ghostxmonument:

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

AN: This is a part two to Betrayal, which was originally a request from my 1k Celebration. There was a large request for a part two, so I happily obliged 😊 I do want to make a disclaimer that I do not condone cheating even in the slightest! I’ve been cheated on numerous times before, and it’s one of the worst things you can do to someone you care about. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Permanent tags: @aylinnmaslow

It had been a couple of days since you had woken up in Brian’s room. You hadn’t heard from Brian or Roger, so you had no idea how things had gone between the two of them. You had hoped that Roger had listened to you and placed all the blame on you. You still didn’t remember who had initiated the decision of you going home with Brian, but it didn’t matter. Brian was his best friend and his band mate. You were just a girl who could easily be replaced. You had proven that you weren’t trustworthy enough.

You had locked yourself in your apartment, and hadn’t stepped outside since you got back from Roger’s flat. Your hair was greasy and pulled up into a messy bun on the top of your head, and you were wearing a sweater that Roger had left at your place. You knew that you were just torturing yourself by wearing something that smelled like him, but you didn’t care. You wanted to mourn the loss of one of the best relationships you had ever had. You wanted to hurt. You wanted to hold on to that last piece of him for as long as you could.

You were sat on your couch, a tub of ice cream in your hand, watching a cheesy drama on the television when there was a knock on your door. Your hand froze over your spoon, and your wide eyes turned towards the door. You hadn’t been expecting any visitors. You thought that you had been successful in shutting everyone out by not answering your phone and never calling anyone back. There was a moment of silence, in which you turned your attention back to the tv, when there was another, more insistent knocking.

Slowly, you set your ice cream on the coffee table in front of you, and grabbed a pair of sweatpants that were hanging over the arm of the couch and slipped them on. Another knock rang out through the apartment, and you grew even more confused over who could want you to answer so badly. Finally, you made it to the door, undid the locks and hesitantly pulled it open. Your heart stopped when your eyes landed on the man standing on the other side.

Roger’s normally beautiful blond hair was a mess, and his eyes were downcast on the floor in front of him. When he heard the lock slide open, his eyes lifted and you were shocked at the dark circles around them. He looked tired, he looked lost, and when he saw you, he just looked sad.

“Roger? What are you doing here?” You asked quietly, still hiding yourself partly behind the door. He didn’t respond, but only motioned his hand towards you as if asking if he could come in. You gave him a small nod and pulled the door open farther so that he could squeeze through.

You immediately became aware of how big of a mess your apartment was. You hadn’t bothered taking out the trash and there were empty pizza boxes and take-out cartons cluttering your dining room table. You watched as Roger looked at the mess around him, and even though your apartment was filled with junk, you knew that it didn’t look nearly as bad as you did.

“I talked to Brian.” Roger said quietly, as his eyes landing on you again.

“Roger, please don’t be mad at him. It was all my fault, and it was a stupid mistake-“

“Funny. He said the same thing about you. Claimed he was the one who made the first move.”

Your stomach dropped and you could feel confusion taking over your features. Why would Brian say something like that? Maybe he was just trying to protect you like you were trying to protect him. You didn’t know what else to say. You really didn’t have any idea on what happened, as much as you wished you could give Roger an explanation.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Roger.”

His normally brilliant, lively blue eyes stared back at you seemingly lifeless. You could tell that, like you, he hadn’t been sleeping. You felt nervous under his gaze as he continued to stay silent. You wanted to know what he was thinking. You wanted him to tell you why he was here. You had resigned yourself to the fact that he would never speak to you again. You sure didn’t deserve it. Roger quietly made his way over to your couch and took a seat on it.

“It’s also funny, because I believe you. I’ve always been the one on your side of this situation, so I never realized how bad it hurt to be on the receiving end.” You felt a pang in your chest at the sadness in his voice. He was rubbing his face with his hand, his eyes didn’t meet yours. “I miss you, YN.”

Your heart flipped and you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a step closer to him. He had stopped rubbing his face, but he was only looking at his hands. He should have been angry with you. You didn’t want to delude yourself into believing that he was really going to forgive you. When you didn’t say anything, Roger looked back up at you.

“As much as I want to hate you, I still love you.” There was a strain to his voice, and you could see the unshed tears forming in his eyes. The sight caused a lump in your throat, and you felt you knees go weak. You hadn’t allowed yourself to cry all day, trying to accept the fact that he was gone. But now, you took a seat on the end of the couch farthest away from him, and you felt a tear run down your cheek.

“I never stopped loving you, Rog. I have never imagined myself with anyone but you, and I wish that I could take back what happened. It was a mistake, and I can assure you that there were never any feelings between Brian and I.”

He nodded stiffly, as he inched towards you, and his hand reached out to brush the tears away from your eyes. Your breathing faltered at his touch and your eyes slipped shut at the sensation that spread through your body. While you couldn’t remember the night you spent with Brian, you knew that anything that two of you had done had not felt even remotely close to how it felt just to have one of Roger’s fingers flutter across your skin.

“I don’t know if I can move past this very quickly.” He whispered, and you could feel the couch dip down as he scooted closer to you. You still hadn’t opened your eyes. “But I really don’t know if I can move on without you.”

Your eyes snapped open, and you became fully aware of just how close Roger was. His eyes were scanning your face, and you could now make out the redness of his eyes and the frown lines that were growing ever prominent near his mouth.

You weren’t sure if you should, but you slowly lifted your hand to press gently against his cheek. He leaned into your touch and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. It had only been two days, but they had been the loneliest two days of your life. Without Roger, you had been ready to completely give up. But here he was, giving you hope.

“I love you.” You whispered, your thumb rubbing gentle circles against his cheek. You didn’t need him to respond. You didn’t need him to say anything, because you just wanted him to hear you. You needed him to know how you felt, and how you had always felt. “I would spend forever making this up to you if I could.”

You hadn’t ever seen the vulnerable look at that was now on Roger’s face. His cheek was still pressed firmly against your palm, and his eyes were wide as he stared at you. Every feature in his face had softened and you couldn’t help but feel like he looked like a small boy. The image both warmed and hurt your heart.

“Forever is an awfully long time.” He murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Not nearly long enough.”

Then, for the first time in days, Roger smiled. Your heart leapt in your chest and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling back. You knew that this wasn’t over. The two of you had a lot of things you needed to work through, and you understood that it may take a while before Roger could completely trust you again. But when he looked at you, and you could see the love in his eyes, you knew that the struggle would be worth it. You were going to keep your word and prove to him that he was the only one for you. Even if it did take forever.

overcastskeleton7:

If I tagged you and you saw the notification please let me know!

Pairing: BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

The reader finds out she’s pregnant with Roger’s baby after they’ve broken up

Warnings: Language. 

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED

If you’d like to be tagged, please send me an ask!

You sat on the toilet, staring at your spotless knickers. Your period was late…your period was never late. Your body was like a clock, never late nor early. It was somewhat comforting, except when it wasn’t.

You were pregnant.

You know who the father was, you hadn’t spoken to him in three weeks, since the two of you broke up and you moved in with your brother.

Roger Taylor, certified womanizer, with a liver of steel and international fame, was the father of your unborn child.

Tears came to your eyes as you remembered the last night you saw him.

It was late, and he was still out. You weren’t surprised by this, Roger had a nasty habit of staying out all night and falling into bed in the early hours of the morning.

Tonight was no different than most.

You were asleep when he stumbled through the door. The sound of the door slamming shut roused you from your slumber.

“Roger?” You called, pulling the blanket up to cover yourself. “Is that you?”

There was a crash and a giggled “Fuck.”

You sighed, lying down on your side and pulling the blanket over your head.

Roger stumbled into the room a few minutes later, and sat on the bed next to you. “(Y/N), are you awake?” His words were slurred.

“I am now,” you said, voice muffled by the blanket over your head.

“Wanna see you,” he whispered, pulling the blanket down. “There she is.” He smiled. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You turned on the bedside lamp. Roger was visibly disheveled, his shirt was rumpled, his hair a mess and eyes red. There was a red lipstick stain on the collar of his shirt that wasn’t there when he left for his gig earlier.

“Have you been smoking pot again?” You asked, a scowl on your face.

Roger’s thumb brushed over your lips. “Little bit.”

“You said you were done smoking.” You shied away from his touch.

He shrugged. “I say a lot of things.”

You scoffed and rolled onto your side, body facing away from him.

“Baby, don’t be mad at me.” Roger groaned, shifting to lie in bed beside you. An unfamiliar smell invaded your senses, it smelled like cheap rose perfume; it made you sick.

“I’m not mad at you,” you snapped a little too harshly.

He wrapped his arms around your body. “Could have fooled me.” He mumbled as one of his hands played with the hem of the shirt you were wearing.

“Why would I be mad that my boyfriend stays out all night partying after shows, and comes home smelling like another woman” You pushed his hands away from you.

But he persisted, pulling you back against him. “She was just some groupie, all she did was flirt with me.” His lips brushed against your shoulder.

“Is that why her lipstick is on the collar of your shirt?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, pushing away his wandering hands once more. “Stop touching me Roger, I’m not in the mood.”

 Roger huffed, and pulled away from you. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” You shouted, getting out of bed. “I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to have sex with you after you’ve been out all night doing drugs and flirting with other girls? Why don’t you go fuck your groupie instead?”

He stood, stumbling uneasily. “At least she’d put out for me, instead of acting all bitchy.”

You stared at him, blinking in surprise at his words. “What did you just say to me?”

“You’re acting like a real bitch right now.” Roger slurred, swaying on his feet. “You’re always yelling at me for living my life. Maybe if you weren’t so uptight all the time, I would have to have sex with some random girl and get drunk all the time.” He spat.

His words sent a sharp pain through your heart. Your hands shook, and your throat burned with bile. He was blaming you for his bad habits. He was blaming you for cheating. Somehow it was your fault that he drunk and smoke the night away.

“Get out,” you said quietly, voice shaking as your eyes welled up with tears.

Roger seemed to realize his mistake. “(Y/N).”

“GET OUT!” You shouted, grabbing the nearest object, which happened to be an empty ashtray, and throwing it at him. “Get out, Roger, now! I don’t want to look at you! I don’t want to see your face again.”

He ducked, and the ashtray barely missed his shoulder. It dented the wall and shattered on the floor in front of him. “Wait, baby-”

You screamed at him, grabbing the lamp off of the bedside table. “Go spend the night in another woman’s bed. You can blame me for it later.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Leave.” You hissed, holding the lamp up threateningly.

Roger looked at you with sad eyes. His shoulders drooped as he cast you one last apologetic glance, and left the room, still wobbling unsure of himself. You stayed frozen in place, staring at the wall until you heard the front door slam. You set the lamp down, and slid down the wall with shaky legs. You spent the whole night crying, and in the morning, when Roger returned, finally sober, you were gone.

You didn’t really have any other places to go. Luckily for you, your brother lived on the other side of town. He was more than happy to take you in when you showed up on his doorstep the morning after your fight with Roger. You hadn’t really given him many details of that night, not wanting to come between the band, but he got the main gist- Roger had fucked up irreversibly and you left him because of it. Brian had gone to great lengths to make sure you and Roger’s paths had stayed separate, even telling Roger that you had gone to stay with your mother for a while.

Skip to three weeks later, and you were positive it would be impossible to avoid him any longer. You were pregnant with his child after all, he had a right to know about it at least. Or did he? You had a slight inkling in the back of your head that he wasn’t ready to be a father- hell he could barely stay faithful to you during your relationship. You didn’t want to raise a baby on your own, you had a life to live.

You dropped your head into your hands, tears spilling down your cheeks. You didn’t know what you were going to do.

“(Y/N)!” Brian called, knocking on the door.

You jumped, rubbing the back of your hand over your face. “Y-yeah!”

Shit, you definitely sounded like you had been crying.

“Everything alright in there?” He asked. “You’ve been in there for ages, I need to take a piss.”

You stood, fixing your clothes to make yourself presentable. “I’ll be out in a moment.” You flushed the toilet, and washed the visible tear tracks from your face.

Brian was leaning against the door frame when you stepped into the hall. His eyes narrowed at your frazzled appearance. “Hey,” he said softly, grabbing your arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Roger, does it?” He asked, suddenly defensive. “He hasn’t tried to contact you, has he? Because I told him you needed your space right now and if-”

You shook your head. “I’m fine, Bri, honestly.” You seemed to be trying to convince both him and yourself.

Luckily, one of you believed the lie.

“Okay.” Brian brushed his lips against your forehead. “I’m gonna take a shower, and then we can go get lunch, eh?”

“That sounds great.” You put on your best fake smile.

He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be ready in thirty.”

You nodded, as he shot you a reassuring smile, before closing the bathroom door.

You waited in the hall until you could hear the shower running. Once Brian started singing, you headed into the kitchen. You leafed through the phone book Brian kept on the counter near the landline, searching for the nearest clinic. You picked up the landline, and dialed the number you found.

“Thank you for calling, if this is an emergency, please hang up the phone and dial 999, if not please wait and someone will be with you shortly.”

You leaned against the counter, chewing on the pad of your thumb while the busy tone rang. Finally a few minutes later, somebody answered the phone.

“How can we help you today?” A worker asked.

You took a deep breath. “I’d like to schedule an appointment for a pregnancy test.” You said quietly.

Tag List (If I tagged you wrong or you’d like to be tagged, send me an ask):

@coffeeaddict201 @allfandoms-imagines @wereallkillerqueens @the-pink-petite-princess @amanda-jim @sherlokiantheatrenerd @spookyfrances @maritreadsalot @magicwithaknife @thebabblingbook @har-rison-s @therealwatermelon @rayelleisinthebuilding @bohemian-war @amelialio @drunk–confused @graceelizabeth2 @officially-emo @secretagentbenhardy

@tara-jadet1ffen @shadowmaiden1618 @sabbrriiinnaa @legendsaresooftenwarnings @freddiecatmercury @d-r-e-a-m-catchme

yourealegendfred:

Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x Fem Reader

Summary: The Best Friend Code has been established since you and Roger were kids. You can never lie to each other. You have to tell each other everything. You must always have each other’s back.

As the years go by and as the Best Friend Code evolves, so does the meaning of your friendship with Roger. The lines start to blur and you both start to stray from the code with each rule that’s broken.

It’s only a matter of time until the distance you’ve put between friendship and romance starts to disappear and decide what it means for the future of your relationship with each other.

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of sex & nudity

Word Count: 4.3k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE: she’s here y’all!!! I’m really excited for this series. I think it’s going to be six parts, I just have to see!!! Enjoy and tell me what you think please!

Friendship is a weird and funny thing. It can take on multiple forms and definitions evolve and change as time goes on. There’s your work friends and your school friends. There’s your sports friends and friends from the organizations you’ve joined while at school. Then there’s your family friends and your true friends, your best friends.

Keep reading

bensroger:

Summary: Y/N has a feeling in some way that Roger and her’s love isn’t the same, and she knows it’s not good for either of them. So Y/N has to confront him, and try and save their relationship.

Word Count: 2067

Warnings: Swearing a little bit.

A/N: I don’t think I like this but then I again I don’t really like anything I write. Please leave feedback and let me know if you want a part two I guess!! As always I didn’t proofread so excuse any errors.

You let a sigh escape your lips as you laid the book you were reading down, and checked the time. It was nearly 1 AM and Roger still wasn’t home from the party. You knew he liked to go out with the rest of the band, and that his life was often demanding, so most of the time you let things like this slide. But it’d been happening more recently. He’d come home later than usual, alcohol still staining his breath.

You went to back to reading your book, which you found quite boring but it kept you awake. You were pulled back out of the book when you heard the front door of your home shut. A few seconds later, your blonde boyfriend was standing in the doorway, looking at you. Roger frowned, and spoke. “Why did you wait up for me? Now you’re going to be all sleepy in the morning.” He walked by you, on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and everything. A few months ago, he would’ve climbed into bed and given you a long kiss or a hug where he bury his face in your neck. Now, it was just small, quick, meaningless kisses.

He returned from the bathroom a few minutes later, his hair a mess and his chest bare. You could see how tired he was from the long hours in the studio due to recording a new album. “How was your day?” You said, putting your book on your nightstand. “You look exhausted.”

“It was… a day to say the least. Fred always has a perfect vision, and sometimes it’s so…” He shook his head. “Emily helped us all calm down though, it’s really nice to have her there.” Roger said with a smile, and you felt your heart drop. Emily was a new assistant they hired a few months ago, and Roger always talked about her with a grin on his face. It always made you hurt inside when he talked about her, but you reminded yourself he was your boyfriend, not hers.

“Come here, I missed you.” You said patting the empty spot next to you. Roger laid his head in his lap, and let you play with his hair.

“That feels good.” He smiled looking up at you. “Oh I meant to tell you, Emily’s throwing a small party tomorrow for the band… Not really a party, I guess she’s just inviting us and the staff. I won’t be home tomorrow either.”

You felt a deep sigh escape your lips and you froze, you fingers still intertwined with his locks. It was your birthday tomorrow… However you gave him the benefit of doubt. He probably had something special planned, a surprise, you told yourself. “How nice of her…” You said, forcing a smile. You pulled your hands away from his hair, as he sat up.

Roger grabbed your hand and kissed it, before he rolled over and quickly caved to his exhaustion and fell asleep. You stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought, long after he had fallen asleep. You weren’t blind, it was obvious what was going on. The words you exchanged with one another grew smaller and smaller… You loved Roger with your entire heart, and you feared the worst.

                                                       ********

The next day, your birthday to be exact, you awaited Roger to come home soon so you could out to dinner and celebrate. You’d taken the whole day off of work to be home with him, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. You refused to believe the worst, and decided to just call Emily’s house, a number you only had because Roger wrote it down. After a few rings, it was picked up. “Hello?” You instantly recognized the voice.

“Hey Freddie!” You chirped, relieved he was the one to answer and not Emily.

“Y/N! I’m so glad I’ve got the chance to talk to you.” You could hear loud voices in the background. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, darling!”

You let out a small laugh. You didn’t expect him to remember. “Thanks Freddie.”

“Now I’m assuming you called for that dumb blonde of yours?” He said jokingly. You could hear Freddie yelling Roger’s named repeatedly. A minute later, you heard a new voice.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, when are you going to come home?” You said, with a hint of sadness in your voice, not knowing where it came from.

“Probably same time as last night. Don’t wait up for me tonight please, you get all tired and sleepy in the mornings when you stay up.” Roger said, and you could tell he was distracted.

“Roger, why don’t you come home earlier? I miss you, and it’s my birthday. I really just wanna spend it together.” Your voice cracked. Instead of an answer, you could hear him talking to someone else, and your question was followed by silence. You could easily make out Emily’s voice accompanied by his laughter.“Roger!”

“Hm?” He hadn’t heard a word of what you said. You opened your mouth to you repeat yourself but he continued. “I’ll talk to you later love, bye.” The line went dead and all you could do was stand there. You looked at the framed photo of you two that sat on your dresser, tears stinging your eyes. It wasn’t the same.

                                                        ********

Roger stumbled home even later that night–or morning now–being careful not to wake you. Your bedroom light was off, and he just assumed you were asleep. Once he climbed into bed, you both laid there, neither of you asleep.

“Rog?” You said, your eyes damp, and your heart heavy with what you were about to say to him.

“Love, you should really be asleep.” Roger frowned turning on the light next to him.

“I can’t lie anymore Rog, I see how invested you are with Emily, the way you smile when you talk about her…”

Roger swallowed, hard shaking his head. “She’s just my assistant… I–“ He was at a loss for words and you both just laid there for a moment, until you sat up.

“Do you love me?” You’re voice cracked near the end, and you turned away so he couldn’t see the tears in your eyes.

“Of course…” He mumbled, and you just shook your head. He turned the light off and laid back down, trying to fall asleep.

“You missed my birthday.” You said softly, still sitting up. You buried your face in your hands. Roger’s heart dropped, and all he could feel in that moment was guilt. He’d forgot all about it just so he could party. You’d sacrificed so much for him, just to be here with him…

Neither of you were oblivious. In that moment he knew that you knew. You knew a while ago, but you just didn’t want to admit it. Roger, usually not an emotional person, could feel tears stinging at his own eyes. You should’ve seen this coming. “Y/N… Please, say something.” His voice cracking, the silence killing him.

“I gave you three years of my life… I–I gave you everything. I gave up my home and my family to be with you.” You cried out. “For three years, I’ve loved you with my entire heart. Did you love me?”

Roger grabbed your hand and cupped your cheek. “Of course I did. I love you so much.”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your own hand on his. “You love me, but you’re not in love with me.” You murmured.

“Y/N, I’m sor–“

“Don’t be sorry…” You said, removing his cheek. “You’ve just… fallen in love… without me.” You said, a sob escaping your lips. Roger just sat there not knowing what to say. It hurt to see you like this. “Our love used to be so amazing.” You sighed out. “And I wish you would’ve just cheated on me, and been the bad guy, because I can’t be mad at you for falling in love.”

And it was true. There was an aching in your chest, and you didn’t want to let him go, but he didn’t love you back the same way. It would’ve been easier if he actually cheated, so you’d be able to have a clean break. But this was more emotional cheating… It was more heartbreaking. “I just wish you hadn’t lied to me all this time.”

“How could I not?” He replied softly. ““I knew if you ever learned the truth that you’d look at me like you’re looking at me now… But you’re wrong, you know… I do love you, please Y/N.” Roger’s voice trembled.

“Things happen Roger, sometimes love changes. I know you don’t love me like you love her.”

“But I don’t want to let you go.” He said, his voice cracking, looking at you in the dimness of your bedroom. All you could do was bury your face in your hands and cry. “Let me show you I still love you, please Y/N.”

“I’m going to stay at a hotel, for a few nights…” Your voice faded.

Roger wanted to plead and beg you stay. He loved you more than he’d ever love Emily, but he knew you couldn’t stay if he loved you both… He was at a loss for words. As you began to pack a bag of your things, he went outside in his pajamas to get some fresh air. It was freezing, and he could see his breath but he didn’t care. Roger tried to think of solutions to this but couldn’t. The front door swung open, and he finally saw you in all your glory. Your nose was red and your face was splotchy. You messily tied your hair back, with baby hairs erupting from it.

You stared at each other as you stood in the doorway for a few seconds before you walked past him. “Y/N, wait.” Roger grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

Not knowing when it happened your lips were suddenly locked with Roger’s, kissing him. The start of the soft touch sent a strong feeling of warmth spiraling through your system. Your eyes closed fearlessly, but the closure didn’t let you see darkness, it instead created colours of fondness. Your tense nerves soon began to relax, your troubles, your pain began to melt away and the surroundings began to disappear. For a moment,  it was just you and Roger again. This kiss was different from the many kisses, because it was your goodbye kiss. Your tears streamed down, and you didn’t want to break apart, you wanted to stay in his arms forever. “Maybe in another life… In another life things will work out for us. There will be no crazy schedules, no assistants, no missed birthdays… In another life…” You repeated.

Once you did break apart he looked at you, and moved his hand to brush a hair out of your face. “I’m an idiot Y/N…” He titled your chin up, and even though you were a heartbroken mess, Roger thought you looked beautiful under the moonlight.

“Goodbye Roger.” You said softly, your heartbreaking. You threw your stuff into your car, and climbed in. You took one last look at Roger, giving him one last sad smile before you drove off.

Roger stood there, unsure what to do as he watched you drive away. He felt like such an idiot… He forgot your birthday… For months now he had planned an incredible birthday night. Dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant, then a walk in the park where you had your first date… And then he planned to get down on one knee, and ask you to marry him. Roger picked a ring out months ago… He wanted to marry you. “I really fucked this up…” He mumbled in the cold, dark street.

As he headed back inside, he knew he couldn’t live without you. Roger’s mind fell to Emily, her smile, and her laugh, but he instantly realized she didn’t compare to you, nobody would ever compare to you. Roger wanted you, and only you.

angellhardy:

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader 

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: mild swearing

AN: Helloooo. This is my first BoRhap story and if you’re interested its going to be a series! I think probably 3 or 4 parts!  If its like i imagine it, its going to be very angsty (but i love it). Also english isnt my first language so there probably will be some mistakes 🙂 

PS: the first few lines about the reader being pregnant is a foreshadowing about whats to come! The rest of the story tells how the reader ended up at this point! (just clarifying bc there was some confusion) ENJOY!!

next part

You didn’t know what to do. What to think. Your mouth hang open, getting dry from your heavy breathing. You stared at the stick in front of you with your eyes fixated on the little blue plus sign. With your hands shaking you picked up the other two tests that you took from the bathroom counter and looked at their results, just to see another confirmation of your worst fear. You were really pregnant. You feel your knees go weak as you let yourself slide on the bathroom floor hoping the cold tiles on the floor will calm your nerves but it’s useless. You let out a shaky breath before you mutter a desperate “fuck” and close your eyes to stop the tears from falling.

---

When you got a call from Brian you were surprised. He hadn’t called you in a few months, which you understood with him being on tour in America and the band really taking off. But to be honest you just thought that’s that it for your friendship and he would forget about you eventually with his new lifestyle, which hurt but you were coming to terms with it.
He was one of your dearest friends since you were 12, maybe even your best friend. You saw each other every day and were like brother and sister, although some people around town always gossiped that you were more but you and Brian just laughed about it. Your friendship started to strain when you two went to different colleges and only saw each other a few times a month. He would call you every other day to tell you about his band smile and how he missed you and how you should come to their next gig.
But unfortunately you barely made it to any gigs, so you only saw smile once live before it evolved into queen. 

That was the day you met Roger Taylor for the first time. You remember walking into the small pub where they were playing, cigarette smoke clouding the room and people swaying to the music on the speakers. Brian told you to come early so you can chat before the gig so you did. At this time you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks so you were excited to see him again and to finally witness him playing with his band. Without thinking you walked yourself over to the bar.

Keep reading

angrylizardjacket:

ask your destiny to dance [5] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: Light smut.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

The night Freddie first plays with Smile in her pub, Ash thinks her heart might genuinely burst with pride, buzzing behind the bar, beaming at the patrons who she usually just fixes with her winning, customer service smile. Maureen keeps giving knowing glances at the way Ash is all but singing along with the band, bright-eyed, taking any free moment she got to watch them perform.

“So you know Freddie?” After the show, Brian’s sitting in the back of Roger’s van, his guitar already packed away, smiling at Ash who was still grinning with pride.

“‘course I do, he’s the one who suggested you guys to me.” She’s filled with so much overwhelming joy that she can’t help but laugh a little, just basking in the moment, still marvelling at how talented her best friend is.

“He’s the Freddie who suggested us?” Brian asked, eyebrows raised, before turning to the new bass player, a soft spoken man named John, who had a smile like sunshine. “Ash’s mate suggested to her we play here a few months ago.” Brian explained, to which John nodded in understanding, and Ash made a noise of confirmation. After a moment of silence, the back door came crashing open and Ash jumped as the door hit the side of the milk crate she’d been sitting on, and Freddie himself joins them, with Roger’s arm around his shoulder.

“You did good mate, sang almost all the right words and everything.” Roger crowed, smiling at the boys by the van before turning. “Didn’t he, Pocket Rocket?” He asked, and Ash stood, reaching out for Freddie’s hand to pull him out of Roger’s grip and wrap him up in a hug.

“Freds, that was awesome!” She gushed, and he picked her up, spinning her around.

“You really think so?” He asked, pulling back, grinning at her starry-eyed expression, and she nods emphatically, moving to hug him again, letting him rest his chin on the top of her head, both practically glowing with pride.

“Rog, did you know Freddie’s the one who introduced us to Rocket?” Brian asks as the drummer joined the others by the van, pulling out a cigarette.

“Figures, I knew they were mates.” He says it so casually, lighting the cigarette and pocketing the lighter, before he finally acknowledges Brian’s confused expression. “She’s got a photo of them together, would be weird if she didn’t know him.” He says, like it’s answer enough, and Ash goes completely still. 

“What?” Brian asks with a half laugh, and Ash is glad that she’s mostly hidden from view by Freddie, but then he pulls back from their hug, his eyebrows raised in amusement. He knows exactly which photo Roger’s talking about, it’s the Polaroid she has pinned up on the cork board in her room, taken at a uni event at the end of the previous year, up along with some other pictures of friends and family. He also knows it’s the only photo she has of the two of them.

“In my wallet.” Ash, quickly stepping  thinking on her feet, speaks with a clipped tone, heart in her throat. She steps around Freddie’s knowing look to face at the others, Brian squinting at Roger, who had frozen, cigarette hanging from his lips. “I left it out here once and he found it.” After a beat, she sees Roger relax and breathe out a cloud of smoke. “’s why I don’t bring my wallet anymore.” That part’s only partially a lie, she never brought her wallet to begin with, never had a need for it.

“In your wallet? Darling, that’s so sweet.” Freddie cooed, teasingly, and though Ash’s expression was bright, she’d never wanted to smack him more in her life; they both knew he knew she was lying.

“Of course!” The smile she wore didn’t reach her eyes when she turned to look at him. “How else would I be able to say,” and she mimed pulling out her wallet, holding it up, displaying it, “did you know my best friend is in a band?” And Freddie burst out laughing at that, though it’s when she hears snickers from the rest of the boys that she finally lets herself relax. 

Roger shoots her a small smile when she turns back, and she rolls her eyes at him. At first, Ash had been surprised that Roger wanted to keep it quiet, but then he’d said something offhand about how Brian would probably deck him if he learned Roger put one of their regular gigs in jeopardy. As for Ash, she didn’t want her boss knowing she’d hooked up with the member of one of their most profitable bands, so she was happy to be discrete.

After a few more minutes of small talk with the band, she heads back in to the bar, and takes a moment to breathe. She loses herself in her work, forgetting the momentary slip-up, pouring drinks and pandering to the tipsy customers, and she finds herself actually enjoying the rest of her night. That is, until she comes out of the bathroom to find Roger waiting for her.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He starts, and Ash rolls her eyes at him, breezing past, back to the bar. There’s not a lot of people left, Maureen’s got it under control, and so Ash grabs a cloth to start wiping down the tables.

“How’d you even remember the photo?” She asked, barely paying him any attention as she worked. He sat at the table she was wiping, and after a beat in which he didn’t answer, she paused in her movement, looking up at him. He just shrugged at her. “You know Freddie definitely knows something’s up.” She told him, eyes narrowed.

“It’s not my fault you apparently only own one photo of your best friend.” Roger snorted, and Ash looked up, glaring at him, suddenly paranoid of being overheard.

“Who is where exactly?” Ash asked, and Roger rolled his eyes.

“The rest of the band have gone home, don’t worry.” He told her, and Ash’s anger deflated at that, dropping her gaze.

“No, it’s your fault for mentioning the photo at all.” She snapped, moving on to the next table. “You could have just said no to Brian when he asked if you knew about me and Freddie.” And when he followed her to the next table, she gave up, moving to throw her cloth over the bar.

“I said I’m sorry, what more do you want from me?” He threw his hands in exasperation, leaning on the bar as she picked up the bin and headed for the back door. If they were going to have this conversation, she wasn’t going to let it happen in the bar.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Roger.” She scoffed, not even looking at him as she tipped the bar’s bin into the skip outside, practically fuming by now.

“Oh, that’s rich,” he spat, following it with a humourless laugh, and Ash whirled around, dropping the bin and stalking up to him where he was leaning against his van, her expression furious.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snarled, the two now toe-to-toe. They were so close he could practically feel the anger radiating off of her. 

“It means I wasn’t the only one in that bedroom.” He said, voice low and dangerous, but his words just made Ash confused.

“But you’re the only one who’s managed to fuck up; I’m the one who cleaned up your mess! See, this is why you’re an-” 

“Don’t you dare call me an idiot.” He warned, and Ash gave him a sharp, malice laced smile.

“Make me-” She doesn’t even get the first syllable of the taunting nickname out, because Roger crashes his lips to hers. They’re both acting out of instinct, rough and angry, her hands in his hair, tugging as a response when he bites her bottom lip. After a moment, she pulls back, both panting as they glare at each other. Without a word, Ash jumps, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he catches her, nails digging into her thighs enough to sting as he flips the two of them so her back is pressed to the side of his van.

“Are we really doing this again? Right after we almost got busted?” He asked, giving her thigh a squeeze, more out of habit than anything else.

“After you almost got us busted?” Ash asked, raising a single eyebrow. Roger just glares in response, choosing to kiss her again instead of shooting back an angry reply. After a few more moments where Roger presses against her, lips against hers hungry and desperate, Ash pushes him away, finding her feet before she goes crashing to the ground.

“I gotta do my job.” It sounds like the thought’s just occurred to her, breathless, leaning against the van to catch her breath.

“So we’re… not doing this?” Roger asked, frowning in his sudden confusion. Smoothing out her wrinkled shirt, Ash smirks up at him.

“Oh, no, we’re definitely doing this, I just need to clock out for the night.” And she heads back inside. Roger, for his part, leaned his forehead against the van, replaying everything that had happened, trying to figure out how it had led here, again, not that he was complaining.

“This,” the moment the back door of the pub opens, he can hear her voice, and when he looks over, she’s gesturing between the two of them, expression strangely determined, “is not a thing. We’re not a thing.” She’s adamant, and Roger rolls his eyes, opening the driver’s side door to the van.

“I don’t care what you call it.” He responded with an eye roll, climbing in the van, waiting for her to climb in the passenger side door so he could drive them both back to her place. 

There’s a tension in the air the moment she closes her door, and they sit for a moment, his hands on the wheel and keys in the ignition, but the van remains quiet. Then, she’s leaning over and kissing him, climbing over the centre console to sit in his lap in the driver’s seat, his hands on her ass, her hands on his shoulders grinning as he groans against her lips when she grinds against him.

It’s not like last time, it’s angry and desperate, both furious at the other for almost being caught out earlier that night, a little mad at the fact that they’re sleeping together again, despite the fact that they were thoroughly enjoying every minute. They bruise, and bite, and hold each other a little too tight, a little too rough, and when Ash feels his teeth against her shoulder where he’s muffling a moan, she’s pretty sure it’s the best night she’s had in a very long time.

“I’m not kidding,” she finds herself saying, sitting up as she reaches into her drawer to pull out her cigarettes, coming down off the high of endorphins. The both of them are panting, “this isn’t going to happen again.” And she tries to sound firm about it, but when she looks over, Roger’s smirking up at her where he’s still sprawled out, heart beating erratically in his chest.

“Sure,” he doesn’t sound convinced, and holds out his hand for the cigarette after she’s taken a draft.

“I’m serious, I don’t do casual anymore!” She told him, and she waves off his response before he even says it. “I don’t do casual with the same person anymore.” She corrects herself, and Roger laughs, low and warm.

“I think you do casual very well,” and he reaches over to give her thigh a squeeze before passing back the cigarette. Time drifts by lazily in the silence, Ash taking a few puffs before she passes the cigarette back, fiddling with her fingers.

“We can fuck whoever we want.” She speaks, but it doesn’t sound like it’s entirely directed at him, actually, it sounds more like a nervous question, and Roger frowns.

“Yeah, of course.” He agrees, and Ash takes a deep breath. On the exhale, he looks up at her, and sees her quiet, reserved smile. It’s… it’s not something he’s seen before, she’s usually so sure of herself, it reminds him a little of their last conversation, and he hears himself asking about it before he can even register the full thought. “Why don’t you do casual?” 

Ash pulls out another cigarette and lights it up, expression dark as she focuses on the task. She’s closing off again, he can tell, and he’s not sure why, but his heart hurts just a little.

“Bad experiences.” She makes a point to enunciate around the cigarette, avoiding looking at him altogether.

“Do you think I’m a bad experience.” He asks it honestly, curious as to what her answer will be.

“‘re you seeing someone?” She asks frankly, and he answers that he’s not. “You gonna fuck whoever you want, and let me do the same?” 

“Of course.” He half laughs, and finally she looks at him, eyes narrowed, analysing. Taking another long draft, she hums thoughtfully.

“Then I don’t know.” After another drag, her lips twist into a sad little smile that makes Roger frown. “I haven’t fucked around like that with someone half-decent before.” Which only makes him frown harder.

“Who have you fucked around with?” He scoffs, and Ash raises her eyebrows, laughing a little, surprise written all over her features.

“I never claimed to have great taste.” And when she says it, Roger presses a hand to his heart, mock offended. The gesture has her laughing, bright and genuine, the sound brightening up the whole room, and Roger grins in return.

“Well I think you’ve got a great taste.” He purrs, propping himself up to reach across her to stub out his cigarette in the ash tray on her bedside table. This, of course, only causes her to laugh harder, blush rising on her cheeks as his hand find’s it’s way to her inner thigh, not letting her miss the double meaning in his words as his fingers drifted higher.

He presses a kiss to her jaw as she finishes off her cigarette, not looking at him for fear that she would burst out laughing again, and start coughing for the smoke. He starts kissing his way down her chest when she stubs out the cigarette, and when he feels her fingers card through his hair, he looks up. She’s smiling at him, warm, amused and affectionate, and something in his chest tightens a bit. He grins back, and moves lower.

The next morning, she warns him to forget everything in her room, but he knows he’s not going to forget the mug with the little cat face on it that she passes him, full of tea, or the fluffy blue bathrobe she’s wrapped around herself, and later, when they’re both crammed in a shower in the dorm’s shared bathroom, trying to be quiet and failing miserably, he knows the mandarin scent of her shampoo is one that he won’t forget soon.

Things between them are… well, they’re easier after that. Whenever the band comes to play at her pub, she greets them all with a warm smile, hugging each of them in greeting, even Roger, getting them all drinks, and cheering them on throughout the night. Sometimes Roger goes home with other girls, and there’s a weird mix of feelings in Ash’s heart, a relief that he’d kept his promise, that they could keep seeing other people, but part of her, well, if she was being honest, she was a little jealous.

There’s anxiety in her heart the night a pretty boy flirts with her, and she realises she wants to take him home, but she’s still got a lingering fear of Roger’s reaction, not because of Roger himself, but from boys in the past. The band isn’t playing that night, and she decides to throw caution to the wind. The boy diligently waits until she’s dismissed for the night, and then he laces his fingers with hers as they leave the pub. He’s soft and kind, knows what he’s doing, mostly, which is nice, and it’s a fun night. Ash lets herself have fun.

But sometimes they do go home together, not super often, once, maybe twice a month, he’ll catch her during her break before the others join them, and he risks kissing her in the light of the street lamp, and something in her chest eases. Or he catches her eye when he’s playing, and she’s drying glasses behind the bar, and she grins at him, giving him a wink, and he looks away, laughing. 

“You guys are playing really well.” She grins when the band comes up to collect drinks, and Roger’s suppressing a smile, trying not to look at her, and the others just enjoy the praise.

The rest of the band hasn’t caught on, which they’re both grateful for, though Freddie has his suspicions. Maureen knows, but has been sworn to secrecy, and so Ash lets herself feel safe. Being with Roger is easy, it’s fun, he makes her laugh, and he eases the anxiety that clutches at her chest, not that she’d ever tell him that. 

“What’s he doing here?” Brian’s voice is low where he’s tuning his guitar, nodding over to a man who’d just entered the bar, looking out of place. “You think he’s some executive or something?” He asked, a little hopeful, and Roger snorted.

“He’s wearing tweed, so I doubt it.” The man looks too old to be part of the crowd they usually draw in, but he doesn’t even spare them a passing glance. Instead, he makes a beeline for the bar where Ash is hanging up champagne flutes.

“Ashley, is that you?” His voice is smooth as honey, and the moment he speaks, Ash drops the glass she’s holding. It shatters, but she’s frozen, face blank, looking at the newcomer. The hairs on the back of Roger’s neck stand up the moment the man leans casually on the bar, like he owns the place, and he’s watching the exchange like a hawk.

“I’m working.” Is all Ash can say, still frozen in place. The man looks old enough to be her father.

“I can see that; you look lovely, by the way.” He tells her, and there’s something soft in his voice, the way he speaks to her, so familiar and intimate, and Ash unfreezes. The surprise comes when she ducks her head, smiling bashfully.

“Yeah, I, um, can I get you anything?” She asks, flushing, ducking quickly to find a dustpan and sweep up the broken glass. He orders a pint, and sits himself at the bar, letting Ash get on with her job, but his very presence flusters her, a state Roger had never seen her in at work, since she as usually so calm and confident. 

None of the rest of the band seems to notice him, and they start soon enough, but the man’s there all night, waiting quietly and nursing his drinks, never straying too far from the bar. Roger sees the leering gaze flicks over the young girls in the crowd, and knows instinctually that Ash can’t see it. She doesn’t look to Roger all night, but she keeps glancing over at the man, surprisingly nervous, and when the third set ends and she’s due to take her break, she says something to him, and the two of them make their way out to the car park, the man taking her hand once she’s out from behind the bar.

Roger feels ill. Not because Ash is paying someone else attention, they’ve both been very clear about getting with other people, but something about the man sets him on edge.

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bensroger:

Summary: You are engaged to Roger Taylor, who of course has busy schedule and this comes into conflict when you try to plan a wedding. After a heated argument, you leave your shared house and contemplate what always and forever meant for you two.

Word Count: 3227

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This one is super long and I’m not sure how I feel about it but I at least hope you guys enjoy it! It took awhile to write, so I hope it’s not too boring. As always please leave feedback, it helps so much! If you’d like a part two don’t be afraid to request it!! I didn’t proofread either so it may have a few errors…

Cold licked at your face and crept under your clothes, spreading across your skin like the lacy tide on a frigid winter beach while you waited for Roger to open the door. With purple lips tinged with blue and gently chattering teeth you wrapped your arms around Roger in attempt to gather warmth. You felt his body shake as he chuckled. “I’ve almost got it open love, I just have so many keys.” He said, wrapping his free hand around you, and rubbing your arm to keep you warm.

Finally, he swung the door open and he guided you inside, the warmth hitting your face. You let out a shiver as you began to heat up. “It’s so cold out there, my God.” You murmured. “I’m going have to some tea to warm up, would you like some?”

“Of course.” He said taking his coat off. “Did you enjoy dinner though?”

“I did, especially when the guy stopped mid-proposal to ask you for an autograph.” You said, smiling thinking back to the memory. A tall, balding man was down on one knee to the woman in front of him. But when he opened his mouth to pop the question, but his eyes fell to Roger who was sitting with you. Instead of “Will you marry me?” all that came out was “Holy shit, Roger Taylor! Sign this napkin!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a rockstar!” His statement made you roll your eyes playfully. Roger himself was smiling too, when you brought up the proposal. “Would you have said yes if I did that during our proposal?”

You thought for a moment as your poured the tea into your designated mugs. “Well she still said yes, so I have to assume she loved him greatly. Just as I do you,” you said, placing the tea onto the shiny coffee table and snuggling up to your fiancé. Roger wrapped his arm around you, and pulled you close. “I’d have been upset with you, but I still would have to say yes.”

He kissed your cheek as you laughed. You looked at the dainty gold ring with a small diamond in appreciation. Thinking about marrying Roger and spending the rest of your lives together always made you giddy. You looked up at Roger from leaning on his chest, and smiled. He was intently focusing on whatever was playing on the television. “Rog…”

“Hm?” Roger drew himself away from the television to look at you. You sat up to face him. “What is it?” He said, furrowing his brows and pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m really glad your back, I missed you while you were on tour.” You said, trying not to smile. It was his first day back and the past months without him had been so lonely, and the brief phone calls were hardly enough for an actual conversation. “And I’m so excited to marry you…” You murmured with a sigh.

Roger looked at you with love, “I know, I’m excited to marry you…”

“All I could think about was our wedding… It doesn’t have to be big you know? Just friends and family, nothing too flashy. The venue will be some scenic venue…”

Roger laughed, “I’m sure you could go on and on but you’re getting a little ahead of yourself…”

You rolled your eyes. “I know I can’t help it. We have to have it soon, I don’t want to be engaged forever… And you know, a spring wedding would be so lovely…” You said biting your lip.

“Y/N…” He mumbled.

“I was honestly hoping for somewhere in March… March 15th…You know the flowers are so lovely–“ You cut off your daydreaming.

“Y/N!” He said louder this time, causing you to snap your head towards him with a bit of a jump. “I can’t do that.”

You frowned. “What do you mean you can’t do that? It’s our wedding.”

“We’re most likely going to be on tour… I wanted to tell you at a better time but after Christmas we’re going to start recording another album, which means another” Roger said, burying his face in his hands.

“But I just got you back.” You said in a whisper, afraid that the threatening tears would start spill out. “And it’s our wedding…”

He looked at you as you squeezed your eyes shut, no longer caring if you were crying or not. “Y/N don’t cry–“ He leaned to touch your cheek in an attempt to comfort you but you recoiled at his a touch.

“Don’t touch me Roger.” You said, your voice shaking. You scooted away from him.

“Come on don’t be like that, we can plan it for a later date.”

“But then you’ll just have another tour! You’re always busy we can’t even plan our fucking wedding!” You said, as your sorrow quickly melted to angry, hot tears spilling onto your cheeks.

“You know my life is demanding…” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. You both wanted to stop arguing, and you knew nothing but pain would come from this, and still you persisted.

“You won’t even set aside time for our wedding? If you weren’t serious about marrying me, then why did you propose in the first place?”

“Honestly, I don’t know!” He shouted, “Right now, I really wish I didn’t.”

You stood there, numb at the words he just screamed at you. You couldn’t think or feel anything but the pain. Roger could see the hurt on your face, and he wished he hadn’t said it, but there was no going back.

“I need a break…” You mumbled out. He just scoffed as you walked past him toward the door.

“Whatever…” He rolled his eyes. You stopped and just took in a deep breath, trying not to cry and show him how much he had hurt you.

Roger pursed his lips as you grabbed your keys and walked out the door with a slam behind you. He stood there for a few seconds, mad at you and mad at himself. He picked up an old framed picture of you two together and threw it furiously at the door. It fell to the ground with a shatter.

You sat in your car, a chill starting to seep into you, as you sobbed, and gasped for air in between.The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down your face. You felt the muscles of my chin tremble like a small child and you looked toward the window, as if the light down the street could soothe you. There is a numbness, a static, in your head once more, the side effect of a fear of losing Roger. Your hear your own sounds, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It takes something out of you that you didn’t know you had left to give. Still sobbing, you started your car, and drove to your best friend’s house. In less than five minutes you were at Nancy’s house. Shivering you gently knocked on her door, and she answered it with a look of pity. She already knew why you were upset, because nobody else could hurt you that much except Roger…

Nancy set you up a warm, makeshift bed on her couch, right next to the fireplace. She brought you some hot chocolate. “If you need, anything I’ll be in the next room…” She smiled warmly at you.

“Thank you, Nance.” You said with a small smile. You stared into the mug, thinking back to how happy you were just a few hours ago… You were brought back to the fight, however, and couldn’t help but wonder where you went wrong.

What he said… It hurt you so much. He had said so many times he wanted to marry you, to spend the rest of his life with you…

You laid there, staring up at the ceiling, the only noise the crackling of the fireplace, thinking about the past few years with Roger.

You were lying between the satin sheets, your legs intertwined with Roger’s in your old shared apartment. The light began to seep through your old shared apartment. He had his arms wrapped around you, mindlessly tapping the beat of another new song on your arm. You laughed to him. “That tickles!” You squealed.

“‘M sorry love, I can’t help it.” Roger chuckled. “I didn’t even know I was doing it… Just had a tune in my head…”

“Is it a new song of yours? I didn’t recognize it.” You rolled over to face him.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure yet, it just came to me…”

“Well it seems lovely so far… Although I wouldn’t take my word because I just felt your taps… Also to me, anything you make is lovely.”

He grabbed you by the waist, and swiftly rolled you on top of him. “I know something we can make that’s lovely.” He whispered in your ear.

Despite your goosebumps, you erupted in giggles.

“Not now, Rog, it’s too early.”

You laughed in between his kisses, and mumbled “We can’t not now…” and rolled back over next to him. You rested your head against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat and tracing circles on him with your finger. The you felt about him, the purity of your love… You never wanted it to end.“I wish we could stay this way forever.

“Well why can’t we?” Roger frowned. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his lips. “We have our whole lives ahead of us.”

“I know but… Who’s to say we’ll always be together…” You said with a sigh. You turned on your side, away from him. There was a moment of silence, and you had a feeling he was thinking about something.

“You know… You could just marry me.” Roger blurted out. You turned over to face him, and he was propped up using his elbow.

“What?” You said in disbelief.

“Yeah…” He mumbled, nodding to himself, as if he was reassuring himself. Roger looked at you, “Marry me.”

“Are you mad? You don’t even have a bloody ring!” You laughed, and couldn’t help but smile.

“Actually…” Roger trailed off. He reached over to his night stand, and pulled out a little velvet box. “I was planning to give this to you on Valentine’s Day, but I think it makes a pretty good engagement ring.” He opened the box, and held up a thin gold ring, with a tiny diamond. “So… Marry me.”

“Roger! I’m not even wear any clothes!” You said, smiling.

“Well, love, I think just the ring on you is still quite fetching.” Roger said with a smirk, pushing your hair behind your ear.

You looked at the tiny ring he held between his fingers, happy tears stinging your eyes. “Well…” He motioned for you to continue, but when you didn’t he looked down at the ring. “So is that a no then?”

You laughed, tears nearly rolling down your cheeks. You shook your head. “No you idiot, I’m just shocked!”

Roger rolled his eyes playfully. “So is that a yes then? You’ll marry me?”

“Of course I’ll marry you!” You said, choking back more tears. He grabbed your left hand, and slid the ring. “Rog, it’s perfect…” You said adoringly.

He pressed his lips against yours, and you could feel the happy tears pour out of your eyes again. He pulled away once he felt your tears hit his own cheek. Roger wiped a tear away with his thumb. “You’re crying…” he mumbled.

“I’m just so happy…” You smiled lovingly at him. “So happy…” You closed your eyes.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer once again. “Maybe we will be like this forever. Always and forever…”

The memory faded away just as quickly as it came, and nearly made you cry, and although it was barely a year and a half ago, it felt an eternity ago. Your love then was so pure and raw, and now… Now he wished he never proposed to you.

You looked at the ring, and twisted it back and forth. You didn’t even care about the fact that you had to push your wedding back. All you wanted was to spend the rest of your life with him… But what he said hurt, and he didn’t even seem to care when you walked out… You squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to cry for the what felt like the fiftieth time tonight.

You looked once more at the ring on your finger, remembering why you got engaged to him in the first place. You slid it off for a moment too look at the “Always and Forever” he had engraved on it. It was your favorite thing, because it was pretty much the reason you got engaged to him… You wanted to be with him always and forever…

“I see you’re thinking about him.” Nancy said in the doorway, gesturing with a nod. “I don’t know exactly what you two fought about because I don’t wanna pry… But Y/N, he loves you so much, you can see it in the way he looks at you.”

“He proposed to me so we could have the rest of our lives together. I still want that…” You croaked. “If we are gonna get married, I can’t just walk out like that. I have to work through things.” You sighed, and immediately felt guilty for just leaving. It had been a few hours since you last left, and just hoped he was still home. “Thank you much Nance, I gotta go…”

“Good Luck Y/N.” She said drawing you into a hug. “I hope it all works out. Call me if you ever need anything, okay?” Nancy said with a smile.

You gave her a small nod, and grabbed you keys. The ride back to your house made you nervous, and you hoped he’d taken some time to cool off himself. You were relieved when you saw his car still in the driveway and you practically ran up to the door. The cold nipped at your nose and your teeth were already chattering.

You swung your front door open. “Roger?” You called throughout the house. You started walking toward your bedroom when he came out wearing only pajama bottoms, and closed the door behind. You hoped you hadn’t just woke him up

“W-What are you doing here? I thought you left?” Roger stuttered.

“I did but I realized… I don’t care when the wedding is. Because I get to be with you forever after that, and that all I care about. As long as I have you that’s all that matters. I’m so sorry Rog.” You said, looking up at you. He pulled you into a warm embrace.

“I love you so much Y/N… I’m so sorry.” He kissed the top of your head. You could smell the alcohol radiating from his breath.

You laughed. “Are you shit-faced?” You said, still feeling a little guilty. You quickly kissed his cheek. “Can we please go to bed? It’s been an awfully long–“ You stopped yourself when you heard a laugh erupting from behind the door.

There was silence between you and you froze. You squeezed your eyes shut. “Roger… Open the door.”

“Y/N–“

“Open the door. Now.” You said, anger starting to seep back through. Roger only stood there trying to hide what was behind the door from you. You shoved passed him and open the door yourself. You weren’t surprised to see some blonde, naked under the sheets.

She was still laughing. “Sorry Roger, I know you told me to be quiet but I couldn’t help it!”

Your cheeks burned and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. It was of course funny to her, because you had to look pathetic right now. You turned to Roger, a look of hurt and disgust on your face. “How could you?”

Roger turned to the blonde who was still giggling, still naked in your sheets, laying all over your side of the bed. “Get out. Now.” He seethed. You shook your head, wondering why he was yelling at her like it was her fault. The woman didn’t object, and quickly gathered her clothes and bolted for the door.

He started saying things, but you blocked them out as you started shoving as much clothes as you could into a suitcase. You quickly zipped it up.

“Just let me explain, Y/N! Please!” Roger begged.

You sharply turned toward him. “Explain what? That you cheated on me? There’s nothing to explain!”

“I thought we were taking a break! You said you needed a break!” He tried to reason.

“Just because we were on break doesn’t mean you cheat on me! I still wore this stupid ring!” You ripped off the engagement ring and threw it across the room. You didn’t realize it but you were sobbing now, and ugly crying. Usually you were self-conscious about crying, but he hurt you so much you didn’t care.

“Y/N the ring–please…” Roger cried, tears in his own eyes now.

“I wasted years of my fucking life on you, and you blew it all in one night. One night!” You said angrily in between sobs.

“Just listen to me!” He pleaded, but you didn’t. You lifted up your poorly packed suitcase and quickly walked down your hallway.

You stopped in your tracks. “No. Maybe the girl who was in my bed will listen to you

“But I don’t love her, I love you.”

You turned around, to face him. Your cheeks were wet and you were sure your face was splotchy, but you no longer cared. Roger hated seeing that he did this to you… “Love me?” You cried. “You don’t love me! You’ve never loved anyone but yourself!”

You lifted up your suitcase once again, grabbed your keys, but on your way out you saw a smashed photo frame. You figured Roger threw it when he was mad. Your lip quivered and you swiftly walked out the door, slamming behind you. You stopped at the entrance of your house, and just stood there, sobbing.

You had always been so self-conscious when you cried but now you just gave way to the enormity of your grief. You sobbed into your hands and the tears dripped between your fingers, raining down onto the dampened cement. Your breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left your legs. You sank to your knees not caring about the grit that dug into your knees. You were noisy, your skin was blotched but there was no-one there to witness it let alone come to comfort you. You could run a mile in any direction and not find another soul. You cried until no more tears came, but still the emptiness and sorrow remained. You could hear the crashing and the yells of frustration, and figured Roger was throwing things as he always does.

Roger threw the lamp across the room, and flung the couch over. He was crying too, now, cause he’d hurt and possibly ran off the person he cared about most. His hands shaking, he picked up the broken picture frame he threw earlier, and set it gently on the table. He stormed into his bedroom, tossing and throwing everything else in sight. However, as he was about to throw another lamp, something glittery caught his eye. Instantly he knew what it was.

He picked up the gold ring, and looked at the “Always and Forever” he had engraved inside of after you got engaged. Roger squeezed the ring in his. Maybe “Always and Forever” wasn’t meant for the two of you like you hoped it would be…

ghostxmonument:

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

AN: This was a request from my 1K Celebration post, sent in by @edidreamerbird .The details of the story may be a little different, but it’s pretty close. Also, three things in one day?! I have been on a roll. However tomorrow I won’t be able to post much because I’m going wedding dress shopping with a friend, so I guess this is to make up for that. Let me know what you think!

Hi Honey 😚! I just adore your account and writing style so much! Are you still accepting those celebration requests?I was wondering, if you could write one with the gorgeous Roger Taylor/Ben Hardy 🥰?I really love the 13th title on your recommendation list. I was thinking about Roger and the reader being best friends, while the reader is completely in love with Rog, but she is so afraid to confess anything, she’s generally so scared to show any love or passion to anyone, cause she had been betrayed a couple times, before she met Rog, and also had been called a weak and naive girl, too romantic for this world, so this made her act like a strong, confident and independent woman, even in front of Roger, but they spend so much time together, that he’s starting to see her true colors, so he asks her: Why can’t you ever just say how you really feel? Also could the story take place before Christmas, when anyone is getting a little bit more honest and emotional? Love you 💕

It was the most wonderful time of the year. Your favorite time of the year, in fact. You loved everything about it- the snow, the hot cocoa, the decorations, and the general cheeriness that filled the air. It didn’t matter that this time the year before, you had had your heart broken. Nothing was going to ruin the holidays for you.

You attributed a lot of your excitement to the fact that you were actually going to be able to spend the season with your best friend. He was a busy guy, being the drummer in a world-famous rock and roll band, but this year they had the month off. The day he had given you the good news, his blue eyes were lit up like the Christmas tree you were decorating together, and your heart had felt like it could explode. It was always hard when Roger was away, but it was even worse when it was during times meant to be spent with loved ones. Love.

In your experience, there was no feeling quite worse than love. You had been burned by the concept one too many times, and had begun to think that it was just not something that you were cut out for. You used to allow people in so easily- a hopeless romantic at heart. It was always nice while it lasted, but that was the problem. It never did. That’s why, when your eyes started lingering on Roger’s profile a little too long, or your heart would palpitate when he would wrap his arms around you in a tight hug, you started to feel anxious.

You couldn’t have feelings for Roger. He was your friend. You knew how he was when it came to women, and getting involved with him always lead to heartbreak. You loved him, but in a platonic way. Or at least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself. It was safer that way.

“You’re absolute rubbish at this, did you know that?”

You glared at the blond as you continued hanging the ornaments on your now fully assembled tree. The two of you had spent the day putting up all your Christmas decorations, and he had done nothing but complain about how you wanted things done.

“You’re one to talk. It took you thirty minutes to get the lights hung up straight.” You fired back, turning away from the tree to grab more tinsel.

“Well if someone would have helped me, maybe it wouldn’t have been so difficult.” Roger had stepped away from the tree now to admire his handiwork, and then he took a seat on one of the dining room chairs behind him. “Done.”

Once you turned back around, you laughed at the sight. His side of the tree was so densely decorated that you could hardly see the green of the tree anymore. However, he was wearing a proud smile that kept you from criticizing it.

“It’s beautiful, Rog.”

Roger’s eyes met yours and he gave you a wink, the action sending butterflies soaring through your stomach, and you gently draped the rest of the tinsel you had in your hands over the branches of the tree. Several minutes later, you were finished, and joined Roger in a chair of your own.

“I think we make a great team.” Roger said, as he reached over and gave your hand a squeeze. You stared down at his hand wrapped around yours, and had to fight against instantly pulling it away. You could feel goosebumps spreading up your skin, and you tugged on the end of your jumper’s sleeves, trying to hide them. Roger didn’t notice, however, and he removed his hand to pull a cigarette out of his pocket along with his lighter.

“No smoking near my tree!” You cried, as you lurched forward to pull the cigarette from between his lips. Roger made a noise of protest, as he reached over to try and grab it back from you.

“Honestly, woman.” Roger sighed, finally giving up after coming up empty handed after numerous failed attempts. You smiled triumphantly, and set the cigarette to the side. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, just gazing at the tree and various other decorations you had spent the day putting together.

“Let’s go see the lights.” You suggested, breaking the silence. Roger looked over at you curiously, being met with an excited grin. “The ones downtown. I didn’t get to go last year.”

The sinking feeling in your stomach returned as a brief memory of staying locked up in your house the previous year came back to you. The break up really had taken all your favorite traditions away from you, and you were determined to get them back. Roger seemed to think about the idea for a minute, but then nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright, sounds like fun.”

You jumped up from your chair and hurriedly went to grab your coat and gloves. Roger watched you, an amused look on his face. Not having been home the last couple of Christmas’, Roger had never seen how excited you got over the holiday. He found it very endearing, considering the events that had transpired the year before. He had been worried that you would fold into yourself, but it ended up being quite the opposite.

It didn’t take long to get downtown, with your flat being just a few blocks away. The air was chilly, but you didn’t mind. You had a bright, striped scarf wrapped around your neck and your favorite beanie and gloves covering your head and hands. Roger was more under-dressed, only wearing his coat and a hat that didn’t even completely cover the sides of his head.

“Jesus, I didn’t realize it was so cold.” Roger whined, burying his hands in his pockets. You rolled your eyes. You had warned him to bundle up a little bit more, but as usual, he didn’t listen. The two of you continued down the street, your eyes fixated on the different colors that were twinkling and reflecting against the buildings. There was a permanent smile on your lips, and you emitted a happy sigh. You had missed this.

After about twenty minutes of walking, Roger’s whining finally got the best of you, and you stepped into a nearby shop that was selling coffee and other hot drinks. There were couples cuddled up on every sofa around the room, and you tried not to pay any attention to them. Roger had disappeared to order your drinks, and you waited patiently near the door. The room smelled like cocoa and cinnamon, a combination that warmed your heart. Before long, Roger was back at your side, handing you a steaming cup, and gently blowing on his own. You made a move towards the door, but he reached out to grab your arm and pull you back.

“Let’s hang out in here for a few. I’m finally starting to feel my fingers again.”

You sighed, but nodded and grabbed the chair closest to you. Roger shook his head again and wordlessly pointed towards an open sofa near the shop’s fireplace. You felt your heart drop as you hesitantly followed him, passing by numerous people kissing and holding hands. Roger plopped down on the end of the couch closest to the fire, and patted the seat next to him. You obliged him, but sat down as far from him as you could manage. A small frown formed on his lips, but you pretended not to notice.

“Are you okay?” Roger asked quietly, after several minutes of watching your eyes flicker to all the people around you. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the fact that you had been caught, and you hoped that he hadn’t seen the look of longing in your eyes. Regardless of how your heart had been broken, as you sat on the couch with your best friend, you wanted nothing more than to close the distance between you. You wanted him to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you close like the other couples were doing. But the two of you weren’t a couple. You shook the thoughts from your mind.

“Of course! How could I not be? The lights have been beautiful.”

The fake-happy sound of your voice sounded wrong, but Roger only had to look at your face to know that you were lying. The confident, exuberant girl that he had spent the day decorating with was gone, and he couldn’t quite understand why.

“YN-“

“Maybe we should head back.” You jumped up from the sofa before Roger could finish his thought. You didn’t want to feel like this. You didn’t want to be sad while out with your best friend, doing the things you loved the most. Roger didn’t object, and stood up to follow you out into the streets. The chill took your breath away, but you welcomed it. The minor shock helped clear your head and you felt your spirits build again. You flashed Roger a bright smile, and a skip returned to your step.

“Of course, you’re happy. You have gloves to keep your fingers from turning into literal icicles.” Roger moaned. You were about to chastise him for forgetting his own when you felt a pressure against your palm and realized that Roger had wrapped his hand around yours. The contact startled you, causing you to wrench your hand back and stare up at him wide-eyed. The two of you were now standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring at each other. Roger had a quizzical look on his face, and you felt like you were going to throw up. It had been an innocent gesture, but your heart and stomach found multiple reasons to reject it.

“What’s wrong?” Roger asked, trying to decipher what had just happened. Your eyes fell down to your hands, staring at your gloves and trying to reason with yourself that it wasn’t a big deal.

“Nothing’s wrong, Rog.”

When your eyes lifted to meet his again, his expression had changed again to one of exasperation. You turned to start walking again, but Roger extended his arm to pull you back.

“Why can’t you ever just say how you really feel?”

You bounced on the balls of your feet, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. Maybe it was the bright lights, or maybe it was the warmth you felt from the cocoa, or maybe it was the memory of how the two of you had spent the day together so happily, but you almost felt like you could cry. You had been so excited to spend these days with Roger, but you hadn’t realized how hard it would be when it came to your feelings.

“Roger, there’s nothing-“

“That’s a bullshit lie, and you know it.”

He wasn’t angry, he was concerned. He knew that this time of year would be hard for you, but he didn’t like the buffer that you were putting up between the two of you. You huffed impatiently, a cloud of smoke forming in front of your face, and you continued to glance around the street at everyone around you. You weren’t sure that you had the willpower or the strength to look back into his blue eyes without crumbling.

Roger’s hand was still wrapped loosely around your arm, and slowly you felt yourself lean in to him. His arms snaked around your waist under your coat, and you rested your head against his chest. Despite him complaining about being cold, he felt so warm against your cheek and you closed your eyes as you inhaled his cologne.

“I love you.” You whispered, hardly loud enough for anyone but yourself to hear over the sounds on the street.

“Of course, I love you too, YN.”

You shook your head violently against his chest, tears now threatening to spill any moment. He didn’t understand.

“No, no. Roger, I love you.”

You gripped Roger tighter as he body stilled, terrified that if you were to let him go, he would disappear. There was an agonizing silence as Roger processed through your words. You almost slid out of his grasp and started running back to your apartment when he finally cleared his throat. You hesitantly lifted your head from his chest and took a small step back so that you could look up into his face properly. You had expected him to look mad, or sad, or even confused, so you were surprised when you saw he was smiling.

“You, YN YLN, are in love with me, Roger Taylor? Are you mad?”

One of the tears that had been building behind your eyes slipped down your cheek and you felt bile rising in your throat. He was mocking you.

“Look, Roger, you don’t have to be-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Roger had wrapped his cold hands under your cheeks and pulled your lips up to meet his in an urgent and passionate kiss. You lifted onto your tip-toes, your hands pressing against his chest for balance. Your head spun, and for a moment you swore your feet actually left the ground. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, not removing his hands from your cheeks.

“That’s good. I’m quite mad myself.” He whispered, before pressing another small kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your smile was so bright it rivaled the lights hanging above you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into you. The most wonderful time of the year had just gotten so much better.

ghostxmonument:

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

AN: Thank you all so much for the requests! I’m doing my best to get them out as quickly as possible, while also having a lot going on and dealing with semi-writer’s block. I appreciate all the wonderful comments and support! Enjoy!
can you please write roger x reader where reader is in trouble and calls for roger to help?? Like they fainted, or being harassed/followed or something? Thank you, love your writing!!

Warning: Mentions of harassment

Permanent Tags: @aylinnmaslow​

You tried to ignore it at first. You were a waitress, so there were often those drunk patrons who would hit on you or make you feel generally uncomfortable. You had learned to just politely laugh off their comments, but never give them a reason to think that they could push you any further. However, tonight was different. 

There was a drunk man at the bar who had recognized you from a few of your boyfriend’s concerts. The first comment he made had been about your outfit.

“Would your boy approve of how much skin you’re showing off for us?”

You had looked down at what you were wearing: a pair of red shorts and a plain white v-neck shirt. It wasn’t overly revealing so you brushed him off. You went about waiting on your two tables and when you came back to place their drink orders, the man started again.

“How did some scrawny band geek manage to land a fine lady like yourself?”

You rolled your eyes when he couldn’t see your face, but when you turned back to him, you gave him your best customer-service smile.

“He’s good to me.” You replied simply, as the bartender placed your drinks on a tray and slid them over to you. The guy eyed you up and down, a disgusting smirk on his face. You felt your skin go hot with anger, and before he could say anything else, you went back to your tables.

It was the third comment that really made your skin crawl. You had just walked up to the bar to hand over your apron and punch out, when the man grabbed your wrist. Your eyes shot down to where his skin was touching yours, and slowly made their way up his arm until they met his face.

“Why don’t you come home with me tonight, darlin’? I can show you a better time than that diva ever could.”

Immediately, you wrenched your arm out of his grasp and turned to walk away. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you felt like you could throw up. You had people hit on you all the time, but none of them had ever touched you before. The fact that he was willing to go that far made you nervous.
  
You had just reached the door by the bathrooms when you heard footsteps behind you. You almost didn’t dare look over your shoulder for fear of who it could be, but you did anyways. Your stomach dropped when you saw the creepy old man following a few feet behind you. The smirk was gone from his face and now he looked angry. His eyes were locked on you, and you quickly turned a corner to head towards the backroom that was nearby.

You knew that you couldn’t leave the restaurant now that this man was following you, but you didn’t know how else to get home. Panicking slightly, you pushed the storeroom door open and checked around for the phone. You knew it was late, but you also knew that he wouldn’t mind if you called. He was probably waiting for you anyways.

Your hands were shaking as you picked up the receiver and dialed his phone number. It only took two rings before you could hear his voice on the other side.

“Hello?”

“Rog, I need you to come get me.”

There was a moment of silence, and then you could hear the cord rustling as Roger moved to stand up.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was strained- worry laced in every word. He didn’t live far from where you worked, and he knew that you normally didn’t have any issues walking home by yourself. For you to call, sounding so distraught, it put him on edge.

“There’s… there’s just some drunk guy who won’t leave me alone.” You twirled the phone cord around your finger nervously as you sat down in one of the extra chairs along the wall.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in the storeroom.”

“Stay right there. I’ll be there soon.” And then the line went dead. You placed the receiver back on its base and started chewing on the corners of your nails. It was a habit that you had developed any time you felt anxious. You knew that it wouldn’t take long for Roger to get to where you were, but you also knew that if this guy figured out where you were, an “Employees Only” sign probably wouldn’t stop him.

The minutes passed, and the longer you went without hearing anything from the drunk man, the better you felt. After about 15 minutes, the storeroom door swung open, and you felt your stomach lurch. Your eyes fell on the figure who had entered the room, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you at the sight of the familiar blond.

“YN! Thank God, you’re alright.” Roger breathed, rushing over to pull you into his arms. You felt your body melt against him as you buried your face into his neck.
  
“He was following me, and I didn’t know what else to do.” You murmured against his skin, feeling tears pricking your eyes. Roger squeezed you against his chest even tighter and placed a gently kiss onto the top of your head.

“You did the right thing calling me. Now, let’s get you home.”

You nodded against his chest as he slowly released you. He gave you an encouraging smile as he laced his fingers with yours and led you out into the hall. You breathed a small sigh of relief when you didn’t see the man waiting in the hall or near the door. As you stepped out into the cool, night air and the man still wasn’t there, you realized that he must have gone home.

You and Roger walked to his flat in silence, his warm hand squeezing yours every few minutes as a reassurance that he was still there. Once you were inside his flat, he pulled you in for another hug. For the first time in hours, a smile spread across your lips as Roger’s hand ran up and down your back.

“I’m so sorry, love.” He whispered into your hair. You pulled back out of his arms slightly so that you could look up at his face. He was wearing a pained expression but as you gently ran your fingers across his jaw and up his cheek, it started to soften. You leaned up onto your tiptoes to press a series of kisses across his face and neck. “Maybe you should quit.”

You froze at his words, your eyes fixated on his own. He was smiling softly at you, but you could hear the seriousness in his tone. He had been watching you go through this kind of harassment for a while now, and he hated it.

“Roger, I can’t just quit my job.” You laughed, your hand still cupping his cheek.

“Sure you can. I can take care of you now. It’d be better than getting these phone calls late at night, and finding out that you’re in trouble.”

His blue eyes bore into yours, practically begging you to agree. You knew Roger worried, but you hadn’t realized how much until now. You didn’t like the thought of Roger taking on all of your financial responsibilities, but you couldn’t help how lovely it sounded to not have to work at that horrible restaurant anymore.

“Just until I find something better.” You assured him, causing a bright smile to fully consume his features. The sight made your heart skip.

“Deal.”

He lifted you up off your feet and spun you in several tight circles. When he finally set you down, he ducked his head slightly to press his lips sweetly against your own. In that moment, you had already forgotten about your terrifying experience. Roger was your safe place. Roger was home.

angrylizardjacket:

Anon asked: Prompt: angst Roger and y/n because he’s jealous after a party

A/N: 5981 words!! What?! Like, it’s not explicit, but I might have given the reader a slight praise kink. Some sexual content. There is mentions of cheating, just to let you know if that makes you uncomfortable. There might be a problem with pacing but like… suspend your disbelief. Also…. you’ve got a big storm coming.

---

Your grip is white-knuckled on the armrest as you felt the plane rumble beneath you; anxiety is clutching at your chest as the world falls away beneath the wings of the machine and you’re rising into the sky. Roger isn’t outright laughing from where he’s sitting next to you, but it looks like he wants to. Thankfully, for his sake, he contains himself, resting a hand on your thigh, rubbing it in a gentle, comforting rhythm.

“You’ll be fine, love, these things hardly ever crash, and if this one does, it’ll make the news, probably.” He shrugged, and you glared at him, trying to push down the anxiety curling in your stomach.

“You’re the single least reassuring person I’ve ever met.” You snapped, but he just grinned wider, his hand moving higher on your thigh, your legs part just a little, out of instinct, and you’re too anxious about the flight to even blush at it.

“I could distract you instead.” He offers, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. Something eases in your chest and you relax your grip on the armrest to put your hand on his. “Love?” He asks, watching how you’re leaning your head back against the headrest, eyes closed, like you were trying to go to your happy place, wishing you weren’t trapped inside this plane. His hand twitches to move away when he doesn’t get a response, but then your own hand is guiding his a little further up, and you’re wearing a little, playful smile, though it’s strained. Roger has to bite back a laugh.

“Could you please wait until the seat belt sign is off?” John’s voice interrupts both of you, pressing his face into the space between your headrests where he’s sitting behind you, sounding characteristically exasperated.

“Or wait until we land, like any decent human being.” You can hear Brian’s sigh from where he’s sitting beside John, his words followed by a world-weary sigh.

“You were both cuter when you thought we didn’t know.” Freddie says, matter-of-factly, and Paul hums in agreement, the two of them sitting in the two seats in front of you.

“So were you.” Roger snaps back, leaning back into his chair, sullen at the sudden onslaught of bullying from his band-mates. “And get your bloody face away from mine.” He smacks John’s forehead with his free hand, which has the man retreating, but you’re silently thankful. Despite this, you’re also flushing with embarrassment, which is only quelled when Roger flips his hand over on your thigh to lace his fingers with yours, giving your hand a comforting squeeze.

It’s weird, to be in public, well, sort of public, and to be allowed to actually be with Roger. You’ve always been so hyper aware of his image, careful to keep your distance where prying eyes might be lurking, the last-performance kiss notwithstanding, but here, in the relative safety of first class – and god, that was a mind-boggling realisation – he’d wrapped his arm around you. Once the seat-belt sign has been turned off and the in-flight movie has started, he pulls you into his lap on the luxuriously spacious seat. Everyone on the flight has headphones to listen along to the movie, and the plane is almost silent as everyone looks to the overhead screens. It starts innocently enough, except sitting on Roger isn’t exactly comfortable; he’s got one hand resting on your thigh, innocent enough, and the other on the armrest, but you find yourself shifting every few minutes trying to get comfortable, but it isn’t really working.

“Are you right there?” Roger moves your headphones off of one of your ears, speaking low and quiet, only to you. When you look at him, he’s not even looking you in the eyes, he’s looking at your lips, and you feel your chest tighten, though in a very different way to the plane taking off earlier.

“What?” And you shift again, trying in vain to get more comfortable before you feel him hard and pressing against your ass through his pants, and it dawns on you. After a moment, you lock eyes with him, finally, and wiggle again, deliberate, suppressing a smile. He leans in to kiss you, rough, insistent, his hand on your thigh moving dangerously higher.

“Let’s not ruin everyone’s movie,” he breathes as he pulls back, his hand moving to give your ass a light tap, and you take the hint, taking off your headphones and making a beeline for the bathroom. You find yourself waiting for almost five minutes in the stall before there’s a knock at the door and Roger’s whispering your name. You haven’t even fully locked the door before he’s pulling off your shirt, murmuring about how you both had to be quiet, though he was grinning in that way that made you melt, and made you want to be anything but quiet.

When you head back to your seats none of the others comment on it, though they do seem pretty enraptured with the movie. Your anxiety at flying had dissolved; you’re feeling all warm and syrupy in the afterglow, and Roger clicks down the armrest that separates your two seats, and shifts so that you he can still wrap his arm around you, but you’re sitting next to him, your legs stretched out and arching over his. He puts his own headphones back on, smile supremely satisfied, and you give yourself a little, mental pat on the back, but don’t bother with your own headphones, resting your head on his shoulder and falling asleep, feeling secure and safe with his arm around you.

When you land, you find yourself whisked almost directly to the new tour bus, and you suddenly find yourself filled with a new uncertainty. The space, at least compared to what you were used to, was lavish, not a single road case in sight.

“You guys live like this?” You crowed, eyes wide as you raced through the spacious vehicle, plopping yourself down on the cushioned bench beneath the back window while the rest of the band, and the crew travelling in this bus started getting settled in.

“Well yeah, was the other bus really that different?” Roger asks, joining you, sprawling himself out across the seat. The sheer absurdity of his question takes a moment to sink in, but after that you’re laughing, loud and a little bit uncontrollable, mind alight with memories of hot, bump afternoons riding along at the back of the equipment bus, sat atop a road case, holding a light and gels and trying not to touch the drum kit where it was stacked up beside you.

“God, I would have killed for a cushion.” You breathe, wistful, relaxing further, if it were possible, into the seats. After a beat, you look around at where everyone’s gone quiet; Freddie and John were setting up a board game and Brian was lounging on one of the sofas running along the inside of the bus; you’re pretty sure Roger’s the only one who hears you anyways. “I much prefer it to flying though,” you admit, shifting until you can rest your head on Roger’s shoulder.

“Really?” He asked, voice quiet enough that only you could hear it. “I thought it was a pretty decent flight.” And he reaches up to pinch at your side playfully when the bus starts up. The two of you dissolve into play-fighting, which the others don’t pay much attention to, entertaining themselves as the trip to the first destination began.

“You’re- you- they call you Spotlight, don’t they?” The voice that greets you before for the first crew meeting is bright, eager, faintly accented, and when you turn, you see it belongs to a sweet looking boy with big, brown eyes, clutching at a clipboard. Laughing a little awkwardly, you nod, and his whole face brightens at the confirmation. “I’m Robbie; I’m stage managing, and they’ve got me operating the lights.” He sounds so damn excited, it’s a little endearing, and after a beat, he’s peppering you with questions about the American leg of the tour, which you answer with ease.

You’d been worried, not that you’d ever admit it, integrating into a whole new crew; the American tour was staffed with people you’d been working with for years, and here, everything and everyone was new to you. Seeing Robbie smile, so kind and welcoming, it felt like you could breathe.

“How the crew?” Roger asks, and he’s stuck with fond deja vu, sitting behind his drums, watching you cut a whole new set of gels. You’re humming something he can’t quite pick, but you seem happy enough.

“Yeah good,” you concede, only half paying attention as you work, “they’re nice, very welcoming.” You tell him, and he makes his way to you, sitting beside you on the drum risers, picking up some scraps of the gel. After a moment, your hands still, and you watch his, smiling with confusion, before looking at him. “What-” but he’s looking back at you, and he leans in to kiss you once you look up. Putting the gel and the scissors down, you take his face in his hands, giving him an endearing smile.

“I’m working.” You said softly, but he just grinned, leaning in to kiss you again. It’s fun and easy to be with Roger at times like this, times when neither of you had to worry about what other people thought, or who saw you together; you were happy and so was he, and that’s what mattered.

It gets a bit harder, you realise, when in Glasgow you’re leaving the hotel with the band and a few paparazzi come after you; at first they’re shouting at the band but then they spot you where you’re by Roger’s side, trying to keep your face hidden. You see your picture in some gossip rag the next day when Robbie gives it to you with a long suffering and apologetic look. 

“The boss wants you to be more careful about being seen.” He’s rolling his eyes at the boss’s words, however, when you ask him what he means, you learn that you’d been photographed with them in America, and people were starting to speculate that you might be part of the tour group. The Boss thinks it reflects poorly. The rest of the band is in the photo, but you’re the one being accused of being a world-travelling gold digger in the article.

When you tell Roger, or more specifically show him the article and make an offhand comment about not really being seen with the band in public anymore, he throws the magazine across the hotel room, scowling.

“They’re printing lies, Spotlight, what do you care?” He asks. You’re gentle when you step towards him, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“I care about my career and my reputation, Roger, you understand, right?” Voice soft, you don’t move until he looks at you, expression a little hurt. “I know I’m not a gold digger, but if I want to get anywhere in life, I need other people to believe that too.” You explained, and he didn’t exactly seem happy about it.

“You’re fantastic at your job, babe, isn’t that enough?” He asked, and you felt yourself flush, suppressing a grin at the praise.

“I wish it was.” You told him, voice a little forlorn, and he leaned in to kiss you, a silent agreement to your request. After a moment you pulled back, actually letting yourself grin. “You think I’m good at my job?” You asked, giggling, and Roger’s expression brightened as he huffed out a laugh.

“You know I do.” And it’s the most gentle you think you’ve ever heard him, the sweet sincerity shifts as his hands come up to rest on your hips. He knows all too well the effect he has on you when he compliments your work. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He asks, a single eyebrow raised, teasing edge to his tone.

“I mean, if you told me too much I think we both know I’d never get anything done.” And your fingers are nimbly undoing his fly. With a cheeky grin, he kisses you again, rougher, biting at your bottom lip before you pull away.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He muses, watching the way you wet your lips, smiling at him. “You’re very good at other things too, love.” 

“I know.” You watch him through your lashes, biting your lip to keep from laughing as his whole face lights up and he’s snorting out a laugh at your response, and you fall to your knees, already pulling down the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t like that you insist on leaving the hotel at different times, becomes a little clingy in the mornings when you go to get up, but he always manages to tug you back down to him, and you get lost in the way he smiles in the early morning sunlight, the feel of his lips on yours, the way he laughs softly against your skin. 

Despite this, he keeps his distance around other people. The band he doesn’t worry about, but he stays up by his drums during lunch, and sometimes during the after parties you attend, he’ll disappear for a few hours at a time, and you find him at the bar, reasonably hammered, surrounded by fans fawning over him. He always goes home with you though, so you try not to feel too jealous.

“Hey, Light? I’m getting lunch, do you want anything?” Things start going downhill the day Robbie pops his head in during your lunch break; you’re at the top of a ladder, fiddling with the angle of a parcan, and Roger’s at his drums.

“No thanks.” You call back, chipper, shooting the ASM a smile, and when he leaves, Roger frowns at you.

“Did he give your nickname a nickname?” He punctuates it with a laugh, but it sounds more angry than anything else.

“That’s Robbie,” your explanation does not seem to placate him. You’d been spending a lot of time with Robbie, the two of you bonding over both having worked on Bowie’s last tour. “He’s German.” You add, as if the fun fact might warm Roger to him.

“I know how to pick accents.” He snapped back at you, and you actually stopped your work to look at him, a little shocked and defensive at his tone. He’s not looking at you, he’s gone back to watching the door.

“He’s the ASM, Rog, chill out, we work together.” You tell him. He doesn’t respond, and all you can do is go back to your work, a squirming discomfort making itself known in your chest.

He disappears after the show that night, not coming to find you after bump out like he usually would, and you try to assume the best; that he’s too high from adrenaline and the endorphins of such a good show that he’d wanted to ride the hype the rest of the band. It wasn’t deliberate, you told yourself.

“You going to the after party?” Robbie asks carefully, hands in his pockets, still wearing his own theatre blacks. You realise you must look a little lost, and when you decide that you are, you tell him, and he offers to walk with him. He’s sweet, excitedly gushing about how he can’t wait for the Munich show so he could see his girlfriend, and you find yourself enthusing about how exciting it is to be travelling around Europe. Once you step foot in the pub, the two of you part ways, Robbie heading for the bar, and you seeking your own boyfriend.

His whole face lights up when he sees you, and the anxiety that had been building in your chest dissipates when he wraps his arms around you, spinning you around.

“I’m sorry, I got caught up.” He told you, but he doesn’t kiss you, just pulls you down to the sofa with him where Freddie’s in the middle of an animated discussion with Brian.

It happens again at the next stop, he leaves you behind and you make your way to the after party talking with Robbie. He’s kind, sweet, looking forward to marrying his high school sweetheart. If you’re being honest, it’s nice to have someone to talk to who understands your side of touring, being another interchangeable face to the talent you’re helping, someone down to earth and . He gushes about how jealous he is of your friendship with the band, starry eyed in the cool night air.

Again, when you arrive at the venue, Roger’s already there, and he doesn’t get up this time, just beckons you to him with a bright smile. It doesn’t ease your discomfort like you hoped his smile would.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask gently one night; the two of you were walking in relative silence, side by side, not touching for fear of paparazzi, you try to justify.

“No, why?” He asked, and you look at him, eyes narrowed as you examine him, and his smile is a little far away when he looks back at you. After a long moment of silence, he takes your hand, pulling you both to a stop, facing each other. He wraps his arms around you, still giving you that far away smile, and he kisses you. “I’m sorry I keep leaving you behind, love.” 

“So you’re not mad at me?” You confirm, stepping back and taking his hand, continuing to walk.

“Of course not; should I be?” And the way he says it, so perfectly fucking harmless, has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

“No!” You defend, and he’s laughing easily in the moonlight. 

It keeps happening, sporadically, and it always seems to coincide with whenever he sees you and Robbie together, or Robbie comes in to offer to get you lunch, and you know what’s happening before you dare to admit it.

On some of the nights where you opt to go straight back to the hotel, you’re woken by him flopping into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him, warm and protective, at odds with the discomfort in your chest.

“Missed you.” He yawns, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes, and one time, of faint, fruity perfume that you don’t recognise. When you ask him, he says that someone spilled a cocktail on him, and you realise you can’t even tell if he’s lying or not. 

“You jealous?” And you can hear the sleepy smirk in his words, and your own tired mind is unguarded, unfiltered.

“A little.” You whisper into the silence of the hotel room. He doesn’t answer you, but his grip on you tightens, and he hums, the meaning of which you can’t decipher. It takes you a long while to get to sleep after that.

It comes to a head a few weeks later, however, the night they perform in Paris.

“I miss her so much.” Robbie bemoaned you as the two of you walked together, his arm tucked into yours as he waxed poetic about his now-fiance. “She sent me a care package and I swear I almost cried in front of the sound operator.” 

“Why?” You laughed, and Robbie groaned.

“I opened it in the bio box because I picked it up from the front desk on my way here, like right after checking in.” By the time you get to the after party, the music is already blaring, and like always, you split up to go your respective ways. Roger greets you warmly, making room for you on the sofa he was sprawled on, wrapping an arm around you as he continued his conversation with a starry-eyed groupie, who didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You make conversation with John, who’s hovering near the arm of the sofa, bopping along to the music, looking a little bit longingly at the dance floor.

Roger goes to get a drink a little while later, smiling and asking if you’d like anything, and as soon as he’s gone, Robbie, now quite plastered, pours himself into the empty seat.

“I called her- Spotlight, I miss her so much – and she told me she loves me and she can’t wait until I get home; should I walk back to Germany? I wanna see her.” He asked, words blurring together a little from his accent and his inebriated state, and he rests his head on your shoulder.

“This is Robbie; he misses his fiance.” You explain to a confused looking Freddie, who’s expression melts into one of adoration, and he ‘aww’s at that. Robbie is starry-eyed for a long moment, before he turns to you.

“Should I walk to Munich? I miss her.” He reiterates, and you burst out laughing, petting his head fondly.

“No, don’t walk to Munich, you should go home, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.” You tell him, and he groans, clearly not having received the answer he wanted. Instead, you get to your feet and offer him your hand. “I’ll walk you back, we’re staying at the same hotel.”

You find Roger at the bar with one of your arms around Robbie’s shoulders where he’s pretty much legless, the lightweight. There’s a muscle jumping in Roger’s jaw when he sees you, and you hesitate, giving him a confused look.

“Hey, I’m just going to take Robbie back to his room, okay? I’m probably going to bed after.” You tell him. He doesn’t smile, just offers you the drink he got you and blinks slowly when you wave it away. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You ask gently, hoping to get a response from him, but he’s just giving Robbie a sour, calculating look. Robbie is transfixed by the lights behind the bar and does not notice.

When you finally get Robbie into bed, much later than you would have thought since he insisted on stopping at everything that caught his interest, and taking five minutes of standing still and explaining how beautiful his fiance’s eyes were, he’s still wearing his shoes. Once under the covers, he grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, suddenly serious.

“You’re good. You’re a good sort, Spotlight.” He tells you, his accent coming in just a little thicker with his sincerity, and he pets your hands, before abruptly turning away from you and pulling the blankets up to his nose, clearly tapping out for the night.

The room you shared with Roger was just a few floors up, and you’re in the elevator when you realise you’d left your keys in your room. You usually did, you always went back with Roger, so you usually didn’t need them. When you approach the door, you think you hear murmuring from the other side, but it could have been from across the hall, you don’t think about it too much as you knock. There’s a giggled ‘shhh’ from the other side of the door that’s less easy to play off, but you’re tired enough to think it’s just mostly-asleep Roger. You knock again, but no-one replies. It’s too late to knock too much, and you know he’s a deep sleeper, so with a heavy, tired heart, you make your way down the hall.

“What do you want?” Paul’s frowning at you when he opens the door, wearing his blue pyjamas, squinting at you.

“Keys to the bus please, I need somewhere to sleep, Roger’s not answering.” You tell him, and punctuate it with a yawn. After a beat more of watching you, as if assessing your motives, he disappears back into his room and reappears with the keys.

“Don’t lose them.” He warned, before closing the door on you.

The sofa in the bus is long enough that you can spread out, and you find someone’s fur coat to use as a blanket. It’s comfortable enough, a little cold, and it’s only when you hear a banging on the door and feel the sunlight on your face the next morning that you get up.

Opening the door, you see Roger standing there, looking up at you, waiting for entrance. Moving back to your makeshift bed, you take a seat, giving him a confused smile.

“I… didn’t think you’d actually be here.” He already sounds like he’s in a mood, bitter, but a little bit hesitant.

“Of course I stayed here, I knocked but you didn’t answer- what was up with that?” You asked, punctuating it with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He watched for a moment before he slid his sunglasses down his nose to glare at you over them.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, voice a little hoarse and scratchy, moving from hesitant to just quietly angry, the venom in his words hurting like a physical slap, and you sat up straighter.

“I’m-” And you’re searching for the words, but none come to mind.

“Why are you still on this bus?” He explains in a hiss. After a beat, he slides his glasses back up his nose, and turns to look away from you, a clear dismissal.

You’re at a loss as to how to explain that you’re here because… well, you’re always here, it’s where you were now. He’s the one who’d brought you here. 

“What do you mean? You’re the one who wanted me here.” Standing your ground, you don’t dare let your voice betray how confused and hurt you were feeling. 

“Yeah, well now I don’t.” He snapped. His words hit you squarely in the chest, and he leaves you in your shocked, dazed silence, moving to the back of the bus. “Fuck off back to the equipment bus, since you prefer it so much better.” He snarled, and that’s what unfroze you. 

“Christ, I don’t get paid enough to deal with whatever this is and ride in that bus, so that’s a resounding ‘no thanks’. And more importantly; what the fuck has gotten into you?” Emotion comes crashing back into you, rage tearing through you like a tidal wave, and you turn on him, jaw clenched.

“’Whatever this is’” he snorted, low and bitter, “yeah, but you get paid enough to fuck that little, brown-haired cockhead?” He asked, and your eyes went wide.

“Who? Robbie?” You asked, voice dangerously calm. “You think I’m fucking Robbie? Our assistant stage manager? Who just proposed to his girlfriend at our stop in Munich? That brown-haired cockhead?” You snarled, advancing on Roger like a predator cornering her prey, bitter tension gathering across your skin.

“Was he the one crying on your shoulder last night at the after party?” Roger raised an eyebrow, but the sting had left his words. Narrowing your eyes, you confirm with a single, venomous ‘yes’. “Oh.”

“Is that why you locked me out last night? You thought I was-”

“I was angry, okay?” He cut you off, sitting down at the back of the bus, and though his tone is angry, his demeanour, the way he’s avoiding your gaze and fiddling, it’s… almost guilty. In that moment, it was as if you’d been splashed with cold water, an icy realisation slithering down your spine.

“What does that mean?” Voice level, you try not to jump to conclusions, but your heart is already sinking. He doesn’t answer. When he turns away, you see a hickey on his collar that wasn’t there yesterday. “Roger, what did you do?” You asked, and the hurt was already bleeding through into your words.

“I was… I was so fucking angry.” It’s not a real answer, it’s not even a real excuse. The way he says it, jaw clenched, heart in his throat, he’s all but bleeding guilt, too proud to ask for forgiveness.

“Bullshit.” Your can feel tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill, but your hands are shaking with anger, hurt, betrayal, and you don’t even care. “You’ve been weird for weeks, you were just looking for the first out you could get.” 

“Y/N.” He stands, reaches out to grab your shoulder, but you step back, out of his reach.

“No.” Your voice is firm, but your lip is quivering. “I don’t want you to ever touch me again,” wrapping your arms across your chest, looking at his outstretched hand with disdain through your tears. “Being angry isn’t an excuse. Jumping to conclusions isn’t an excuse. I get that it must be fun fucking around with the girl who makes you work for it by your standards, but,” shaking your head, you sniffle, holding yourself a little tighter with one hand, you wipe away your tears with the other, “the moment you have to work, have to put in a little bit of fucking trust? You couldn’t even do that.”

“Spotlight, please-”

“I’m in fucking Europe for you, Roger! What in your fucking, dumbass mind thinks that I’m someone who travels halfway across the world with someone just to cheat on them?” You’re yelling now, grateful to be alone and worrying that others would join you at any minute. You didn’t want them seeing you like this.

“For me? You’re here for work! I’m opening doors for you in the industry that you’d never have opened yourself!” And he knows even as he’s saying it that it’s the wrong thing to say, but he’s too furious at himself, lashing out at the only person he could. He watches as your expression turns shocked, before shattering, and you start bawling your eyes out, holding your face in your hands. Regret floods through him, but as he steps forwards to comfort you, you yell for him to fuck off.

“I can’t- I can’t leave can I? If I leave the tour, they’ll think the tabloid are right, that I’m some dumb groupie.” And you turn, distraught, and curl up on the sofa along the inside of the bus, still bawling, loud and ugly, great heaving sobs wracking your body as you realise the full extent of what had happened, and what it would mean for you. “You’ve ruined my fucking career.”

“That’s a bit of an overstatement.” He can’t even bring himself to apologise, sitting back against the window of the bus, watching as you curl yourself into a ball, the only sound filling the silence being your sobbing. It hurts, his heart is fucking aching, but he couldn’t admit it. When you raised your head to look at him, your eyes red rimmed and lip trembling, he feels only a white hot guilt fill him from the inside out.

“You don’t get it, this industry is about who you know, and if all I am is some girl who Roger Taylor fucked, flew across the world, and got bored with, it doesn’t matter how good at my job I am, I’ll just be another groupie with aspirations.” And you bury your face in your hands again.

“We could… pretend like nothing happened, until the end of the tour.” He offers, quietly, the weakest hail mary pass you’d ever heard, and you roll your eyes at him.

“I’d rather have my dignity, thanks.” You spat, taking in a deep shaking breath as you finally sat up, wiping fruitlessly at your eyes as tears continued to flow, though you tried to pull yourself together.

“You’re not under contract, you can leave if you want.” And it might literally be last on the list of things you’d wanted to hear at that moment.

“I get it, Roger, you don’t want me around.” You snap, standing. “You are who you are; I was stupid to think you were better than that.” You sniffled. When you turn and leave, he’s silent, replaying your words over and over again in his head until he’s absolutely livid at what he’s done. 

When the rest of the band returns almost a full half an hour later, he’s trashed the entirety of the bus, even going to far as to rip up the cushioning on the bench beneath the back window. 

“So you’ve heard the news I take it.” Brian looks at the scene before them, voice and demeanour both surprisingly nonchalant, and Roger, breathing heavily amid the carnage, gives him a sharp look. “Spotlight’s heading home, something’s come up with her family.” He explains. Behind him, John’s already started picking up a fractured mug, and Freddie is just frowning at Roger.

“Yeah?” Is all Roger says, snatching up the cushions from where he’d thrown them, and flopping himself onto the back bench, facing away from them all. 

“She’s just talking to the production manager if you’d like to say goodbye.” Freddie offers, carefully neutral, and Roger suspects he knows something’s up with the story.

“She doesn’t want to see me.” He huffed sulkily, and the others lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. They can tell it’s a touchy subject but they don’t pry. They don’t hear from you, don’t even know how to contact you if they had been able to, instead they watch Roger pick up different girls night after night, trash hotel rooms, and grow shorter when interacting with the crew, especially the assistant stage manager.

“I am who I am.” Is all he says, lips around a cigarette where he’s chain smoking in the empty theatre at lunch when Freddie finds him and finally asks what’s wrong. Freddie wants to ask what happened, wants to ask why you really left, but he knows Roger well enough to figure most of it out. Roger’s a ticking time bomb nowadays, so he doesn’t pry. 

The band doesn’t talk about you, not when paparazzi and reports yell out asking where you are, not to the crew, they barely talk about you to each other, and they never talk about you around Roger. 

The bus is quieter now.

Roger’s louder now. 

There’s an ache in his chest that won’t go away, that he’s filling with meaningless sex and too much booze because he can’t stand waking up alone, and he still thinks about what you said, and the way you had smiled at him before it all went to shit. He remembers how you’d risked your life for a light beneath his drums, and sometimes at breakfast he finds himself thinking about how you’d thrown a plate of food in his face before you were even real friends, and he wants to yell, to scream, because how could he be so fucking stupid? You’d seen him for who he was, and chose to be with him despite it, you thought he could be better than his reputation, but he’d just managed to prove he wasn’t. 

It hits him when he’s got his hands on some girl whose name he doesn’t know that all he can think about is you, and he hates himself when he leans into the fantasy, not that the other girl notices. He’d rather fuck around than admit he’d developed feelings for you, and so he does, and pretends like he doesn’t miss your sleepy, morning grin, or the casual way the two of you would chat as you were rigging the spotlights for the band.

The day he finds out they’ve replaced you, the kid they’ve got is at the top of the ladder during lunch when he walks in, and he’s hit with such a sense of deja vu that he stops in his tracks.

“I was told this is the best time for me to get work done.” Her voice, thank god she sounds nothing like you, is hesitant, with none of the calm confidence you exuded at the top of the ladder.

“It’s none of my fucking business.” Roger snaps, and turns on his heel and leaves, pretending like it hadn’t felt like he’d just seen a ghost. He gets another drink.