a long time coming {Roger Taylor}

angrylizardjacket:

Anon asked: What if you did one where it’s like roger and the reader have a fight and he kinda storms out and goes to the studio cause the guys are there or some shit and the reader shows up later just like we can fix this for the sake of our family or you can leave and that’s how he finds out shes pregnant… sorry if it’s stupid you don’t have to do it

Anon asked: could i request an imagine where you tell roger you are pregnant and you are scared that he doesnt want kids and he starts crying bc he is so happy? thank you 💞💞

Anon asked: can you please write more angsty ben hardy!roger taylor x reader? ❤️

A/N: 2008 words. I sort of mangled all three prompts together, a little angsty in the middle. I hope you enjoy!! 

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“We’re gonna be late!” Roger’s voice rang out through the apartment, while you were buried in the drawer full of clothes that had slowly become yours over the past year. Pulling out a brightly coloured button up, you pulled it on, leaving the front unbuttoned over the top of the rest of your ensemble. 

“I thought I left this shirt at my place.” You breezed past Roger who was waiting by the bedroom door, jingling his keys impatiently in his hands.

“Then why would you try and look for it?” He asked, rolling his eyes and following you from the apartment. 

“Because I thought it might be in there anyways,” after a beat, you turned to flash him a sunny smile, “and it was!” Halfway down the stairs, on the second landing, you give him a little twirl, showing off the shirt. He looks you over, slight smile tugging at the edge of his lips, and you continue to traipse down the stairs.

“We’re still gonna be late.” He was smiling as he said it, and followed you out to the car. “Was everything alright this morning?” He asked, unlocking the passenger door for you before moving around to his side. You knew he was referring to the fact that you’d woken up at the crack of dawn to be sick. You hadn’t realised you woke him, or that he’d heard, and you tried to brush it off.

“Yeah, just must have had some bad food last night.” Your smile was weak and unconvincing, though he didn’t seem to notice. When you considered it, however, you wonder how he’s not noticed, it wasn’t the first time you’d woken up unbearably nauseous. Even on the days where you woke up fine, there was a chance that you’d have it wash over you like a wave, and you’d need to find the nearest bathroom. Though you had your suspicions of the cause, and the tests to back them up, you were hesitant to raise the idea with him.

“I’m just saying,” you steered the conversation back to the previous discussion, tone picking up, “it would be easier if I knew all my stuff was in the one place.” You pulled on your seat-belt as he started up the car. He was very quiet. “Like, if we officially moved in together.” You’d been thinking about it for a while. The words terrified you, but in reality, it wouldn’t be much of a change, you hadn’t actually stepped foot in your own house for the past two and a half months, and between the two of you, you could afford the rent of a slightly bigger apartment.

“Why?” 

The two of you sat in the silence that his answer had created, you shocked, him looking a bit like he regretted being so blunt, not that he’d apologise.

“Because it’s… it’s what people do, Rog.” There was an anger, a panic rising in you, your fingers laced together, resting over your stomach as you turned to frown at him.

“Isn’t it a bit-” He clenched his jaw, stopping himself mid sentence, and you could see his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“A bit fast?” You asked, the panic turning to disappointment, anger now bubbling away, “I’m sorry that I suggested living together after over a year and a half of dating.” He’s got the gall to be angry, and you turn back to face the road, both simmering in the silence.

“If we move in together, I’m gonna be on tour and you’re eventually gonna leave.” He spoke through his teeth, as if he had to force the words out. It took you a moment to consider what he had said, but your anger began to dissipate.

“Why would I leave you, you dipstick?” Leaning back, you could feel the heat of the car making nausea swirl within you.

“Did you just call me a dipstick?” He asked, turning for just a moment, to squint with confusion at you, before turning back to the road.

“Why would I leave you?” You repeated for emphasis, leaning forward to crank the air conditioning.

“You’ll get bored of being by yourself, or find something you think is better,” he paused for a minute, “which is ridiculous, but not out of the realm of possibilities.”

“God, you’re so used to kicking girls out of bed, it’s just a step up to kick something good out of your life, isn’t it?” You hissed, vitriol dripping from your words as your own fear and paranoia picking up, your nausea increasing. Roger pulled over, furious.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He snapped, and you took in a deep breath to steady yourself before turning. He’s still holding the steering wheel, white-knuckled, whole body tense where he’s still looking through the windshield.

“If we move in together, I’m not going to be there.” You repeated back to him the underlying message you’d heard, and watched as his muscles relaxed as he began to realise what he’d said. “Do you see a future with me, Roger, at all?” You asked, voice quiet as you turned to look ahead, blinking back tears you hadn’t realised had begun to form.

“What kind of question is that?” He asked, and you let out a humourless laugh, unclipping your seatbelt. 

“One with a wrong answer.” You replied, opening up the door and stepping out. “Go to practice; if you’ve got a different answer after, you know where I live.”

All the anger that had been building in your body dissolved the moment he turned the corner, and you burst into tears on the side of the road. Every fear you had about your future since discovering your pregnancy had hit you tenfold, and after a moment, the nausea breaks and you’re throwing up into the bushes, teary, sick, and alone.

All you want is a fucking hug, and to be told it’s alright. You knew getting involved with Roger was a bad idea at the start, knew he wouldn’t want the family life, or something long-term or committed, and here you were, a year and a half later, with the potential of all three, and he’d thrown it back in your face.

Without thinking, you start treading the now unfamiliar route back to your old home, weary already despite the early hour, your whole body aching. You’re half a block away when you realise you don’t have your keys, and a fresh set of tears tracks down your cheeks as you head back to Roger’s.

“Y/N, dear?” You pick up the phone at his house out of instinct, and Freddie knows it’s you without even letting you speak. You make a small noise of confirmation, wrapped in a towel, taking advantage of the facilities while you could, with Roger still at practice. You hear what can only be the sound of a tambourine going flying in the background of Freddie’s end of the line. “Roger’s in a mood.”

“Serves him right.” You mumble, and you can hear Freddie covering the receiver, but not well enough to completely muffle himself.

“Well, you’re right, she is there, and she’s in a mood too.” Another crash, and someone else yelling distantly, followed by a third crash. “Please come and talk with him, he’s already broken three individual drumsticks and a tambourine.” He uncovers the receiver to talk to you, and you hear what is distinctly Brian’s voice calling ‘two tambourines’ and another crash. You take in a deep breath.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.” You huffed, and Freddie sighed deeply. “Ask him if he sees a future with the band.” You sneer, catty at the suggestion that simply waltzing in and talking would be enough to fix what Roger had implied. 

“Absolutely not.” Freddie replies automatically. “Come and collect him before he kills Brian or Deaky.”

“And what about you?” You ask, and you hear Freddie laugh.

“Bold of you to assume Roger could kill me.” And he hangs up, just like that. After hanging up the phone, you step into the shower to brood, before finally getting dressed and hailing a taxi.

You knew what you needed to do, you needed to get a straight answer out of him before you told him about the baby; you had your family and friends if it came to it, but whether or not you’d need to call on that support network depended on his answer.

Brian, John, and Freddie were all sitting on the one sofa in the reception area of their studio space. They tell you he’s in there, but none of them make a move to lead or follow you in. 

He’s laying in the middle of the space, not wearing shoes, holding a single broken drumstick, one half in each hand.

“What do you want?” He asked, not looking at you, flicking half the broken drumstick to the side of the room.

“To stop you from killing your band members.” You responded, voice level as you approached him.

“They all ran out, I think they’re safe.” He’s speaking in the same, level tone as you. Emotionless. A little heartbreaking. “You should go with them.” 

“Why would I leave?” Voice soft, you finally sit beside him, parroting your own words from earlier. His gaze is still shallow when he turns to look at you, there’s no anger there, no bitterness, there’s nothing.

“Because I’m a liability. Can’t be trusted and all that shit.” He paused, looking back up at the ceiling and flicking the other half of the broken drumstick to join the first. “I break things, Y/N.”

“You haven’t broken me.” As you say it, you finally see some expression return to him, shock, a little awe even. “A year and a half, and,” you let yourself smile a little, reaching out to take his hand, which he lets you, threading your fingers together, “I’m still whole.” And then some, you think, though you’ll get to that later. “I have friends and family outside of you, Rog, I won’t be alone when you’re on tour, so if that’s your main reason for not wanting to move in together or whatever, I gotta ask again; do you see a future with me?” He’s quiet for a long moment, contemplative, before he frowns a little, finally looking you in the eyes.

“Do you see a future with me?” He asks back, he actually sounds a little nervous, but you smile, and you see the nerves vanish.

“Of course.” You admit, and he sits up at that. Hesitating for a moment, you drop his gaze, pulling your hand from his your rest it on your stomach. It was now or never. “I’m pregnant.” When you’re met with silence, you feel your blood run cold, and look up at him. His expression reads nothing but shock, before bursting into a smile. Relief washes through you as he reaches out and takes your hand.

“Pregnant?” He asks, and you nod, a small smile on your lips. “And it’s-?” 

“Yes, Roger, who’s else would it be?” You snorted, and he pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you, joy seeming to seep from his pores. All the fear and stress you’d been bottling up for the past few weeks dissolved in that moment, the worry that he’d reject you the moment he found out, that he’d see it as as burden or something that distracts him from the band. 

“I’m- I’m a dad?” You could hear his disbelieving murmur by your ear, and when he pulls away from you, there’s something almost awestruck in his eyes. “I love you.” He tells you, kissing you passionately.

“Everything alright in here?” You hear Brian at the door before you see the rest of the band peering through, and Roger leans back and grins.

“Everything’s great!” He assured them, and you lean forward, letting him wraps his arms around you as you rest your forehead on his shoulder with a giggle. “Everything’s bloody fantastic.”