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rushingheadlong · 2 years

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The Worst Best Friend in the World - A Roger x f!Reader fic

Summary: You and Roger have been calling each other the “worst best friend” for years now, but it’s only recently that it’s started to hit a little too close to home - because only the worst of people would fall in love with their best friend like you did.

Tags: ~8700 words, Roger x f!Reader, angst, h/c, friends-to-lovers, soft smut

Notes: Written for a request from a tumblr user who wishes to remain anonymous. Requests are technically closed so I’m not accepting anymore, but I loved this prompt and just couldn’t resist writing something for it!

Read on AO3 here!

1957

“I hate you Roger Taylor! You’re the worst best friend in the whole entire world!”

Years later, when you look back on that day, you won’t remember what Roger did that upset you so badly. You’ll remember running back home in tears but you won’t remember that you cried so hard that you got hiccups, or that you were nearly sick down the front of your mum’s skirt when she wrapped her arms around you and asked what was wrong. You won’t remember what you told her and you won’t remember crying yourself to sleep that night, hours after the fight actually happened.

What you do remember is seeing him waiting for you by the school gates the next morning. Even now, years after the fact, you remember how nervous he looked when he handed you a piece of paper, and you remember how small his voice sounded when he said, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean what I said. Will you still be my friend?”

You remember opening the piece of paper to see a crude drawing of two stick figures holding hands with your names inside a lopsided heart. At the top of the page, written in Roger’s childish script, are the words Best Friends Forever.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

15 years later…

Tonight’s venue is small, and by the time you finally arrive the place is already packed to the gills with people. You can’t see the makeshift stage setup on the far side of the room but you easily recognize the sound of Queen performing, and you’ve been to enough of their shows by now that you know they’re coming to the end of their set. Damnit. You wanted to get here earlier but your fucking boss held you back, and now it’s going to be a nightmare trying to get backstage to meet up with your friends.

So you don’t try to weasel your way behind the stage at all. You instead duck outside and around the back of the building towards where Queen’s old van is parked, figuring that they have to return to the vehicle at some point and you’ll just meet up with them then. Tonight must be your lucky night, though, because you find the rear door to the venue open and you’re able to slip back inside just in time to hear Freddie say goodnight to the crowd.

“Well look who finally decided to show up!” Roger calls out as the band makes their way down the back hallway. “Thought you decided to skip out on us tonight!”

“Nah, my fucking boss just decided to hold me late,” you explain as you follow him and the others into the dressing room.

“And you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself and leave anyway? Worst best friend ever,” Roger teases, and you laugh at the old inside joke.

The two of you have been slinging that ‘accusation’ at each other ever since that fight when you were ten, but apart from once or twice in the middle of heated arguments it’s never been meant with any sort of seriousness. On the contrary there’s a great deal of fondness captured in those three words that doesn’t seem like it should fit with being called someone’s “worst best friend” but it’s because you both keep the joke running that you know your friendship with Roger is still going strong after all this time.

“Hey now that’s not fair. A real worst best friend wouldn’t have shown up at all,” you say, slinging an arm around Roger’s shoulders. He worked up a sweat while drumming and it’s a bit gross to be touching him right now, but it doesn’t really bother you.

When it comes to Roger there are a lot of things that don’t really bother you, even if they probably should.

Roger laughs. “No, I think that’s just called being a bad friend.” He playfully elbows you and adds, “C’mon, get off me so I can get changed.”

You nod and let go of him, even though that’s the last thing you want to do. No one asks you to leave the room, neither Roger nor the rest of Queen, and you’ve long since stopped raising the subject yourself. You’re Roger’s old mate from school - practically one of the guys - and so none of them seem to think that maybe they should want you to step outside while they drop trou.

That means that you’re free to lean against the doorframe and ogle the boys as they change. Or at least that's what you'd be doing if you had the stomach for ogling your friends, but you don't. It just doesn't feel right for you to be eyeing up Roger like that when he's made it clear - through actions, if not words - that he doesn't feel the same.

There is one advantage to your position by the door, though. You’re the first to hear the sound of giggles and hushed whispers floating down the corridor, and when you glance in that direction you can see the two girls clearly trying to work up the courage to come talk to the band.

“Head’s up,” you tell the boys. It’s just enough of a warning for Roger to zip up his trousers and throw on a shirt, before the girls are hovering nervously at your shoulder.

“Um, hi there!” one of the girls says. “We saw your show and just wanted to tell you that it was fantastic! You guys were really brilliant out there.”

“Thank you,” Freddie says. “It’s always lovely to hear what the fans think of our music.”

The girls seem to take that as permission to move further into the small room, pushing past you without so much as a ‘pardon me’. You roll your eyes behind their backs and try to send Roger a Can you believe this? look, but he doesn’t see it.

Because while the brunette takes a seat by Freddie really does seem eager to talk about Queen’s music, her blonde friend has made a beeline for Roger - and judging by the look in her eyes and her hand on his arm, she has other things on her mind than the show she just watched.

And, even worse, Roger seems to be perfectly happy to entertain her advances.

This is a side of Roger that you’re still trying to get used to. He tried dating a few girls when the two of you first got to uni, but the relationships never really worked out and eventually he gave up on dating altogether. Or at least that’s all that you can assume happened, given that you’ve long since stopped seeing the same girls more than once or twice.

If you’re being honest with yourself - which you try not to be, at least not where Roger is concerned - it makes you uncomfortable to watch him with other girls. You know that the attention he receives is unavoidable, especially as Queen keeps gaining a proper following, but why does he have to respond so eagerly every time a pretty girl flirts with him? It’s not that you’re a prude, and god nows you’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if you started spouting off against of pre-marital sex, but it’s just… it’s just…

The girls waltz past you with another flurry of giggles, pulling you from your thoughts. You hope this means that you can get back to the plans you had already made with Roger, but those hopes are immediately dashed when you see the lovestruck look on his face as he watches the blonde leave.

Then he glances your way, and immediately winces at the expression on your face. So much for trying to hide your annoyance.

Roger gives you an apologetic grin and tries to explain himself. “Ah, Y/N, I wasn’t- I mean I know we had plans, but-”

“Oh, go on then,” you say, jerking your thumb over your shoulder towards the door behind you.

Roger perks up a bit. “You don’t mind?”

You do mind, but you’re not going to admit that to him now. “No, but you’re going to owe me one for this. You now that, right?”

“I’ll buy you dinner later this week to make it up to you,” Roger promises.

“Sounds perfect,” you say, though there’s a part of you that wishes that ‘dinner’ meant more than just a simple meal. Except Roger is grinning at you, that bright and beautiful grin that you love so much, and so it’s hard to really be disappointed with his offer. “But you’re still the worst best friend for leaving me like this!”

“I know,” Roger says. It’s an apology for leaving, and a thank-you for letting him, and because it’s Roger you don’t need anything more said than that.

Because you do know. You know that you’re only uncomfortable with his flirting and hookups because he’s never looked at you that way before.

And you know, beyond any doubt, that he never will.

XXXXX

When you were sixteen your mum had put her foot down and insisted that you go to at least one school dance that year. It wasn’t that you hated socializing with your peers or that you objected to getting a bit dolled-up (though you did object to the dress that your mum wanted to put you in); it’s just that school dances are always either boring or awkward, or more often than not a miserable combination of the two, and you had better things to do with your time than suffer through that.

You were in the middle of bemoaning that fact to Roger when he suggested, “Why don’t we just go together then?”

“Weren’t you listening to anything I was just saying?” you asked with a laugh. “Because I think us going to a dance together would definitely make things awkward!”

“I didn’t mean that we should go together-together,” Roger said. “Just as friends. That way when things get boring we can sneak away and find something better to do.”

"I'm pretty sure they don't let the students sneak out of the dance like that."

"And I'm pretty sure that as long as we're sneaky enough they'll never even notice!"

And in the end, they never did.

You and Roger put in enough of an appearance at the dance to make it seem like you were there. Just enough that, should your mums cross paths with one of the chaperones and get to chatting, no one would have anything to say to raise suspicions. But at the first opportunity the two of you snuck out the back door and disappeared into the Cornish night... which really meant that the two of you wandered down to the football pitch and sat on the damp grass, uncaring of the mess you were making of your nice clothes.

You and Roger spent the rest of the night just laughing and talking about whatever came into your heads: school, exams, your holiday plans and Roger’s band rehearsals… It was going to be a busy summer for the both of you and you were worried about how much time you’ll have to spend together, but Roger swiftly put those fears to rest.

“I’ll drop the band before I drift away from you,” he said firmly.

“No you won’t! You love the band!”

“I do, but I lo-” The rest of his sentence was cut off by Roger clearing his throat, but you knew him well enough to guess what he had been about to say.

At the time, you were happy that he didn’t say I love you more and instead rambled on about how your friendship was more important than any band would ever be. You were both sixteen, that age where you stop saying that you love your friends and start saying those words to the person you’re dating instead. Roger might have saved the conversation by steering it back towards safer topics but your burning hot cheeks and the flush on Roger’s face were a testament to the moment of awkwardness that almost was.

Now as you think back on that night, you wonder if your embarrassment wasn’t because the both of you were awkward teens - but rather because you were already a little in love with Roger. And not at all in a platonic way.

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment that you fell in love with him, or even the first time you consciously realized that you had these feelings at all. Maybe they’ve just always been there, another constant in your life just like Roger has always been. You wonder if that means that you’ll always love him then, and whether you’re prepared to always feel as shitty as you do now every time that you have to watch Roger take home a girl who isn’t you.

Sometimes you think back to that night you spent out by the football pitch instead of inside dancing and you imagine what it could have been like if Roger had actually said the words, I love you. Would you have had the courage to respond as if it wasn’t meant platonically? Would that have changed anything between you, or would it only have ruined the best friendship with the worst best friend you’ve ever known?

Sometimes you imagine how things could be if Roger says I love you now. Sometimes you fantasize that his confession turns things a bit steamy, but you know that’s all you’re ever going to have: Just your fantasies, and nothing more.

XXXXX

The next time you see Roger is at Queen’s rehearsal a few days later. He told you to stop by when they were done so he could buy you the dinner he promised, but for once you had nothing else on your calendar so you decided to swing by at the start of practice so you could say hello to the rest of the guys as well.

You must have arrived just after Roger, though, because the first thing you see is him kissing another girl just outside the band’s practice space. It’s a blonde again, but not the same one from the other night. She’s taller than the last girl, or at least wearing higher heels, and wearing an outfit that makes her look like she just walked off the pages of a Biba advert. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, anyone with eyes can see that, and your stomach twists with a white-hot jealousy as you watch her blow Roger a kiss goodbye before she finally leaves.

“Hey, Y/N!” Roger calls out. You quickly pretend that you weren’t glaring daggers into the back of that girl’s head and turn to look at him instead. “You’re here early. Didn’t have anything better to do?”

“Just didn’t want you skipping out early when you owe me a dinner,” you say. Roger laughs, and his good mood gives you the courage to ask, “So who was that then? New girlfriend?”

“New girl, at least,” Roger answers.

“Is she going to be sticking around?”

“Dunno.” Roger is still grinning but there’s a growing look of confusion on his face as well and he asks, “What’s with the twenty questions? You don’t usually care this much about who I hang out with.”

You shrug, trying to feign an air of nonchalance that you don’t entirely feel. “Just curious, that’s all. What, am I not allowed to take an interest in my friend’s life anymore?”

“Ass,” Roger says, laughing. He elbows you playfully and adds, “C’mon, let’s get inside before they send Brian out to see what’s taking so long.”

Roger seems to have already brushed off your questions but you still feel rattled as you follow him into Queen’s rehearsal space. He has a point, after all; you don’t usually interrogate him like that and it worries you that just seeing him with another girl can get under your skin like that.

You know you can get a bit jealous of the girls that he takes home but you can’t let Roger know that. If he finds out about your jealousy - if he found out how you really feel about him - you really would become the worst best friend in the world. Except, it wouldn’t be much of a joke at that point at all.

Luckily Roger doesn’t seem to suspect anything. If he was ever suspicious about your one-too-many questions earlier, it’s faded by the time rehearsal is over and the two of you head out. One quick stop for takeaway later and you two end up back at his flat, where you bicker good-naturedly about what to put on the telly while you eat and try to steal bites of the other’s food behind their back.

You aren’t in any rush tonight to return to your own flat. You love being able to spend time with Roger like this, just the two of you, just like the old days. You finish eating, and you’re perfectly happy to stay on the cramped sofa with Roger’s knee digging into yours and let the hours of the evening tick by. By the time you finally, begrudgingly, make a comment about needing to head home it’s late enough that you almost regret waiting this long to leave, if only because you hate walking home in the dark.

“You know you can always stay the night,” Roger tells you.

“I know,” you say, but you also know that you never will. Not anymore, not when you know that you’d just be lying awake on the couch wishing you were in bed with Roger instead. “But I’ll sleep better without springs poking into my back.”

“You can take my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch,” Roger offers.

Your heart skips a beat but you manage to hide it with a laugh and say, “A mattress spring digging into my spine isn’t much better than a couch spring, Rog! Now, do you remember where I put my wallet?”

“I hid it so you wouldn’t be able to leave.”

“Worst best friend.” You smack his shoulder playfully as you walk past and add, “You better return it by the time I get back from the toilet, or I’m taking your wallet home with me instead!”

You’re still chuckling to yourself as you finish up your business. You can hear Roger moving around in the living room and you’re certain that he’s grabbing your wallet from wherever he stashed it. Still, there’s a part of you that thinks it would be a little funny if you walked out with Roger’s wallet in your pocket instead.

You move over to the sink to wash your hands - but then you see something on the counter that makes you stop short.

There’s a hair there, a long, bright red one that definitely does not match the hair of anyone you’ve seen Roger with recently. In fact you can’t remember ever seeing Roger go home with a redhead before. You always knew that there were probably more girls around than you had actually met but you weren’t prepared to have the evidence of that thrown in your face at the end of an otherwise perfect night like this.

Suddenly you can picture her perfectly in your mind’s eye, checking her hair quickly in the mirror before joining Roger in the bedroom or redoing her makeup the morning after the fact. There’s a dark smear on the countertop that could be eyeliner and you furiously rub it away with your finger until the white porcelain gleams again. You take a petty joy in removing any evidence that there’s other women in Roger’s life, even if you know that won’t change anything about your relationship with him.

XXXXX

If you’re being honest with yourself, which you’re still trying not to do, you bought the makeup because of Roger. You just couldn’t stop thinking about all the girls that he takes home and comparing yourself to them, and even though you can’t afford a new wardrobe to look more stylish or larger heels to make yourself look taller you can afford to duck into Biba to pick up a few new items of makeup to try out.

You don’t think you can pull off some of the bolder looks popularized by today’s models, but you’ve always had a deft hand with eyeliner and it’s easy for you to copy the crisp cat-eye look in the magazine pages. The blue eyeshadow isn’t your usual color but it does make your eyes pop, and with the addition of lipstick and liner you think you could almost be mistaken for Twiggy. At least, from a distance. And at a night.

Still you have a spring in your step as you head out to meet Queen ahead of that night’s show. You don’t know if this will be enough to get Roger to see you in a different light or not, but the appreciative looks you get from others as you make your way towards the dressing room are a welcome boost to your confidence nonetheless.

“Look at you, Y/N!” Freddie says as you walk into the room. “What’s the special occasion, then?”

“No special occasion,” you tell him. “Just felt like getting dressed up tonight, that’s all.”

“Well you look very nice,” John says.

You beam at him. “Thank you!” You lean against the wall and ask, as casually as you can, “I take it Roger’s running late tonight?”

“Him and Brian both,” John says, with a slight roll of his eyes. “Hopefully they’ll be here soon…”

Freddie cocks his head and says, “Oh, I think they will be.”

Now that Freddie has pointed it out you can hear the faint, but steadily growing louder, sounds of Brian and Roger arguing drifting down the hall towards the dressing room. Judging by the looks on Freddie’s and John’s faces this is an old, recurring argument of theirs, but that doesn’t do much to tone down the passion in their voices as they bicker about some facet of one of their songs. Brian walks into the room first, gesticulating so wildly that he almost hits John with his guitar case, and Roger is right on his heels, talking over him and completely oblivious to his surroundings.

“Alright, alright, that’s quite enough for one night!” Freddie says. They don’t pay him any mind, though, and so he claps his hands and says, louder this time, “Hey! Cut it out!”

They both jump slightly. Brian mumbles an apology and starts getting his guitar ready, while Roger says, “Sorry, Freddie, but you know that the song needs- Holy shit, Y/N!”

Roger does a visible double-take at the sight of you. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open in surprise, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from laughing.

“Something wrong?” you ask, voice dripping with faux-innocence.

Roger shakes his head, a gesture of someone trying to pull their thoughts back together rather than an answer to your question. “No, but what’s on your face?”

The question stings more than you want to let on, and your stomach sinks. That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping to get from him.

“It’s makeup,” you snap and, before you can think better of it, you add, “Thought you would’ve been used to it from those girls you keep taking home.”

“I’m only used to girls who look good with their makeup on, not one who try to imitate a clown,” Roger says.

He’s grinning, like he just cracked a hilarious joke, but you don’t find it funny at all. It just hurts, more than anything you can remember Roger ever saying to you before. He looks at you, waiting for you to retort with a similar sort of jab, but as tears start to prick at the corner of your eyes all you want is to get as far away from him and this situation as possible.

“You know sometimes Roger you really are the worst fucking friend in the world,” you say, as you gather your coat and storm past him out of the room.

“Jesus christ, Rog! Do you ever think before you say something?” you hear John snap at him behind you, but you don’t stop or turn around.

You hurry out of the venue, needing to put as much distance between yourself and Roger as you can so he doesn’t see you crying. You don’t know what you were thinking, trying to get this sort of validation from him. That’s not the sort of friendship you two will ever have, so why did you even put yourself in this position in the first place? You wipe furiously at your eyes, not caring that the gesture will smear makeup all over your face. Why should you care about that anyway, when your original look apparently made you look like a clown to the only person whose opinion you cared about?

When you get home you wash your face and throw out the new makeup you bought, because you know you’ll never be able to stomach wearing it again. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to stomach seeing Roger again; the thought of losing him from your life still terrifies you, but it’s clear that your feelings for him are getting out of control. You can’t even begin to think of how you’re going to explain away this reaction when you see him again… and as the night drags on, you start to wonder if you even should see Roger again, or if you should take this as a sign that your friendship with him has finally reached an end.

XXXXX

You’re woken abruptly by the sound of loud, insistent knocking echoing through your flat. You blink against the bright lights, and it takes you a moment to realize that you must have dozed off on the couch. You don’t know what time it is, only that it’s still dark outside, and you’re sleepy enough that your spat with Roger is the last thing on your mind as you shuffle over to the door to see who’s bothering you at this late hour.

The answer - and you really should have seen this coming - is that it’s Roger standing there on your front steps. He’s sweating and breathing heavily and still in his stage clothes, and despite the hurt you still feel your stomach swoops at the sight of him.

“Y/N, hey, can I… Can I come in?” he asks hesitantly. “Can we talk?”

You grip the door a little harder. “It’s late. What are you even doing here?”

“Trying to apologize to you,” Roger says. “I wanted to come by earlier but there was the show, and Freddie said I should let you cool down first…” He sighs and gives you a remorseful half-smile. “Probably should’ve waited until the morning, I’ll accept that, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Apology accepted. You can leave now.”

You try to shut the door, but Roger quickly stops you. “Hey, c’mon now, Y/N. I’m really, really sorry. You looked great with the makeup on, honest.”

“Yeah, like a great clown.”

Roger winces at the reminder of what he said to you. “No, that was just me being an ass. I thought we were just teasing each other like we always do but I crossed a line there and I am so sorry for hurting you. You looked beautiful tonight. I promise you did.”

Somehow the compliment hurts worse than the earlier insult did. “Don’t say that,” you tell him.

“What? Compliment you?” Roger asks. “It’s true, though. You did look beautiful with the makeup on.”

“Stop it,” you say. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

“It’s not a lie,” Roger says. “You did look great with the makeup. But you always look gorgeous without it too.” You shake your head and Roger huffs, and asks, “Why don’t you believe me? Just because of what I said before?”

“No, because you don’t say things like that to me!” you snap. “I’m your friend, I’m one of the guys, and we don’t compliment each other like that! So if you’re going to start doing that now then you can fuck off and not come back, because I can’t-”

You cut yourself off before you can either say something that you’ll really regret, or start crying like a baby in front of Roger. You try to shut the door again but he sticks his foot in the way, and he doesn’t even flinch when you slam the door uselessly against the side of his shoe anyway.

“Y/N, what the hell’s going on?” he asks. “You’re not acting like yourself. Did something happen?”

He looks and sounds worried and that kills you inside. You hate being the cause of his concern, and you hate knowing that the two of you are just going to keep ending up here no matter what you do - maybe not in this same exact situation, but you know you’re only going to keep being hurt the longer you try to bottle up your feelings.

“What happened is that I fell in love with the worst best friend I could ever have,” you tell him tiredly. “And I know he doesn’t feel the same so I hate hearing him call me beautiful when I know he only means it platonically.” You sigh, and lean heavily against the door, and add, “So can you just leave me alone now? Please?”

Roger stares at you, mouth agape in open surprise, but with his foot still stuck in the door so you can’t even close it in his face.

“Please,” you repeat, a little quieter.

That seems to shake Roger out of his stupor. His gaze becomes a little more searching, like he’s trying to read your expression to make sense of everything you just admitted.

“Do you mean me?” he finally asks. You don’t respond, which is probably answer enough for him, because he huffs in frustration and says, “C’mon, Y/N, let me in. I think we need to talk.”

You don’t want to. You want Roger to go away and let you lick your wounds in private, so that the next time you see each other maybe you can pretend that none of this happened and you two can go back to the way things used to be. But you know nothing can ever be the same again, and trying to push back this conversation will only make things worse. So, despite the fact that your heart is in your stomach, you reluctantly nod and open the door to let Roger inside.

Normally you like having Roger in your flat. You like spending time with him and when they’re at yours you can at least guarantee that none of his bandmates will be unexpectedly interrupting you. Tonight, though, you can feel yourself tensing up as Roger walks into your living room and takes a seat on your couch.

He glances back at you, and offers you a crooked smile. “You going to stand there all night, or do you want to sit down too?”

You shake your head. Your place is small and the only place left to sit is next to Roger, and you don’t think you can stand to be that close to him while having this conversation. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

Roger’s face falls, and you immediately feel guilty.

“However you think I’m going to react, I promise it’s not like that,” Roger tells you. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”

“But you should be!” There are tears pricking at your eyes again but you try to blink them back as you continue, saying, “God, Roger, I’m so sorry. I know we joke about it all the time but this really does make me a terrible friend, and I know that and I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen and I never wanted it to change things between us-”

“But what if I want to change things between us?” Roger interrupts.

You flinch at the question and wrap your arms around yourself, as if the gesture can help you physically hold yourself together, but that’s not enough to stop a tear from slipping down your cheek. If that’s what Roger really wants then you don’t know that you’ll be able to change his mind, and your heart is already absolutely shattered at the prospect of losing him.

“No, no, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that,” Roger says quickly. He stands up and takes a small, abortive step towards you before he realizes that that might make the situation worse and he slowly sinks back down on the couch.

“What I meant to say,” Roger says, soft and gentle, “is that I want things to change because I’m also in love with you.”

Time seems to freeze around you. Your breath hitches in your throat and your watery eyes widen in surprise and you wait for Roger to say something else, to say anything else, to give any explanation at all - but he doesn’t, and somehow you find your voice enough to croak out, “What?”

“I’m in love you with,” Roger repeats. “Have been, for a long time. That’s why I stopped dating, because how I felt about them couldn’t hold a candle to my feelings for you.”

“But… those girls you take home…”

Roger ducks his head in embarrassment. “I was trying to forget about you,” he admits. He glances back up at you and adds, sheepishly, “Didn’t really work too well, though. Even when I was with them I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Why?”

He blinks at you. “Why… what?”

“Why would you think of me when you already had the prettiest girl in any room on your arm?” you ask bitterly. Despite what Roger’s saying now, you still remember all too well how it felt to compare yourself to those girls and always finding yourself coming up short.

“But I didn’t have the prettiest girl in the room. That’s why I had to settle for them instead.” Roger studies your face and, slowly, he asks, “Y/N, did you really think that I didn’t notice how beautiful you are?”

You can feel your own face starting to flush now and you point out, rather hotly, “Well you never said anything! I was right there and you never once seemed to notice me like that!”

“Guess I’m a better actor than I thought,” Roger tries to joke.

You’re far too upset for it to land properly. You’ve been making yourself miserable for ages now by comparing yourself for those other girls, and for no reason at all! You’re embarrassed that Roger seems to have picked up on your insecurities like that, and angry that all of this could have been avoided if you had been less of a coward and just said something-

“I’m so, so sorry, Y/N,” Roger says. The apology, thankfully, interrupts your rapidly-spiraling thoughts before they can get much worse. “I was so worried about making you uncomfortable that I guess I went too far in the opposite direction, and I’m so sorry for that. I never meant for you to feel unnoticed. Believe me, I’ve always seen you and you’ve always been the best distraction in my life.”

Your face must be bright red by now with how hot it feels, and all you can think to say is, “You could have said something, you know!”

Roger laughs softly. “Yeah, alright. That’s fair enough. Guess the least I can do then is finally say something now.”

He stands up again and, though your heart is racing in your chest, you somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to meet his eyes.

“Y/N, I love you,” he says. “You’re gorgeous and funny and the worst best friend anyone could ever ask for, and I have wanted to kiss you for years.” He takes a step forward, this time with confidence, and asks, “Will you let me start making up for lost time now?”

XXXXX

Time seems to slow down at Roger holds out one hand towards you, waiting for you to make the next move. Waiting for you to confirm that, yes, you really do want to take this next step together with him.

It’s a question that he hardly needs to ask. You’re moving before you even find your voice again, uncurling from the ball of tension you had wound yourself into and reaching out to lace your fingers together with Roger’s, before finally answering, “Yes.”

You take a step towards him, or maybe Roger uses your clasped hands to pull you in. You don’t really know and it don’t really matters, because the end outcome is still the same: You, pressed close against Roger, one of his hands on your hip, as he leans down to kiss you.

It isn’t exactly the kiss of your dreams. Your heart is racing so quickly that you’re nearly trembling, and maybe that’s what makes the angle of the kiss just a bit awkward and off. Roger laughs nervously and tries to adjust but somehow that just makes things worse, and he finally ends up pulling away altogether after only the barest brush of his mouth near yours.

Roger’s face is red and he nearly trips over himself trying to apologize, but you don’t need him to do that. “Rog, it’s okay,” you assure him. “Guess we’re both just nervous, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roger sighs and offers you a crooked smile, and asks, “Wanna give it another go?”

You nod, and this time you lean up to meet Roger halfway in a kiss that’s much more coordinated than before.

It still isn’t exactly perfect - but it is pretty damn close.

And when Roger pulls back, several long moments later, you can see a hunger in his eyes that makes it clear that this is only the beginning of everything he wants to do with you.

It’s that look that wipes away the last of your insecurities, because it’s a look that makes it clear that Roger really does want you. And suddenly it doesn’t matter what other girls he’s been with before or how you measure up against them. All that matters is that he’s with you now, and he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to let you go.

“I think I could spend the rest of the night kissing you, y’know,” Roger says. His voice is low, almost a purr, and the sound of it is nearly enough to make you weak in the knees.

“Then why don’t you?” you ask.

Roger’s hand tightens slightly on your hip. “Because there’s no reason to rush things. I want to do things properly here. I want to take you on dates and buy you flowers and-”

“And,” you cut in, “we’ve known each other for most of our lives. If anything we’ve been taking things slow up until now, so if you want to kiss me again…”

“I want to do more than just kiss you, though,” Roger admits, as if he actually thinks that’s going to make you pull the breaks now.

You let go of his hand, but only so you can shift even closer to Roger and drape your arms over his shoulders. “Then why don’t you?” you repeat, this time in a low murmur.

Roger inhales sharply. “Y/N… Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you say, without any hesitation. “And if you leave me waiting now, you really will be the worst-”

Roger interrupts the rest of your sentence with another kiss, a bit more forceful this time, a little more heated. He pushes up the hem of your shirt a bit, his fingers just teasing along the skin of your stomach, but that’s enough to get you to whimper against his mouth. You’re painfully aware of the fact that you’re just in your pajamas, and definitely not wearing a bra anymore. If Roger moves his hand just a little bit higher…

“Bedroom?” Roger asks, his hand still resting just above the waistband of your sleep-shorts.

You nod, and despite the fact that this is your flat you let Roger lead the way into the bedroom. He obviously knows where it is since he’s been here before. He’s even slept in your bed before, when the two of you were two pissed for it to matter, but tonight you’re both clear-headed and sleep is the last thing on your minds.

Roger kisses you again, and this time when his hands toy with the hem of your shirt there’s a purpose there that makes you shiver.

“Can I?” he asks. You nod again, and lift your arms so Roger can carefully remove your top.

You have to fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to hide your breasts, but Roger doesn’t give you any time to feel self-conscious.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says. If it wasn’t already clear from his voice that he means it, you can see how his eyes darken in appreciation and when he presses close for another kiss you can feel his growing hardness against your hip. “Lie down on the bed for me?” he murmurs against your lips.

You pluck at the top that he’s still wearing and say, “Only if you take this off.”

You’ve seen Roger shirtless countless times before over the years but this time is different, because this time you don’t have to hide your staring. You watch with open appreciation as he joins you on the bed and settles between your spread legs, and all you can think to say is, “You’re gorgeous.”

Roger laughs. “Stealing my lines now, Y/N?” he teases. He slides one hand up your body, palming your breast and eliciting a quiet gasp from you which he quickly swallows down with another kiss, because apparently he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to spend the rest of the night doing that.

He trails kisses down your neck, across your collarbones and along the tops of your breasts. He swipes a thumb across your nipple as he kisses down your sternum, and you can feel yourself start to throb with anticipation as he moves down the planes of your stomach until his lips are just above your waistband. And it’s there that he lingers for a moment, pressing kisses into your navel but making no moves to keep things heading south.

You reach down and card a hand through Roger’s hair, pushing it back away from his face and making him glance back up at you with a questioning look.

“You don’t have to eat me out if you don’t want to,” you tell him. You know from experience that that can be a sticking point for some guys, and you would never push Roger to do something he didn’t want to do.

But Roger is quick to reassure you, “No, no I definitely want to. I was trying to think of a romantic way of asking, but since you said it first…” He plucks at your waistband and grins up at you. “Wanna take these off so I can eat your pussy and blow your mind?”

His phrasing of the question makes you laugh. You like that Roger can keep things light-hearted and humorous in bed. It helps keep your nerves and insecurities at bay as you lift your hips to allow Roger to remove your shorts and panties, leaving you fully bared beneath him.

“Beautiful,” Roger murmurs, appreciative, as he presses a soft kiss just below your navel. Then another even lower than that, and you spread your legs a bit wider in anticipation of him finally moving down between them. He does keep moving down your body but not where you want him to go. He kisses down one of your inner thighs, then up the other one, seemingly unaware of how wet you’re becoming.

“Rog- oh,” your complaint is cut-off before you can even say anything, as Roger suddenly licks a broad stroke over your core, ending with a small flick of his tongue against your clit.

You moan and grab at the blankets beneath you as Roger begins to eat you out in earnest. He’s so fucking good at this and the reality is so much better than your fantasies ever were. Roger holds your hips down and laps at your core like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. His clever tongue finds your clit and he alternates between teasing licks and light suckling, the combination driving you absolutely crazy with need.

You’re flushed and panting and absolutely incoherent with desperation. You want to come so badly… but you don’t want to come like this.

Somehow you manage to let go of the blankets so you can gently push Roger away - something that’s far easier said than done, when Roger’s mouth feels as good as it does.

He does stop but he gives you a confused and worried look and asks, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, god no," you say quickly, and a look of relief immediately crosses Roger’s face. “But I don’t wanna come until you fuck me.”

Roger groans and unconsciously grinds his hips down against the mattress. “Fuck, Y/N, are you sure? I’m, ah, I’m probably not going to last long this time-”

“I don’t care,” you reassure him. You card a hand through his hair, and shiver as he nuzzles against your inner thigh. “I’m already close. I just wanna feel you first."

"Well I'll never say no to that." Roger kisses the inside of your leg, before sitting up and asking, "Condoms?"

"In the drawer."

Roger nods and grabs one, along with the small bottle of lube that you had stashed in there. You're not sure that it'll be needed given how absolutely soaked you already are, but you can appreciate the care he shows in the gesture. Roger is clearly a thoughtful lover but almost to a fault; he somehow manages to shimmy out of his trousers and underwear before you can even offer to help undress him, and you have to pluck the condom out of his hand to stop him from putting that on himself too.

“Let me do something here,” you say, teasingly. You tear open the small packet, and any reply that Roger would have given is lost in another groan as you slowly roll the condom down over his cock.

You can’t resist giving Roger a few strokes, relishing the weight and feel of him in your hand. “How do you want me?” you ask him.

He stills your hand with a gentle touch and says, “Lie down on your back. I wanna see your face.”

Your heart is racing in nervous anticipation as you settle back down on the bed. Roger grins reassuringly as he braces himself above you. “Breathe, Y/N,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, slowly and carefully, and breathing is the last thing on your mind because all you can think about is how perfectly Roger fills you up. You cry out and rub your cheek against the pillow beneath you, trying so hard not to come as Roger finally comes to a stop, buried to the hilt inside you. He’s breathing heavily and trembling faintly, and you know that neither of you are going to last long once he starts moving again.

“Ready?” he asks after another minute.

You nod and barely manage to breathe out a needy, “Yes,” before Roger carefully pulls out, and thrusts back in. All you can do is moan and cling to him as he starts fucking you, slowly at first but quickly picking up pace. He’s not rough but there is a desperation to his movements, like he’s barely able to hold himself back this much. He groans and mouths at your neck, and you dig your fingers into his back so tightly that you just know they’re going to bruise, but right now neither of you care about that.

You only let go of Roger to try to touch your clit so you can finally, finally come, but Roger bats your hand away and replaces it with his own.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, panting, as his clever fingers rub over the head of your clit. “You gonna come for me, babydoll?”

“Roger,” you moan. You clench around his hard length and he groans above you, hips stuttering slightly, but he doesn’t stop his thrusting or the motion of his hand on your clit. “I’m gonna- fuck, Rog, I’m-”

You cry out as your orgasm washes over you. You clench down around Roger, setting him off only a few moments later as well. He grinds deep inside you as he comes and he ducks his head to muffle his groan in the crook of your neck. You’re breathing heavily and you shudder as Roger’s every movement sends sparks of overstimulated-pleasure racing down your spine. He finally pulls out when your sporadic clenching becomes too much for him to stand any longer, and once he disposes of the condom he collapses bonelessly next to you on the bed.

There’s a moment of near-panic where you wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You just slept with you best friend; there’s no coming back from that. Everything is going to change between you and Roger now - the one thing you were always trying to avoid - and there’s a part of you that is terrified about what happens next.

But then Roger laughs breathlessly and rolls over to face you, slinging one hand casually over your waist as he snuggles close to you, like it doesn’t even occur to him to be anything but affectionate with you. You breathe a small sigh of relief, and the smile you give him in return is bright and genuine.

“Would it be forward of me to say that I already want to do that again?” Roger asks. He’s smiling lazily at you, looking like the cat that got the cream, and it makes you want to kiss him breathless all over again.

“I don’t care if it’s forward or not, because I was thinking the same thing,” you say. You just came but with Roger pressed hot and naked against you all you can think about is getting your turn to worship him with your mouth and hands.

You lean up to kiss him and Roger meets you with the same passion and intensity that you’re feeling yourself. He drops his hand to cup your ass and encourages you to grind against him, which you do eagerly.

“Christ, Y/N, you drive me crazy,” Roger murmurs, the words nearly lost against your mouth. “What sort of friends are we, if we can’t keep our hands off each other for five minutes?”

“Oh the worst best friends, for sure,” you say, trying to suppress your giggle. Roger’s answering snort of laughter disrupts your angle and throws you off the rhythm of your grinding. You huff and add, “Of course, you’d be the best boyfriend ever if you moved your leg back to where it was…”

“Boyfriend?” Roger echoes, immediately perking up. He doesn’t move his leg back but before you can complain about that he rolls the two of you over, so you’re on your back and he’s on top of you once again.

“Yeah, boyfriend,” you say. “At least, I thought that’s where things were going.”

“They were,” Roger confirms, grinning down at you widely. “That wasn’t a complaint. I just liked hearing you call me your boyfriend.”

“Well you’re about to become the worst boyfriend again if you don’t do something-”

The rest of your complaint is lost to a moan as Roger moves his hand between your bodies, and starts you off on round two.

#long post //#my fic #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #text #roger

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vixemi · 4 months

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Idk if anyone will know what I’m talking about but I’m trying to find a imagine about Roger Taylor played by Ben Hardy who cheats on reader with a fan I believe. Let a girl know if you find it.

#roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor queen #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor x fem!reader #roger taylor imagines #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #ben hardy #bohemian rhapsody

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johnica-weeks · 1 year

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Roger and Debbie

Roger Meddows Taylor (26 July 1949) 💕 Deborah “Debbie” Leng (6 April 1963)

In a relationship from 1987 to 2004 (not married)

Children:

Rufus Tiger Taylor (8 March 1991)

Tigerlily Taylor (10 October 1994)

Lola Daisy May Taylor (2 April 2000)

Deborah Jane Leng Burgess is a model and actress, and Roger met her on the set of his side band The Cross' video-clip "Cowboys and Indians" (1987). She next appeared as the masked lady in Queen’s “Breakthru”. Debbie started her modeling under the artistic name of Debbie Du-Bell in 1982, and represented the UK in the 1986 edition of Supermodel of the World. She created a sensation in 1987 when she became the iconic Cadbury's Flake girl in a TV commercial and got axed three years later for being "too sexy".

Roger and Debbie’s relationship was immediately object of interest for tabloids, especially since he married his previous girlfriend Dominique in 1988 to secure their two children and the media didn't understand their relationship was actually over, and Roger he soon moved in a new mansion with Debbie. Another object of scandal was the alleged diffusion of a sex tape between the two, and the media never failed to point out their age difference of 14 years. The drummer of a world famous band and a beautiful supermodel couldn’t stay out of the spotlight, after all...

However, besides often appearing together at events, concerts and parties, looking dashing and rich, what happened privately in their lives seems to remain very private. (short to say I’m not really finding much out there besides gossip articles mentioned above). Of course, Debbie is a beautiful woman and always looks friendly and smiling around her family, often having fun with Roger, but there's not much additional information about her personality.

They had Rufus, Tigerlily and Lola together and it appears that Debbie has stayed a lot by Roger’s side after Freddie’s death. “Freddie Mercury was still alive when Rufus came along in 1991 and those two got on famously. Mind you, Fred was always fabulous with kids — he was the one who came up with Rufus’s middle name: Tiger.” They split in around 2004, but they still have a close relationship nowadays and Debbie introduced Tigerlily and Lola to the modeling world, following her steps, while Rufus is drummer of The Darkness, much like Roger.

“Although Rufus’s mum [Deborah Leng] and I were together for about 15 years, we never did get married. I also had Felix and Rory Eleanor from a previous relationship [with Dominique Beyrand], but in that situation, we did eventually tie the knot. I guess I wanted to make sure Felix and Rory were looked after financially. “I’ll admit my life back then was, well… let’s say it was complicated. It was a strange time for all of us. Wouldn’t it be great if relationships were simple and easy? Sadly, breaking up with people who mean a lot to you is never simple or easy. The important thing for me has always been that the kids support each other and feel like brothers and sisters. There’s not some from “this relationship” and some from “that relationship”; they are a gang of five.” (Roger in 2014)

“Mum and Dad never actually got married, but their separation was still pretty rough. There was a bit of shouting for a while and a few headlines, but, y’know what: shit happens. People split up. Both of them have gone off and done their own thing, and they’ve got a much better relationship these days.” (Rufus in 2014)

Prompts - Day 3: Roger and Debbie (14th April)

Under the sunshine

Growing family

Baby you got a fire in you

If I could only reach you, if I could make you smile

Brian & Roger's ships week 2023 rules and prompts

#Brian and Roger Ships week 2023 #queen fandom #queen fandom event #queen ship week #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor x debbie leng #debbie leng #deborah leng #BrianRogerShipsWeek2023

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likesomekindofcheese · 1 year

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Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could write a Roger Taylor x guitarist reader fluff story, I haven’t been able to find any. (No pressure)

Hi, there anon! I hope you find this! I know I have had BAD writer's block for the Queen Fandom and lack of inspiration to write but I hope you get this and you like it!

Anon, if and when you get this, please send me a dm or ask so I know you got it! Thanks!

Link to My Ko-Fi

Link To My Etsy Shop (For Comfort Character Letters and Playlists!)

Link to My A03

COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND ASKS OR DMS ABOUT MY WRITING IS APPRECIATED!!!!

Roger Taylor Dating a Guitarist Would Look Like...

First off, we love Rog and he can be a lil shit so he will get competitive and try to get his own guitar to riff off with you. He plays something, and you play something more elaborate. The other band members gather with popcorn, their heads going from one space to another like cats with a toy. It's like "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" but with guitars instead of fiddles. And no way will he let you win (unless you kiss him).

He tries to serenade you and then you give critiques of his form or playing snarkily and he goes "OHHHH Y/N, I was trying to be romantic!" and you both laugh it off. You both enjoy teasing each other like that.

Many Guitarists tend to be more relaxed and creative in their personalities and Roger loves that about you. It makes you so peaceful and fun to hang around and date!

One time for his birthday you write a song for him!!! And he loves it and even cries. Normally, he's the one writing for his muses never the other way around!! So he hugs you and gives you a big ol' smooch!

Both of you talk for hours about his songwriting- his ideas and the various songs you both play. What's easy, what's hard, what you want to learn, etc. (Plus Brian and Freddie Third Wheel so it becomes the guitarist circle)

Once there was a party that was getting very dull very quickly. (Someone suggested hard drugs and that guy was shut down quickly). So you got out your guitar and you and Roger began to duet. People started to request songs and you would try to see if you or Roger could play them- carefully switching the guitar between you two and enjoying the challenge.

Often your fingers are very calloused from all the playing and Roger will flip your hand onto the palm and kiss those lil'finger tips out of affection!!

#carrie writes #anon #anon request #roger taylor #queen #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor x y/n #roger taylor fluff #anon ask

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eileen-crys · 2 years

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Down in the Dungeons

Ch.25: “The Millionaire’s waltz”

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22573960/chapters/105491754 (Words: almost 8k) Warnings for this chapter: brief mentions of body insecurity, mild sexual innuendos. Lots of fluff!

The night of the Party at Adam's castle has finally arrived! Not without inner turmoils, wishes, desires and fancy clothes. But at the Millionaire’s waltz, our heroes are up for a wonderful time.

Ah! I'm here once again apologising for the late update, this time the reason of my delay (aside from the usual other fics I wrote and recommend to check out) is that this chapter has lots of different scenes and I wanted to give it a sort of "episodic" structure, with tiny glimpses at scenes of the party, and it wasn't an easy task. I really hope you'll like this and don't forget to leave a comment on AO3! The first part of the next chapter has been already written (can you already imagine what happens next? heheh), the 2nd part is still a mistery... But don't worry, I'll come around with it, just be patient while I decide which direction to take exactly! ^^ Thank you as always for the huge support to this fic, for your kudos, comments and fanarts! Love you lots 💕

Taglist: @warriorteam1924 @john-deacon-fucks @deakysgurl @kiainspace @the-world-of-erit @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes @kinole009x @blossom-melina-burnickel @wilyserpent @annina-96 @john-paul-george-ring0 @idontknowhowthisworked @julescape @tiny-irish-warlock @finland-shoes (Please tell me if you want to be added/removed!)

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 months

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"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a

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hainethehero · 9 months

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Red, White & Royal Blue, but make it stucky...

Steve is heir to the British throne whilst James Barnes is the son of the U.S President. They do not get along but obviously, for the sake of their families, they have to.

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rogertaylorshbb · 1 year

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"after concert" roger Taylor x reader imagine

hi, this is just a short imagine I have been working on. I've been trying to work and get better on my smut writing skills. the smut I've written in the past has been Absolutely horrible, don't know how anyone actually even read it. if you wanna tell me your thoughts about if its good smut or not, please comment!! but anyway enjoyy!!♥♥

Roger came up from behind you, his loud footsteps and heavy breathing making his presence known. You could see his sweat dripping down his chest as he whipped his sweat with a towel. Roger groaned, staring at you, he walked over to you gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “You look nice,” “Mhm, you like this outfit?”. “Yea, makes you look so fuckable” he groaned desperately. Roger smiled, his tongue grazing the top of his teeth. “Hey, why don't you be a good girl for me?” he whispered. You nodded, guessing what he had in mind.

Roger slowly started to undo the buttons on your shirt, his hands sloppy with frustration but once he got the buttons undone he was fast to cup your breast desperately as he softly let his fingers wander passionately. You moaned over the sensation of Roger's overworked hands gripping at you. He Lightly took your nipple between his teeth as he trailed down your body.

You slid your skirt off and Roger smiled.

“Good girl,”

He reached for the sides of the chair you were on, kneeling to the floor.

Roger sensually glided his fingertips along the inside of your thigh, a shaky gasp escaping your lips.

“fuck-”

“Already so wet,” Roger groaned.

roger let his hands grip your things sucking on the soft skin, you could feel there was gonna be marks the next day

You whined because of his teasing.

“Don't worry, by the end you'll be a soaking incoherent mess”

Roger then slid two fingers into your cunt slowly, then Sucking harshly over your sensitive clit.

You moaned uncontrollably.

His perfect stamina and speed makes your drip onto his hands.

He smirked seeing you frantically gasp and tremble.

You could feel his fingers pushing into you as his swollen lips and wet tongue roughly sucked at your clit.

You could feel yourself reaching climax but to your disappointment he moved his mouth away from your clit, and pulled his two fingers out from you as a wet sound followed.

“Roger please” you desperately begged.

“Don't worry I'm not gonna stop, just figuring out what way I should let you finish”

You tilted your head back. “God” you breathed.

Roger placed his hands on your hip-bones pushing himself up. You melted yourself into the chair as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“Please, roger, just fuck me”.

“sit on the make-up desk”

You quickly stood up propping yourself up onto the desk.

He carelessly took his clothes off.

As he walked close to you, you ran your fingers over his hard penis. “Uh uh” he tutted “you can suck me off after if you want to, but now, I just wanna be inside you”.

Roger looked into your eyes.

He grabbed you hips needlingly and slid himself into you, your loud gasp making him chuckle.

Roger's head fell forward to your chest, his hair falling in front of his face as he closed his eyes in pleasure.

He started to pound into you recklessly but still so loving at the same time. Letting his hair fall onto his face and he groaned louder.

“I- fuck- it feels so- jesus christ” you stuttered.

Roger roughly grunted as his fingertips dug into your hips.

You reached your orgasm, your fingernails digging into his back as his warm breath breathed into your shoulder.

Roger then jolted as he came into you, his soft groans and whimpers.

“Fuck, your so amazing” he whispered his eyes scanning your body.

He slowly slid out of you, his fingertips touching your wetness. Roger examined your cum covering his hands. “I'll get you a towel”.

Roger picked up a clean towel and carefully whipped all the mess off you including his cum. After he picked up his pants and underwear sliding them back on.

You walked over to him.

“Are you tired?”

“A bit” Roger chuckled, “why?”

“Well remember what you said earlier? About me being able to suck you off…..only if your still-”

“y/n, i'm never too tired for that”

He slid his pants back off falling into the chair.

I've tried my best with this, but I still think it feels a bit awkward 😭. I hope it is good to the person reading this. I'm also gonna write part 2! anyway, again, hope you enjoyed!!

@sarcastic-sourwolf

#roger taylor smut #queen smut #smut #smutty #fluff #concert #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fan fic #x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger meddows taylor #roger taylor queen #fanfic queen #queen fanfiction

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michelle-is-writing · 2 months

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Protector, Warren Worthington iii

Word Count: 4.5k~

I had been best friends with Warren ever since I met him.

Throughout our years in school, Warren and I had always stuck by each other's side. We hung out together, ate lunch with each other, and nearly forgot about all those people around us who would point out his wings to hurt him. It was like we were in our own little world, and in a way, we were.

We met in the second grade while our class was in the library. While looking for a book, I found Warren, huddled up behind a bookshelf in the elementary school library. He was red in the face and crying as he held his knees close to him. Instantly, I noticed his wings, of course - how could I not?

However, this didn't stop me from going up and asking him what was wrong. I can still remember the way his curls bounced against his scalp as he turned his attention away from his lap and up to me, quickly wiping away his tears to cover up his emotions. Despite being so young, he knew how to expertly do this as he pretended that nothing was wrong and he wasn't crying merely thirty seconds ago.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting beside him. I saw him tense up, his back straightening up as he laid his legs out in front of him instead of hugging them to his chest.

"Nothing," He instantly answered me, once again, pretending as if everything wasn't as it seemed.

Instead of saying anything more, I let the boldness I had as an eight-year-old takeover and pulled him into my arms, his figure becoming even tenser. Although, he didn't pull away, and instead, just stayed in that position until I spoke up.

"The kids are mean to me too," I told him, his breath catching in his throat. "And they shouldn't be because you seem pretty cool," I explained with a smile as he turned his eyes up to look at me again. "No one else here has wings, and they're really pretty."

From then on, we were practically inseparable. We weren't seen without each other, and despite bullies picking on us, we didn't let their words bother us. Even as we got older, nothing changed, and in spite of living in an expensive house with nearly triple the amount of space that my house was, Warren chose to stay at my place most nights. His parents didn't care about what he did, and my parents were more than happy to have him over.

When we reached high school, our friendship turned into an actual relationship between two lovebirds (no pun intended). Now we really were inseparable.

However, this changed one night when he went out to grab something from the store. I was sick, and needed medicine; so, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, he decided he would go out and get some. I guess we underestimated how much mutants were hated in the area as Warren never came back.

Now it's been three months since he disappeared.

Every night since, I went searching for him, only to return to some hotel or hostel without him. I don't know what came over me tonight though. For all my life, I've always been told to avoid putting myself in dangerous settings, and yet, all of those lessons were cast away as I heard people screaming and hollering down an empty and dark alleyway while in Munich. My searching had taken me far away from home, but I wasn't going to stop until I found Warren.

Following the sounds of excitement and fury, I found a hidden door that led to what seemed to be a fighting ring. People surround the caged area, but I push through them, ignoring their waving arms with money held high. I stop at the metal fence separating the people from the ring, only to gasp in horror as my eyes fall over the white, fluffy wings I've loved for many years.

"Warren..." I hear his name being whispered through my lips, tears forming in my eyes as I look at his hurt and pained figure. Fighting for his life against another mutant, he spits blood from his mouth as he wipes away the blood forming on the cut across his cheek. The tattered t-shirt he wears, the same thing he wore the night he disappeared, barely hangs onto his shoulders by a few strips of fabric, the band emblem on the front no longer being recognizable. His arms have fresh bruises forming all along the skin while fading bruises covers the visible parts of torso. How the hell did he get here?

Too shocked to move, I watch as Warren throws a punch at the other mutant, only to hit the fence in front of him, the silver eliciting sparks as soon as Warren touches it. "Shit!" He yells while the blue mutant seemingly teleports to different parts of the cage, only to receive the same treatment as Warren did. Hearing his voice after so long makes me nearly choke on the air in my throat, the tears now falling freely. Seeing Warren makes me want to rip through the fence and save him, but seeing that the metal fence is electric, I can't simply do that.

Blinking the oncoming tears away, I glance in every corner of the underground hideaway and try to find something that might resemble a control panel. It isn't until I see a switch box on what seems to be a surveying floor that I begin running to it, successfully climbing up the steps to the higher level and stopping in front of it. Gazing back to the fighting ring, I see Warren shouting at the dodging mutant while people standing around the cage yell out vile words of hate and absolute greed.

"Warren!" I shout his name as loud as I can, placing my hand on the handle to the electrical switch. Instantly, his head darts toward the voice calling his name, every inch of his being relaxing once he sees me. I smile at him before nodding, his eyes following my hand as it begins pushing the handle downward. Just before the electricity goes out, I see Warren's dirty wings perk up just as the entire underground arena goes pitch black.

In the darkness, the people's screams die down while the clinging sound of the fence being ripped apart follows it. Mere seconds pass before I familiar arms wrap around me and tug me close to their body, Warren's wings flapping rapidly as he lifts us into the air and to the hidden door I entered through. Once we're outside, we quickly run as far as we can before stopping in another alley, far away from the other one.

As soon as we stop, Warren wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to him, his lips immediately attaching to mine in a fervent and much-needed kiss. His hand on my waist never falters in its hold on me, and instead, it squeezes the flesh there as if he were testing if I was real or not.

"I'm here," I tell him, sliding my hands down his face as endless tears fall from his cheeks and onto my hands. Staring into his tear-filled eyes, I can't help but cry tears of happiness as well. "I'm right here."

Nodding, Warren folds his wings behind him, slightly wincing at the pain of them conforming against his back. "Fucking hell," He mutters, placing his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. A few seconds pass of him just holding me before he kisses me once more. "I've missed you so fucking much."

Our sweet reunion is cut short by a black vehicle slamming on their brakes at the end of the alleyway. "Warren," I say his name, concerned at the sight in front of us. Warren turns around, only for his wings to burst out again, shielding me from seeing anything. Peeking under one of the long feathers, I see two men leave the vehicle before one of them points at Warren.

"That's him!" The man yells, "Get him!"

In an instant, Warren swings around and wraps his arms and wings around me, protecting me from the flurry of oncoming bullets. What appears to be eight shots sounds throughout the alley before the same car speeds off again as Warren begins to topple over. Was he shot?

Trying to catch him before he falls on his face, I wrap my arms around Warren and hold him up for a few seconds, only for his size to take over mine and fall to the side. Landing on his back with me on top of him, Warren waves his hand at me while shaking his head, his eyes shut. "I'm fine," He mutters, his voice now suddenly tired and drained.

Eyes wide and concerned, I turn him onto his side and look over him to see blood pouring from his wings. Between the layers of feathers, I find what seems to be four bullet wounds, causing me to practically lose it as the crimson liquid touches my hands. "No, no, no, no, no," I mutter uncontrollably as I place him onto his back. "Warren, Warren," I repeat his name, running my hand against the side of his face, his own blood smearing across his flawless cheek. "Warren, don't go to sleep!"

At my heartbroken plea, Warren opens his eyes, frowning at the sight of tears pouring from my eyes. "Don't cry, my love," He begs, his voice even weaker than before. He lifts a hand to my face, doing the same to me just as I had done to him. I quickly place my hand over his, holding it there as I feel the warmth in his skin begin slowly leaving it. "I... I love you..." He whispers, his eyes closing once again.

Just like a few seconds ago, I feel every ounce of sanity leave me as I watch the love of life wither away in front of me. "Warren, don't do this to me!" I shout, the tears now falling like a waterfall. I could barely manage not seeing him for the three hellish months when he was missing - I can't live the rest of my life without him.

"Warren!" I scream his name again, utter desperation being the only recognizable thing in my voice. Releasing a sob, I push my head against his chest and hear his still-beating heart. However, I know that if I don't get him to a hospital within the next few seconds, his heart won't continue beating like that. But what hospital will even help us?

"Ma'am?" I hear a woman's soft voice coming from the end of the alley, causing me to jerk my head up and see a blonde woman standing twenty feet away. Concerned, she walks closer to me before kneeling beside Warren and me, the knees of her pants becoming stained with his spilled blood on the alley ground. His wings are the first things that catch her focus, making me want to hold him closer.

"Please, don't hurt him," I beg her, my hand holding his hand a bit tighter. "He-he's a-" The woman cuts me off.

"He's a mutant," She points out, looking over at me. Still crying, I nod once, watching as a small smile appears on her face. Within a short second, the fair skin she once had transforms into blue flesh with darker blue scales, her eyes turning yellow and green while her hair changes into a much brighter orange/red.

"It's okay," She assures me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I am too, and I can help."

Her words, not to mention her sudden change of looks, shock me, but I nod at her, ready to do anything this woman says if it means saving Warren.

"Where's his family?" She asks me, her hand remaining on my shoulder as she kneels on the ground beside me.

"Me," I quickly answer her, tears still falling from my eyes. "I am his family."

"You're not a mutant," She points out, shaking her head with squinted eyes as she looks at me a bit confused. "And you care for him?"

"He's my best friend, the love of my life..." I answer her, my heart clenching as the words leave my lips. "Please, you have to help us!"

The woman nods, giving me a small, encouraging smile. "Kurt!" She abruptly yells, a teenage boy with blue skin and carvings appearing behind her with a blue puff of smoke following. I instantly recognize him as the other mutant in the pin with Warren earlier, and in spite of this, he doesn't try to get back at Warren while he's down.

Pulling his hand to get closer, she makes him get on our level before wrapping his arm around her and me. The stranger, Kurt, then wraps his other arm around Warren's almost lifeless body and tugs him a bit closer as well. "Get us all to the mansion nurse's ward - now!"

With the woman's last words, Kurt somehow does so, causing us to suddenly be in a nurse's station only a second later. This all confuses the living hell out of me, but with Kurt having a tail and red eyes, and not to mention blue skin like the lady, I don't know if I should be questioning the normalcy of anything at the moment.

Immediately, three scrubbed nurses rush up to where we are and pick Warren up from the ground. "He was shot, multiple times," The blue woman quickly explains, standing up from the ground. "He'll need blood, and you need to act quick."

Listening to her, the three nurses nod before taking an unconscious Warren back to what I could guess is surgery. Numb, I sit on the cold tile floor as I reach my blood-covered hands up to cross my arms and hold myself, my eyes stuck on the swinging doors that Warren was just carried through. Beside me is Kurt as he places a consoling hand on my shoulder, giving me a small smile.

"He vill be alright," Kurt assures me, his words helping me out a little. Giving him a small nod of my head, I take his held-out hand and stand up with him. "That is Raven, by the way," He adds as the woman from before moves to stand in front of me, taking my hand in hers despite it stained crimson.

"This is the Xavier mansion," She explains to me, "You're safe; we won't hurt you."

At her words, I nod. "I know," I tell her, giving her a small smile. "I trust you."

Smiling back at me, Mystique's eyes flicker behind me before her mouth slightly parts, her hand holding mine slightly faltering. "Who is this, Raven?" I hear a soft British voice speak up, causing me to slowly turn around and see a man in a wheelchair now in front of me. His eyes quickly catch my blood-covered hands and arms, shock taking over him. "Dear heavens, what happened to you, dear?"

I go to answer him, but my voice defeats me in doing so. Instead, Mystique speaks for me. "Charles, her and a fellow mutant were shot at in an alleyway when Kurt and I were passing by. He has wings, that's where most of the bullets hit him," She explains to him, "She has no ill will toward any of us - she just wants her boyfriend to survive."

A few seconds pass before the man, Charles, nods, staring at me with a frown. "I'm sorry to hear that, love," He tells me, giving me a single nod. "Raven, help her get cleaned up and fetch some fresh clothes for her as well," With that, Charles wheels himself out of the room and into the hallway where he enters the room at the end.

In a puff of blue smoke, Kurt leaves Mystique and me, letting us head to what I presume is her room where she wets a washcloth and begins rubbing the drying blood from my arms. "He will be alright," She tells me, saying Kurt's exact words from moments ago. "Trust me."

I nod at her words, but I can't believe them myself. What if Warren isn't okay? What if one of the bullets when through his spine and he's now paralyzed? I couldn't see all of his wounds so I don't know where they all hit him, minus the few I could see in his wings. What if the nurses and doctors can't do anything and he dies on the table? I can't bear to lose him - not again.

With my arms their original (s/c) color, I change into a pair of pajama pants and matching top with a school emblem given to me by Raven before walking with her to Charles' office. Stopping in front of his desk, Mystique and I watch as the man from earlier sits at his desk with his attention stuck on the novel stuck in his hands. However, it doesn't take long for him to notice our presence and put the book down with his glasses following.

"(Y/n), is it?" Charles asks me, turning his attention up to me. Surprised, I hesitantly nod as he speaks up once more. "No need to worry, dear," He assures me with a smile despite my caution. "I'm able to read minds and communicate through them as well," Charles further explains. "Raven and I were talking while she helped you with your arms and hands,"

"I understand you've been through a lot in the past hour, so I won't force you to talk about it," Charles tells me, making me let out a small sigh of relief. "But I am a bit concerned over the fact that you were in such a predicament that your partner was shot," Holding his hand out, Charles waits for me to place my hand in his. "I won't scour through your brain and look at everything you've ever seen or done - I just want to see what all transpired tonight."

Hesitating, I bite my lip in thought before shakily putting my hand in Charles, his touch being warm and welcoming. I feel as Charles does what he told me he would do, the images of the past month flashing before my eyes. Warren's disappearance, me finding him, and helping him get out are all shown before me like a home movie shot from my perspective. Because of this, I gasp a little, shocked at Charles' ability to do such a thing.

Slowly slipping his hand from mine, Charles' eyebrows furrow in thought before flashing his eyes up to mine, confusion written all over them. "You're a human with no powers or anything," He points out, slightly pausing in his words. "And yet, you've always loved a mutant?"

His words come out as a question, but to me, they're a true statement. I love Warren - I always have - and nothing about him will ever change that. "He's human just as I am," I tell Charles, giving him a small smile. "but, with wings," I further add, my smile growing sad as I lightly shrug. "How could I not love my angel?"

My words washing over him, Charles smiles back. "I like you," He tells me, Raven putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Your friend, I think he'll pull through. After all, he has a great incentive."

Because of Charles' words, I smile and give him a nod of thanks just as a question rises to my mind. "What... what is this place?" I ask, gesturing to the overall building. I know it has to be an establishment of some sort going by the built-in medical wing and wide hallways.

"This," Charles states, pointing his finger to the ceiling while his eyes remain on mine. "Is Xavier's a school for gifted youngsters," He informs me before nodding his head once. "This is a school specialized for children with mutations such as Warren, or Kurt, whom you met earlier."

Furrowing my eyebrows together, another question comes to mind. "Why have I never heard of this place before?" I ask, receiving a small smile.

"We're a relatively small school," Charles simply explains, "Ultimately, if your boyfriend would want to join, he could - now, you're not a mutant, but the unique and understanding attitude you give off, I'm sure we could work something out for you too."

His words make my cheeks turn pink in response to the compliment as I thank him, turning my eyes toward the ground as I try to fight the ever-growing smile on my lips. Just as I do this, I see Charles put a hand to his forehead as his eyebrows furrow before looking over at Mystique with a smile. "Raven, take her back to the medical ward," he tells the fiery-haired woman. "It seems that her friend was easily operable and now they're just waiting for him to wake up."

Almost immediately, I turn and follow Mystique out of the room with my pace just a little faster than hers. Soon enough, we walk through the doors and directly to the beds where only one of them is occupied, and the sleeping body in it is Warren's. The window behind him shines down on him with the bright and early morning sun highlighting his now washed and pure white wings that lie behind him. The sight is a complete contrast to what I saw only an hour ago with the almost black sky darkening everything around us and only emphasizing the dirt and grime that covered Warren's perfect wings.

"We told you he'd be okay," I hear Mystique's gentle voice beside me say, causing me to nod with an onrush of tears rising in my eyes. They were right, and my Warren is okay.

Moving closer to him, I sit beside Warren on the bed and take his hand in mine, his unconscious body unresponsive toward my touch and his perfect face never changing. "I'll let you two be alone," Mystique speaks up before doing as she says and walking back toward the door. Once I hear the swinging door shut, the tears residing in my eyes quickly fall over the barrier and down my face as I try to hold in my sobs.

When you love someone, you never want to see them in pain or hurting, and when they're laid up in a hospital bed with consciousness being a waiting game, it hurts you. It physically hurts you to the point where your chest feels heavy with dread, and your stomach feels sick with worry. It's terrible, and I wish there was something I could've done to protect Warren from getting shot.

"I'm so sorry," I sob, turning my eyes away from him and toward the floor. Raising my free hand to cover my mouth as the sobs tumble out, I don't notice Warren's hand gently squeezing mine until I feel the bed beneath me slightly moves.

Immediately looking back over to him, I see his eyes flutter open and quickly dart to me, confusion taking over his tired face as soon as he sees my crying form. "Why..." Warren slowly starts speaking, his voice raspy and scratchy with sleep. "Why are you crying, love?" He finishes his question, now trying to sit up.

"No, no, baby," I usher him to continue lying flat, moving to stand on my knee on the side of his bed before pushing his shoulders back down onto the mattress. Despite this, he still doesn't listen and moves to wrap his arms around me before pulling me fully onto the bed and holding me to his chest. Finally, Warren does lie back down, but in a matter of seconds, his wings are fluttering around me like any other time I'd be on top of him. My eyes quickly catch sight of the now bandaged wounds, and now that I get a better look, I see that there was one more bullet-wound than I initially thought. "Warren, your stitches!"

"It's okay, love," He sleepily responds, leaning his head back to look up at me with a happy face. "I'm so damn happy to see you," Warren confesses, his eyes gazing over me as if I were a precious gem.

If it weren't for the nurses cleaning the dirt from his face and body, I wouldn't have been able to assess the full damage the fighting ring did to him. Above his left eye is a healing bruise that covers a majority of the side of his forehead, and his bottom lip is split, making it swollen. On top of all of that, his green eyes are sunken in and practically taken over by dark circles.

Still, he continues staring at me, acting as if nothing is bothering him until a look of confusion fall over his face. "Now, are you going to tell me why you were crying?" Warren repeats his question from earlier, making me shake my head as more tears rise to my eyes.

"You almost died, Warren," I inform him, his face still unchanging. "I've been without you for three damn months, and the night I get you back, I almost lost you again - for good!" I add on, raising a hand to wipe away my fast-falling tears.

However, Warren beats me to it and places his hands against my cheeks where he gently holds me, his face now soft. I guess he hasn't assessed the severity of the situation. That, or he hasn't taken the time to fully realize that he has stitched-up bullet wounds adorning his wings.

"I'm sorry," Warren apologizes after a few seconds of silence. Despite expecting those two words, it still doesn't hit me any easier as I'm sobbing once again, this time, into Warren's chest.

Holding me close, Warren waits a few moments before moving his hands back to my face and turning me to look at him directly. As soon as he gets the chance, Warren places his rough lips on top of mine, the skin chapped from the harsh things he's been put through. Despite crying moments ago, my tears ultimately stop as I come to the realization of how much I've missed the feeling of Warren's lips on mine. Chapped or not, his lips are the pure definition of Heaven, and when they're on top of mine, it's like pure ecstasy.

Pulling away for air, I pant above Warren as he does the same, his hands now sliding down to grip my waist once again. "I love you," He tells me, "And I've missed you- God, how I've missed you," Warren adds, shaking his head as a small, almost unnoticeable tear falls down his cheek. "Each day was hell without you, and I can't be without you, not again."

Smiling at him, I lean down once more and peck his soft cheek before nuzzling my head next to his on the pillow, his hold on me never changing in the slightest. "You won't have to, Angel," I tell him, watching his lips quirk up in a smile at my nickname for him. Deciding on leaving the explanation of where we're at for later, I close my eyes alongside Warren and fall asleep, finally able to relax knowing he and I can be together with no one to stop or hurt us.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy imagines #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fanfic #ben jones #ben hardy x fem reader #ben hardy fluff #roger taylor imagines #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington iii imagines #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington imagines #warren worthington iii imagine #warren worthington iii

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 1 year

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Woman taken by the wind - Roger Taylor x Fem!reader

Summary: You've taken a liking to a new band and your boyfriend cant help but tease you about your recent infatuation.

Warnings: no swearing, implied sex, mention of oral sex, minor stress, mainly just fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Alone in your apartment, you skip over to the turntable set up in the living room and turn up the volume to fifteen. The recently released sound of ‘Rhiannon’ by Fleetwood Mac blared through your flat. You weren't a fan of the earlier stuff from the band, but with the newest addition of Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham to the group really brought a new interesting vocal and guitar sound, you couldn’t get enough of it. You heard the track that was playing from the speakers on the radio, and you demanded that Roger pull over the car so you could go get a copy of the album.

Your boyfriend, Roger, wasn't as much of a ‘Fleetwood Mac super fan’ as he so lovingly calls you. He preferred the heavier tracks of Jimi Hendrix, while still liking some of the softer stuff from Dylan and such. He didn’t mind when you played them, though.

You were alone at the moment. Roger was off in the studio with the boys. He suggested you stay home this day so you don't get caught in the middle of their idiotic arguments over if the harmony should be sung with an ‘ah’ sound or an ‘oh’ sound. You had some work to do in the apartment that day, so you were fine with staying home. Your recent purchase was great background noise for your daily chores.

You take a moment to walk over to the turntable again and flip over the record to side B before you continue on with washing the dishes. Swaying your hips to the beat of the song, you sang along to lyrics you were able to figure out. You had most of them memorized after listening to the album a couple of times.

Roger had always loved your dancing. You felt dorky and rarely danced in front of others, but Roger was able to bring that side of you to light. You felt free around him, even if you still felt embarrassed to dance around him.

You dry off the dishes and put them into the cabinet. That was another chore knocked off your list. You were surprisingly productive this afternoon. You often procrastinated by saying you'll do it later or you get too invested in whatever TV show you're watching.

You boogie(Rogers words) out of the kitchen and bend over the dining room table, reaching for the little notepad and checking off ‘wash dishes’ on the list. You had finally finished everything you had to do, and it was only 2 pm. You flip the cardboard cover to the front of the notebook and hook the pen back into the metal coil holding it together.

The way you were dancing almost made you feel like a hippie. You were too engulfed in the booming music that you didn't hear the door of your apartment unlock.

Roger enters the apartment. He could hear the music before he even reached the doorstep. He leans against the entrance frame of the living room, watching as you dance in a pair of short pj shorts and his t-shirt. He loved seeing you wear his clothes.

“Hey, cutie,” Roger says, and you almost jump out of your skin at the sudden sound of his voice. “What- Roger! That's not funny!” you whine. You scramble to the turntable and turn the volume down to three.

Roger laughs at your childish reaction. “I think it's very funny, actually,” he says with a smirk. You feel his strong arms wrap around your waist as your bent over the turntable. “Why are you turning it down, lovie?” he asks as he takes hold of your hand and turns it up to ten.

“Why are you home so early?” you ask, not answering his question about the volume. Roger spins you around, smiling at you as he holds onto you in a waltz-like position. “We decided to stop for today. Too much arguing,” he says. “Is that all?” you ask as you begin swaying in his hold. “And because I missed my girl,” he smiles and gives you a kiss.

You hum against his soft, pillowy lips. “You were only gone for a couple of hours,” you giggle. “Is it so criminal for a man to miss his woman?” Roger laughs. “If so, give me the electric chair,” he says as he spins you around, causing a small yelp of excitement from you. “Not criminal. Maybe needy,” you smirk back.

“You look cute,” he says, laying a kiss on your lips and then your cheek. “Oh, do I?” you ask, and he hums. “Love it when you wear my shirts,” he smiles softly as he toys with the hem of the shirt. “Especially when you wear those tiny shorts,” he adds.

“Why? Because it looks like I’m wearing nothing underneath?” you question.

“Yep,” he grins and spins you again. “Maybe I should send you to the chair,” you joke. “On what charges?” he asks. “Horniness,” you say. Roger's hands slide down your sides, poking at your hips. “Oh, you're not too innocent yourself,” he points out.

You laugh and give him a kiss before pulling yourself from his hold. “Never said I was,”

Roger watches as you walk away from him. “Where do you think you're going?” he asks as he cocks an eyebrow. “Changing the record,” you chuckle. You carefully lift the vinyl from the padded surface and return it to the protective sleeve before you feel Roger's hot breath against your neck.

“You know, I was thinking about you earlier,” he whispers into your ear. You couldn't help but smirk. “What were you thinking?” you ask innocently, still keeping your attention fixed on the neatly organized display of your shared record collection in front of you.

“I was thinking about that little red outfit you wore on my birthday last year,” he says. You laugh under your breath. You had great memory of that night. “Mhm?” you hum, telling him to continue as you feel his hands wrap around your waist. “You had on your favourite red lipstick,” he continues.

“You mean your favourite red lipstick,” you laugh. Roger always loved how you looked in that specific shade of red. He loved when it smudged onto your chin, and when you would leave kiss marks all over his body with the lipstick just to get a rise out of him. “Whatever,” he chuckles.

“And, my head between your thighs,” he whispers. “Roger!” you whine, hitting his hand like a mother disciplining their son for having a potty mouth. Your cheeks were as red as that god-forsaken lipstick. You turn around to face him, putting on a brave face as if your cheeks weren't blaring red. “And you screaming that!” he grinned. It took every ounce of strength in your body not to smack that smirk right off his face.

“You're such a pervert,” you joke. Roger gave you a kiss and laughed. “You keep sleeping with that pervert, so you make up your mind, y/n” he hummed.

“See, and I would ask if you were thinking about me too, but you were probably too focused on your artsy fartsy music,” he teased. You huff and cross your arms, but it was so difficult to stay mad at him when he was staring at you with those big blue eyes. “Hey, baby, don't be so mad. I like your music,” he says as he gives your cheek a kiss. You tighten your lips as you struggle to hide your smile. “There's that smile,” he hums, and you finally let it be seen.

“I hate you,” you mumble through an embarrassed laugh. “Love you, too, babe,” Roger smiles. He wraps his arms around you again as the sound of the second track on The Beatles album ‘Abbey Road’ begins playing. Roger nuzzles his face into your neck and gently kisses it as you sway. “Somewhere in her smile she knows, that I don't need no other lover…” he hums to you softly, and you smile yet again in response.

“How's the album coming?” you ask, and you feel as he shrugs. “Sort of behind schedule, but I much rather spend time with you,” he says. “Oh, Roger. You know I don't like it when you choose me over your work,” you annoyingly say. Roger sighs, and he moves his head from his neck to meet your eyes. “I know, I know. Just, you know, the constant bickering is exhausting,” he confesses.

“I love making music, but now it's just like clockwork now,” he says. He didn't want to admit it, but he had to. “And the record company has us on a strict deadline, it's just… so stressful,”

You hated to see Roger like this. You remember the days when he was so excited to go to the studio and work on the albums. But now, every day he would come home more miserable than the day before.

“I understand,” you tell him, letting your fingers comb through his un-styled mop. “It will get better soon, I’m sure of it,” you say. “Just wait, soon you’ll be on tour, and you get to see the world and perform for thousands of fans!” you smile, hoping that the response from the fans would cheer him up. It did, in part.

Roger hugs you, burring his face in your neck yet again. “Thank you, y/n,” he whispers. The only thing he didn't favour about the tours is that he didn't get to see you. You both understood that it was an important part of his career and that it would get easier with time.

The next track, ‘Maxwells' Silver Hammer’ comes on. This one was a bit funny to you. You both giggle as the lyric “Bang Bang Maxwells’ silver hammer came down upon her head” came.

“You remember that thing you mentioned about the red dress and lipstick…?” you ask, and Roger smirks. “Of course, I do,” he says. “Still in the mood?” you ask. He didn't even have to answer, because the next thing you knew Roger was pulling you down the hall to your bedroom, not even bothering to turn off the record.

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