deacy. "I'm staying with Deacy then."

You were between Brian and Deacy. "You're not gonna squish me, are you?" You asked, turning to Deacy and then to Brian. "I'll try not too," John says, wrapping himself in his blanket.

"Turn on the TV and insert a horror tape!" You suggested, "NO!" Freddie and John shouted. "I don't have another person beside me, okay? Deacy's lucky he at least has a couch next to him — but I — I am next to the void!"

"Fine, then," you laughed, "although I heard that monsters always get the one in the middle," you said, adding in a mist voice, "which is Brian."

"Stop it!"

"But it'll probably get Roger first 'cause he's wrapped like a cocoon so monsters can pull him easily."

"Hey that's mine!" You shouted, grabbing it. "I've been looking for this!"

"Shut up!!"

Loud laughs filled the room and Roger was unwrapping himself. You turned to him and saw the comforter you've been looking for since last week. It never got back from the dryer.

"It is ours now!" Roger laughed, not letting it go, "If you're going to buy nice comforters like this, you should include us!"

"This was so cheap, you could've bought one for yourself last Christmas if you didn't spend your budget for a motel room!"

"Hey, stop that, you two," Freddie scolded, smacking Roger with a pillow. "Give it back to y/n."

"I want it!" Roger whined, still not letting go of it. "You don't go stealing comforters! Ask for permission."

"Would you have let me borrow it?"

"No!"

"See?"

"Oh fuck it, I'll use it so it's fair!" Brian says, pulling the comforter from Roger and you. "You ruined its threads. It's all wrinkled now." He says, pulling it over his legs.

"Don't go about stealing people's blankets," he says to Roger. "It's ours now, so we're sharing it!"

"I am literally living in a bedlam with four idiots," Freddie muttered. "I kinda love this bedlam," Brian says, tucking the comforter to his sides.

"Best fucking bedlam ever," you laughed. You faced Deacy who was just laughing along to all your conversations. "We're never getting sleep tonight, are we?" He asked, "Probably not. We'll all be insane tomorrow."

"If we get stuck in an island and we become deranged, it's probably Roger's fault," you said, looking at the ceiling. "Hey!" Roger shouts, “I’ll probably be the reason we’re not getting stuck in an island in the first place.”

“Right, that’ll be Freddie’s fault,” Brian joins in, causing Freddie to shot up, “Hey! You’re the bunch of grown ups acting like kids, I’ll bet it would be y/n and Roger’s because you two are chaotic.”

“I’ll bet we’ll freeze to death because Y/N DOESN’T SHARE COMFORTERS!” Roger says, sitting up just to glare at you. “Stop shouting for fuck’s sake, Deacy’s tryna get some decent sleep,” you said, shushing him.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Deacy smiled, squeezing your arm. “I’ll also bet we’ll freeze to death because you don’t share your comforters.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

They all laughed, adding on more scenarios and bets on whoever will fuck everyone up first in each of the plots you were imagining. It was a really long night of giggling and teasing that you don’t even remember how you’ve come to a certain topic. Sleeping together like this rarely happened in the household but when it does, you all enjoy it and the whole flat becomes louder than how it normally is.

A/N:

I am proud of this because when I pasted the whole thing in a word counter it says the reading level is college graduate HAHAHA. Anyway, this was cute to write hihi.

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Let's be mutuals on twitter pleasee! I'm nice I promise

#okay the ending sucks huhu #thanks for this suggestion I had fun writing this #I actually have a draft in wattpad with the same concept #I'll publish soon hihi #anyway here comes the proper tags #Queen #queen x reader #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #roger taylor x reader #freddie mercury x reader #brian may x reader #john deacon x reader

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mercedestaylor · 4 years ago

Text

Just Let Me Adore You

Roger Taylor x fem! reader AU

You and Queen have known each other for many years. Through the years you and Roger have some intense moments and try to be near each other. On the way to a pub you and Roger have another intense stare. This time in his car.

A/N: So, this was the first ever complete written fic I’ve done. I thought this was the best timing to post this to celebrate the most beautiful person alive.

Happy Birthday Roger! Long live the Queen (one of four ;) )

word count: 1987

warnings: swear words, slight nsfw? let’s call it a hot moment

THIS gif inspired me to write this :)

I touched up my last swing of mascara when I looked at the clock. It was already 8:20. Roger and Freddie would be here in 10 minutes. I brushed my hair one last time so it looked fresh and glowy. I wore a red bodysuit with a flowy black skirt that was still over my knees and some baby blue sneakers. My hair was open with little braids in them. We were going to a newly opened pub to check it out. We wanted to get there later but since it was summer it was still bright outside. We were meeting the rest of the boys there. When I checked my makeup and outfit the last time my doorbell rang. I quickly grabbed my purse and ran to the door. I grabbed my keys and went down the stairs only to see that the boys were already back in the car.

I waved at them and got in the back seat.

„Hey girls, are you ready to rock?“ I smiled. I looked at them expectantly and waited for their response.

„Are you ready to roll? I’m really sceptic dear, nothing can be better than The Rabbit Hole. “ Freddie said.

„And what do you think?“ I smiled at Roger. He was looking at me through the rear view mirror and smiled back at me.

„I have no expectations. Let’s just make the best time out of it.“

I looked at him questioningly. „BORING!“ I said and laughed.

They both did too and Roger said „Let’s just go and see.“

So he started the engine. The pub was all across London so we had to drive 20 minutes. I got my seatbelt on and when they heard the clicking sound they softly laughed. I glared at them and told them to shut up because I would be the one that wouldn’t die in a car crash.

I looked out the window to cherish this beautiful city. I’ve lived my whole live in London, but only lived in this area for 3 years. I’ve met the boys on a gig they had and we befriended really quick since Freddie is so open with people.

I was on the bar to get myself a drink when he came to me.

„Oh my god, shut the fuck up! Your outfit is amazing! I love how you combined this super cute dress with those rocking boots and to top it off a beautiful leather jacket. You have an out of this world fashion sense. You should totally go to my friends and I’s shop in Kensington Market.“

When he was finally done with complimenting me I thanked him and told him that I was interested in visiting his shop. He then introduced me to his band mates.

„My darlings, this is a new friend of mine!“ he shouted over the loud music.

„What was your name, dear? “ he asked me.

„I’m Y/N.“

A tall young man with a lot of black hair came to me and gave me his hand.

„Nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Brian.“ he smiled.

I shook his hand and smiled back. Brian got back to his seat. The guy beside him waved at me.

„Hi I’m John Deacon.“

I waved back „Hi“.

Freddie walked to them „We’re just waiting for Roger now. “

And at that second a beautiful blonde boy came up and got next to me. He shortly looked at me then the boys and then looked me up and down.

I looked back at him and coughed to get his attention back to my face

„Can I help you?“

„You could but I’d rather help you.“ He smirked and I heard the boys laugh.

„Take it easy, Rog.“ Freddie said. „This is our new friend, Y/N.“

He still looked at me and gave me his hand .

„What a pleasure to meet you.“ Roger grinned.

The way he looked at me gave me shivers, but in the best way.

„I can only agree. “ I took his hand and we held eye contact what felt like minutes. His eyes really were what you call beautiful. We parted our hands yet kept looking at each other the remaining night.

Since then many years have passed however nothing ever happened seriously between us. In fact, he recently got out of his relationship that lasted 4 years. He still got his „flings“ from time to time, still mostly he would get a girl for one night. Queen had quickly risen to fame and success and just dropped their new album. They would soon be touring again in Europe.

Roger just drove past a yellow traffic light when I looked at him. I looked at the back of his head with his beautiful blonde hair. It’s been always so fluffy and soft. I was sitting in the middle seat so I had a perfect view of his side profile while he was concentrated on driving. I’ve always thought he was too pretty to be human but here he is.

Roger tried to get at me on the first years we’ve known each other. Except I knew what he was about, that’s why I never agreed with it. But I secretly crushed over him. How could you not? I tried to take a glance when he wasn’t looking, I tried to stand close to him, we often hanged out together and he would visit me in my dreams. Even so in the early years there wasn’t any chance of him being in a serious relationship. Now he isn’t as bad as then anymore, though still I’m scared of getting hurt by him.

I look at his eyes through the rear view mirror. His big, deep blue baby eyes with these long lashes. They keep moving to check the street or just staring at the horizon. His eyes are so hypnotizing.

Sometimes I almost couldn’t control myself because we would look at each other while talking and when we were done he would keep staring at me with this soft yet intense look on his face. I had too much pride to look away so I held his gaze and we would just sit there and stare at each other.

And it was at these times where I just wanted to climb over the seat, sit on his lap and kiss him. I would touch his face while his hands grab my waist. My fingers wander through his soft hair, pulling some strands and him moaning into my mouth. His hands go up my body to my arms and chest. He kisses down my jaw to my neck and gently sucks on my pulse. I’d grind my hips on his and he would grab his arms under my legs, pull me up and get us out of the room for privacy.

Well, that was only my imagination. In reality I needed to keep my stand and stay in my seat while breaking the eye contact.

It was an advantage for me that he was distracted because in that case he didn’t notice me staring at him. I just couldn‘t help it. His face was mesmerizing. But just as I fell into another fantasy he looked at me. He noticed me staring at him. In his car. Though in a second he looked back on the street. Or so I thought because after he checked the street he looked back at me. And I didn’t know what to do.

Then I had the idea, when he was driving I couldn’t lose my control of holding back. Because when we would have another staring contest, I couldn’t get on his lap because he was driving. So I kept looking at him. He had his slightly orange tinted sunglasses on. Although I could still see his eyes through them.

I looked at the street to check if something’s in the ways of passing. I looked back at him and I see he also checked the street. He kept giving me this intense stare and I lifted an eyebrow. He started to smirk which I could see on his side profile. I tried to hold my incoming smile back but I couldn’t. I must have looked ridiculous trying to hold back because he chuckled shortly after. Roger looked back on the street to check.

I looked to Fred who didn’t seem interested in our „conversation“ or why Roger had laughed. When I looked at Roger I saw that he was looking up to the mirror. But I didn’t want to look away from his face. I studied his features like his jawline or his hands on the steering wheel. I could look at his hands all day long. My attention got back to his eyes when we needed to stop and he gently coughed. He was still looking at me. I playfully rolled my eyes whereupon he just winked at me.

We soon arrived at the pub and Roger parked on the lot. I unbuckled my seat belt and before I got out of the car I waited until one of them opened their door. I never wanted to be the first one to leave in case we had to stay in the car for some reason. When Freddie opened the door I also got out. I was on the same side like Fred so when I got out I turned around to check on Roger. He was just getting up and taking a first look at the pub.

„Wow, this is huge.“ He turned back to us.

„Oh darling, I can tell you some other things that are huge.“ Freddie commented. I hit Freddie with my arm and laughed.

„We all know, Fred. You don’t have to tell us again.“ I said.

Roger smiled at us and said „Let’s look for the others.“

We went to the entrance and searched Brian, Chrissie, Deaky and Veronica. Jim couldn’t come because he had to work early in the morning. He trusted me with the safety of Fred.

„I see them!“ Freddie shouted and jogged to them leaving me and Rog behind.

He walked right beside me, his arm brushing mine every now and then. We walked to the direction Freddie went off. Normally I was totally relaxed in his presence but now I felt somewhat tense. I felt the warmth his body was radiating.

„You shouldn’t do that again while I’m driving. Especially when you look like that.“ He said to me.

I looked at him questioningly. I knew what he meant but I wanted to hear it from him.

„What do you mean?“ I innocently fluttered my lashes. He laughed lightly.

„Oh I think you know what I mean. Listen, these moments that we have… I can’t ignore them.“ I looked forward because I felt my heartbeat quickening.

„I think we should talk about what has been going on between us for some time.“ He said slowly looking at me expectantly.

I’m trying to think of an answer to give. I feel rushed because it felt like minutes that I was thinking.

„Uhm, you know… uh...“ I’m so confused, this came out of nowhere.

„Maybe we can meet tomorrow? I think you know where I live.“ Roger jokes.

„I could make some dinner for us.“ He continues.

I stop walking and look at him.

„Uhm yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.“ I said hastily. I play with my fingers.

He wanted to talk about what has been going on between us? Like the staring and standing close? How could I talk with him about that.

„Great.“ He smiled and started to walk again.

I kept looking at him and watched as he made his way to the boys.

„Hey Y/N! Get your pretty ass here, we want to party!“ Freddie shouted.

I smiled and walked to them. I greeted the rest of the group and we all went to the VIP entrance into the pub.

——————————————————————————

I want to thank @ineloqueent for giving me the motivation to write this, just because they replied my comment! And I also want to thank @perriwiinkle for reading this and giving me the confidence to post it!! You MUST check them out!!! @perriwiinkle wrote my favorite Roger fanfic series, so you also need to read her stories!! Out of time is the best shit ever!!

I hope the few people that read this story like it, too. Please give me some feedback 😊

And who got this far: THANK YOU FOR READING IT!!

#roger taylor #queen #queen band #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fic #roger taylor fluff #roger taylor angst #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x fem reader #roger taylor au

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years ago

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Just Like a Woman - Part 2

A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @lizawritesthings, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The next installment! Hope you guys enjoy some more pining, we love to see it

Warning(s): None :)

Part 1

Part 2 here we go!!!

“Mark, I am so sorry!” you gasped. “I - I had no idea!”

“You had no idea that it’s our anniversary?” he snapped. “Does it really mean that little to you?”

“You know you mean the world to me,” you returned. “I’m so sorry, I just got so caught up at work and I really had the worst day imaginable, so -”

“You forgot our anniversary and our dinner plans and you expect me to feel sorry that you had a bad day at work?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry. It just slipped my mind, love, really. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Don’t bother,” he replied, getting to his feet.

He flung the flowers onto the floor before aggressively snatching up the plates and walking them into the kitchen. He dumped the ruined food into the garbage bin, and slammed the plates into the sink. You winced at the sound of the crash.

“Mark, don’t be like this,” you pleaded, stripping off your coat and leaving your briefcase by the door to follow him into the kitchen.

“How d’you expect me to react, then?” he shouted, switching the faucet on. “Like everything’s fine? Because I know it isn’t, Y/N! I give and give and give in this relationship, and you’ve not once shown me that you care!”

“I care, it’s just that I’m busy with work and-”

“You don’t think I’ve got a busy job?!” he cried squeezing the life out of the bottle of dish soap to lather into the sponge in his hand. “Christ, I’m saving lives, Y/N! I also work long hours, and yet, I made time for dinner tonight! Because we discussed this last week!”

“I forgot!” you returned. “I don’t have any excuses, okay? I just forgot! It was shitty and I’m really sorry! Now, will you please stop cleaning?!”

He paused. With a sigh he turned the water off and looked at you.

“I’ve already ruined the evening,” you said. “You shouldn’t have to clean up.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I should be going home.”

He stormed past you. You reached out and took his arm, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at you.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded. “I really am sorry. There’s still some wine left. Why don’t we just split the bottle and get cozy on the couch, yeah?”

He sighed. “I’m really no longer in the mood to see you, Y/N. I’ll call you later, okay?”

With that, he shrugged out of your grasp, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door, closing it with a harsh snap. You heaved a sigh as well. Then you got to work on the dishes. Luckily, Mark had already cleaned up what he had used to cook, so you were able to quickly wash the rest and put it all on a drying rack.

As you labored in the sudsy water, your mind once again went to Roger. The thought of seeing him on Wednesday both delighted and terrified you. Especially after your conversation with Dominique. If Roger still cared for you, why hadn’t he reached out? You were usually single. This relationship with Mark was the longest you’d had since Roger. Once again, you decided she must be wrong.

When the dishes were done, it was about a quarter past midnight. You went to get ready for bed. You had another meeting in the morning with a new client, and you would probably be hearing from Mark as well. Perhaps because you’d been drinking, you were able to fall asleep with little trouble.

Roger, on the other hand, had no such luck. He sat on his back patio, smoking a cigarette, and wide awake. The air was cold and dry, but he hardly felt it. His eyes were fixed on the puffs of smoke emerging from his mouth and disappearing into the air. He could only think of one thing. You.

He had hoped that he would never see you again. The breakup was painful enough, and he had always felt foolish for how he handled it. Now you were forced into his life through another painful event. He was embarrassed that you would see all the drama between himself and Dominique.

Just as he thought of her, she appeared behind him. Though they no longer shared a room, she was still living at the house.

“Rog,” she said. “What are you still doing up?”

He turned to face her. She wrapped her bathrobe tighter around her and shivered as she waited for his reply.

“Go inside, Dom, it’s cold,” he said.

“All the more reason to wonder what you’re doing out here,” she said.

“Just thinking,” he replied, taking another drag and inhaling it deeply.

“About Y/N?” she asked.

He exhaled. Smoke once again rolled from his mouth into the air.

“I know, it’s a small world,” she continued. “But if you really don’t want her to represent you, you can find another lawyer.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” he said simply.

He heard her huff. “Rog, just come inside.”

“I’m in the middle of a cigarette,” he protested.

“Rog -”

“What happened to us, Dominique?” he questioned suddenly. “All my life, I’ve wanted what I never had - a stable home. I wanted to meet a nice girl, marry her, have some kids, and be the best bloody rock drummer in the world. Didn’t I do that?”

“Sure,” she replied with a shrug.

“So why isn’t it working out?” he wondered.

“Because you married the wrong girl,” she said levelly.

He sucked in a sharp breath but said nothing in return.

“I’m going in,” Dominique said. “Freeze your balls off out here for all I care.”

He faced the yard again. The door creaked open and he heard her step inside.

“That’s not true, you know,” he called to her. “I married a great woman.”

Dominique’s lower lip trembled, and not from shivering. She closed her eyes and let a tear fall down her cheek.

“That doesn’t make me the right woman,” she returned. “And if you want my opinion she’s come back into your life for a reason.”

She gave him no time to answer before closing the door swiftly behind her.

The next morning, you arrived at work a little late. You went right over to your assistant, Jane.

“Jane, were there any calls for me?” you asked, picking up some papers and flipping through them.

“No,” she answered. “Were you expecting one?”

You frowned. You thought for sure Mark would have called the office first thing.

“No,” you lied. “Just wondering.”

“Well, your new client, Mr. Broome, is waiting for you in your office,” she told you.

“Oh, has he been waiting long?” you wondered.

“No, just a few minutes,” she assured you.

“Alright, I’m heading in,” you said. “If Mark calls, have him hold for me, okay?”

“Will do.”

You walked past her station and into your office. There sat a tall, handsome man, but with a scowl on his face that made him much less attractive than he was.

“Mr. Broome,” you greeted.

He rose from his seat. “Miss Y/L/N, I’m so glad you’re here. This is the most dreadful business.”

You shook his hand. “How can I help you?”

“I’m seeking an annulment of my marriage,” he told you.

You set your briefcase down by your desk and hung your coat up on the rack.

“On what grounds?” you asked.

“Her breasts are fake,” he said. “I didn’t know until after we were married.”

You blinked. The cases you got continued to get stranger and stranger.

“Um, well, I’m not sure I understand how that qualifies for an annulment,” you said.

“We didn’t - um - have relations until after we were married,” he explained further. “I was under the impression that everything about her was real. I feel I entered into this marriage without full knowledge. I was deceived!”

“So, you feel she presented herself to be something that she isn’t?” you asked, to clarify.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Okay, we might have a case here, but we’re on pretty flimsy ground,” you said. “Was there anything else in the marriage you felt was presented as false besides her breasts?”

This meeting went on for about half an hour. You got all the information you could from Mr. Broome, but since his wife had apparently no other supposed indiscretions, and he had never asked if her breasts were real, you felt it was a pretty weak case.

Afterwards, you checked with Jane again.

“Any calls?” you asked.

“Mark hasn’t called,” she said. “But Roger Taylor did.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What did he want?”

“He said it was just to confirm the meeting tomorrow, but I think it was something else,” she said. “He seemed agitated.”

“Hm,” you said, though your mind was awhirl with questions. “Well, if he calls back, put him through.”

“Hey, Y/N,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends on the question,” you replied.

Her cheeks went pink with a deep blush. “Um...what was it like, being with Roger?”

“You mean in bed?”

She nodded, looking at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Oh, it was so...so…” you began dreamily. Then you frowned. “Private.”

She huffed. “Well, there’s no need to be snappish.”

The day wore on. Still, there was no word from your boyfriend and you were beginning to worry. Was he really that angry at you? The only way to move forward was to talk things through. Or, was his abrupt departure last night his way of ending it? No, he said he’d call you.

By the end of the day, as you were gathering your things, Jane came in to invite you to the bar again.

“No, thanks,” you said. “I haven’t heard from Roger all day, so I don’t feel much like going out.”

She put her hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow at you.

“Roger?”

“Mark!” you quickly corrected. “Of course I meant Mark, don’t go making this into something that it isn’t!”

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” she sighed. “Just shows who is really on your mind.”

Not eager to hear Jane tell your coworkers what she heard, you skipped the bar, and headed home. You still had some research to go over for Roger’s case, especially where the house was concerned.

As you set down your work things, you looked around your flat, recalling the events of the previous evening. You glanced at the phone. The idea of foregoing tradition and calling Mark first crossed your mind, but you pushed it aside. If he needed time to cool off, that’s what you would give him. Instead, you sat on your couch and opened your law book, searching for some precedent similar to Roger’s case.

The next day, you still had no word from Mark when you came into work. Now, you were really worrying. Had something happened to him? Should you report him missing? You shook your head. He was probably just busy and would call you later. You were sure of it.

When ten o’clock rolled around, you were waiting in the conference room when Roger arrived. He looked disheveled, blonde hair rumpled and a wrinkled shirt beneath a leather jacket. His jeans were fine, but his sneakers had an odd stain on them.

“Big night?” you questioned.

He took off his sunglasses and tossed them onto the table.

“Freddie had a party and I needed to unwind before today,” he explained through a groan.

“Ah, I see,” you said. “I’ve got some aspirin in my office, would you like some?”

“Please,” he replied quickly.

“I’ll be right back,” you assured him, holding back a laugh.

You left the conference room and started walking to your office.

“Oh, Y/N, before you go in -” Jane began, but you cut her off.

“Not now, Jane, I’m just grabbing some aspirin,” you said.

When you opened the door, you realized what she had been trying to say. Mark was there, leaning against your desk. He looked up at you when you appeared in the doorway.

A soft “oh” fell from your mouth.

“Mark’s waiting for you in your office,” Jane said sassily.

“Thank you, Jane,” you spat, and then slammed the door in her face.

“Can we talk?” Mark asked.

“Now’s really not a good time,” you said. “I’ve got a meeting.”

“Y/N, it's about our relationship,” he went on. “Isn’t that more important than work?”

“I’m sorry, but not while I’m actually in the office working,” you replied. “I only came to my office to grab something for Rog - er, my client, and I’ve got to be back in that room. We’re on a very tight schedule since I’ve got to be in court shortly after.”

“Y/N, I’m working a long shift tonight, I won’t be available later,” he said.

“Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you ignored me for an entire day,” you snapped.

“Oh, you’re angry at me now?” he demanded.

“I’ve got a right to be!” you shot back. “You stormed out of my flat, said you’d call, and then you didn’t! I’ve already admitted to and apologized for my wrongdoing the other night.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s over,” he argued. “The issue isn’t that you forgot about one night. It’s all the nights you forget. I’m trying to tell you that I feel neglected by you more than I feel loved.”

“Well, Mark, as I said, that’s not a conversation that I -”

Suddenly the door swung open and Roger strode in.

“Y/N, I thought you were just getting aspirin, now Dominique and Tim are here, and my head’s splitting - oh,” he stopped himself, observing you and the man standing beside you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, you didn’t,” you assured him. “Mark, this my client, Roger Taylor. Roger, this is my boyfriend, Mark Bitters.”

They nodded at each other.

“Boyfriend?” Roger questioned.

You rolled your eyes. Then you opened up your top desk drawer, retrieved the aspirin, and tossed it to him. It rattled as he caught it.

“There. Take care of that headache, Rog, and I’ll be right there,” you said.

Roger looked between you and Mark once more before backing out of the office and returning to the conference room.

“Is that Roger Taylor of Queen?” Mark questioned. “Who is also your ex-boyfriend?”

“Yes,” you sighed. “Long story. But I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Alright, then,” he agreed.

Roger stormed back into the conference room, throwing himself into his chair. He slammed the bottle of aspirin down on the table, making Dominique jump.

“Alright, Rog?” she asked.

“She’s got a boyfriend…” he said, mostly to himself.

“Who’s got a boyfriend?” she wondered.

That was when you walked in. You felt some tension in the air, but assumed it was something Roger and Dominique had said to each other in the time you were gone.

“Right, sorry about that,” you said, taking your seat beside Roger. “So, Mrs. Beyrand, I’ve looked into the house issue, and since the deed is solely in my client’s name, without mention of tenants or anything similar, the rights to the property are entirely his.”

Dominique looked at Tim. “Isn’t there anything we can do? I live in that house, I clean it, I’m raising the kids there.”

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m not comfortable with the assertion no action can be taken,” he said. “Why else do we have these negotiations?”

“Well, comfortable or not, my client has no obligation to allow your client to continue living in his house,” you returned. “There’s no law that protects her. And if you’ve done your job, you’d know that too.”

“So, you expect Mrs. Beyrand to just live on the street?” Tim countered.

“Don’t be absurd, Mr. Hooper,” you said. “The expectation is for her to find a place to live that’s her own. In the meantime, Mr. Taylor has agreed to allow Mrs. Beyrand to live there, is that not true?”

“He has,” Dominique conceded. “But I don’t want to move. Especially with the kids.”

“Christ, Dom, you always do this,” Roger groaned.

“Do what?” she demanded.

“Bring up the kids to make me feel like shit!” he cried. “You’re the one who filed for divorce, did you not expect me to want you out of the house? How else do we move on?”

“I don’t bring the kids up to make you feel like shit, I bring them up because it’s important to consider them,” she retorted. “Putting children first is what good parents do.”

“Hey, I’m a great dad!” he returned hotly. “I provide for my family!”

“Oh, yeah, kicking mum out of the house is some provision,” she shot back, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not kicking you out, this is part of the process!” he insisted. “This is what you always do, guilt trip me until I give in. Well, I’m not giving in with this one!”

“I have to say, I also find this tactic a bit manipulative,” you agreed. “No one is forcing you into homelessness. Roger is quite generously allowing you to live in the home until you’ve found someplace new. As for the children, custody hasn’t been addressed, but we can discuss it at the proper time. Right now, all we need is a time frame.”

You looked at Roger expectantly. Dom and Tim did the same.

“I’ll give you six months,” Roger said.

You blinked, shocked at the selflessness of this. That was much longer than you’d ever heard of. Admiration began to seep into your heart as you looked at him.

Tim whispered something to Dominique, who sighed.

“Alright,” she said. “Six months. I’ll be out.”

“Good,” Roger returned. “Dom, I’m not happy about this, you know.”

“I know,” she replied. “I’m not either. But it’s for the best.”

They went silent. Something passed between them as they locked eyes, but you couldn’t quite name it. Understanding? Regret? General sorrow at the situation?

“Right, let’s continue, shall we?” you said, clearing your throat.

You continued discussing assets and recording everything to put into their final divorce settlement. It seemed that they had both softened at Roger’s offer. As the meeting drew to a close, you looked at Tim.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow afternoon,” you said. “To discuss custody of the children.”

“Very well,” he agreed.

You all shook hands. You watched Tim and Dominique leave, but before she stepped into the lift, she looked at Roger one last time. Then, her eyes found yours. She shook her head and disappeared behind the doors.

“Alright, Rog,” you said. “Come to my office, and we’ll discuss what you want out of the custody meeting.”

He followed you there and closed the door. You placed his file on your desk. As you did, you looked at him again. There was such a drastic change in him since you had seen him last, and it wasn’t just the short hair.

“That was sweet of you, you know,” you told him. “Giving her six months. That’s a lot more than most people would agree to.”

“She’s the mother of my children,” he said. “I’m happy to accommodate her if I can.”

That admiration was starting to make you melt a little.

“You’re a very kind person, Roger,” you said. “I don’t know if people tell you enough.”

“That means a lot, especially from you,” he replied. “I - uh - wasn’t very kind to you, was I?”

“It was a long time ago,” you said. “It hardly matters now. Anyway, let’s talk about your children.”

Roger glanced at the ground to hide his hurt. When he looked back at you, you couldn’t tell that you’d burned him with “It hardly matters now.”

“Right, um, there’s my little boy, Felix,” he said. “He’s three. And then my girl, Rory, and she’s one.”

You tried to keep your eyes from watering.

“Felix?” you questioned. “My dad’s name?”

He flushed and looked down again. “Yeah, well, he was always...there when my own dad, y’know…” he trailed off. “How is your dad?”

“He passed, actually,” you said. “About a year and half ago. I’m sorry, Roger, I had no idea he meant so much to you.”

“S’alright,” he sniffed. “Just as well. I couldn’t have handled it if I’d known.”

Another beat passed.

“How’s your mum?” he asked.

“Still adjusting, but pretty much okay,” you told him. “She’s coming for a visit soon.”

“Good, that’s good,” he said.

In all the time you had known Roger, you had never seen him look so awkward.

“What about your mum and stepdad?” you wondered.

“They’re doing great,” he told you. “Mum’s a bit upset about the divorce, but she’ll get past it.”

“I’m sure you all will,” you said.

“Yeah…”

You held each other’s gaze for a long, tense moment.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands to draw you both away from the trance. “The kids.”

“Right,” you agreed, shaking your head. “So, tell me how your schedule usually works and how often you’d like them to stay with you.”

You took notes as he spoke. You knew that with Roger’s job there was no way to argue for him to have primary custody, especially since the kids were still so little. But, he had rights as their father, and you felt he deserved to see them as often as possible. When he finished, you looked over your notes.

“I think we can work with this,” you said.

“Is that all for today?” he asked.

You nodded. For some reason, you found yourself dreading his departure.

“I’ll you tomorrow then,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed.

He started toward the door, but when he took hold of the handle, he hesitated. He looked back at you and watched as you pulled out another file from your desk and opened it up. You hadn’t changed much since he last saw you. In fact, you hardly looked aged. Your face still had that youthful brightness to it that he remembered so fondly. The way you hummed as you looked over the papers was so familiar to him, it was as if no time had passed at all.

You looked up and caught him staring.

“Is there anything else, Roger?” you asked.

“No,” he said, but a hit of a smile pulled at his lips. “I’m just really glad you’re my attorney.”

You chuckled. “Any time.”

With that, he tugged the door open. There stood Jane, ear pressed to where the wood once was. Her face went pink.

“I was just - um - I wasn’t - I -” she sputtered.

“Just go to your desk, Jane,” you instructed.

“Sure,” she replied hastily. Then she looked Roger up and down. “Hey,” she said, fluffing her hair.

“Hey yourself,” he returned with a wink, and then left.

You frowned. So much for your good mood.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #Queen #queen x reader #queen imagine #queen x you #BoRhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #just like a woman series

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ineloqueent · 4 years ago

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Starstruck: Part 7

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 7 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 6 / Part 8

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, angst

Historical Inaccuracies: none that I can think of!

Word Count: 4.3k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The sun made you wonder. Made you wonder why it was shining in the first place. How wretched of it to shine so prettily when you felt so miserable.

It was a misery too out of reach to be pacified, for it was not the obvious sort, the kind in which you cry and shudder and feel like you’re suffocating. This was the kind of miserable in which you mope, staring out the window in a daze, and the only thing you are aware of is the frown on your lips; you opt for bitterness with every word and thought. This is the miserable where you feel detached and lost, like you exist in one universe and your feelings in a neighbouring dimension.

Brian hadn’t spoken to you for over a week.

It had rained every day since.

When classes had resumed the following Monday, Brian didn’t smile at you when you chanced a ‘good morning’. He merely pressed his lips together and ducked beneath his curls. That was how you knew he was avoiding you.

On Tuesday, Brian failed Carmichael’s test. This you knew because he ripped it in half as he stormed out of the door, following the lecture And he was glowering. You’d never thought that timid Brian could even have the ability to glower.

On Wednesday afternoon, Deacy called you.

“I was wondering if you’d like to join me and Rog for tea today?”

You bit your lip slowly. “Just you and Rog?”

“Yep!” he said. “I’ve told you that Veronica’s just gone up to see her parents for a couple of days, and that I’m working so she thought it best for me to stay behind, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you’ve told me,” you replied. “And Heather went with her.” Heather and Veronica had grown up in the same town, and so Heather, behind due to visit her own parents, had boarded the train with Ronnie.

“Oh, yes.” John paused, then asked hesitantly, “Are… are you okay with just me and Roger, for tea I mean?”

You breathed quietly in relief.

“Y/N? Who are you avoiding? You haven’t fallen out with Heather, have you?”

“Oh, no no,” you assured him.

“With Veronica, then? Surely not.”

“No, Deacy, she’s lovely.”

“She likes you too. You get along well. Maybe you should go shopping together or something sometime,” he babbled.

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly.

“Well, you have our number. And you know you’re always welcome over.”

“Thanks, Deacy—”

But Deacy was still trying to work out who it was you were supposedly at odds with. “Not Roger!” he cried. “That’s why you’re not sure about lunch. You and Roger are arguing, aren’t you?”

“No, Roger and I are fine, John.”

“Oh, good,” he sighed. “I was worried for a moment. And I’ve already had to diffuse so many fights this week, in the band, y’know.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “you wouldn’t believe it. So many. It’s like cats and dogs at the moment. Not sure why. Yelling and throwing various instrumental gear. Drumsticks, microphone stands, cables… clumsily. Almost an amp, yesterday.”

You winced, “That sounds, uh, violent?”

“Actually,” he considered, meanwhile you pondered the reason he was jabbering nineteen a dozen, “they’ve all sort of been started by… Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, Y/N, dear,” he said in a pitiful tone. “You’re avoiding Brian.”

“Am not!” you exclaimed.

“Are you not?” He sounded genuinely surprised this time.

“If anything, he’s avoiding me,” you grumbled, because at this point, Brian deliberately turned his head away when you passed him in the mornings. He seemed so pained by your presence that wondered if perhaps there was something more to the death of his aunt, if you had unknowingly poured salt on a second wound.

“Well…” began Deacy, seemingly at a loss. “Well, why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You rubbed your eyes tiredly. You’d not been sleeping well for the past few nights, awake and alone with your pestering thoughts. “I asked where he’d been, when he disappeared off to god knows where the other week.”

John’s puzzlement was apparent. “And?” he said.

“And nothing. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“That’s terribly odd, Y/N. I asked. We all asked. He said he’d been up to visit his parents when they lost power in a storm. Whole phone lines came crashing down, apparently. Too much of a mess to get any sort of communication through to anywhere, and he figured we wouldn’t worry badly.”

You shook your head, then remembered that you were on the phone. “That can’t be true, Deacy. And even if it were, we did worry, remember?”

“I suppose we did worry,” Deacy conceded. “But what do you mean, that can’t be true? Did he not tell you the same thing?”

The air gasped from your lungs.

He hadn’t told anyone.

Except you.

“No, Deacy,” you said. “He— he said… His aunt died.”

“What?”

“His aunt died.”

“Yes, I heard you, Y/N, but… He lied to us?”

“Or he didn’t tell you the whole truth,” you suggested. It was something you did often; you didn’t like to lie, but naturally, you didn’t want everyone to know everything.

“I suppose. That’s just so terribly unlike Brian,” John said concernedly. “He doesn’t like lying.”

“Um… who do you know that actively enjoys lying?”

“Oh, Freddie’s near-pathological,” Deacy said off-handedly. “But Brian’s got more of a moral compass than I have!”

“That’s slightly concerning…” you remarked. “So, how is Freddie?”

“I talked to him and he said he was well,” Deacy related, “but now I’m not so sure. He’s seemed a bit off lately. Something to do with Mary, I think.”

You frowned. “Yeah, I think something’s wrong.”

Deacy sighed. “I’m beginning to think the only people who are okay are Veronica and myself.”

“Roger isn’t okay?”

“He’s usually the person Brian takes his temper out on.”

“Oh.”

“Tell you what,” said Deacy, “come to tea at mine at seven tonight and we’ll talk more then. I imagine you’ve got lectures to get to.”

“Just finished with the last one for today, but some studying wouldn’t hurt,” you replied. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“Okay, see you at seven. Bye bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Deacy.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You spent the rest of the afternoon studying. Or rather, you tried to study. The formulas and theories and diagrams mostly swirled across your page today, as much a spiral galaxy as the Milky Way. You speculated your lack of sleep and your lack of water could be the cause. Or maybe your lack of interaction with other humans. No Heather, no Freddie, no Roger, barely John. And no Brian. It was a wonder you’d not yet become a total hermit.

At six thirty you threw on your scarf and coat and went out the door, a bottle of wine in one hand.

At six thirty-two, you had boarded the tube and remembered that the scarf wasn’t actually your own. It was the rainbow scarf. You nestled your face into the wool and fibres tickled the tip of your nose, subtle scents of coffee and lilies shrouding you in their homely warmth.

You missed the owner of that scarf.

At seven precisely, you rang the Deacon-Tetzlaff doorbell.

The door swung open and John Deacon beamed at you. “Ah, Y/N! You’ve made it to my little party.”

“Careful, Deacy,” you admonished, “you’re beginning to sound an awful lot like those old film villains.”

“I think I’ll need more evidence than that,” Deacy kissed your cheek in greeting. You returned the gesture and went on inside, offering the wine bottle which he accepted cheerily. He was just closing the door when there came a shout from the street.

“Hold the door, will you, Deacy?”

Roger had arrived, dressed extravagantly in a fur coat and thin, orange-tinted sunglasses.

“Bit over the top for tea at mine, Roggie?” Deacy laughed.

You nodded to Roger’s sunglasses. “Surely those aren’t necessary.”

“They just complete the look. And honestly, you two are daft. Coat’s for warmth. It’s bloody well snowing.”

“Snowing?” you and Deacy repeated, leaning out the door.

Roger was right; little flakes fluttered down from the dappled grey sky, dusting his hair, and now yours as well.

“And so it is,” John said with another laugh. You held out your hand and let the glittery while specks fall into your palm. Despite your love for warmth, you liked snow. It was like catching stardust.

“Brimi would love that analogy,” Roger kissed your cheek as well, and you realised that you’d spoken aloud. You swallowed, settling your features back into a mask of nonchalance.

“He wouldn’t love that fur coat, though,” you tapped Roger’s sleeve.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” grumbled Roger.

“At the moment, he doesn’t love much at all, really,” Deacy remarked as he shut the door when you were all inside.

“Yes,” Roger echoed the sentiment, “can we discuss that? He’s a right bore.”

“More than usual?” John joked.

“God, yes. Thinking of throwing my bloody hi-hat at him next time.”

“He didn’t get the message from the drumsticks?”

“Apparently not. Went past his house this afternoon. He’s still moping.”

You tried not to think about the fact that you were the reason why Brian was moping. Meanwhile, John and Roger bantered on as you hung up your coat and— and the scarf.

You missed the majority of the conversation, having drifted into the abyss of your own thoughts once more. It was becoming a bad habit.

“Champagne? Oh, perfect!” John was saying. You’d reached the kitchen. “And it’s Moët et Chandon, too. Fred would be proud of you.”

“Funny, it was actually his idea,” Roger mused, closing his sunglasses around the collar of his shirt.

Deacy’s eyes widened as he pulled a tray from the oven. “Freddie better not have suggested anything else.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “What would he have suggested, John?”

You wondered whether Roger was alluding to Freddie’s dampened temperament of the past many days, his tearfulness on the floor of a public bathroom, his obvious discomfort when you spoke of Mary.

Deacy waved an oven mitt and squinted through the steam that rose from the loaf of bread he had pulled from the oven.

“Deacy?” you said when the latter did not answer.

“Food’s ready!” he said brightly, and you all gathered around the kitchen table, Roger’s question forgotten.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You’d eaten your fill of John’s homemade risotto and bread, which was quite a large portion. Deacy was an excellent cook, in contrast with the likes of Freddie and Roger, neither of whom knew how to boil an egg.

“That was lovely, Deacy,” you said, positioning your knife and fork at twenty-past four.

“Agreed,” Roger nodded from beside you. “I’d ask you to give me the recipe,” he addressed Deacy, “but you know I can’t cook.”

“Oh, yes, we all know, Roger,” John sniggered.

“Freddie can’t cook either,” Roger pointed out petulantly, as though this made up for his own downfalls as a twenty-four-year-old who had moved away from home without learning certain basics.

“So, why are we here, Deacs?” you said.

“Mm,” said Roger. “You never call meetings, John. That’s always Freddie. And if it was about Queen, you would have actually invited the other two idiots over. Not Cinderella, here,” he elbowed you in the ribs.

“Ow!” you yelped. “Better Cinderella than an idiot, though.”

Roger narrowed his eyes at you. “Then dress the part. Otherwise I’ll have to take back the title.”

“Dress… in cinders and dirt, like you have?”

“This is an expensive shirt!”

“Hey!” Deacy interjected, but you and Roger only paid attention after he stood and tapped his knife to his wine glass.

You looked at Roger and grinned. Roger waggled his eyebrows; he had the same idea. You took a breath—

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” you cried together.

Deacy rolled his eyes. “How I put up with any of you is a wonder. Might as well not tell you, now.” He made to sit down.

“Well, I wanna hear it,” Roger pouted.

“Yeah, go on Deacy,” you patted his side of the table.

He tried not to smile, but he couldn’t. He glanced down at the tablecloth instead, adjusted the cutlery on his plate with two fingers, then inhaled slowly.

“You’re not dying, are you?” said Roger. You elbowed him to shut him up.

“Right then,” Deacy straightened up. “Y/N, Roger,” he toasted you each with his glass and you smiled back bemusedly. He paused for dramatic effect. Then, “Ronnie’s pregnant!”

Your mouth fell open.

“Oh, Deacy, you sly bastard,” Roger stood and clapped his friend on the back.

Deacy rolled his eyes again, but he was still beaming.

“John, that’s wonderful!” you said. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Deacy replied, pleased as punch. “Freddie and Brian found out by accident, and they were both busy tonight anyway, and I wanted to tell you before Veronica came back because she was going up to tell her parents,” he gushed, “and by then Freddie wouldn’t have been able to keep the surprise a surprise anymore.” Deacy practically shone, he was truly so happy. You couldn’t imagine more of a family man than John Deacon would be. He doted on Veronica and would dote upon his children even more.

Roger suddenly laughed, and you and Deacy looked at him. “Now I get it,” he said.

“Get what, Rog?”

“The champagne.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Thursday, you woke up with a violent headache. You had definitely overdone the champagne last night.

You rolled over to turn off your alarm clock, but instead rolled over the edge of a sofa.

And kicked Roger Taylor in the face.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Roger groaned, pulling his fur coat up over his face. He had used it as a blanket for the night, rejecting Deacy’s offer of actual bedding. “If you wanted to sleep on the floor, you could just have said so, not kicked me awake to take my spot.”

“I was perfectly fine with the sofa, thanks,” you mumbled, rubbing your temples.

Roger sat up blearily. “God, what a headache,” he complained.

You nodded in agreement, your eyes screwed shut.

“Good morning!” John appeared in the doorway to the living room.

“Shhhhh,” Roger hummed.

“Not my fault you never learnt to be responsible,” Deacy shrugged. “Can I interest anyone in coffee?”

“May I order some silence?” you asked. “And a black coffee, please.”

“On my way,” Deacy left for the kitchen.

“Yes please, I’ll have a cup,” Roger called hoarsely after Deacy. “With one and three-sevenths sugars.”

“One black, one with one sugar?” John called back.

“One and three-sevenths sugars, please.”

“Three sugars, Rog?”

“No, one and three-sevenths.”

“Seven sugars?!”

“DEACY. One and three-sevenths!”

Laughter trickled through the kitchen door. “I’m just winding you up, Roger,” Deacy returned to the living room.

Roger sighed. “Well, thank god. I was beginning to rethink our friendship. You should know how I take my coffee.”

“We’re not married, Rog. And if you really felt so fondly about me, you should have told me so before I took my girlfriend to bed sometime last year.”

“Which was far too long ago.” Roger took his mug of coffee when Deacy offered it to him. “You take a long time to fall in love with, Deacs. Couldn’t possibly have beaten Ronnie to that chase.”

“Speaking of rethinking our friendship…” John muttered.

After finishing your coffee, you swore at the time the clock on Deacy’s mantlepiece displayed, made your apologies, and rushed off to your morning lecture.

And still Brian would not even look at you.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

At nine o’clock that night, you sat down in your armchair by the fireplace and made two phone calls.

First, you called your mum.

Then you called Brian, who had neglected to turn up for the evening’s derivatives-and-guitar session.

Three guesses as to who took your call and who did not.

You went to bed soon after that, but sleep would not draw you away until two hours past midnight.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

On Friday evening, two of your housemates decided to get shit-faced. As Heather and Roger had taken up residency in your room, you decided to join in the getting-shit-faced.

Joan and Paulie were waiting for you in the kitchen and cheered when you entered.

“Our favourite Y/N!” Paulie hugged you, and Joan grinned from where she sat atop the kitchen counter, already holding a poured drink.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked. But this was apparently the wrong question, because Paulie’s bright eyes turned suddenly tearful.

Joan hopped down from the counter and wrapped an arm around Paulie’s shoulder.

“Just some hypocrite called Paulie a slag,” Joan sipped her drink. “Now we’re celebrating the fact that little Pauline here packed her first punch, eh, sweetheart?”

Paulie blushed crimson, and it was clear that she was not on her first drink either.

She turned to you, “What’ve you come to celebrate, Y/N?”

You laughed bitterly. “Perhaps my wasted heart.”

“It’ll be a large drink, then?”

You nodded, and Paulie frowned sympathetically. Joan stuck you a glass, filling it to the brim with alcohol.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

It was midnight, but tonight, there was no magic in the hour.

You sat in the window seat and leaned your head against the wood of the window frame.

The heating was broken and it was raining ice outdoors. Sleet. Yes, that was what it was called. Your muddled brain struggled to keep up with your racing heart.

You’d left Joan and Paulie in the kitchen, because the thing about Joan and Paulie was that they were mad for each other, though they appeared to be the only two people in the world who were blind to the phenomenon. Tonight, however, they’d made some discoveries regarding that area of their lives. They’d stopped drinking early on and had begun snogging instead, so you’d taken a bottle of mulled wine with you to the window seat and now sat drinking alone in the darkness.

Or perhaps the darkness was what you were drinking, and what was drinking you.

From the cinema next door to the house, you could vaguely hear laughter, and the smell of popcorn lightly permeated the air that drifted in through your open window. It was no longer raining, and the sky with its spatter of stars was once more dimly visible above the silhouettes of London in the nighttime. The mulled wine was made of elderflower and blackberries, and it had heated your cheeks and filled your head with poetry and your eyes with a mist.

Swirling the wine in your glass, you imagined this was what it would be like to live on the cusp between tragedy and comedy in a Shakespearian work.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” slipped the words of Hamlet from your lips, “doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

You sighed and wished for the night to grow day as you stared out the window, searching for planets and solar systems you knew very well could not be found by the naked eye.

The rainbow scarf warmed your skin.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Saturday, as went without saying, was characterised by a fierce headache. Again.

And with Sunday came the Sunday Blues.

Well, really, you’d had the All-Week Blues, but Sunday did not care about this; you could now add the coming week of studying and assessments to your list of worries.

You listened to Freddie’s records and mindlessly memorised every word, every line. The music was your anchor, as it had always been. But it was now more so than ever.

You hated feeling worthless, but there was nothing you could do to not feel so.

Freddie and Roger and Deacy and Brian, they had each other. They wouldn’t have missed you, you told yourself, and it was only fuel to fire that Freddie did not trust you enough to tell you what it was that was going on with him. Then there was Heather, and Heather had Roger. And then Joan— Joan had Paulie. And Kate’s friends were Amélie and Jenny. No one was yours alone.

No one was yours at all.

And the fact that Brian May so actively avoided you just proved it all— who needs you?

Who needs you, it was in his lowered eyes.

Who needs you, it was in his silence.

Who needs you, it was in your head.

It was all only in your head. But sometimes, it was difficult to discern the world from your head.

So you picked up your guitar to prove your head, the world, wrong.

The strings stung your skin, and the memory of gentle smiles ghosted along your pulse where fingers had once applied their tender touch.

Your misery rose a wave and crashed as anger.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Two more weeks cycled past on bell-less bicycles; they passed utterly without consequence.

February had yielded March, and snow had melted to an incessant rain. But the rain fostered new leaves and flowers, and turned London to all the colours of the rainbow in the glory of Spring.

It would have been pleasant, to leave classes and hurry through warm, sprinkling rain and spots of sunshine, for but the claustrophobia that the gaze of a tall and blushing young man provided you with, in every waking hour of your life, whether in person or by way of imagination.

You waited for everyone else to enter the lecture hall, hanging back so that you would be the last.

When the final dawdler had passed into the hall, you approached Brian, who, of course, was holding the door.

“Bri,” you began gently, willing him to look at you. He didn’t. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.” He radiated hostility, but you felt uplifted by the fact that he’d acknowledged you at all.

“I know. But I meant it. And I mean it.”

His eyes flicked over you. “We’re going to be late.”

He let go of the door.

You grasped the handle before the frame could smack you in the face. The edges of your patience were tampered with by his gaze; they had now become short and sharp.

If he was going to behave so pettily, then you would stoop to his level.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

It began as stealing Carmichael’s questions before Brian could answer them.

Then it was politely saying ‘good morning’ to everyone you encountered, except Brian.

Then you temporarily overcame your hatred for mornings in order to arrive at the lectures early, before Brian. You held the door for everyone. Until he arrived. Then you let go and went inside.

On the third morning that this occurred, Brian glared at you and you sneered back.

How quickly you had gone from friends to… to rivals was slightly disconcerting.

Freddie seemed to think so too. He invited you to rehearsal one evening, and though you clenched your jaw at having to be in the same room as Brian Harold “Petty” May, Freddie begged and pleaded and wore you down.

But when you arrived at one of Imperial College’s unused lecture halls that evening, Brian was the first person you saw, and at the sour twist of his lips, you huffed and stormed back out the door.

Freddie and John were calling after you, and you vaguely heard Roger ask Brian what the hell was wrong with him. Yet, you kept walking.

And then you ran.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

I’d had it with Brian. I really had.

So caught up in that bloody head of his, and for what? What had Y/N even said? What could have been so bad? She, like the rest of us, had naturally been worried by Brian’s disappearance, and he owed it to us, to her, to let us know that he had been at least physically all right.

I’d gotten it out of Deacs that Brian had lied to us about where he was the other week, and I’d been furious— how could he lie to us? Brian never lied.

I’d been good and well ready to knock him about a bit, that was what I’d been, and I had threatened to do just so, before Freddie materialised, as he often did, and pushed me back onto the drum stool before I could go anywhere. He demanded to know why I was so pissed off, and John explained.

Freddie frowned. “Yes, that is rather unlike him. And he’s utterly miffed, constantly. Looks about as cross as a cat caught in a rainstorm. Has done for fucking weeks.”

“Yes…” John folded his arms over his bass. “It’s got to stop. We’re not getting anything done.”

“We need to start working on the next album, and with him in this state, he won’t write anything of use,” said Freddie in agreement. “His muse is sadness, not anger.”

“That makes one of us,” I grumbled. “Gimme his guitar and I’ll write you a song, right here and now.”

“I would, darling,” Freddie sighed, “except that you’d probably destroy it, and you know he never lets it out of his sight anyway.”

“Hmph.”

Deacy ran a hand through his hair. “We have to intervene.”

“Mm,” said Freddie. “There’s only room in this band for one hysterical queen.”

“Any ideas?” Deacy asked. “Freddie?”

“Not a thing, dearie. Got enough troubles of my own, right now.”

“Rog?”

I was about to shake my head, no, when I remembered a trick I’d pulled on two of my mates back in school, years ago.

I smiled. “Oh yes. I’ve got a plan.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: I definitely wrote Joan and Paulie to resemble John Lennon and Paul McCartney, oops :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks @hgmercury39 @stardust-killer-queen @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 6 / Part 8

#tina’s writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know]

Hi y’all! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for reading and for showing me and my fics some love. You better believe that I see EVERY. SINGLE. reblog, comment, tag, and message, and they mean the absolute world to me! I know that a lot of content creators are frustrated and taking breaks right now, but rest assured you will not be able to get rid of me if even a SINGLE person looks forward to something I write. I’ll finish this fic (eventually), and I’ll finish the next one too (it already has a name!), and I won’t disappear or leave the Queen/BoRhap fandom at any point in the foreseeable future. Lots of love to you all, stay safe, and I hope you enjoy! 💜 💜 💜

Chapter summary: Y/N brings home some friends; Brian attempts an intervention; John draws a line; Roger gets an answer.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Smile, everyone!” Your dad peeks through the viewfinder of the Canon F-1 and beams. “One...two...three...say Queen!”

“Queen!” you all shout gleefully. The flash illuminates the dining room, and you blink away momentary blindness. The table materializes back into vision: lobsters, clams, haddock chowder, sourdough bread, fried oysters, pierogis with Vermont cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes...and, of course, Boston cream pie for dessert.

“Ah, perfection,” your dad sighs contently. “Please continue, Mr. Mercury.”

“Mr. Mercury!” Brian whines, incredulous. “Like he’s got a bloody PhD or something!”

Freddie cracks a lobster claw. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses or wrist-full of clanging bangles off all afternoon. Your parents are profoundly confused by him, but welcoming nonetheless. “I’m a professor of lusciousness. Pay attention and you could learn something.”

Brian rolls his eyes and dunks a hunk of sourdough bread into his chowder.

“So,” Freddie tells your mother between bites of lobster dripping with drawn butter. “Our darling damsel in distress was in the clutches of that horrid, dodgy wanker when none other than our very own Roger Meddows Taylor—”

“You weren’t even there!” Brian protests. “I wasn’t even there! This is, what, a third-hand account?!”

“Eat your soup, peasant. Thank you. Anyway, our beloved Roger comes raging out of nowhere, red-faced, nostrils flaring, a terrifying sight to behold, grabs this guy by his hair and slams his despicable face directly into a marble column. Broken nose, cracked orbital socket, blood everywhere! It was magnificent. I’ve never been more proud.”

“Good for you!” your mother cheers, patting the back of Roger’s hand encouragingly. He smiles at her, warmly, radiantly, like the wildfire he’s always reminded you of. And you marvel at how every human on this earth is made of the same fundamental components—blood and muscles and vessels and nerves, hearts and enigmatic brain matter and ribs, vulnerable parts, armored parts, all webbed together like nature’s own organic circuit board—and yet the marks they leave on you can feel so different: burns, scars, bruises, shadows, imprints that are deep enough to brush bone and never fade.

“Mom, the guy could have died!”

“Did he?” she asks innocently.

“Nope,” Roger says.

“Well then, Mr. Taylor here is a hero in my book.”

“Mr. Taylor!” Brian groans.

“I was petrified he would turn out to be the son of an executive or producer or something and the band would be ruined,” you say. “Fortunately he was just someone’s annoying frat brother from college who already had a reputation for being a sleazebag. So, we were in luck.”

“You were in luck that Mr. Taylor was there,” your mother points out, gazing at him dreamily. This delightful English boy is going to be my son-in-law and give me gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says.

“Yes, a literal superhero,” John says ruefully, sipping a Manhattan. Your dad has a passionate love for mixing cocktails, especially for guests who also happen to be rock stars.

“Mom. Don’t make his ego any bigger, please. I’m begging you.”

Roger snarls around a mouthful of Boston cream pie, sending your mom into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, dear.” She smooths your hair. “And that you have people to keep you safe all the way over there across the ocean, and that you’re happy.”

“Yes, your work environment is much improved, isn’t it?” Brian says. “That supervisor you had at the hospital was an absolute bear!”

Your dad strokes his short grey beard. “Well...” he admits. “That may have been my fault.”

Brian’s brow crinkles. “Really?”

Your mom turns to you. “You didn’t tell them?!”

“Oh, is there a scandalous backstory?” Freddie inquires, elated. “Do tell, darling!”

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away—just kidding, it was here in Boston—my archnemesis Patricia and my dad dated.”

Roger drops his fork, appalled. “No!”

Freddie’s nose wrinkles in revulsion. “Why?!”

Your dad rocks back in his chair and laughs loudly, heartily. “She wasn’t always so cantankerous, if you can believe it. She was a sweet girl, wonderful even. But then I met my future wife, and...” He smirks guiltily. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants!”

You nod along. “And I got the illustrious honor of being an outlet for the frustration stemming from Patricia’s lifelong unrequited love.”

“You saucy minx!” Freddie playfully lashes your mom’s shoulder with a cloth napkin. “Homewrecker!”

She chuckles, not the least bit offended. “People get together under all sorts of strange circumstances, and you know what? You can’t wreck a home if the home wasn’t already half-wrecked before you got there, that’s what I think.”

Roger raises his Patriot’s Punch. “I’ll drink to that.”

Brian clutches his New England Express, bewildered. “Are we...toasting to infidelity?”

“Oh, does that horrify you?” Rog asks sarcastically. Brian grimaces, but dutifully raises his glass.

“We’re toasting to love,” your dad clarifies. “However it comes, as long as it’s true.”

John holds his Manhattan aloft. “To love.”

Freddie clinks his Flying Elvis against the other beverages, including your parents’ wine glasses and your Cranberry Crush. “Cheers!” Then Fred glances at the clock and swiftly polishes off his slice of Boston cream pie.

“Can’t you all stay a little longer?” your mom pleads, collecting plates and gazing longingly at Roger. “This has been so much fun...”

“They have soundcheck at seven, Mom. We have to leave for the stadium soon.”

“Well, before you jet off to your next adventure, can I treat anyone to a long distance call?” your dad asks.

Brian perks up. “Really?!” You know there’s a ring in the future for Chrissie; not an expensive or extravagant ring (not that Chris would want that anyway), but a ring nonetheless. You know because Brian has taken you shopping to help him choose one.

“Of course! You can use the phone in my office. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I’m sure there are some lovely ladies back in jolly old England who would be over the moon to hear from you.”

“That would be very much appreciated!” Brian says. “And thank you so much, this has been such a treat, you have no idea how long it’s been since we had a proper homemade meal.”

“I had to rehabilitate the reputation of us Yankees, didn’t I? Now come on, Mr. May, I’ll show you to the office...”

“Mr. May...I like the sound of that!”

“Ten minutes, Bri!” Freddie calls, following them down the hallway. “Then it’s my turn...!”

You begin gathering up the empty glasses, but Roger promptly snatches them away. “No way, Boston babe. You go relax. I’ll help your mom.”

“I think she’s in love with you.”

He grins. “Do you have a secret stepdaddy fetish I could exploit?”

“Oh my god. Roger.”

He snickers and sweeps off into the kitchen. It’s only then that you realize John has disappeared. You check the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the study, and finally the front porch; John is standing outside in the cold, smoking and watching the setting sun. The sky is threaded with cerulean, rust orange, lavender, indigo. You pull on your coat and go out to join him.

“We’ll make it to Florence one of these days,” you promise John, resting your arms on the wooden, white-painted porch railing. Your mother hung baskets of fresh flowers for the band’s visit, which swing lazily in the breeze. “Crank out a few more hits and we’ll get the record company to add it to the tour itinerary.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Are you going to call Veronica?”

He shrugs, frowns, exhales a lungful of smoke into frigid New England air. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t think she’d like that?” you ask, confounded.

“I think she might like it too much.”

“Ohhhhh.” You read his soft greyish eyes, which are faraway and somber, sad even. “I’m sorry, John. You know she’s wild about you.”

“I know it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “She’s the first person who ever was, actually. The first person who ever noticed me. Came up to me out of the blue at a disco and asked me to dance, me! So I said yes, like you do when you’re the guy nobody notices. And then I said yes again, and again, and again, until one day I realized...oh, this girl thinks we’re getting married. When the hell did that happen?”

“I noticed you,” you contest.

John chuckles and nods. “You did,” he agrees. “Right away. Tried to win me over when I was too nervous to finish a sentence around you. But that was long after I’d met Veronica.”

“Well, you can’t break up with her tonight. On Valentine’s Day?! That would be traumatic.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have a few days in London between the American and Asian legs of the tour. You can think it over and decide what to do then. I’m happy to arrange the getaway taxi if that’s something that interests you.”

“Yeah.” Again, he peers out into the Western horizon, into rising stars.

“John?”

Now he looks to you. He’s a little too thoughtful, too low. There’s something you’re not seeing.

“...Is there somebody else?”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at you with those velvety azure-grey eyes, drums his fingers against the railing, lets the ash from his cigarette crumble into the snow-dusted Blue Pacific Junipers.

Roger barrels through the front door and out onto the porch. “There you are, Deaks! I thought we were going to have to find a new bassist. Enlist Nurse Nightingale’s mum or something.”

John smirks and crushes the rest of his cigarette in your father’s ashtray. “I suspect you’d do just fine without me.”

“Oh no. No way. Not happening.”

“That’s kind of you,” John says, unconvinced.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Rog holds out his calloused hand. “If you ever leave, I leave too. Come on, Deaks, shake on it. It’s official. It’s a pact. There’s no Queen without John Deacon.”

Reluctantly, trying not to show how pleased he is, John shakes. “Alright.”

Roger grins triumphantly. “Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours for life, baby.”

“Deaky, do you want the phone?!” Freddie yells from inside the house.

John sighs and exchanges a knowing glance with you. “I guess I should say hi.”

“Okay, but quickly!” Rog presses. “We gotta go!”

“So bossy...” John ducks inside; and Roger, though he’s not wearing anything over his pale pink button-up shirt—sufficiently sophisticated to impress your parents—comes to the porch railing to join you.

“You’re not staying out here, are you?” You eye his thin shirt worriedly, the goosebumps rising over his collarbones, his bare forearms where he rolled up his sleeves to help your mom wash the dishes.

He tosses you a mischievous wink. “I’ve got no one to call.”

Roger looks up at the hanging baskets of flowers, plucks out a cerise carnation, and offers it to you. You mean to say something witty, something sardonic, something that will make him laugh; but all your words vanish into cold February air. You take the carnation, smiling helplessly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Roger whispers.

You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?

Okay.

He turns to go back inside the house.

I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him.

Then Roger pauses in the doorway. “You coming, Boston babe? I can’t have you catching pneumonia or something. I won’t know how to fix you.”

Oh, you realize, with horror and yet relief, all those grueling lies stripped away. It’s too late.

~~~~~~~~~~

You knock on the frame of the dressing room door. “Hi Bri!”

He glances over from where he sits in front of the mirror, rimming his eyes with inky liner. Soundcheck went swimmingly, and now Queen has thirty minutes until they need to be onstage. You can hear the disembodied reverberation of voices from the waiting crowd through the walls. “Hello, love. Come in.”

“Freddie said you needed to see me. Did you rip a sleeve or something? I brought my kit—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pats the chair beside him. The boys practically always get ready together before a show, but you suspect profoundly introverted Brian is experiencing one of his post-socialization crashes after dinner with your parents. Something about him is tired, very tired, almost drained to empty. “Join me.”

“Sure,” you say cautiously. You shove your medical kit onto the countertop and then reach to feel his forehead. “Are you feeling alright...?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

Brian sighs deeply, sets down the eyeliner, swivels his chair towards you. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to start seeing Roger.”

You titter, deflecting, brushing Brian’s hair away from his troubled, angular face. “Well, as the official Queen touring nurse, I see him quite a lot.”

Brian catches your wrist. “I’m being serious.”

Now your brow knits into tight agitated lines. “I’m curious as to why you think that’s something you have a say in.”

“Bloody hell, I’m not trying to offend you—”

“Job well done.”

“Dear, please, listen to me—”

“Eight months,” you hiss through your teeth as you tear away from him. “For eight months I’ve listened and avoided and resisted and ignored and it’s not going away.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian breathes in despair. “You love him.”

There are tears biting in the periphery of your vision; you don’t want them to be there, but they are. Your voice is hoarse and trembling. “Bri, please don’t.”

Brian shakes his head and motions with his hands frenetically, desperately, trying to make you understand. “Look, sometimes...sometimes the people we love, the people who own us, the people who fucking set us on fire...they’re not the people we end up with. And that’s not always a bad thing. It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.”

You gape at him, furious, stunned. “That’s just fantastic, Brian. You’re a true romantic. Jesus christ, does Chrissie know about this? Is that why you’re with her, because she’s, what...safe?!”

“No, that’s not fair, Chrissie’s great, she’s steady and supportive and she’ll make a wonderful mother one day, and my parents adore her—”

“Those aren’t reasons to marry someone, Brian!”

“They are!” He leaps to his feet. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You have to think about these things, you have to be rational, you have to protect yourself—”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you flare bitterly.

“Because you saved my life.”

“Stop it, I didn’t.”

“You did, I truly believe that. And I want you to stay with the band. And I want you to be happy. But, dear, please, I’m begging you...this is not the way to do it.”

“I’m not going to go out to some pub and drag home a random guy who’s suitably passionless and predictable enough to be Brian-May-approved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do—”

“Because you’re such an expert on relationships!” you shout, exasperated. “Planning to propose to Chris while you’re still secretly pining over some fling from New Orleans, fucking groupies and then having the nerve to mope around guilt-ridden the next morning as if anyone but you was responsible for that decision, and do I say anything about it?! Do I ever say a single fucking word about it to you, or Fred, or Roger, or your future wife, or anybody?! No, because it’s not my life!”

The dressing room door flies open and John storms inside. “What’s going on?!”

You cross your arms and stare at the floor. Brian’s wide green eyes flick to John, to you, back to John. If it was Freddie, Brian would tell him in a second, would try to enlist him in the effort, and it would probably work; but John is a different story. John won’t side with Brian over you, everybody knows that. And John has a talent for sharpening words into blades. “Um. Nothing.”

“I could hear you in the hallway,” John says flatly. “Obviously it wasn’t nothing.”

Brian points to you. “Have you tried to talk her out of this? Maybe you should, maybe she’d listen.”

“It’s not my choice to make, just like it isn’t yours. Worry about your own body count. It seems to be growing exponentially these days.”

Brian scoffs. “Because you’d be so thrilled if she ended up with him, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demand.

Brian and John glare at each other from across the room. John raises his eyebrows, daring Bri to answer. Brian gnaws his lower lip, but doesn’t elaborate. The air is heavy, tense, electrified.

“Don’t upset her again,” John says darkly.

Brian shows the white palms of his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

John waves for you to follow him. “Come on.” And he slams the door behind you as you both escape into the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” You chase away stray tears with the back of your hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get anyone worked up right before the show...”

“Don’t worry about it. I treasure any excuse to harass Brian.”

You study him, seeking answers, seeking more than you know how to put into words. “Do you think I’m being stupid? If you do, you can tell me.”

“No,” John responds carefully. “I think you’re being hopeful. And I’d like to believe that stupidity and hopefulness are two very different things.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s very inaccurate.” He fluffs his hair with his fingertips. “Do you want to touch it before we go on stage?”

You feign demureness. “Hmm...”

“Oh come on. You know you want to. It’s extra voluminous right now, Roger shared some of his magical mousse or whatever. Something way too expensive. You should thoroughly berate him for it.”

You laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You comb your hands through his brunette hair, and John’s right; it’s extraordinarily full and soft, and smells like honeysuckles. “You always know how to get me smiling, don’t you?”

“You do insist that I have game. Though I remain skeptical.”

“Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

John’s rough thumb lifts your chin, then whisks away a tear you missed. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“I always am.” And that’s the truth; you haven’t missed a Queen show since you met them.

He beams, those gentle grey eyes incandescent. “Then we’ll have an ocean of luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Queen is in New York City.

The thunderous bassline of the opening act shudders through the concrete walls. You’re staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror under harsh florescent lights, your palms gripping the cold rim of a white sink, your eyes shimmering with black and gold shadow, your lip gloss slick and crimson. There’s not a single thing left to do. You’re running out of time.

You breathe in, breathe out, snatch your purse off the floor, breeze out into the hallway.

You can hear the boys’ laughter even before you open the dressing room door. Inside, Brian is tuning his Red Special with his mantis-like legs propped up on the countertop, John is attempting to teach Freddie how to make popcorn in a microwave without setting anything on fire, Roger is scrutinizing his hair in the mirror and frowning as he rearranges it with a comb.

“Hello, darling!” Freddie warbles. “Can I interest you in some delicious and expertly-prepared popcorn?” He opens the microwave, and smoke pours out. “Oh, you bitch!”

“I’ll pass, Freddie.” You glide to where Roger is sitting, knot your fingers through his blond hair, and tug his head back so you can kiss him. He tastes like mint gum and the ghost of smoke and reckless intemperance; he tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted. There are gasps, and surely dropped jaws as well; but you don’t have eyes for them. “Okay,” you tell Roger.

He stares up at you with huge, starry eyes, a dazed grin slowly lighting up his face. “You changed your mind.”

“Come find me after the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You move to wipe your blood-red gloss from his lips, but Roger stops you, knits his hand through yours, stands to meet you.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I want them to know.”

“Want them to know...?”

His lips touch yours again, smiling and scorching and ravenous. “That I’m yours.”

#roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave #but you can never leave series #queen fic

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rushingheadlong · 5 years ago

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Lockdown Blues - A Queen Gen Fic

Summary: Freddie has made it his mission to keep everyone’s spirits up while they’re stuck at home. He doesn’t think the others have noticed - but they have, and they're ready to remind him that they have his back too.

Wordcount: ~2,000

Tags/Warnings: Vague modern & early Queen AU, Gen, H/C. There are references to the boys being stuck at home for an indefinite amount of time. The cause for this is never specifically discussed, but given the current world situation please read with care.

Notes: Written for a prompt from @tenderbri though I made a few small tweaks to it. I hope you still enjoy this!

Living with his three friends and band mates was the best idea Freddie had ever had. They all had their moods, of course, and fights were inevitable, but the anger never lasted long and the flat was always more full of laughter than of shouting.

At least, it had been that way. Lately, though, with all of them stuck at home together, things are unusually quiet as the stress and worry slowly sinks over the household.

It doesn’t take long for Brian to slip into one of his low moods. He hardly leaves his bedroom for days at a time - though Freddie suspects that he goes up to the roof in the middle of the night to try and look at the stars. He still has his thesis to work on but he’s not making much progress on it. No matter how many times they reassure Brian that he doesn’t have to be completely productive right now, Freddie knows that their soft-hearted guitarist is weighed down with guilt for not using this time to do more.

John is the opposite. John finished up a semester’s worth of coursework almost overnight, and has been pacing the apartment desperate for something to do ever since then. He mostly spends his days now going over their joint finances with a fine-toothed comb to figure out how to stretch their meager savings with none of them working at the moment. If any of them can make things work it’ll be John, but the tight set line of his mouth as he tallies up the figures isn’t an encouraging sight.

With the stall temporarily closed and their gigs cancelled for the foreseeable future, Roger has been in a bear of a mood. The only thing stopping him from chain-smoking to deal with the stress is the threat of running out of cigarettes altogether, and without a kit in the house he’s taken to drumming on any available flat surface at all hours of the day. Freddie has half a mind to break his sticks just to get some peace and quiet, unless John does it first.

As for Freddie… Well, he’s actually almost fine. He’s worried, of course he is, but the four of them are safe and as near as they can tell their families are safe as well. He doesn’t have schoolwork to stress about, he’s always been hopeless with the finances, and the forced downtime has inspired a number of new songs that they can work on when they can get back in the studio.

So Freddie is fine - but his friends are not, and Freddie takes it upon himself to cheer them up however he can.

He gives Roger his new songs so he can work out drum parts for them. He makes tea for John while he shuffles around their budget for the third time that week, and he gently coaxes Brian out of the house to go grocery shopping in hopes that the fresh air will brighten his spirits. He gathers everyone together for game nights, and subtly breaks up fights before they can really begin, and does everything in his power to keep their moods up… but it’s not enough.

Brian still stays quiet and burdened by his unnecessary guilt. John still obsessively pours over their finances. Roger still paces through the apartment like a caged tiger on a short fuse. And Freddie knows that he can’t fix this completely, that there’s only so much he can do when the world is going to pieces around them, but he still feels like there has to be something more he can do to help.

Freddie lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, wracking his mind for something, anything, he can try to make things a bit better for his friends. He started making a list an hour or so ago but now it lies discarded at his side, because all of his ideas are utterly useless.

He can’t cook them a nice dinner because, well, he can’t cook. Period. He’s already forced so many game nights on them that he thinks they might riot if he even thinks the word “Scrabble”. There’s no extra money to pick up a treat at the grocery store, and there’s no use in trying to surprise them with a new movie when John can pirate anything they could ever want. He’s written so many songs already and each has only been a passing distraction for Roger, and Brian’s mood has been so bleak that there’s no room for music in his world at the moment at all.

“This is pointless,” Freddie grumbles as he flings an arm dramatically across his eyes. “This is all fucking pointless.”

And maybe Freddie isn’t as fine as he thought he was, because as soon as he has that thought something inside him breaks, just a little. Because all he’s done, since this entire mess started, was try to make his friends happy. And if he can’t do that anymore… then what’s the point?

Freddie might have a small breakdown but it’s quiet and contained. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t throw his notebook across the room. He just sighs, and rolls over to face the wall, and gives up.

Freddie sleeps, for a little while. And he smokes out his window until his lungs burn, and when John knocks on the door around dinner time Freddie, in a fit of pique, pretends not to hear him. If Brian can hide in his room for days on end, then so can I, Freddie thinks bitterly, though the pettiness of the thought fills him with shame.

He doesn’t want to get up the next morning. His one distraction is gone, and without it he doesn’t think he can muster up the energy to keep pretending that he’s alright. He doesn’t think he can go out there and smile at his friends and make John tea and give Roger new songs and coax Brian into being social for a little while. And if Freddie can’t cheer up his friends he thinks that maybe he should just stay in here, so at least his foul mood doesn’t make things worse for them.

And just when Freddie thinks he’s made up his mind, and he’s not going to leave this room until he absolutely has to… he smells something burning.

Freddie is out of bed in a flash, because what if Brian can’t smell the smoke in his room and Roger is outside having a cigarette and John slipped and fell and can’t get help and-

The scene in kitchen is certainly one of chaos, but not quite of the sort that Freddie had been expecting to see.

There is something burning but it’s just in the microwave, and Freddie sees Roger fish out a charred bag of popcorn as Brian throws open the kitchen window. John is stirring something in a pot on the stove and shouting at Roger, who’s shouting back at him as he throws the bag into the sink, and Brian grabs a tea towel and starts waving it try to clear the smoke.

And they’re smiling.

Freddie can’t remember the last time he’s seen all three of them smiling like this.

Roger is the first to notice Freddie standing in the doorway to the kitchen and he says, “Oh, shit! Freddie- fuck, you weren’t supposed to see this yet, it’s not ready!”

“See what? You three nearly burning the place down?” Freddie says. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out a bit too sharp. A day ago that would have gotten Brian shrinking in on himself, and Roger gearing up for a fight, and John going tense and silent - but today they all just laugh.

“That wasn’t the plan, no,” Brian says, and there’s amusement in his voice. Freddie hadn’t quite realized how much he missed hearing that, until now. “Roger found some old bags of popcorn buried in the back of the cupboard, and John looked up a few recipes for seasonings, and we thought-”

“Movie night!” Roger finishes for him. “Your pick, Fred!”

Freddie blinks at them and considers that. A movie night does sound like a good plan, and it’s nice to see the three of them in such high spirits. “Alright,” he says at last. “But you all should pick the movies-”

“No,” John interrupts. “This night is for you.”

“What?”

“We know what you’ve been doing, you know,” Roger says. “Distracting us, trying to cheer us up… and don’t get me wrong, we appreciate it, but it’s your turn now.”

“You’ve been stressed too. You may be a bit better at hiding it, but we’ve finally noticed. So you pick the movies tonight, whatever you want to watch,” Brian adds. He tosses the tea towel down on the counter and wrinkles his nose. “God, Rog, the whole flat is going to stink for the rest of the day!”

“Then light a candle or something, Brian, I don’t know what to tell you!”

“With the way things are going, if I do that then we’ll actually burn the place down!”

And Freddie laughs. Roger, Brian, and John are visibly startled and Freddie is actually a little startled too, because it’s genuine. He’s done plenty of laughing since this whole mess started but it’s almost always been forced, a show of normalcy to try to make his friends feel better - but it’s not forced anymore.

“Thank you,” he says and he means it, with every fiber of his being. “Thank you, my darlings. I needed this.”

Roger hip-checks him as he walks by to put another bag of popcorn into the microwave. “We know,” Roger says, and behind him Brian quickly - and a little frantically - adjusts the settings before Roger pushes the start button. “So, what movies are we watching?”

Freddie thinks about that for a moment. “How much alcohol do we still have?”

“Enough,” John tells him. “Why…?”

“And can I really pick any movie, or do you lot have veto power?”

The three of them exchange a bit of a worried look, but Brian admits, “We, ah- No. No, we weren’t going to give ourselves veto power.”

“But I’m regretting that decision now,” Roger mutters.

“Good.” Freddie beams at them. “We’re watching Cats.”

“No,” Roger says immediately. “God, please, no…”

“The new movie, or the stage play…?” Brian asks, though he doesn’t sound too thrilled by either possibility.

Freddie grins wickedly as he says, “Both. One, and then the other. I’ll let you choose which one we watch first.”

The three of them look pained and John is the first to sigh and say. “Well. We did say he could pick anything.”

John leaves the popcorn making up to Brian so he can go find copies of the movies to pirate. Roger also decides to leave the popcorn to Brian and instead takes control of the alcohol, while Freddie lights a few candles in the living room to help mask the faint burning smell still drifting through the flat.

By the time the food and drink are squared away, John has the first movie queued up and the four of them settle onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Someone’s drink is guaranteed to get spilled, and Roger is already flicking popcorn at the TV when he thinks no one is looking, and it’s messy and chaotic and loud in a way that none of them have been in weeks.

Maybe tomorrow Brian will withdraw again, and John’s brow will furrow with stress, and Roger will throw another pair of drumsticks out the window in frustration - but Freddie isn’t worrying about any of that right now. He’s not worrying about how to put on a brave face and cheer up his friends, and he’s not worrying about the future or the world outside their door.

All Freddie is thinking, as the opening credits draw to a close and Brian makes a horrified noise as the movie starts in earnest, is that living with his three friends was absolutely the best decision that Freddie ever made.

#queen fic #queen band fic #freddie mercury fic #queen au #queen band au #my fic #freddie #all four #(once again I fail to keep fics under 1k when filling prompts asdhfkdsjlsak)#(anyway I hope you like this Em!!! even if I changed it up from your prompt a little!!)#(also no shame to Cats it's one of my favorite musicals even if the 2019 movie was an atrocity before god)#1YearFics

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all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 5 years ago

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The Couple Next Door IV (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part III Here

A/N: Happy Early Valentine’s Day, Y’all! I wrote a lot for the next part of this series, so I decided to split them up in two chapters. I’m posting this one tonight, and the other will be up at some point tomorrow afternoon.

This chapter is in 3rd Person Omniscient for Rogie like the previous one, and the reader will not be in this chapter but the next one, so I apologize if it’s not that good.

Don’t forget to show your support and enjoyment for the fic by leaving likes, comments, and reblogging!

Summary: Roger has a chat with the band, and does some more thinking.

(Roger can be Ben Hardy!Rog or Real!Rog. Whatever stirs your soup.)

WARNINGS: Swearing, s l o w b u r n, Mentions of sex (BuT nO sMuT [yet(?)]), no revision and editing bc I’m lazy, I think that’s it.

This one is leaning more towards an M rating than a T, so read at your own risk.

“Eh… no no no. Take it from the top. Roger?”

The blond looked through the window to Freddie, who just made it to the practice.

He was wearing some ridiculous flashy outfit as usual, a pair of massive white sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose while an equally distracting burgundy coat made its presence known on the singer’s shoulders. Whether he wore a shirt underneath is still a mystery.

In his right hand, Freddie held a steaming hot cup of tea, gripped tight by his long fingers, each nail painted black. From the waist down, although he couldn’t see, Roger wouldn’t be surprised if Freddie was wearing booty shorts.

"You okay, Love?“

He only responded with a simple thumbs up, and an unenthusiastic look on his face; and although Fred didn’t seem too convinced, the music started playing, and Roger tried his part again.

"Been out of the flow all morning,” Brian informed the frontman, biting his thumbnail and crossing his legs from the wall he leaned against. “He got here, and didn’t count us in the first few times we played. Figured he needed some time to play for himself.”

"Hm,“ Freddie acknowledged, taking a peek at some loose papers scattered around the control desk and taking a sip of his tea.

"And how long ago did you two decide this?“

"Forty five minutes ago,” John grumbled at his spot at the control desk, legs crossed, and head propped up with his hand in bore.

"We tried confronting him and he’s not speaking,“ Brian explained. “Gave you a call and no one answered the phone. We assumed you were on your way.”

Freddie looked around the room, and he pointed at the second, empty seat at the control desk. “Where’s–”

After another timing mistake, Roger flung his drumstick towards the window, shouting profanities when the stick just riccoched and hit him right back, and startling the other three men in the process.

"… Y/n,“ Freddie finished carefully, eyes wide and focused on Roger’s movements.

"We both assume she’s got somethin’ to do with it. He won’t say anything.” John mumbled with a shrug.

Freddie pursed his lips, and sighed, scanning the control desk for the PA system’s button.

"Rog, my Love. Just… put the drumsticks down.“

Roger, who was about to send his second drumstick against the wall to meet the fate his first one did, lowered his arm slowly to his side, eyeing his band’s frontman in the window, who was twiddling his fingers at him.

"Good. Now, come on in here. We’re all gonna sit down. Have a chat.“

Roger��s shoulders slumped, and he left the recording room so he could regroup with his three other bandmates. Roger just frowned. Just as he suspected, Freddie was sporting a pair of body shorts.

Freddie moved his eyes from Roger to the empty seat next to John.

The drummer dropped into the chair, letting it roll him a little bit away from the staring eyes of the others.

"The others here tell me you’ve been a little… upset, since you’ve been here this morning."

Roger scoffed, and tried to stand from his chair, but Freddie dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I know there’s something wrong,” Freddie quietly mumbled. “We just wanna help you. Tell us what’s wrong, and you’re helping us, too.”

Roger chewed the inside of his cheek, looking guiltily towards John and Brian. “… Hope you know I didn’t mean to shout earlier, yeah?"

"Kind of assumed so, yeah,” John offered a kind smile, to which Roger tried to return, but he just looked uncomfortable.

"It’s uh… it’s just, um…“

"Is… y'know… is y/n okay?”

Roger’s smile fell. “Wait, why? Why would she not be okay? Did you get a phone call from her?!” Roger stood up, “oh my God, is she okay?!”

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down, calm down!“ Brian intervened, hands up. "She’s fine. We’ve heard nothing from her. We were just asking you.”

Roger sat back down, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and sighing deeply. “Look, I’m sorry. Yes. Yeah, it is her. She’s… Driving me nuts right now.”

"Why now? You two were perfectly fine last week.“

"It’s been the interactions with the neighbours,” Roger complained. “do you know how hard it is not to start sweating every time we hold hands in public now?”

John frowned. “But… You hold other girls’ hands all the time. Why would y/n be different?”

"I don’t know! I don’t know and that’s why I’m like this!“

Freddie smirked, and Roger could sense the glint in his eyes despite them still being covered by his sunglasses.

"Seems to me,” Freddie popped his lips. “Roger’s in love with y/n.”

John smirked at the thought, and Brian had this wide grin on his face Roger really wanted to slap off.

"Fred, I really don’t think that’s the problem here–“

”‘Ts weird. I’ve always had a thing for y/n, maybe I’m in love with her.“

"Seeing a girl naked by accident doesn’t mean you’re in love with her, John.” Roger snapped back nearly immediately, to which Brian chimed in:

"Funny how you’re the one telling John that when I had to say the same thing to you in high school.“

Roger was mad, but he was even more embarrassed. His face was a deep scarlet, and Freddie wasn’t sure if the colour of Roger’s cheeks were because of his fury, or because he knew Brian was right.

"Come talk to me, Roger. Talk to the King of Love,” Freddie coaxed Roger with his index finger as he fell back dramatically on the sofa against the wall opposite the control table.

Roger simply rolled his eyes and relocated to the empty seat on the sofa by Freddie’s feet. The frontman kicked his bare legs out and crossed them over Roger’s lap while stretching this thin arms and placing them behind his head.

"When’d this all start happening, Rog? I mean the weird feelings.“

To this, the drummer simply shrugged. "Last week we had dinner at the neighbours’. The husband was talking about children, and marriage, and it was like…"

Brian and John raised their eyebrows expectantly.

"It was like I wasn’t acting anymore.”

Freddie gave a knowing smile, and hummed gently. “Did you feel comfortable? Being domestic and romantic with her?"

"Fred, I’ve lived with those two for three years, and they have zero personal space.” Brian’s eyes moved from his reflection in Freddie’s sunglasses to the stressful gaze in Roger’s. “… is it different?”

"Bri, I had women over all the time when we lived with you. I had no reason to have a girlfriend. I slept around, got the physical affection I needed, and she was just a friend…“

John pursed his lips. ”Was,“

Roger nodded a little, his eyes casting downward and burning holes into his already torn jeans. "Yeah. Was."

The blond suddenly looked up at his other bandmates. "We’re pretending to be a couple in a conservative, strict neighbourhood. It’s not like y/n would allow me to invite groupies home with us while catty neighbours spy on us from across the way. I’m not getting the physical attention I used to have, especially since sleeping around is impossible now."

The room then fell silent, and no one exactly made an immediate effort to say anything.

And then John gave a half-shrug.

"Why don’t you ask y/n?"

"Ask her what?”

"Ask her to give you that attention,“ Freddie finished John’s point in a matter-of-fact tone.

”No,“ Roger gasped. "No. No no no!"

"What? It’s a great idea,” Brian tried to reason.

"It’s bloody suicide! What would she think of me?! A sex-addict? A creep? A waste of time?“

”Roger,“ Brian stopped Roger’s listing. "She’s a single, gorgeous woman who loves you with all her heart, romantically-speaking, or not. You two already have this sort of secret commitment thing happening anyways but with housing rather than physical affection.”

"And your point is…?“

Freddie took over for Brian then with a sigh. "She has nothing to lose. You have nothing to lose. Why would adding onto your deal be a bad thing?"

To this, Roger didn’t respond. He didn’t have an answer. Freddie continued. "You sleep with women with no strings attached all the time. Living with your best friend while also bedding her doesn’t seem like a bad idea. What are you gonna do, catch feelings for her? You’re just horny.”

"… Do you really think that’s all that’s wrong?“

"That you’re stressed and just need a good lay?” John clarified.

"Absolutely.“

It was almost as if a weight had been lifted off Roger’s shoulders. All of his past issues were gone, out of his mind.

He had nothing to worry about.

"There’s that smile we all needed,” Freddie gushed at Roger, who lowered his head in mild embarrassment.

"C'mon Rog. Let’s get to work.“ Freddie jumped up to stand before the control table, and Brian took a seat next to John. Roger returned to his drum kit inside the recording room, and after a count-in, Roger started drumming.

Needless to say, practice was flawless for the rest of the day.

_______________________________

A/A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed! Remember, new chapter up tomorrow!

@culturefiendtrashqueen @luvborhap @amy-brooklyn99 @scarsout @kimmietea @ohtheseboysilove @demo-wise @suavishowell @bohemianahoy @pippin248

#bohemian rhapsody #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #john deacon #brian may #freddie mercury

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glitterslag · 5 years ago

Text

First Time for Everything - Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: In which Roger inadvertently becomes co-parent to a four year old before he’s even finished university. Oh, and he loses his virginity in the process.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: single mum, broken family, bad relationships with parents, difficult sexual themes, period typical attitudes, homophobic language, poverty, some angst. Smut (virgin!roger, oral - male and female receiving -whipped cream), some language

A/N: First of all I wanna say thank u to the absolute lejond who requested this: you really unearthed a kink I didn’t know I had.

This, as usual, has turned into a bit of a Whole Other Thing. I’ve wanted to do a single mum oneshot for a while, and thought it would go really well with virgin Rog. Plus Roger with a toddler = automatic cuteness.

As y’all know I struggle with writing smut, and so I tend to quit while I’m ahead. Because of that, I’ve only included oral, and not the whole shebang. Plus, I felt like it was in keeping with the tone when Roger finds himself a bit overwhelmed with all the new sensations. I think we’d all agree that that still counts as losing virginity, though.

I’ve got to say I’m really proud of this. I think it might be one of my favourite things I’ve written since “Funny How Love Is”. It would be great if you could give it the same kind of feedback 🥰🥰

Enjoy xo

★★★★★

You had Robbie at sixteen.

Your parents sent you away to a Catholic institution for the duration of your pregnancy, as people often did back then, such was the scandal of being found out pregnant and not married. They had wanted you to give him up for adoption when he was born but you refused, and after meeting her grandson, your mother had relented.

They’d given you a little money to set yourself up, but insisted that you couldn’t stay with them. Too much shame on the family. You sometimes speak to them on the phone but it’s always strained, especially between you and your mother, and you always end the phone call feeling just a little sad, and empty.

Now twenty, your little boy is nearly four, and you’re living in a box flat in a tower-block in the middle of London. Roger’s just moved in next door.

He’s a student, just moved out of halls, making him the same age as you. It’s a strange realisation, to look at him. Realising that your life could have turned out a lot differently, had Robbie never been born.

You’re expecting him not to be very nice. People usually aren’t, not to a young single mother. Not one whose dye-job comes out of a packet, and who lets her four-year-old tricycle up and down the wooden hallway at all hours of the day. But he’s positively lovely.

That’s what Robbie’s doing, when Roger moves in.

“S’cuse me, little man.” He says, holding a cardboard box aloft as he waits patiently for your son to get out of his road. “That looks fun.”

And then:

“Hello,” he’s saying to you.

You feel him check you out, eyes travelling from your face down and then back up, and then back down again, all the way this time. The routine you know too well. You get it from nearly every man you meet. He doesn’t leer at you like most men, though, and you think to yourself that that’s something.

“Get out of the man’s way, Robbie.”

“Is your big sister bossy?” Roger asks him knowingly.

You swallow and start to say something.

“She’s not my sister, she’s my mummyyy!” Robbie declares before you can, throwing his hands up in the air.

You laugh and scoop him up. There would come a time when he might not be as proud to say that about you anymore, but for now, he would remain blissfully unaware that his unmarried twenty year old mummy wasn’t supposed to have a three year old baby.

Roger looks at you hard for a second, and you cuddle Robbie to your chest as you wait for his response, almost using him as a shield in in between the two of you, nervous. But there’s no need to be.

“Oh. Sorry.” He says easily, quickly disguising any judgement with a sunny smile. He sticks his hand out. “I’m Roger. How do you do?”

★★★★★

Over the months, you two develop a close neighbourly relationship. He comes over to fix your leaky taps, change lightbulbs, rewire the smoke alarm. As you get to know and trust him more, you eventually entrust him with Robbie some afternoons when you have appointments – doctors and dentists, things you can’t avoid.

One day, Roger’s complaining about his hair becoming too long and his roots showing and so on, and so you offer to do it for him, free of charge, as a favour. He says yes.

If he’s feeling dubious, he never shows it.

You come over that afternoon armed with all your gear, and when he opens the door Robbie charges past him shouting “Rogerrrrrrr!”, disappearing into the flat before Roger can even say hello.

“Have you got an old t shirt you don’t mind getting ruined?” You ask, eyeing the silky button up Roger’s wearing halfway undone to his belly button.

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll go and get changed.”

The door to his room is open a fraction, and you peep through the crack as you watch him pull his shirt over his head and search for another one. He’s standing with his back to the door, and you admire his wiry physique, lean muscle rippling as he shrugs on a faded old Breakaways t shirt. You snap out of it before he can notice, and busy yourself corralling an excitable Robbie, setting him up at the kitchen table with his crayons and his juice.

You pull on washing up gloves and bleach Roger’s dark roots first, making sure not to get it on the ends and frazzle them.

“How’d you get so good at this, anyway?” He wonders as he watches you loading the product onto the brush in his bedroom mirror.

“My housing benefits don’t exactly cover trips to the hairdressers.” You say, gesturing towards your own bottle blonde head. “How light do you want to go?”

You show him the colour chart on the back of the packet, and he calls you “very professional”, about which you’re pleased.

You notice the crack in his bathroom window as you take him through to wash his hair, covered over with an old Woolies bag but still leaking freezing air into the flat. You don’t say anything.

You make him sit on the floor with his back to the tub, leaning his head back as you support it in one cupped hand, using the other to angle the shower head over his hair.

“Just like a real salon.” He quips, and you grin.

You massage the shampoo into his hair and he groans in relaxation.

“I love having people play with my hair.”

Maybe it’s because you’ve not had any action for such a long time, but the noise does something to you.

You dry him off and then it’s time to cut. You trim his fringe last, squatting down in front of him and frowning with the concentration of trying to cut straight, and you’re a bit nervous being this close to him. He keeps making silly faces to put you off, though, and soon he’s got you giggling like no one else can.

You gently blow all the hair off the back of his neck and he lets out another little strangled moan.

”Sorry” he says quickly, embarrassed. “Jus’ tickled is all.” You bite your lip.

“Right, of course.”

★★★★★

The next day you see him in the foyer when you’re both down checking the post. You compliment him on his new hair, and he tells you he’s been thinking.

“You should cut people’s hair in the tower block.”

“What?”

That boy has had a few crazy ideas since you’ve known him, but this has to take first prize.

“It’d be cheaper than going to the hairdressers.” He points out. “Plus you’re really good at it, you could make good money.”

“What would I do with Robbie?”

“Well you’d be doing it at home, wouldn’t you? He’d be there.” He says, matter-of-factly.

“Or..”

He trails off.

“What?”

“Or I could take him. While you’ve got appointments.”

You gape at him.

“I- I could make you some posters to put up if you like?” He continues when you don’t say anything. “There’s a photocopier at uni I could use. Use it to make stuff for the band all the time. ”

Perhaps against your better judgement, you reach over and hug him. He feels warm and solid, smells clean and good and you realise you’re welling up.

“Thanks, Rog.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He says, using his Robbie voice on you.

“No need to get upset.”

“I love you.” You mumble.

Maybe you hadn’t realised it before, but it’s true. The boy’s gold.

He puts his hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“Love you too, darling.”

★★★★★

He comes over one night to borrow flour.

He’s started letting himself in at this point, using the spare key you’d given him “for emergencies only”. He always knocks to announce himself first, but you can guarantee he’ll be strolling in like he owns the place whether he gets an answer or not.

“Where’s the tyke?” He wonders when there’s a distinct lack of “ROGERR!” the second he walks through the door.

“Started at nursery this week.” You announce proudly.

“Christ.”

“Yeah.”

“Nursery.” He repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

“Christ.”

You can only grin back, chest puffed out with pride.

Anyway, he needs plain flour.

“Since when do you cook?” You ask sceptically, raising an eyebrow at him from the sofa.

“Got a date tonight.” He grins.

“Ooo.” You say, setting your cup of tea down on the coffee table so you can turn yourself properly to face him. “Is it that girl?”

“Tracy, yeah. She’s coming to my place for dinner.”

“Big step.”

Roger hadn’t had a girlfriend for the time you’d known him, and at first you’d suspected him of being more of a one-and-done kind of guy. But even though he was often coming in late from the pub or the club or wherever, there had been surprisingly little activity of the female kind coming from within the walls of his flat at night.

“Yeah, well. We’ve been on a few dates so far and it’s gone well, so I thought I’d invite her over to mine, y’know. Take things to the next level.”

You try to hide your disappointment.

“So do you think tonight might be the night..?” you trail off, but Roger knows what you’re insinuating.

He grimaces.

“Maybe…”

“Maybe?” You repeat. “What do you mean?”

He looks hesitant.

“Look, if I tell you something, do you promise it won’t leave this room?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

“Do you swear?”

“Roger,” you begin. “I’m a single mother. I’m stuck inside all day and my only friends are my son, the woman at the post office who I go to collect get my benefits from, and you. Who am I going to tell?”

“Right, of course.” He nods, eyes closed. One of his hands is out on the kitchen table to steady himself, the other on his hip. He hasn’t been able to stand still since he walked through the door.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

He takes a deep breath, and then he lets out a big puff of air.

“I’ve never slept with anyone before.”

★★★★★

You fight to keep your expression neutral as you process what the hell he’s just said.

A virgin?

Him?

How was it possible?

Roger was the best looking man you knew, and the kindest. And it was obvious he was popular, especially with women. It just didn’t add up.

“You’re not saying anything.” Roger says nervously, and you blink up at him.

“I guess I’m just..” You search for the right word. “Surprised.”

He closes his eyes and nods in agreement.

“Roger, how?!”

It’s the only thing you can say at this point.

He huffs a laugh.

“Well, if I’m honest, I was never very popular in school.”

“You weren’t?”

“They, um,” he lowers his voice, as if someone might be listening. “They called me a poofter. And, erm… other things.”

“Oh.”

To be honest, it didn’t come as much of a surprise to you, that people had called him that. It was horrible, all the same, but not surprising.

In fact, there had been a while when you’d even wondered the same. It might explain his gentle nature, you’d thought, if he was gay, and the lack of dating, and the fact that he’d never tried anything on you, even though you’d been close now for such a long while.

Not that you were cocky - not anything of the sort, but still. Most men would try it on with you, and even though you mostly wished they wouldn’t, you couldn’t say it hadn’t hurt when Roger didn’t try to go there at all.

“Was never really into rugby or anything like that.” He explains. “I played tennis, and I was alright at football, but I was never on the team, or anything. They all - the other boys – they- they’d laugh at me. In the showers?”

The ends of his sentences are going up like questions, and he looks like he’s having a hard time swallowing. You wonder whether this speech is something he plays over in his head often.

Whether it helps him justify it to himself.

“For being skinny. Y’know? And I was always a head shorter than everyone else ‘til I was about 17.”

“I’m sorry, Rog.”

“And then by the time I got to uni, I’d lost my confidence, I suppose.” He says it with a sad laugh that makes your heart sink.

“And it wasn’t the flirting that was the problem. I’m good at that-”

“I don’t doubt it.” You cut in without thinking.

He looks at you for a moment and your cheeks heat up, and then he’s looking at the floor again.

“And, well, I just never actually got around to any of… that.”

He makes an airy gesture with his hand.

“Why don’t you just get drunk and do it?” You offer. “No one would know any different.”

“Nearly did a few times.” He admits. “But when it came to the crux of it, I just couldn’t go through with it. Too nervous about stuffing it up.”

He gives a watery laugh.

“Oh, Roger. Why didn’t you tell anyone how you felt? Girls would be understanding.”

“You might be,” he reminds you. “But not everybody. I just felt like they’d all laugh at me. It’s completely acceptable for a girl to still be a virgin at 18, 19 20. But a guy? It’s just embarrassing!”

“Well that’s just a double standard-“ You cut in.

“Do you not think I know that?!” He says in frustration, and you butt in again, before things can get too heated.

“Anyway.”

He looks up at you expectantly.

“What are you going to do?”

You mean about Tracy, but he takes it more generally.

“I don’t know.” He says miserably. “I guess I’ll just have to stay one forever, now. I mean it’s just too mortifying at this point-”

“Oh it’s not that bad Roger for goodness sake, don’t wallow in it.” You scold him. “At least you aren’t me.”

He’s taken aback somewhat by that.

“What on earth d’you mean?”

“Well it’s not as if I get any action, is it?”

Bless him, he’s really looking at you as if he has no idea. And you’d be flattered, maybe, if the whole thing wasn’t so exasperating. You try to explain.

“At least you didn’t do it once or twice when you were sixteen, be unlucky enough to fall pregnant and then get saddled with a kid.”

You say it through your teeth, glancing around as if Robbie might hear you all the way from nursery school.

“And now that’s gonna be me for the next eighteen years, isn’t it?” You say it with a laugh that all of a sudden feels too close to a sob. “Until he grows up. Moves out. And then I’ll be what? Nearly forty? All before my life can even start.”

“Hey, come on-” Roger’s saying, sounding like he’s regretting starting this whole conversation, but you’re on a roll now.

“And it’s not like I’ll ever get married now, is it?”

You smile sadly, looking out of the window instead of at Roger, because you’re afraid that if you look at him directly, you might cry. For some reason he seems to be have that effect on you.

“Shot that horse in the face when I split up with his father. And no one’s gonna want me with him are they?”

You jerk your head towards Robbie’s empty bedroom.

“Oh, love..”

“Jus’ baggage, isn’t it?” You mumble, head down, staring into the dregs at the bottom of your cup. “No-one wants used goods.”

You can see Roger’s face out of the corner of your eye. He looks so pained. You’re too afraid to look up.

“Or at least, they don’t want me for the right reasons.” You sniff and continue, face set hard. Determined not to crack and cry. “Some of ‘em just think single mums are these slags they can do anything they want to.”

“Hey, enough.” Roger says stiltedly, voice strained. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” You insist. “That’s all they ever want me for. And all the ones who are any good are just put off by it. ”

You shrug and look out the window again, eyes fixed on the tower block opposite. There’s a woman in one of the windows, rocking her baby to sleep.

There’s nowhere else to look, so you just close your eyes.

“It doesn’t put me off.” Roger says in a small voice.

You hear him slowly coming over, feel the dip in the sofa cushion as he sits down next to you. He puts his hand on your knee.

“What d’you mean.” You say, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him. His blue eyes blink earnestly back at you.

He takes a deep breath.

“All of that- it would never put me off from wanting to date you.”

Your mouth drops open.

“What?” You whisper. “Really?”

He nods, moving his face close to yours.

You can feel your heart in your mouth.

His hand is still resting on your knee. It’s burning a hole through your jeans.

“I would date you too, you know.”

He swallows.

“I guess we could both help each other out, then.” He says hoarsely.

His lips are inches from your own. You drag your eyes away from his to look down at them, pink and wet. Ready. You can feel his breath on your cheek.

All you would have to do is lean in, and his mouth would be on yours.

Just then, you hear a sudden knock at Roger’s front door out in the hallway, and you spring apart guiltily.

“That must be her.” You mutter, turning away from him.

Roger’s rubbing the back of his head.

“She’s early.”

You stand, taking your empty cup over to the sink. He stays where he is.

“You better go and answer her.”

“Wait-”

You shake your head, bending down to search through the cupboards as he slowly stands and comes up behind you.

You push the bag of flour into his chest. He stares down at it dumbly, barely remembering it was what he came in for.

Tracy knocks again.

“Good luck.” You swallow.

He nods faintly, looking so lost you have to turn back around again, pretending to be busy at the sink.

“Let me know how it goes.” You say over your shoulder as he leaves.

But you don’t want to know. Not even a little bit.

★★★★★

You manage to stop yourself from going round until after you’ve dropped Robbie off at nursery.

You’ve been dying to see Roger all morning, but you were worried that things might have gone well the night before, and Tracy might still be there. The prospect of walking in on something you didn’t want to see was enough to deter you until the afternoon. A stab of jealously twists at your gut just thinking about it.

“So,” you say apprehensively as you walk in. Roger looks around from where he’s standing at the stove. “Did you?”

He shakes his head.

You make a noise of dismay.

“What happened?”

“Bottled it.”

“Oh no!”

He nods, grinning bashfully.

“Well you’ll just have to do it next time.” You say, taking a seat at the kitchen table. You’re trying not to look too relieved.

“Not sure there’ll be one.” He says casually.

“Why?”

He scratches at the back of his head with the spatula. Something he only does when he’s nervous. His t shirt has ridden up at the bottom, exposing his soft tummy. You look away.

“What happened?” You press.

“Think she was starting to get the vibe I wasn’t interested.” He says quietly. “Just saw her as a friend.”

“Because you weren’t pestering her for sex on the third date?” You frown. “God what is she, a bloke?”

Roger laughs.

“Not… just because of that.” He says leadingly. Nervously?

What was up with him?

“Then what?”

He dumps his eggs onto a plate, scraping out the pan before he spins around to answer you. He takes a deep breath.

“Because I couldn’t stop talking about you.”

He says it quite earnestly, matter-of-factly, even, and you stare at him, studying his face for any sign of a joke. You find none.

You feel your entire body go warm.

“Let’s go on a date, then.” You whisper.

“Ok.”

He says it steadily. You’re fighting to stop your voice from shaking.

“When?”

“This Saturday.” He throws out, coming to sit down opposite you with his plate.

Scrambled eggs on toast, HP sauce splattered messily all over them. Just how he likes it.

“What would I do with Robbie?”

“Could you get your mum to look after him?”

You snort before he’s finished saying it.

“Unlikely, Rog.”

“Well could you get a babysitter?” He suggests, voice thick through a mouthful of eggs.

“That costs money, Roger.” You say patiently.

It’s hard for people who don’t have children to put themselves into your shoes. Thinking like that doesn’t come naturally to them. They aren’t used to having to automatically come up with the Reasons Why Not.

“We could just..” He waves his fork around. “Have one at home. Y’know, with him here.”

You scoff.

“Yeah. And what a great date that would be.”

“Well it would be.” Roger says. “Robbie’s my little mate.”

You smile at that.

“ ‘sides, it would be quiet without him around.”

“Yeah.” You say suddenly. “Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it?”

The smile’s growing on your face. He grins back.

“It’s settled, then.”

★★★★★

“Mummy’s going on a date, Robbie.” You say to him, playing with his toys at your feet as you get ready in front of the mirror.

“Date.” Robbie repeats back to you, smiling uncertainly. He doesn’t know what it means.

“Roger?” He says, looking up at you hopefully. You smile.

“Yes, that’s right. A date with Roger.” You say, and he gives you a toothy grin, placated. “What a clever boy you are.”

You’ve no idea what he’s cooking. He did pop round this morning to borrow an onion, but apart from that, you’ve no clue.

You’re nervous.

“ROGERRR!”

Robbie runs inside before you can say anything as usual, and it takes you a minute to notice Roger’s wearing a tie. Top three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned as always, but a tie all the same. And he’s combed his hair.

You’re touched by the effort he’s gone to.

“You look nice.” He comments, as he pulls the door back all the way to let you inside.

“Thanks. So do you.”

He’s got wine, and apple juice for Robbie. He’s made him fish fingers and potato smileys, and spaghetti Bolognese for the two of you. At your encouragement, he gives Robbie a little bit of spaghetti on his plastic plate (you’ve come with a bag full of his things so he doesn’t fuss about the disruption of his routine).

“I’m trying to get him on to Grown Up Food.” You explain in a whisper.

It doesn’t feel quite like a date. More like old friends having dinner after not seeing each other in a while. You saw Roger this morning, but it’s been a long time since you’d had time to sit down and eat something together.

Honestly, you don’t mind it. You were worried there was going to be this weird tension there, now that you’d put a label on the occasion. But it just feels natural. Like catching up.

At one point, Roger reaches across and takes your hand over the table, threading his fingers through yours, and even though it takes you by surprise, you don’t let go. It feels nice. You eat the rest of your meals with one hand.

Robbie gets tomato sauce all over himself, naturally, and you realise it’s probably almost time for his bath anyway.

“Roger bath me?” Robbie pleads after dinner, tugging at Roger’s sleeve and you hesitate, looking up at him.

“I don’t know..” You start

“Want me to give you a bath, bud?”

“Yeeahhhh!” Robbie yells.

Roger looks at you triumphantly.

“Can you do it?” You ask, doubtful.

“Course.” Roger says. “We’ll be fine, won’t we mate?”

“Yeah yeah yeah!”

You sigh and relent.

“Alright, I’ll do the dishes.”

“Mummy’s only next door in the kitchen, Robbie.” You’re saying to your excited toddler moments later, after having unpacked all his bath stuff and giving Roger the walk-through. He’s pulling at Roger’s hand, impatient to get on with the fun.

“Don’t get the water too hot.” You tell Roger soberly. “And don’t fill it up any deeper than his tummy. Oh, and don’t let the water out until after he gets out.”

He shoots you a quizzical look.

You lower your voice.

“He’s thinks he’ll get sucked down the plug hole.”

“Gotcha.” He says solemnly, and then gives you a little wink and a grin. Your stomach flutters.

“Come on then, little man. Bath time.”

You leave them to it and clean up the kitchen. For a bolognese, Roger’s managed to get through pots and pans in Biblical proportions. And he’s got sauce splattered all the way up the tiled walls. You sigh.

You can hear Robbie squealing and splashing, both of their laughter floating down the hallway, and you realise you might have drawn the short straw.

You’re sweating by the time you finally finish up, and walk through to the bathroom to check on them.

They're in such a bubble of their own that they don’t notice you at first, don’t hear you coming to stand in the open doorway, leaning against it with one hip. You fold your arms. You’re trying to keep a hold on the grin that’s threatening to spread all over your face.

Roger’s got Robbie sitting up on top of the sink, wrapped up in a fluffy towel, and he’s brushing his teeth for him.

“Open wide, Robbie, that’s it- no, don’t bite my finger - good boy. Nice and clean, hey?”

In that moment, you’re struck with the realisation that Roger’s become a man while you weren’t looking. That somewhere along the line, he’s changed from that haphazard, clueless uni student you’d known when he moved in, and turned into this mature, capable man. You’d like to believe that Robbie has something to do with it.

You think that maybe he’s more of a man than any guy you’ve gone out with before. Maybe even more of one that anyone you’ve ever known.

You want to make him feel like a man. Tonight.

You know it’s time.

You clear your throat a little and he turns, grinning brightly. You smile, throat suddenly thick with an emotion you can’t place. You walk over and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“My boys.” You murmur.

Slowly, deliberately, you lean up and press a kiss against his still-smiling lips. It’s quick and chaste - Robbie is there, after all - but it’s romantic as hell.

You pull back and look at him. His eyes are shining.

“Mummy kissed you!” Robbie shrieks before bursting into a fit of giggles, doubling over on the sink, and instead of ruining the moment it just makes it better. You’re laughing too, and so is Roger, picking him up and lifting up high.

“Yes she did!”

He kicks his little legs in the air as Roger spins him around the bathroom, positively squealing with childish laughter.

“And now I’m gonna kiss you TOO!” You shout, lunging for your son and pressing kisses all over his chubby face, screaming his head off all the while.

“Mummy no!”

“Yesyesyesyesyes!”

★★★★★

You all have to do the bedtime routine together.

Getting Robbie into his pajamas, watching his night time cartoons for an hour and then reading him his bed time story. You put him down to sleep in the spare room and watch a film in the meantime, hoping that by the time it’s finished he’ll be in the floppy stage, so you can just carry him back through to yours and put him down for the night and he won’t stir.

“It’s a sleepover.” You’d told him as you were through changing him into his pajamas, while Roger set up the telly ready for Magic Roundabout.

“Sleepover.” He’d repeated, bouncing excitedly.

He’d fallen asleep barely a page into his bedtime story.

You and Roger cuddle throughout the film, your face set on fire the entire time. It’s the first time you’ve been this close to him.

When it finishes, you carry Robbie next door, tucking his warm, sleeping body into bed and kissing him on the forehead. He doesn’t stir. You quickly check your hair in the hall mirror before creeping back out, letting yourself back in to Roger’s flat.

He grins lazily at you when you come in. He’s lying sprawled across the sofa with his feet hanging over the arm, still watching TV with a glass of wine in his hand. He looks loose and happy.

“Hi.”

He leans over to put his glass on the coffee table as you walk towards him, opening his arms for you to fall into him. His body is so warm.

“Is he fast asleep?” Roger mumbles into your hair.

“Out like a light.” You confirm.

He hums.

Finally alone together.

“What d’you wanna do now?” He asks.

It’s casual, but you know better. You can feel the excitement thrumming under his skin. It’s like a live current. It’s contagious.

“What do you wanna do?” You counter, playing his game.

“You know.” He murmurs, lips skimming the outer shell of your ear.

The electricity jolts through every part of your body, sending his words right down to your toes. You feel every single hair on your body stand on end.

You shiver.

“Hey, we haven’t had pudding!” He shouts suddenly, and you jump a little, pulling back to look at him in surprise.

He looks genuinely annoyed with himself for forgetting.

“Pudding?”

“Yeah!”

“You made pudding?”

“Yeah! Well, no. Not made. Bought.” He says, quickly rolling off you to cross the kitchen.

“It’s alright, Roger, you don’t have to-”

He’s yanking open the fridge door before you can stop him, hunting for the forgotten dessert and you roll your eyes and smile.

Once Roger had an idea, there was no slowing him down. He always did like everything just perfect.

“I got strawberries!” He shouts over his shoulder, waving the packet around.

Not your favourite.

You weren’t about to tell him that, though.

You stick him a weak thumbs up from the sofa as he ratches around for bowls and spoons.

“Thought it might be romantic.” He explains with a smug grin as he tips them into two bowls at the kitchen table.

“Tonight’s already been romantic.” You assure him. “Have you got chocolate?”

“No, sorry. Did you want some?”

“That’s ok.” You say, trying to hide your disappointment. You walk over to sit with him at the table.

“I might have pouring cream?” He offers.

“That’s ok, Rog-”

“No really, I’ll go and have a look.”

You let him go, staring down at your strawberries gloomily. If you could’ve had chocolate sauce, it might not have been so bad.

You ate strawberries all the time while you were pregnant with Robbie, always craving for them at the most bizarre times of night. Ever since he was born, however, you’d just never fancied them in the same way again.

“I’ve got squirty cream?” He half-yells from inside the fridge, and your eyes light up.

“Aw yeah, wicked!”

He laughs.

“Great.”

“D’you want some strawberries to go with that cream?” Roger teases when you spray half the bottle into your bowl.

"Shut up, I like it.”

You end up getting a lot of it all over your face, and Roger takes great pleasure in watching you trying to wipe it off.

“Oh for god’s sake, get here.” He says, after you wipe at your cheek in vain for the fifth time. “You’re not even getting anywhere near it.”

He licks his thumb and wipes at your cheek, scooping up all the whipped cream from your chops. Without thinking, your hand shoots out to grab his own, and you lick all of it off his thumb, relishing the taste. You fucking love whipped cream.

Your eyes snap open when Roger makes a strangled noise of pleasure, and you realise you’ve inadvertently turned him on.

You smirk, swirling your tongue around the tip of his thumb, making sure you get every last drop. He throws his head back and groans.

“Oh, come on.”

You laugh and pop your mouth off him, looking at him in faux-innocence.

“What? I was just making sure I got it all.”

He digs his palms into his eye sockets, his answering grin was tortured.

“How much longer are we gonna drag this out for?”

You look at him in disbelief.

“You were the one that suggested dessert!” You argue.

“Yes, and I’m now very much regretting that decision.”

His hands are still over his eyes, so he doesn’t see the lightbulb go on in your head, and the wicked grin that follows it onto your face.

“I’ve got an idea.” You say, voice low. He looks up at you.

“What now?”

“How about we bring dessert into the bedroom?”

★★★★★

“Sorry I haven’t tidied up in here.” He mumbles as he trails in after you, surveying the mess before you. “Didn’t exactly think it would get to this.”

“This is lovely, Rog.” You say as you sit down on the bed, thumbing at the blanket with a wistful smile playing on your face. It’s a patchwork quilt, warm and worn, thrown haphazardly over the bed. The grey sheets are all peeled back and rumpled, and there are pillows strewn about all over the place.

“My mum made it for me.” He mumbles again, looking embarrassed. You smile, rubbing your finger along all of the different textures.

You realise what he’s said too late.

“Roger..” You say, whipping around to face him, standing above you beside the bed with the cream bottle still in his hands. “You do want to do this, don’t you?”

His eyes fly open wide.

“Yes!” He almost shouts, and you have to stifle a giggle. “Shit, sorry. Yes. I just, I only meant - I didn’t expect you to let me- y’know - on the first.. date.”

You shift slightly on the sinky mattress.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Oh, no no!” He backtracks, putting the food down on the bedside table and plopping down next to you. “No, god. I don’t mean it like that. ”

He stares earnestly into your eyes.

“Are you nervous?” You whisper, glancing sideways up at him.

“No.” He says steadily. “Not with you.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“A little.” You admit.

But it’s a good kind of nervous. The kind you haven’t had in a very long time.

You love him.

Maybe not in that way, not quite yet, at least, but as a friend.

And maybe soon as more.

You love him.

And so you close your eyes, lean in, and kiss him.

★★★★★

“That’s cold!”

Roger squawks as you squirt a squiggle of cream down the middle of his bare chest. You cackle, running a finger through your mess before bringing it to your lips to taste.

“Mmmm.” You exaggerate, closing your eyes in mock-rapture as you suck the cheap foam from your fingertip.

“Where else are you gonna put it?” Roger asks eagerly and you grin.

“Patience.”

You have to hold his hips down to the bed to stop him wriggling as you suck and lick the sweet cream from his nipples, his chest, his belly-button. He’s moaning and giggling with every swipe of your tongue, and there’s a dark patch growing in size on the front of his stripey underwear. He’s rock hard, straining at the waist-band, and you can see his bright pink tip poking out of the top.

You decide the fun’s not over yet.

“My turn!” You declare, pushing him so that he rolls off to the side, flopping down on your belly in his place. “Now you’ve gotta do it to me.”

You flip onto your back and close your eyes, grinning while you wait for him to plan his attack.

“Don’t get it in my pubes.” You remind him. “And don’t put it anywhere near my vagina.”

Roger’s the first person you’ve been totally naked with, lights on and all, since Robbie was born.

You love your marks and scars - they remind you of Robbie - but it had been hard to accept that your body was changed permanently, and at such a young age, too. For the first year or so, you could hardly even be naked around yourself.

With Roger, everything was different. His face when you’d first taken your top off, so full of this quiet awe - it was enough to make everything you’d been worried about fade into background noise.

You jump when he spurts the cream onto your lips.

You resist the urge to poke your tongue out and clean it off, because the next thing you know he’s climbing over you and kissing you deeply, the sweet taste filling both of your mouths.

Neither of you can stop giggling, smiling against each other’s lips, teeth clashing together and breath merging into one.

After he’s licked you clean (and sucked a strawberry out of your belly button), he decides he wants to pay you lip service in another way.

So far, he’s taken all the foreplay in his stride with a quiet self-assurance, but now you’re getting towards the real thing, he’s suddenly nervous.

He stops between your legs and looks up at you, a little unsure of what to do next.

He’s lying on his belly, legs bent and crossed behind him at the ankle, in nothing but his y-fronts and a pair of purple socks.

You feel him mumbling your name into the inside of your bare thigh, following it up with a sweet kiss against your skin.

“You okay?” You wonder, propping yourself up on your elbows to look down at him.

“I’m not sure what to do.” He admits, burying his face into your leg and blowing out a big huff of air. It tickles.

You try not to giggle at him, arms folded under himself and his face planted into your thigh.

“Just do what feels natural.” You tell him, stroking his blonde head and he groans, frustrated. “You’ve been doing good so far.”

“What if I do rubbish?” He argues. You laugh at that.

“Half of you are rubbish at it anyway.”

“That’s not very encouraging-”

“Look, all I’m saying is that practise doesn’t always make perfect.” You remind him gently. “You’re a good kisser, you’ll be good at this as well.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Just do what feels right, you’ll pick it up in no time.”

He looks up at you then, one cheek still resting on your leg. His breathe tickles against your skin.

You get an idea.

“Come up here.” You say. He looks at you confused, but you haul him up by the arm nevertheless, until your faces are level.

“Give me your hand.”

He hands it over, mystified.

You take the palm of his hand and bring it to your lips, kissing him there once first, gently, to make him smile.

“Do it like this.”

You say, and then you move your lips and tongue against the palm of his hand, simulating oral sex, in just the rhythm and pattern that you like it.

“Sthee?” You muffle into his hand. “Juth’st like tha’ ”

You look up at him to check if he’s taking it in. His cheeks are turning a dark shade of red.

He nods stiffly and starts moving down your body.

“Got it.”

“The clit is-”

“I know where it is.” He snaps, and you nod, leaning back against the pillow to let him get on with it.

He does it just like you showed him.

You knew he’d be a fast learner, but you didn’t expect him to pick it up quite so quickly, and quite so well.

He’s so eager to taste you, pushing your legs open wider, pulling you onto his mouth so you’re flush up against his nose and lips. He groans against your clit when you push and grind against him, and the vibrations send shockwaves straight through you.

“That’s so good, Rog.” You’re telling him, stroking his hair as he groans into you. “Just like that.”

“Yeah?” He breathes, taking a break to turn his head to the side and suck a dark bruise onto your thigh. “Am I doin’ good?”

“So good.” You repeat, eyes squeezed shut and your nails digging into his shoulders like you’re trying to kill him.

You let him carry on until he makes you come, shaking and grinding against his face, pulling him closer by the back of his head. He moans as you tug at his locks, cleaning you up enthusiastically.

His tongue soon becomes too much against your sensitive heat. You push him away with your foot, and he props himself up on his elbow, grinning.

“How was that?” He asks, turning his head to wipe his wet chin off on his shoulder.

“Come ‘ere.” You murmur in answer, hauling him up towards you and pulling him down for a deep kiss.

“That good, ey?” He mumbles against your lips, and you shut him up by kissing him harder.

“Your turn.” You’re saying next, anxious to move onto the next thing as you push him off and move to get on top of him.

His breathe hitches as you push him down against the pillows, and you stop just before you move to slip off his boxers.

“Has someone done this to you before?” You wonder.

His eyes don’t move from your face. His chest is rising and falling rapidly under you as you trace a finger along the waist-band of his underwear. You feel his cock twitch.

“No.” He says breathily.

“Get ready, then.” You say, moving to finally pull his underwear off but then his hand shoots out and stops you.

He’s gripping your wrist tight, face anxious.

“Are you okay?”

“I won’t-” He starts, glancing up to the ceiling as if he’s having to will himself to say it, “I won’t.. last long, if you do that. At all.”

You breathe a laugh.

“That’s the point, Rog.” You say. “If you finish now, you’ll be able to last longer when we fuck.”

“Oh.” Is all he says, laughing at himself self-consciously.

You lean up and kiss him again, trying to reassure him. He’s still grabbing onto your hand tight.

“Ready?” You ask, thumbs hooked inside his waist-band.

His skin is fever-hot.

“Yeah.”

He’s right. He doesn’t last long.

Not that you were expecting him to, but still. It’s quite satisfying how quickly he’s coming uncontrollably into your mouth, hips stuttering and unable to stop himself from thrusting all the way down your throat.

“Oh god, oh god, oh fuck.” He’s whispering like a prayer, body twisting on the mattress below you as you take all of him, nose pressing into his belly. He’s got a fistful of your hair, and in the last moments, it’s like he doesn’t know whether to push you off or pull you closer.

It tastes hot, and slightly sweet, and when you crawl back up to let him taste himself on your tongue he can’t help but moan all over again.

He’s a bit like a zombie after that.

You decide to just leave him to recover for a while, realising it’s about time someone went to check on Robbie. You pull Roger’s dressing gown off the back of the door and slip it on, turning around in the doorway to tell him you’ll be back in a minute.

He’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, a goofy grin plastered all over his face.

“Won’t be long.” You whisper.

You wonder whether the words even register at all.

“Is he..?” Roger wonders when you come back in. He looks like he’s come back to life a little, now sat up on his elbows.

“Flat out.” You grin, coming to sit back down on the bed.

You don’t bother taking the robe off, suddenly a little chilly after all of the sweat has cooled.

“So do you want to fuck then, or..?” You wonder, trailing a finger around one of his nipples in a circle.

He sits up fully and looks at you at bit sheepishly, scratching his head.

“Er, actually...” He trails off, and you look at him encouragingly, waiting for him to finish. “Would it be ok if we, er, left it? For tonight?”

You blink at him.

“Of course!”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be silly!” You say, reaching over to pull him into a one armed hug. He leans his head on your shoulder.

“It was really awesome, though.” He mumbles into your collar bone, pressing a wet kiss where his dark blue robe had slipped down. “Loved it.”

“Me too.” You say appreciatively, resting your cheek - sore from all the smiling - against the top of his head. His hair smells like coconut shampoo.

“M’really glad it was with you.”

He yawns, suddenly knackered, and you begin to feel the same.

He moves off you and to the edge of the bed, and starts pulling his underwear back on.

“And plus,” he adds, looking at you over his shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow.”

You grin back at him.

“You’d do it again?”

“Are you joking?” He snorts, as if you’ve asked him the most stupid question he’s ever heard. “Any time you like, darling.”

★★★★★

Robbie can’t be left on his own overnight, so you have to collect up all of your things and traipse back through into your flat, bare feet cold on the wooden hallway floor.

Roger comes with you, not wanting to send you off to sleep alone after all of that. You do a final check on Robbie, before slipping into bed next to him, huddling into him immediately for warmth. It get’s cold in your little flat at night time, and the heating was something both of you could only afford to put on in the very depths of winter. Roger wraps his arms around you.

“So was this more of a one time thing, then?” He whispers into the dark just before he falls asleep. “Or were you looking to fill a more... permanent position?”

His voice is light and silly, but the moment’s a somber one. You can tell he’s feeling nervous.

“I’d wake up to you every day if I could.” You say seriously.

He kisses you then, gentle and deep - no lust in it but full of passion, and it makes your toes curl.

“Tomorrow’s a start, then.”

You stare up at the ceiling, listening to his rhythmic breathing and thinking about the forgotten strawberries, left out to go over-ripe on the bedside table. You can’t help but lament all the lost nights you could’ve been spending curled up in bed at Roger’s side.

You wonder whether all of this shouldn’t have happened a long time ago.

Or maybe it had happened at exactly the right time.

★★★★★

@ixchel-9275 @oogachuggaoogaoogachugga

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #borhap #borhap imagines #queen band #Queen #queen imagines #roger taylor headcanons #young roger taylor #bohemian rhapsody #borhap boys #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy! roger taylor #my writing #1k celebration #requests #ask #blurbs

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illfoandillfie · 3 years ago

Note

Okay babe, two top fives, top five my fics and top five your fics (including blurbs)

Okay okay okay after a lot of thought (and a lot of time being distracted re-reading things kshksdkfksd) I think I have my answers:

Your Fics:

1. To Do List

im sorry im just whore about it like....Ben + face fucking + open blinds + calling me a whore? he's right and he should say it i think about this fic constantly

2. Feel Good

Listen....I've been into pedro since I he was in game of thrones but i entirely blame you for just how much i love him now skdskjfncksjds and i will never get tired your Thots about his hands.

3. At First Glance

Ma'am you need to finish this! i love the relationships between all of the characters so much and especially reader and rog the slow burn is ugh so good and fun and i want them to just admit they like each other already dammit! (altho i know they're not There yet but cmon)

4. Voulez-Vous Rendezvous

Ummmm Gwil and edging and cockwarming? Like wtf girl!!! I'm feral.

5. Part of the Deal

Gonna round this out with more dom ben because uhhhhhhhh well im whore sljksjfkfjksdjkj and also you write him so goooood

(Shout out to the blurb about trying to be quiet with Gwil and also fucking dad rog in a pillow fort lmao)

My Fics: (it should be noted that im fucking deep in my ben feels atm so while i tried to keep it fairly balanced in who i chose, i think i failed that lmao)

1. A Different Kind of Education

Listen. This series is so much work and takes so long to write and its becoming longer than i intended but I fucking love it. I love professor Rog sm. I love exploring all these kinks and I love writing reader's progress in understanding dom/sub dynamics and ugh i love how into it everyone is and all the comments and stuff ya'll leave its fucking wonderful.

2. 5 Simple Rules For A Successful Fake Relationship

Another long series but I reread part of it the other night and like....its good? sfkjskjflakd Also im a sucker for soft benny

3. Platonically

This probably doesnt come as a surprise lmao this series is obvi v personal to me and I love writing about this QPR. Just two idiots being bffs and fucking lmao thats the dream.

4. Ben being into dollification

It's a struggle to narrow down my faves because of the sheer number of things i've written lmao but I don't think I can ignore ben with a doll kink shdkjkajhfaksl i think its p obvious by now that the idea of being treated like a toy to be used is something im Very into so adding ben into it all makes me very tingly skjksfjslds

5. Fairy AU

idk if this series is one that would stay in my top 5 but atm it defs is ksjdksksdjks i've reread it ummm a few times lately 😳 the whole dubcon thing....being coerced/forced....hhhhhhhhhh

(shout outs to extreme bondage daddy rog and In A Rich Man's World because i love rich asshole ben talking down to me)

#this took so long and was so hard #skjffkjfksjdsjss #but i got there in the end #i considered rich mans world for the main list #but like.....as much as i love subby boys #i dont tend to reread them as much as when the boys are all dom lmao

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jmeddows2 · 5 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, my love (Roger Taylor x fem!Reader)

It’s finally here - my christmas present for @liliah39 I had so much fun creating this little piece, I hope you like it :) Merry merry christmas to you again! I had so much fun creating this for @dtfrogertaylor ‘s “Thank God it’s christmas event. Looking forward to more of these events. :)

Summary: Roger and Reader are best friends, they act very playful around each other, which makes it hard to see if there are real feelings involved. Warnings: swearing, sexual content word count: 1.7k Notes: sorry for mistakes, english is not my first language

"Wake up slags, it‘s 1 pm“ Roger shouted from the living room. Yesterday‘s pre - christmas party, the annual party before christmas eve that your friends held got a bit out of hand, especially after Freddie mixed up some strong 'Pink Lady' cocktails which you sipped on like there was no tomorrow. Pretty intoxicated from the pink poison Roger persuaded you to spend the night at their flat. You found yourself in Roger’s comfortable, yet small bed in the morning. You smiled to yourself as you heard him call your fiends Pat and Sue “slags”. The two girls also decided to stay the night, rather than tumbling home in freezing cold London in the middle of the night. Of course, Roger wasn’t serious in calling them out like that, it was more the idea of friends bullshitting each other and of course to get them out of the flat more quick.

You heard the door to the bedroom open quietly, then the bed sank a little as Roger slid back into under the blanket you two shared. "Good morning love. it‘s not that late yet, only 9am you can keep sleeping“ he softly whispered in your ear while pulling you into his arms under you shared blanket. You smiled pulling your body flush against him, draping one leg over his hips. "You‘re the best cuddle buddy ever“ you breathed into his neck. "Yeah? What‘s my reward for being so good then?“ Roger playfully asked while slowly tracing his fingers down your back. "What do you have in mind?“ you asked innocently looking up at him. Roger didn‘t have to think hard about it. "A kiss.... on the lips“ he smiled like an idiot, making you laugh. "No“ you laughed, moving further against him in the process. "No?“ he asked with a hint of dissappointment in his voice, but Roger kind of expected the answer anyway. It hurt though, but he would never admit it. "So, you won‘t kiss me now but you literally keep grinding yourself on my cock?“ he chuckled, trying lift his own mood. You both burst with laughter, but you then removed your leg from him. "Ok no, keep grinding on me“ he tried to pull your leg over him again, but you got off the bed instead. Roger watched you intently as you got dressed, with heart eyes as you would say. He was cute and liked you way more than you intended. You sometimes forgot about it though, which made situations like this torturous for him.

"What are your plans for today?” you asked while buttoning up your shirt to get him off his lovey dovey imagination. "Uhh just working a small shift at the market, you know people are awful when it comes to buying christmas presents last minute“ he got off the bed as well. You were stood in front of the full body mirror next to the small cupboard when you saw him stand right behind you. "I bet they‘ll go crazy for your market stall. London’s most valuable items can only be found THERE” you joked and felt him wrap his arms around you from behind. "Ha Ha“ his sarcastic laugh filled the room. He dipped his head down to kiss your neck. Yeah not what best friends are supposed to do at all but there you were. "You‘re going to stop by at the market, right?“ he rested his chin on your shoulder with an expecting look in his eyes. "Sure“ you smiled at his reflection and it made him light up. A quick kiss on his cheek and you exited the flat he shared with Freddie, realizing that Pat and Sue must have left right after Roger woke them rather unpleasantly. Lunch came in no time and as expected Kensington Market was busy on this cold Christmas Eve. As you entered the building though, you were hit with holiday cheer. There was a little stall at the entrance that prepared fresh apple cider, a few stalls later an old lady had christmas spices spread all over the table to "call on all good christmas spirits“ as she would say. Once you were on the second floor of the market, the christmasy atmosphere didn‘t die down in any way. There were decorated trees stood in between all the stalls with one standing out the most. To no surprise it was Freddie and Roger‘s. "That’ll be three pounds, dear” Freddie handed over an old salmon colored scarf to the old lady, who pretty much only bought the scarf because she pitied the poor boys. You were nearly sure all their costumers did. Not to mention especially Roger’s clothes often had holes that were patched up with another piece of fabric that didn’t quite fit the color of the original piece. "Hi love” Freddie greeted you while he still engaged in business with the old lady. You entered the small stall that was about 10 feet times 10 feet in size.Roger was sitting on a little stool with a newspaper in his hand. His eyes were roaming over the pages before he looked up to meet your eyes. "You came” he lit up and patted his thigh for you to sit. "Of course, Rog. What else would I do with my time?” you laughed at him and took a seat in his lap. "Hi” he mumbled against your cheek,giving a brief hug, before keeping his arms still around with the newspaper spread in front of the two of you. You gave him a questioning look but then he turned to explain why he circled certain things in it. "Just flat hunting with Fred” he pulled you closer to him in his lap. In moments like this you wondered how it would be just easier admitting your feelings to him, given the fact that he was obviously doing his best to make you fall in love with him. Roger was giving you all the signs either verbal or nonverbal. Signs a decent human being would naturally “send” out to their crush in hope of gaining some attention, in hope of spending more time with them. But there was always some kind of uncertainty in every situation. Roger was playful, maybe it was all a joke to him. All the hugs and kiss, little, gentle touches, the way he desperately clung onto you whenever he could. You sometimes felt like he was just trying to keep you warm for him, in case other relationships of his failed. The comfy fabric of his black sweater mixed with the smell his cologne made you feel warm and comfortable in this position. He wore a concentrated look on his face. Something about the moment just felt right so you shuffled closer to him to put your head on his shoulder,where his golden shoulder long hair ended. The smell of his hair filled your nose while your other hand went around his neck to softly tug on the other side of his hair. He seemed to enjoy it so much, that he quickly put away his newspaper. “How was your day, love?” he asked batting his eyelashes at you and you swore he was the cutest boy you had ever seen. “Average but getting much better by the second now” you smiled back at him. “Is that so?” Roger smirked while softly rubbing circles with thumb on your thigh. Just when you moved your face awfully close to him - “Oh you love birds, getting it on early? It’s not even dark yet” Freddie interrupted. “piss off Fred, as if Mary and you only shag when it’s dark out” Roger laughed. “Of course not Roger dear, I’m sure you are the best witness for that” Roger’s face formed like he bit into a lemon and you burst into laughter. “As if you wouldn’t bring girls home all the time, Rog” you chuckled, daring to make a statement while trying to show no signs of jealousy. “To be honest?” Freddie answered for him. “Since you two are literally joined by the hip our dear Roger here hasn’t brought a single girl home. Seems like you’re either a real cock block or you just put a spell of love on him” Freddie joked, obviously knowing it was the second option. Roger on the other hand turned red as a tomato. Thankfully for Roger, Freddie returned to the front of the stall because of new customers. That way Freddie had no chance to go on about how hopelessly in love Roger really has. “Is that true Rog?” you got off his lap to stand in front of him. He swallowed thickly, trying to find the right words to say. Roger knew he couldn’t fuck this up. There were only two options he thought the situation could end in. Either you would admit your feelings for him as well and he gets to live out all the countless situations with you that had been replaying in his head for much to long now. Or you would break his heart and stop being his best friend. He knew chances of getting hurt were rather big. And choosing the right words to say was hard for him, especially without having at least a bit time to mentally prepare for it. You looked at him expectantly. Expecting him to finally confess what all of this was about. The playful, yet loving way you treated each other day by day, the looks he would give you that made you fall in love with him. Roger wasn’t perfect, sometimes annoying, but you didn’t mind, not one single bit, because he was all you ever wanted. “Yeah it’s true. How could I bring another girl home, when the only person I want to have with me is you?” Roger confessed with a shaky voice and glassy eyes. “You should have realized that by now” he added. “You’re such a melt” you straddled his legs to sit on him again and gave him a big hug. The kind of hug he longed for since the day you first met. Now it happened for the right and realest reasons only. It felt different than any other of the thousands of hugs you shared before. It was warmer and exciting, and you couldn’t fight the loving feeling spreading through your whole body. “Are you going to kiss me now or what?” you bit your lip looking at his. Roger smirked at you, taking your face into his hand and closin the space between the two of you. His lips felt as soft as expected, which soon turned from soft and gentle into the needy kind and Roger’s fingers where roaming your arms. “Finally,” Freddie squealed behind your back which made Roger jump at first, then smile into the kiss. You only parted when you felt Rogers teeth on your lips from all the smiling. “Time for some booze, because this christmas is going to be extra jolly for you two darlings” Freddie trotted down the market hall to get some booze. “Suppose it will get extra jolly huh?” Roger wrapped his arms tightly around you. “Merry Christmas, my love” he kissed you once more, before Freddie returned with his hands filled with all kinds that would make you regret drinking it all the following morning.But it all didn’t matter in the end, beause it would be your first proper christmas with Roger.

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