#thank you for your service Roger Taylor

[illfoandillfie]

Kinktober Day 15: Mile High Club

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Words: 1,004

Warnings: mostly just flirty rog, implied public sex, a bit of touching over underwear

A/N: If anyone I write about was going to be a whore on a private plane, ofc it’s Rog lmao. I was picturing 80s rog but you do you.

Being assigned to a private flight was usually interesting, although generally, it wasn’t that much different to a standard commercial flight. You had all the same duties – drinks service, safety checks, assisting passengers – there were just less people on board. But a private flight would always give you an interesting story to take back home, even if it was just I was on a flight with such and such celebrity. You’d done a couple before, once for a politician and once for an Olympic sports team, and you were excited to see who was on board this time. Especially after your boss had called you and the other two air hostesses over to remind you that it was important to keep your passenger happy. “We only have the one passenger today. But he’s a rock star so who knows how he’ll behave.” He’d then checked everyone’s uniforms were up to standard before shooing you off to do your jobs.  

You would be the first to greet your client so you waited close to the entrance, wondering who it would be, smoothing out your skirt. Suddenly a man appeared in the doorway. A man you recognised.   “Good evening Mr Taylor,” you smiled, “I’m Y/N, I’ll be one of your hostess for the flight. If there’s anything I can get for you please let me know.” Roger smiled back, his eyes flicking down to your skirt and then back up to your face though pausing for a fraction of a second on your chest. “Nice to meet you Y/N.” As soon as he’d moved past you into the plane you let out a breath. You’d long been a fan of Queen. It was a little disappointing that the rest of the band wasn’t flying too but Roger was your favourite so you weren’t too upset. You wondered if he’d sign something for you if you asked. Judging by how obvious he’d been about checking you out, you suspected he wouldn’t mind. He’d probably offer to sign your tits. But you hoped it also meant he’d be a relatively easy client. You’d probably have to fetch a couple of drinks and let him flirt with you and–. You cut your train of thought off before it went any further. You weren’t sure how you’d react if he suggested joining the mile high club, although you had to admit you’d like to sleep with him if the chance arose.  

The pre-flight work kept you occupied for a little while and Roger’s chair faced away from the crew’s seats so you couldn’t see him during take-off. But, not long after the plane had evened out, he summoned you to order a drink.   “Vodka tonic, thanks. Oh and Y/N?” “Yes Mr Taylor?” “Make one for yourself.” You giggled, only half for show, “I’m working.” “Well I hate drinking alone. It’d make me happy to have your company.” “Well, when you put it like that,” you shrugged, “I’ll be right back.” Your boss would have to forgive you for drinking on the job if you explained it was to keep the client happy. Besides, it was one drink, it couldn’t hurt. When you returned with the drinks Roger told you to sit beside him so you did, although you were more perched on the seat, ready to spring back up if you were caught. “Relax, Y/N. You’re not going to get in trouble, I’ll make sure of it. Now, drink up, it’s good.” You shuffled back, still feeling a little weird about sitting down on the job and took a sip. Roger turned to face you more, “So how long have you been doing this flight attendant thing?” You were a little surprised at his interest, “Oh, uh, a few years now” “So you like it?” “Oh I love it.” “That’s good. Any interesting stories?” “Like what sort of stories?” “I don’t know...ever caught anyone shagging in the bathroom?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. You laughed, though the way he was looking at you made you feel warm all over, “Oh definitely.” “Really?” “Yeah. Usually it’s young couples. Especially honeymooners. But once I had to bust up a couple of sixty year olds.” Roger snorted, “Good for them. Hope I’m still going like that at sixty.” You felt your cheeks heat at the implication, “Very awkward having to clear them out.” “What about you? Ever been propositioned on a flight?” “At least once a week.” “I believe that.” You giggled again, letting yourself be charmed, “It’s the uniform.” His eyes darted down to your skirt again, “It is very captivating. Is it true how precisely you have to dress?” “Oh yeah. Everything down to the exact shade of lipstick.” “Everything huh?” He took a thoughtful sip of his drink, “Even underwear?” You shook your head, “No, it’s not that bad.” Shame. I was going to volunteer to do a uniform inspection. Someone has to verify you’re holding up company standards.” You took a hasty gulp of your drink, two possibilities presenting themselves. You could laugh it off, or you could let him continue. The first option sounded safer. But the second option sounded more fun. He was a rockstar after all, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. And your boss had told you to keep Roger happy. He was obviously interested, obviously horny, so surely letting something happen would be in line with your orders. “Well, there are the stockings to check. I wouldn’t want you thinking I don’t take my job seriously.”   Roger’s eyes lit up and he grinned, “In that case then you better stand up.” You stood, barely believing what you were doing. Roger placed his hands on your hips and slowly hitched your skirt up until it was pooled around your waist. With a playful pinch on your bum he began to draw your stockings down to your knees. “They should make knickers like this part of the uniform.” He winked, “Very sexy.” Your breath hitched as his fingers stroked over the front of them.  

#my writing #my blurbs #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine

[forensicated]

Smiffina Episodes: Funny Money

Roger and Tony are first on scene to a shopkeeper who has been assaulted by 2 teen shoplifters. Tony chases the suspects but loses them. At the hospital he tells them that it's the 2nd time that month and he didn't report it last time because he's disillusioned with the police who he claims did nothing when he was burgled in December.

Gina and Ben are watching the CCTV as Tony and Roger return. "You can see it now, "Police Fail To Catch Vicious Yobo." Gina arranges a higher police presence for the area as "we need to reassure the Great British Public that we care about low level crime." She sends Rachel, and Callum on the North side of the High Street and she and Smithy will take the South side and that they want positive PR from it so other officers will help out when and where needed. "Big smiles all round." Leon mutters under his breath. "Absolutely, PC Taylor!"

Callum speaks to two boys who are in their school uniforms. "Didn't know we were on holidays...?" The 2nd taps his brother on the shoulder and tells him to run because their mother will kill them if they're returned in a police car. "Must be your irresistible charm." Rachel smirks, admitting that she and her friend would bunk off PE every Friday and go to the local comprehensive to flirt with the boys.

Tony and Leon are helping Smithy and Gina try and locate the teenage shoplifters and they manage to catch them thanks to the amount of people around. Charlie tells them they couldn't find their way out of a paper bag and claims he was on his own that morning. Until they all show him their copy of a CCTV picture...

The rest of the uniform presence pick up Jenny a few moments later but Charlie insists it was just him and she had nothing to do with it. Charlie is filthy and has clearly not had a bath for a while. He's very protective of Jenny however and tells Rachel to back off when she's searching her back pockets. Jenny asks for her gran to be informed and Charlie asks for his Auntie Elaine. He's a cheeky little bugger but it's more of a defence mechanism. He's clearly neglected and vulnerable and there's something rather likeable in it too.

He's has a few realistic fake £50's that he "found" but doesn't remember where. Gina lightly touches his back as she guides him to a room to wait in for his aunt. Charlie winces and asks her not to touch him. Gina stops him and carefully lifts up his jacket to see his back covered in bruising.

Smithy tells Gina that the FME thinks it likely happened within the last couple of days. It was a prolonged assault with an object, most likely a shoe. There's no broken bones and he's okay for interview. Gina tells him to contact Social Services to see if he has any history with them. Jenny's gran has arrived but Charlie's aunt is still nowhere to be seen. There's a man called Tom Nelson who is registered at Charlie's address. He's his dad and he's got form for burglary, counterfeit note possession, car theft and one charge of domestic violence but the charge was dropped the next day. Coincidence that Charlie was found with fake notes?

Gina takes Charlie's aunt for an interview when she finally arrives and tells him she's had to arrest him. Elaine tells her he's a good kid who's never really stood a chance given what he's grown up with. His mum is in prison on a drugs charge with 15 months left to run on her sentence. Gina then tells her that he's got bruising on his back and Elaine insinuates it's his dad and she blames herself for being so caught up in everything else going on.

Jenny tells Smithy that Charlie must have hurt himself going over the roof. Smithy tells her that's not true and that sometime over the 2 days Charlie has had a beating. He asks her if she was with him yesterday and her gran says that she saw them together at school. Jenny says no, that was Tuesday and she doesn't know anything about it. He asks her if she wants to help Charlie and she says that she does, but she wants to talk to Charlie first because Smithy won't tell her what he said caused them.

Charlie asks how the man from the shop is and that he was just trying to get his leg that the man had hold of free and he didn't mean to kick him. He clams up when asks who hurt him or where it happened. Elaine tells him it's ok to answer so he tells Gina that it was at school, then changes to 'no, they were 4 boys from school.' She asks who they were and he tells her he'd never seen them before and she gently asks if that's right, how did he know they were from school? She tells him that she can make it stop if he tells her who did it. Charlie is quiet and sort of looks to the side at his aunt and then looks forward quickly. Gina gently asks if it was his dad who did it and Charlie looks really surprised and then tells her his dad isn't at home and he doesn't know where he works so he can't help her talk to him but it was kids from school.

Ben knocks on the door of Charlie's house and no one answers so Millie suggests trying Charlie's key. They have permission under section 13 to search Charlie's room and the bedroom even with no one present. "As far as I'm concerned Charlie lives in the entire house!" Ben answers, looking round to find takeaway papers and mess everywhere. It seems Charlie lives mostly out of boxes and bags before Millie lifts the clothes from the boxes to reveal lots of computer games. Ben comes to the assumption that he must be stealing to order for his dad to sell on. Callum tells Ben to look for anything that might tell them the whereabouts of his father. Millie looks out the window to see a net curtain quickly move back across the way as they'd been being watched.

Callum shows Stevie and Stuart the £50's and asks them to look into it before going to speak to Gina to update her that Charlie's father is not at the house. Smithy tells Gina Jenny has been reprimanded and released to her gran's care and he asks what she wants to do with Charlie. Gina has taken him into police protection and she tasks Leon with babysitting whilst they wait for Social Services. "Babysitting Ma'am?" "I wouldn't call it that... it's a very important job."

Charlie asks if Leon's new. He says no and Charlie asks if that's why he's got no mates. Then he asks if he's done something wrong and Leon says he hasn't. "So why have you been stuck with babysitting?"

For a house that is supposed to be a man and his son there's a lot of women's clothing. Millie suggests that Tom could have a girlfriend. There's no adult male clothing found in the house. Callum and Rachel approach Tom Nelson and speak to him about his son being arrested for theft. He claims it's nothing to do with him and that it wasn't his house that they searched and found large quantities of computer games at. He tells them that his wife had been off her head on drugs and accused him of attacking her when it was her who attacked him. She took the allegation back when she came down the next day. He admits he used to live there but Charlie and his mum still live there. He hasn't seen Charlie for three years. He admits he couldn't cope with his wife or a child and left and didn't know his ex was in prison.

The fifties that were found on Charlie are almost perfect, even the foil strip has been forced into them like real ones rather than laid on the top and that it would take an expert to do that. Gina tells Stevie and Stuart that Charlie's father, Tom, is a designer at a printers.

😂 The face of a man who is DONE. WITH. THIS. SHIT.

"Aren't you having anything? Not even a coffee? I thought policemen lived on coffee...I knew you weren't a real policeman." "Alright, I'll have a coffee!" Leon gives in as Charlie piles up a large tray of food and then tells the lady that "me dad will pay", nodding to Leon. Leon rolls his eyes and pays for it. A can, a coffee, sausage, chips, beans, a pudding WITH custard and a biscuit a twix and bread and butter - £4.25. Those were the days! [Imagine how much it'd be if not subsidised with London prices!]

Stuart asks Charlie if he can ask him some questions. "You can ask..." he says before looking to Leon. "Do I have to answer them?" "It's probably a good idea, mate." Charlie tells them that his dad ran out on him and his mum and wouldn't give them anything and that he doesn't care. He goes quiet when asked who looks after him.

Ben speaks to the neighbour who had been watching them. She sees all and knows all and tells them that Charlie lives with his aunt at the address and no man is present. Callum tells Gina that Tom's employer confirmed he doesn't live at the address Charlie does and Smithy passes on Ben's information about Elaine looking after Charlie. Gina is horrified and tells them to run as much background as they can. "I want to know if she's had as much as a parking ticket!"

Gina goes to the canteen to talk to Charlie and he tells her he doesn't know if Social Services know about Elaine looking after him but that someone in a suit told him she was going to live there. He goes quiet and refuses to go on the record about Elaine. Leon tells him that's ok and they'll keep what he says between the three of them. Charlie has bonded with both officers and is more open. He asks Leon if he's ever had a beating. Leon swallows and nods, saying he has. He struggles to say the words 'dad' before spitting it out and saying that his dad hit him with a belt. Charlie tells them that Elaine hits him with a shoe. Leon nods and says his dad hit him because he said he kept getting under his feet and asks Charlie why Elaine hits him. This time it was because he'd sold some games because she was away and he hadn't eaten. If he doesn't steal the games for her, Elaine stops him visiting his mum. He asks Leon how he got his dad to stop and Leon says he told him if he ever did it again - even once - he'd never see him again. Charlie looks thoughtful. "And he stopped?" Leon is very quiet and doesn't answer that, choosing to say "... You don't have to stay with her, Charlie." "Who else is going to look after me?"

Gina is furious and Smithy tells her she could never have known what was really going on. Elaine has no convictions but there's some intel about a stall she runs on the market as it is suspected of selling stolen DVD's and computer games. Callum and Rachel arrest her with Smithy and Gina. As soon as she spots Gina she asks her who's going to look after Charlie if she's arrested? Gina growls at her not to mention Charlie's name and tells them to get her out of her sight.

Smithy finds that Elaine is heavily in debt. "That explains why she moved into her sisters, it's free. Shame about the 12 year old boy also living there!" Elaine insists she bought the games and DVD's at a trade fair a few weeks ago and paid cash. She also insists if Charlie and Jenny are stealing then it's down to them and denies she beats Charlie. "And Charlie's willing to stand up in court and say all this...?"

Elaine's stall float is largely fivers. The cash looks convincing and Max admits he can't be sure without asking a bank but the amount of fivers make him suspicious. They're not a common note because it's not one often given out by cash machines and those that do are few and far between. Max holds up one from his wallet which is tatty and wrinkled. Those from the stall look brand new. A stall is a perfect place to subtly hand them over as change too and they could clear a few hundred in a good day. The forgeries are very good and could pass as real, it even feels like the same paper.

Charlie's dad insists he hasn't seen Elaine in years and that he knows nothing about it. He asks to see one of the notes and says he might be able to help. He tells them the ink is spot on, the watermark is almost perfect and that it's the serial number that is the hardest part to forge as they haven't got the typeface right. He names Mike Reavie but he can't tell him where he is as he's completely out of the game since he was prosecuted. Elaine was always in and out the house and Mike was often there at the same time so they'd know each other. He's horrified that Elaine is looking after Charlie and asks outright if she's beating him and Stevie confirms he is. Millie comes to speak to Gina and notices that a Mike Reavie is on the screen. She tells Gina that when they were searching Charlie's house a Mike rang and changed the time he was meant to meet Elaine to 6pm.

Stuart suggests bailing Elaine and letting her take her car and follow her to see if she takes them to the counterfeiting place. Gina tells him to wait - she has 2 vulnerable kids, one of whom has already had a beating and Elaine should have the book thrown at her. Heaton tells her that this is worth looking into. Elaine can't believe her luck when she's given bail and gets in her car, driving straight out the yard. Stuart and Stevie are close behind, following her out with Max bringing up the rear. Stevie has to let the window down to give her a bit of fresh air from Stuart's aftershave as they wait. He tells her it cost him £50 and she suggests he maybe over did it a bit...?

Charlie builds a tower of salt whilst waiting with a substitute!Leon whilst Leon brings his dad through. It's awkward. Leon explains his dad wanted to see him but he doesn't have to see him if he doesn't want to. His dad turns to leave the room and Charlie scoffs. "That's right, walk out..." He leaves the room and Leon follows him, thinking he's in the toilet but he isn't - he's left the station.

Gina and Smithy spot Charlie leaving on CCTV and ask the CAD operator to circulate his description. Leon suggests he's gone to Jenny's house and they go to speak to her. Jenny's gran tells them that she's at breakfast club and Gina tells her it's half 4, it's clear the woman is struggling and forgetful. Gina goes in to see if she's in her room and searches the house. Jenny jumps out the window with a suitcase and Smithy brings her back. They get it out of her that she was running away to live with Charlie. Gina tells her it's not safe for Charlie to be out on his own. Jenny tells her that he's gone to where they get the money from and that because he knows Charlie's dad the man said that he could get them a bit extra for free.

Gina asks Tom why Mike would give Charlie money for free and he admits he wouldn't, infact Tom ripped him off to the tune of thousands and he's probably planning to take revenge using the boy. Gina orders Smithy to change into civvies and get an unmarked car and warn Stuart. They drive over to where Stuart and Stevie are and join them outside. Gina tells them she doesn't have time to sit and wait for another hour. Jack agrees with Stuart - they need to sit and wait. Gina shakes her head and tells Smithy they need to do something urgently. Smithy drives to their prearranged viewpoint and wait. Gina is short on patience and sends Smithy to check on Elaine's car. When he returns she tells him that she saw a gun. Smithy clearly doesn't believe her 100% and asks again if she really did see a gun. Gina says it was a handgun and that she's positive she saw it. Smithy hands her the radio and tells her to call CO19 if she definitely saw a handgun. "I'm positive!" she repeats, calling for backup. Smithy clearly does not believe it and knows that Gina is keen to get things moving so she can find Charlie.

Gina asks if Max know who the officer is who will be leading the armed response. He does and she tells him to ask him to frighten the living daylights out of Elaine. He asks if anyone else saw the gun and Gina tells him no, Smithy was already out the car.

CO19 burst in and order her onto the ground. Elaine is terrified cowering on the ground and insisting she doesn't have a weapon. Gina asks where the counterfeit operation is and Elaine tearfully tells her. Smithy looks disapprovingly at Gina for her methods and hands her the radio to call it in as all speed to the location.

Sun Hill burst in and catch the printers before they can run. In a back room Mike Reavy is beating Charlie. Smithy gets the door open and charges after him whilst Gina comforts Charlie.

Gina goes in to speak to Elaine and tells her that putting her away has given her so much pleasure and warns her not to justify what she did.

Gina takes Charlie through to see his dad who promises him that he'll make it work. Gina then introduces them to a new social worker and reassures him that Jenny will be getting help with her grandma too.

Gina tells Heaton she was about 30 meters from the window and that she was the only one who had eyeball of the living room. She insists she saw a handgun and won't be drawn on type. He asks her why she's being so defensive and she tells him she is fed up of all the protocol and that it feels like they can't do their jobs anymore. He says he wouldn't blame her if she was struggling after Emma's death. Gina insists if he's lost faith and wants her to go she'll go and leaves his office. Smithy is waiting for her outside and asks her outright. "You didn't see a handgun, did you? What would have happened if Elaine had been killed?" "She wasn't though was she? Let's leave it there." she says, walking off.

#the bill #alex walkinshaw #dale smith #smithy #roberta taylor #gina gold #smiffina #smiffinalong #funny money #max carter #christopher fox #sam callis #callum stone #stevie moss #lucy speed #millie brown #clare foster #ben gayle #micah balfour #daniel flynn #john heaton #stuart turner #doug rao

[jesstiao]

Dear San Francisco, this is a breakup letter.

Fifteen years ago, when I met you, I wanted more than anything to live in the city.

You could get lost in any neighborhood, walk for hours, and come home happy.

Old Victorians lined the streets. The parks. The views. The alleys of Little Italy led you to the bookshelves of City Lights Bookstore. On cold nights, you could run into a laundromat for a moment and bask in its gold hue.

Strangers would say hello or give you a warm smile. If you eavesdropped on a conversation at a cafe, they talked about the social factors of inequality and ideas on how to solve them.

As our relationship felt the years go by, things changed between us. I didn't mind it.

I was ready for the new decade. I was ready for 2020. Mother Nature had other ideas.

Don't go outside, they said. You will catch a deadly disease. Don't breathe the air. But, we need you to work.

As the pandemic hit the city, the skies turned orange.

George Floyd could not breathe. He could not breathe.

Asian-Americans felt the voice of hatred.

You brought the homeless, and the mentally ill to our doorstep. That's ok, I thought, they need a warm place to sleep. How are they meant to live in a city with sky-high rent and the sheer lack of livable wages?

As the days grew longer, I was consumed by work.

Our services support the COVID-19 Messaging Alert System. Lives depend on us. The world's communications depend on us, they said.

So we all worked.

Meetings all day, every day. Work at night. Work on the weekends.

My friends worked even longer hours.

We did what we could to bring joy to the house: we cooked food. We watched movies. We played board games.

Don't go outside, they said.

But, I needed space. I needed space to go outside. I needed space to rest.

I packed a bag, closed the door to Capp. I'll be back in a week.

But I didn't. I didn't want to come back.

I went home for a break in Los Angeles. My brother and I built a deck in the backyard. Then, Roger ordered chickens off the internet. He built a chicken coop. I painted the shed.

We tried to plant a roof garden -- it died. Don't grow a roof garden in Los Angeles.

We spent a small fortune at Anawalt & Co.

My mom watched as Roger and I built a sanctuary in the backyard. I tried my hand at gardening. Soil. Shovel. Gardening pots. Water. Packets of seeds. Plant cuttings.

Neighbors welcomed themselves to the backyard. It was coming to life with people, home-grown vegetables, and dogs tearing through the grass.

Meanwhile, I didn't think about you very much, San Francisco. But, I could feel the weight.

I outgrew you. I needed a quiet place with birds chirping. I needed tree-lined streets. I wanted to hear the wind rustle through the trees. I needed sunlight. I needed clean air. I wanted to walk home in peace.

You were exhausted, San Francisco; you were burnt out. You were tired. I was tired.

We grew apart.

I could not go back to you, San Francisco.

I flew back up to see you one last time. I packed up my room at Capp. I hired a moving company. I said goodbye to my roommates. I got on that plane.

It was great while it lasted: you helped me find a career I love. You introduced me to life-long friends. I could not be more grateful.

I miss bike rides at golden hour.

I miss Dolores and Golden Gate Park.

I miss camping in Mt. Tam. I miss biking through the redwoods at Samuel P. Taylor. I miss weekend mornings in Tahoe. I miss your cute cafes.

You are charming. You taught me how to thrive. You taught me how to think and critique society (maybe a bit too much ;) ). You showed me all the things. To you, I am grateful. Thank you.

Goodbye San Francisco,

Jessica Tiao

#essays

[annelizabethwrites]

Pairings: Roger Taylor X OC (Scarlett Walker); George Harrison X OC (Star Walker)

Rating: Mature (See Notes, Muses & Warnings for the actual warnings)

POV: Scarlett, Star

Warning: mentions of abuse, stabbing, and PTSD

Wattpad||AO3|| Playlists||Table Of Contents

♕☮︎︎♕☮︎︎♕☮︎︎♕☮︎︎♕☮︎︎♕☮︎︎♕☮︎︎♕☮︎︎♕☮︎

July 1st, 1969- Scarlett POV

Kelly put me on a top-secret project for my first thing as COO. The lads are still on a break from Abbey Road. George officially moved in and is legally a single man. John went to Scotland with Yoko, Julian, and Yoko's five-year-old daughter Kyoko, for a holiday, and they left on the 29. When I returned from Liverpool, I got the somewhat exciting news that Elaina and Tim had started their relationship back up for the 5th time since 1965. Smile has been getting big, and Roger has taken me on dates. On June 26th, we drove back to Liverpool for an annual service for my dad, and this year, Sandy's water broke during the service. Later that day, Sandy gave birth to Steven John Walker. My friend group also has two new guys, Milo and Thomas, both are old friends of Elaina's. Tim wasn't excited at first because they were flirtatious with each other. Elaina explained to him that Milo and Thomas are like how Star and I are to him, which quickly eased him. I'm still working in Kelly's office while mine is getting furnished and fixed since Anne wrecked it. I was working on the project when I got a nervously rapid knock on the door.

"Come in," Kelly and I yelled. Star and Cynthia ran in, and Star turned on the radio.

"What are you doing?" I asked as Star changed the channel.

"Breaking News: John Lennon crashed his car in Scotland with his wife, Yoko Ono, child, Julian Lennon, and stepchild, Kyoko Cox," The news reporter stated, "This crash has been just announced and no further updates yet."

My heart dropped. God, I hope they're all okay.

"We have to go," I looked at Cynthia and Star.

"The next flight is in 3 more hours," Cynthia stated.

"Use my plane, I don't use it, and you can get there faster than a normal plane," Kelly suggested.

"Are you sure?" Star asked.

"Yes, stop standing here and go," Kelly pushed us out. We all got into Star's car, and I gave Star the directions to the plane site. As soon as we got on the plane we all tried to stay calm, the flight was an hour and forty minutes. We kept the radio on to listen in on what was happening. Cynthia was freaking out about Julian's safety. Star and I freaked out for John and Julian. Soon as we landed, we rushed to Golspie's Lawson Memorial Hospital.

"Hello, I'm looking for John Lennon and his family?" I asked the secretary.

"Sorry, onl-" the secretary turned to see Star and me. "Oh my god, you're the Beatle Twins! He is in room 104."

"Thank you," I smiled, and we started to walk to the room, but Cynthia stopped.

"He doesn't want to see you, hun. He told us when he came in," the secretary pointed to Cynthia.

"You guys go. I'll try to find Julian," Cynthia told us. Star and I ran to John's room. Soon as we walked in, John had stitches on his face, and he was shocked to see us. Star and I ran to John and hugged him.

"Oh, thank god you're okay," We sighed in relief. Then we pulled out from the hug, and I punched John in the arm, "You scared us, you asshole. You made me think we lost you!"

"Please, a small car crash won't take me down, Walker," John rubbed the spot I punched him. We saw no Julian, no Yoko, and no Kyoko.

"John. Where is Julian, Yoko, and Kyoko?" I looked at John.

"Where's George and Roger?" John asked with a bit of sass, "You would think your boyfriends would go to Scotland with you."

Star and I looked at each other. I forgot to tell Roger we were heading to Scotland, and by the look on Star's face, she failed to tell George.

"Did you guys forget to tell your boyfriends that you were going to Scotland?" John started to laugh.

"Not now, Lennon. Where are the other three people you came with?" I asked John.

"Julian is with my aunt Mater in Durness. Kyoko and Yoko are in different rooms," John told me, "I love you guys, but why are you in Scotland?"

"We heard about the crash," Star started.

"And we came here as fast as possible," I explained.

"Aw, all just for me," John fluttered his eyes, "You guys shouldn't have."

"We thought we would lose our older brother-" I explained.

"There is no way we would just stay in London and sit around," Star cut me off.

"Come here," John put his arms out for another hug, we hugged him back, and the doctor came in.

"Sorry, no one but family is allowed here," the doctor said, thinking we're fans.

"We are family," I assured the doctor.

"What is the relation?" the doctor asked.

"Sisters," John responded, "Doc, these are my little sisters, Scarlett and Star."

"Okay, Mr. Lennon, I want you to stay here for a few days." The doctor started, then looked at Star and me, "Will you be picking up the Lennons when they get discharged?"

"Yes," Star and I responded.

"Okay, We will stay in touch. Before you leave, give us your numbers, so we know how to contact you two," The doctor said, then walked out. Star and I remember that we left Cynthia in the lobby. We told John we would call him when we returned to London and left. We went to John's aunt to get Julian. We knocked on the door, and Mater answered the door. Julian ran over to us.

"Mama! Auntie Scar! Auntie Star!" He ran over and hugged all three of us at the same time.

"Are you okay, Jul? Are you hurt?" Cynthia asked as I was holding him really tight. He nodded while digging his head in his mother's neck. We walked in and hugged Mater. I told Mater everything from the hospital. Cynthia, Star, and I all decided to leave tomorrow morning. Once everything settled down, I quickly called Roger's market to see if he was there. After a few rings, someone picked up.

"Hello?" I could tell it was Freddie.

"Hey Rocky, it's me. Is Roger there?" I asked.

"Oh, Hey Carla. No. Roger told me he went to the studio since you weren't at work."

"Okay, great, thanks," I hung up and dialed the studio's number.

"Abbey Road Studios, how can I help you?" I heard.

"Hello, may I speak to one of the guests there? He goes by Roger Taylor or one of the Beatles."

"May I ask who is calling?"

"Scarlett Walker."

"Yeah, one moment, please," I was put on hold for a few minutes, then I heard someone pick up the line.

"Scarlett, where the hell are you?!" Roger panicked.

"Scotland," I answered.

"Why the hell are you there?"

"John got into an accident. Star, Cynthia, and I rushed here with help from Kelly."

"Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah, John, Yoko, and Yoko's daughter got stitches and are still in the hospital. We're bringing Julian home tomorrow."

I heard sounds from the background and voices, then a "Move over."

"Hello?" I heard George.

"Hey, Hazza," I smiled.

"Scarlett?! Is Star with you?! Where are you guys?!"

"Yes, Star is with me. We're in Scotland because Lenny got into a car accident."

"Is he okay?" I heard Paul in the background.

"Am I on speakerphone?" I asked.

"Yes, but not the point. Is John okay?" Paul asked again.

"Lenny is fine, Yoko and her daughter are fine, and Julian is coming home with us tomorrow," I started to twirl the line, "Can someone do me a favor?"

"What, Lottie?" Ringo replied.

"We left Star's car at the place, but I'm sure we left the car unlocked, and Star realized she didn't have her keys with her," I started, "Can someone just pick it up before it gets stolen?"

"I got it," I heard George say, "Can I talk to her?"

"Yeah, sure," I put my hand on the phone, "Star! George is on the phone and wants to talk to you."

I heard a bang, guessing she fell, then ran over to me.

"Give me the phone," she demanded.

Star's POV

"Hello?" I answered, shooing Scarlett away. Scarlett rolled her eyes, made kissy noises, and then walked away after I flipped her off.

"So Scotland, Eh? I thought you would go to Paris at the last minute." George joked.

"Still a place in Europe," I smiled and bit my lip, "But I would've taken you to Paris. Sorry I didn't tell you."

"I'm just glad you're okay." George started, "Your work called me. They said you left two hours ago and couldn't get a hold of you. It gave me a Panic attack, then Roger came in saying Scarlett has been missing too."

"Sorry I freaked you out. I was going to call while we were waiting for our plane, but then Kelly offered her jet. We didn't think about anything else besides what was happening in Scotland," I looked around, "So how's the first session back for the new album?"

"We only recorded one song. How is John?"

"Got stitches. Yoko got the most damage. She has a problem with her back."

"How about the kids?"

"Julian just has shock while Yoko's daughter got stitches."

"Glad everyone is okay."

"Well, when John gets discharged, Scar and I must return to Scotland if you want to come?"

"Jeez, invite me the next time," I heard George laugh. I felt this flutter come to me, causing a blush, "Well, I was going to take you on a date tonight, but how about tomorrow when you land."

"Well, I'll love to go, but we just have to drop Cyn, Julian, and Scarlett first."

"Or, I can drive up in Scarlett's new 1967 Orange Plymouth Roadrunner that got dropped off and have Scarlett drive her gifted car."

"Wait, it did?! No, John would be pissed if we gave it to her and he wasn't there. Plus, she hasn't gotten her license yet."

"You have a point. I'll figure it out. So what are you doing?"

"I was on the couch, trying to have Julian sleep. I bet you, Scarlett got him to sleep."

"Oh, no doubt," I could hear George trying to hide his laughter, "But Ringo said Zak loves you more than Scarlett."

"What are you doing?" I softly asked.

"Talking to my love while the others are leaving," he yawned.

"Go home and sleep. You sound tired."

"But I want to talk to you, and I can't sleep without you," George whined through the phone. I couldn't help but smirk and shake my head, "I hope you know I can feel the smirk from over the phone."

"How did-"

"I just know, love."

I looked at my watch and realized it was 10:50. I heard yawning from the other line.

"Geo, it's almost eleven at night. Go home and go to bed. Scarlett wants us to leave at 7, and tomorrow I am all yours," I heard him groan over the phone, "I love you."

"I love you too. Good night, love."

"Good night, love."

July 2nd, 1969

Scarlett woke us up earlier than she told us. Before we boarded the plane, I called George to let him know Scarlett made us leave an hour earlier than expected. Julian fell back asleep between Scarlett and Cynthia. The hour and forty minutes were brutal. To be completely honest, I didn't sleep at all last night. Every time I did, I would wake up from a nightmare. I got some sleep but kept on waking up due to a nightmare. We finally landed. Cynthia grabbed Julian with one arm and his bag in the other. We walked out to see Roger and George talking. I didn't know Roger was coming. Julian saw the two men, signaled he wanted to be put down then ran over to them. Julian hugged George first, then gave Roger a hug; Roger looked pretty surprised that Julian hugged him. I walked up to hug George.

"Hi," I blissfully sighed.

"Hi," George kissed me. I smirked, biting my lip, and we gazed into each other's eyes.

"Ewww, why is everyone doing mushy stuff?" Julian closed his eyes. I looked at Scarlett and Roger, who had arms around each other. I quickly walked over and kneeled to Julian.

"Don't like mushy stuff, do you, Jul?" I asked.

"No, Daddy does mushy stuff with my Step-mum," Julian scrunched his face, "They're really mushy during the trip."

"Your daddy used to get really mushy with your mama-" I felt someone backhand me. I turned around to see Scarlett giving me a look, "Anyways, when people love each other, they get all mushy. Some day you will meet a girl that will give you the mushy feeling."

"I would never get mushy. It's gross," Julian scrunched his face again.

"You say that now little Lennon?" I started to tickle him. He laughed and asked if I could pick him up. I walked him to the car to put him in his seat as Cynthia put his bag in. It was George's car, and I gave Julian a hug and a kiss on his head.

"Alright, little man, I must drive my car back to my place. I will see you soon." I messed with his hair.

"Bye, Auntie Star," He hugged me with a gloomy tone. I backed out of the car as Cynthia went in. I went into my car, sat in the passenger seat, leaned on George, and smiled, "Where to?"

"It's a surprise," George kissed my forehead, "While we're driving, you can tell me all about Scotland."

"Don't get me started on how John got into the accident," I sighed, "He decided to drive then lost control of the car."

"Why was he driving? He drives like shit."

"Exactly."

"But Yoko has a back injury and has a long recovery."

"So will John be in and have her lay down, or will he work from home?"

"Who knows at this point," I sighed, "How was everything around here?"

"We only got one song done, and I have to go back today," George sighed, "So, after my surprise, I'm dropping you off since you looked exhausted and going to the studio."

"I'm not tired," I yawned.

"That yawn says otherwise," George smiled, "Did you sleep last night?"

"No, I naturally kept getting nightmares since it's the first week of July," I sighed, "It was never the happiest week of my life."

"I know. I witnessed it," George grabbed my hand. We stopped at the diner where we had our first date, "Well, I would take you to Bouestin because I know you like the food there, but I thought you probably want diner pancakes."

"I do, thank you," I smiled, we walked in, and everyone looked at us and whispered. It doesn't help that I'm in my work clothes from yesterday and look like I pulled an all-nighter lying in bed. We got our seats and ordered breakfast than I saw three familiar faces, Theo, Aaron, and Caroline. Caroline noticed me and walked over, "Star, where did you go yesterday!"

"Scotland." I smiled.

"Why the bloody hell were you in Scotland?" Aaron looked at me.

"Yeah, Boss wasn't so happy with you leaving and Cecilia already being out for a holiday," Theo looked at me, "I had to work late and miss my date with Maddie."

"So sorry," I rubbed my face.

"Are you coming in today?" Carlone asked, "You look like shit, so I want to say no."

"Thanks, Care," I laughed, "No, I'll call him when I get home and tell him why I left."

"Why did you?" Aaron asked.

"John got into a car accident, and I, my sister, and John's ex-wife went to Scotland last minute to see what happened."

"They didn't tell me or Scarlett's boyfriend, Roger," George added.

"Oh my god, is John Okay?" Aaron asked.

"Yes," I smiled, then Aaron realized George, and I was on a bit of a date. He gave me a smirk and then dragged the other two out of the diner.

"So my boss will probably make me write a story," I sighed.

"You're probably right," George laughed. I smiled, bit my bottom lip, and shook my head, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" I asked.

"Bite your lip when you smile."

"I don't know. I always did that. I sometimes do it when I get shy or nervous."

"It's cute," George smiled as our food came out, and we started talking.

Scarlett's POV

Today is the eighth anniversary of Nancy stabbing me and me getting the scar on my back. Roger drove me home but stopped at the premier to buy both of us breakfast. We got to my flat, I quickly changed into my pajamas, and we ate breakfast on the couch.

"You alright? You seem on edge," Roger asked.

"Yeah, today's the anniversary of when I got my scar on my back... it's been eight years," I took a sip of my milkshake.

"Oh, sorry," Roger muttered.

"It's alright. As I said, it's been eight years," I shrugged. We watched whatever was on the television, but I put on cartoons as a child. I love the looney tunes. Roger and I finished our breakfast and then cuddled up on the couch.

"Little Wolf?" Roger called out.

"Hm?" I looked up at him.

"I know it's probably not the best time to ask, but my mum wants to know if you could come over for dinner on Friday? So she can properly meet you, I know it's probably not the best right now, and I can tell her no if you want," Roger started to ramble on as I just put my finger over his lips.

"I can go," I softly said.

"But what about the family night?" Roger asked.

"We're probably not going to do a family night. John's in Scotland. I don't mind missing one to meet your family if there is one," I smiled. Roger moved my hair and gently kissed me.

"I love you," Roger crooned.

"I love you too," I breathlessly smiled.

July 4th,1969- Star's POV

I woke up in George's arm and could feel his gaze.

"Stop staring. It's weird," I mumbled. I think that is the most used sentence we say to each other.

"It's not weird looking at my girl," George smiled.

"When I'm sleeping, it is," I cuddled closer to him, "I don't want to get out of bed."

"Neither do I," George kissed me on top of the head, "But you have work, and I have to be at the studio at 2:45."

"I don't have work today. Boss told me that since I stayed up late at work, I can have the day off to sleep," I smirked, "So I am all yours until 2, and it is 7:45 now."

"Why do we wake up so early?"

"I don't know," I giggled, "But I don't mind it because I got some time with you before work."

"Well. I'm not complaining," George leaned towards me and kissed me. He looked at me, then at my cameras, "Stay right here."

I got confused as he got up to grab my polaroid camera, walked back then sat on my feet. He started to point the camera at me. I giggled a bit as he tried to get the camera right. George finally took the picture. The flash blinded me; the picture came out of the printer portation. He grabbed the shot, jumped back next to me, and started to shake it so the ink could make the picture. Once the picture showed up, this glare line was on the side. I looked at George, who had a 'Are serious' look on his face looking at the picture.

"I can't see your pretty eyes in this picture," George then looks at the photo and kisses my nose, "but it still shows your beauty."

"It looks good even though there is a glare," I smirked and grabbed my camera, "I probably forgot to clean the lenses before I put it back."

Scarlett's POV

I sat in Roger's car while playing with my ring. I was told I should tell Roger about my childhood all day, but I'm afraid to. Roger has some hint to it since we made references during the Liverpool trip, but he never asked about them, so I assumed he never heard the jokes. We're on our way for me to have dinner with his family, which doesn't feel any better. 

"Little Wolf?" Roger looked at me, then back at the road.

"Hm?" I blinked, then looked at him.

"Are you alright? You've been playing with your ring while staring out," Roger asked.

"Yeah... well, no... I've been meaning to talk to you about something," I coughed. Like ripping off a bandaid, yeah?

"What's wrong, love? Are you breaking-"

"No, no, oh god, no." My eyes widened when I took a deep breath, "Remember when I told you about my depression and cutting, and I said there was this certain person that always made it hard?"

"Yeah, you didn't want to go any deeper into that, so I didn't push it," Roger shrugged, "Plus, the boys always told me to never ask about your childhood."

"Well, you kinda have to know now, since you stuck with me this long," I joked, "Well, my mum, Nancy, was the worst person in my life. She was the person that made it really hard. She was never home, and when she was... she was beating, cursing, and bringing down my siblings, my dad, and me. When I was eight, I got into trouble at school and got suspended for a couple of days when Nancy found out she had to actually watch me and be a mother for once in her life. She grabbed me out of bed and started to beat me, she almost beat me to the pulp, but my dad and sister stopped her before she could. That was the first time she hit me, far from the end. I finally snapped and fought back a few times, but it didn't end well for me in the long run."

"Sometimes, hearing glass shattering sets me off. Nancy used to throw plates, vases, and such at my siblings and me. She's also the one who stabbed me that caused the scar. I tried to protect Star, which I got in return. I'm always ashamed of it because I didn't fight her off hard enough. My brain will sometimes play mean tricks on me and give me flashbacks that set off anxiety attacks, PTSD, and depression episodes. That is also why I get nightmares or screams in my sleep. Even though she has been dead, she is still in my head."

"I know that's a lot to take in, and I'm sorry, I'm a real nut case..." I looked at my hands, not wanting to look up. It was quiet for a minute. I just looked down and fought back the tears. I noticed Roger's hand started to intertwine with one of mine then he brought it closer to him to kiss it again.

"How can I help you with them?" Roger asked.

"Just keep doing what you've been doing," I smirked as I leaned onto Roger.

"Thank you for telling me. I know that was hard for you," Roger smirked, "Also, Scarlett never apologized because of your mental health. It's not your fault nor a burden. I want to help you in any way, and I'm honored you told me. I hope I can help you because that's all I want. I want you to be happy, healthy, and feel safe and loved."

"I do feel all of those things... plus being in love," I smirked, "Thank you, really."

At the Taylor's...

Roger held the door open as I walked into his childhood home. I noticed pictures of Roger when he was little, some I've seen in my 2019 life while scrolling through Instagram, but most are unseen photos. I admired the pictures while Roger grabbed his mother and sister. I heard chattering and smelt the dinner that his mother had cooked for the four of us. I turned to see the three Taylors looking at me. One is the comfortable soft gaze as the two examined me. Roger walked over to kiss me on the cheek before breaking the awkwardness of the three women in the room.

"Mum, Clare, this is my girlfriend, Scarlett. Scarlett, meet my mum Winifred and my sister Clare," Roger introduced us. 

"Hello Scarlett, it's lovely to meet you, dear," Winifred walked over to hug me, "Roger is always talking about you."

"Talking? More like whining for a month because you caught him snogging another woman," Clare looked at me, "I like you already."

"Whining for over a month?" I asked.

"Clare!" Roger and Winifred both yelled before Winifred coughed and looked at me, "Why don't we eat? You two must be hungry from a long drive." 

Roger led me to the dining room. He pulled me out of a seat, and once he pulled my chair in, he kissed my cheek, then sat next to me. Winifred made this beautiful meal. The first few minutes were awkwardly quiet.

"So, Scarlett, do you have siblings?" Winifred asked.

"Yes, I have eight, six brothers, two sisters," I answered.

"Eight? What are their names?" Winifred looked at me. 

"My oldest sibling is my sister Venessa. Then it goes down the line of my honorary brothers Stu, Richie, John, Paul, and George, then my twin, Star, is the baby." I explained, "I call my honorary brothers my brothers because I think the word honorary downgrades them."

"Are you close with them?" 

"Eh, a bit. I'm closest with my twin than anything. Then my four brothers, John, Richie, Paul, and George, then Stu, Payton, and Venessa. Stu lives in Germany while Payton and Venessa are still in my hometown Liverpool."

"You're from Liverpool?" Clare looked at me.

"Yeah, scouser born and raised," I spoke with my scouse accent merging with my central London accent.

"When did you move out of Liverpool?" Winifred asked.

"1963. I lived with my brother John until I was 20. My dad died when I was 14, and my brother John has inherited my twin and me."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. What about your mother?"

"Scarlett, uh- doesn't have a mother," Roger coughed to keep me comfortable.

"She was around but wasn't my mum. The only mothering thing she never did was birth to my siblings and me," I explained.

"I'm sorry. But I get that Roger doesn't have a good relationship with his dad. It's best when he's not around," Winifred grinned as both Taylor siblings acted distant once their father was mentioned. I know Roger will tell me when he's ready, but it's my job to make him comfortable. I weaved my hand with Roger and leaned over to kiss him. Roger turned red with nerves. We changed the subject since we all had a mutual understanding that family is a touchy subject for us all. 

"Roger told me you work for Kelly Price. How is that? I don't know much about fashion." Winifred asked.

"It's good. Kelly is a sweetheart," I smiled. I don't know if they didn't realize my social status or pretended like they didn't. But either way, I enjoy having a conversation like a normal human being, not someone with my social group. I told them about how I got a promotion then we changed the subject to music.

"Do you play anything? Assuming you're around music a lot with Smile," Winifred asked.

"Yes, I know the piano, bass, and guitar," I listed, "I know the basics of drums, though. My brothers are in a band, and my dad was obsessed with music. So I'm always around music."

"Don't you ever get tired?" Winifred asked.

"No, not really. I love music. It's a part of me, I guess," I shrugged.

"Have you gone to concerts?" Clare asked.

"Many," I nodded.

"Who have you seen?" Clare asked.

"Oh y'know, Beatles, Stones, The Who, and all kinds of people like that," I explained. 

"Who's your favorite?" 

"I have to say my favorite was Elvis. I saw him in this secret gig. My sister freaked out; she loves Elvis. I would say the Beatles, but I've seen them enough times. I got sick of them," I shrugged. Once we finished dinner, Clare grabbed my hand and took me to Roger's old room. It had all kinds of posters on his wall and his old school books. 

"His favorite Beatles Twin poster is over his bed," Clare pointed as I sat on his bed and looked up to see my 1964 promo poster. I cringed from the look. When Star and I just got our Beatle Twins titles, Brian Epstein got Star and me to do a photoshoot and send out promo pictures, posters, etc. So the media knew who we were. Epstein thought if the girls loved the lads and the boys loved Star and me, that would create a bigger platform for the Beatles, which did work out in his favor. 

"Roger loves the brown-headed one; I always mix the two." Clare told me as she looked up, "Her name is Scarlett Walk- Oh My God, You're Roger's celebrity crush! You're the Scarlett Walker like Beatles twin Scarlett Walker!" Clare looked at me. 

"Clare, keep your voice down," Roger leaned onto his door frame.

"You're dating pop culture royalty!" Clare stood up, "Plus, your celebrity crush! I have to tell mum." 

Clare ran downstairs before Roger and I had a word edge-wise, but the two of us chucked, and Roger walked over to his bed to sit next to me. 

"Do you think they liked me before the Beatles Twin thing came out?" I asked.

"My mum told me she loves you," Roger kissed my nose.

"Clare told me you have a thing for the brunette Beatles twin. Usually, people love the blonde one more," I teased. 

"Eh, the brunette twin is hotter and more interesting," Roger cupped my face, "And smart, and very underestimated. But I can see this desire to break out of the goodie two shoe label, but she seems to struggle to get out."

"She is a bit stuck. Her sister owns the wild crown," I looked into his eyes.

"I'm sure I can help you out there," Roger moved his hand and started to stroke my chin.

"That's hard because I'm supposed to be the calm one."

"Darling, how are you the calm one when you're constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown because you just shove everything down."

"I'm the most relied on. I'm not supposed to fuck up. I'm the one everyone goes to."

"I know, but that will be your downfall one day."

"I know." I sighed. I love Roger because he sees me, not the lie I put out for everyone. Only a select few can see who I actually am. Star being one of them, next is George. He always had that ability to see your best self. Of course, my other siblings also see who I actually am, but most of them just fall for the lie. John never did. I guess he can see if I am bullshitting or not for the time we spent together. John is one of the only brothers that doesn't have that unique ability George has. He can only tell if I'm bullshitting, and when I'm not okay, he comes and talks until I am. Roger can see the real me and sense and know what I sincerely want. It's to the point where I don't even realize what I want until Roger helps me fulfill the unknown desire or need. He truly connects and understands me on a level I never felt with anyone else. And it feels fantastic.

"We should go back down. My mum and Clare probably think we're fucking up here," Roger joked as I giggled.

"Probably," I giggled.

July 5th, 1969- Scarlett's POV

My head is in the crook of Roger's neck, and his arms are around my waist, pulling me closer to him. I was comfortably sleeping in his embrace before I heard the phone go off. Eh, if it's important, they'll leave a message, call twice... or both. The phone stopped ringing for a brief second, then it started to ring again. I sighed, opened my eyes, wiggled out of Roger's embrace, and dragged myself over to the phone.

"Ello," I yawned.

"Hello, sorry to bother you but is this Scarlett or Star Walker?" 

"Scarlett Walker here."

"I'm the doctor at Golspie's Lawson Memorial Hospital. I am calling about Mr. John Lennon."

"Yes, what did he do now?"

"Nothing. I want to say Mr. Lennon will get discharged today with his wife and stepchild."

"Okay, um, we will be there soon as we can."

"Okay, thank you."

I hung up the phone and called Kelly.

"Hello," Kelly answered.

"Hey, can I borrow the jet again?" I asked.

"John's coming back?" Kelly yawned

"Yes," I rubbed my eyes, "They just called."

"Yeah, I'll call the pilot."

"I owe you one."

"Not really. Bye, Scar."

"Bye, Kels."

I walked into Star and George's room, the two were all cuddled up, but I still could wake up Star by torturing her, and George not feeling a thing. I walked over and started to slap Star's face, more like a tap. She loves me, I swear.

"What?" Star whined, hitting my hand away.

"Get up. We gotta go to Scotland to get Johnny-boy," I pulled my hand away.

"Can we leave him there?" Star asked, shifting her position to get cuddly with George.

"Sadly no. George, Paul, and Ringo probably need him soon as possible," I looked at her.

"She's right," George mumbled.

"Fine," Star sighed, starting to wake up.

"Thank you, we're using Kelly's jet, so we're in no rush, really," I shrugged, walking out. I walked back into my room, and Roger had drilled half his face into my pillow. I smirked, walking over to him so I could crawl on top of him and start to move his golden locks to see his face. I plant soft kisses along his jawline and neck.

"Baby," I soothed as Roger hummed, enjoying every kiss.

"Yes, my Little Wolf?" Roger opened his blue eyes that Immediately focused on me as soon as they opened.

"I have to go to Scotland today. If you wanna come?" I giggled as Roger's hand gently stroked up and down my back.

"Ooh, I got invited and told the second time," Roger joked as I rolled next to him.

"Real funny," I rolled my eyes as Roger pulled him closer to him and kissed my temple.

"I would love to come," Roger gently said.

"Okay," I turned and moved a piece of his hair. He's growing his hair into his famous mullet that every 2019 fan has the hots over. Roger softly grabbed my hand and softly kissed it, "We have to get ready now."

Roger groaned as I got out of bed and looked through my clothes. I could feel Roger's eyes on me. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and then looked at Roger.

"Yes?" I smirked at him.

"Nothing," Roger got out of my bed and walked over to give me a quick kiss, "You just look gorgeous."

"Thank you," I smiled at him as Roger grabbed a change of clothes since he's been leaving some extra things of clothes here, then walked out while closing the door. I changed into a white T-shirt with Good Times written in blue and jeans with blue high tops converse. I have a lot of different colors of converse and gogo boots, those two are the only shoes I can work with, but I have a few other shoes besides those two. I walked out of my room as Roger walked out of the bathroom. Star and I walked into the bathroom to brush our teeth. Elaina followed Star and me to the bathroom. She was trying for Star to let her borrow her car because Elaina totaled her car the other day with her reckless driving.

"It's not like you're going to use it today," Elaina begged as Star started to brush her teeth, "You'll be in Scotland."

"Not for the whole day," Star said with a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Depends if John wants to quickly visit Mater before we leave," I grabbed my toothbrush and started to brush my teeth.

"But please, can I borrow your car?" Elaina asked.

"If you don't ruin my baby," Star spit out the toothpaste foam.

"I thought Geo was your baby?" Elaina asked.

"He is, but I didn't spend 22,874 Pounds on him," Star looked at Elaina.

"You spent that much on your car?!" Elaina asked in shock

"Yes, I got a few thousand off because I was a Beatles twin, and they offered to switch the driver's side to the UK side for free," Star walked out with Elaina following her. George and Roger came in.

"Did I hear correctly that Star spent £22,874 on her car?" Roger asked, "How did she get that much money?"

"We inherited much money from our dad when we were 18. She spent that money on her car," I spat out the toothpaste foam.

"Yeah, I remember John flipping out because he said no to her buying the car," George laughed. I walked out to Star, giving Elaina the rules and regulations of her car. After a few more minutes of watching Star tell Elaina if she crashes Star's car, she should consider a lock on her door, we started to leave.

"Don't make me regret it!" Star said, throwing the keys at her as we were leaving.

"I won't!" Elaina called out as we were closing the door on her.

Star's POV (Later...)

 We successfully brought John back to London in one piece. He wanted to go to ours and invite the rest of the boys. Scarlett and I are in her bedroom as the Beatles play around with their guitars in the living room. Besides me, their partners are sitting around watching the kids play together. Scarlett and I are reading the series of our dad's journals. Back when my father was still alive, he had this journal. He got a new one every few months, but he always jotted down his life. When we used to ask what it was, he always responded with, "one day when I'm gone, you'll read the dumb shit I did." When he died, they couldn't be found until Scarlett and I were in the attic in Liverpool and found them along with the yearly photo album I took over. We got interrupted by the phone, and I got called by George that it was for me. 

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hello, is this Ms. Walker?" Someone asked.

"Well, there's two living here. You need to be a bit more specific," I shrugged.

"Ms. Star Walker."

"Yep."

"Hello, I am officer Ward. Do you own a 1966 blue mustang convertible?"

"Yes."

"Do you know an Elaina Wilson?"

"Yes, she's one of my flatmates."

"I'm so sorry that Ms. Wilson crashed your mustang, She is alright, but the car is damaged."

"Hold one a second?" I put my hand over the receiver and cursed Elaina out. This was the one thing I told her not to fucking do!

"Ms. I can hear you." The officer said.

"Right, sorry, do I need to come to the station?" I rubbed my face.

"Yes, it would be recommended."

"Alright, thank you, officer," I hung up the phone and walked out, "Elaina. Crashed. My. Fucking. Car."

"Did she really?" Scarlett walks out, laughing.

"This is not funny," I looked at her, "I used most of the money dad gave me for that!"

"That sounds like your problem," Scarlett laughed, "She crashed her car yesterday. Did you seriously think she wouldn't do the same thing?"

"Ye-"

"It's Elaina we're talking about." Scarlett cut me off.

"Fuck," I sighed as Scarlett, and the other three laughed at me, "Anyways, I now have to go down to the station, Scarlett. You might not have a best friend after this."

"Don't kill her," Scarlett said as I started to walk out.

"No promises," I closed the door and stormed to Theo and Aaron's flat.

"Yes?" Aaron answered the door, "Why do I see a homicidal rage in your eyes?"

"Because my sister's stupid mate just crashed my baby," I blinked.

"And you're here; why?" Aaron asked.

"I'm looking at my ride," I smiled.

"Okay, this is my problem; why?" Aaron asked.

"Because I need to bring someone to make sure I don't murder El, and you would at least let me get the first punch in before backing me off," I shrugged.

"Alright, let's go," Aaron grabbed his keys, and we left. Aaron drove us to the station, and I saw Xaiver, Ryder, and Kit in their trainee uniforms. Near them was my poor baby destroyed. The front of the windshield is smashed, the front is pretty dented, and the back is smashed.

"I'm going to kill her," I blinked, looking at my poor baby.

"Damn, what did she do? Run through a fucking wall?" Aaron looked at my car, "That ain't a mustang. That's a clump of metal and broken glass."

"Done yet?" I looked at him.

"No," Aaron said, we got out of the car, and the three bozos looked at me.

"Spark, what are you doing here?" Xavier walked up to me.

"Trying my best not to kill my sister's best mate for doing that to my fucking car," I pointed to my car.

"Yeesh, on the good side, it could be fixed," Xavier looked at my car.

"What did she do? Run it through a wall?" Kit asked.

"That's what I said!" Aaron said.

"I'm going inside," I muttered, walking in and looking right at Elaina, then trotting over to her.

"What the hell did you do to my baby?!" I glared at Elaina, "The poor thing is destroyed!"

"Star, I am so, so sorry," Elaina apologized.

"What did you do?! You had one fucking job!" I glared.

"Ms. Walker?" a young man coughed, walking over.

"In the flesh," I breathed, "What happened to my car?"

"Ms. Wilson was under the influence of marijuana while driving and crashed it into a wall, but before she got hurt, she jumped out, and the car crashed into other cars," the officer started to explain, "The expenses are going to be a lot of work for the crash and-"

"Wait, who is paying these expenses?" I asked.

"It was your car, ma'am, and you're quite rich too," the officer looked at me.

"She's the one that crashed the car because she was under the influenced, and she caused the destruction," I pointed to Elaina, "It's not my fucking fault! She was the one fucking driving. She is the fucking one paying!"

"The hell I am!" Elaina looked at me, "Your car, and you're fucking rich!"

"You were driving under the influence and caused the crash!" I looked at her, "Therefore, you pay!"

"Tell her she's paying the expenses off." I looked at the officer, pointing to Elaina. I noticed Aaron, Jasper, Xavier, and Kit leaning against the wall, watching us and eating vending machine snacks.

"The hell I am!" Elaina looked at me.

"Please tell Ms. Wilson that she needs to pay for the fucking expenses from her fucking accident!" I ignored Elaina and looked at the officer.

"Ma'am, I need you to calm down," the officer stated

"No, I am not fucking calming the fuck down! She ruined my baby and someone else's property and got away with it!" I crossed my arms, "She should've gotten her license taken away with her first DUI and learned how to fucking drive before getting it back!"

"That is a good idea, Ms. Walker. Thank you for your feedback," the officer said, then pulled Elaina to talk to her.

#LIYF #Star Walker #Scarlett Walker #George Harrison #Roger Taylor #Pattie Boyd #Brian May #Freddie Mercury #Farrokh Bulsara #Tim Staffell #John Lennon #Yoko Ono #Cynthia Lennon #Paul McCartney #Linda McCartney #Ringo Starr #Maureen Starkey #Beatles #beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #beatles fic #beatles fandom #queen #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen fandom #classic rock #classic rock fanfiction #my works #my book

[docrotten]

CREATURE FROM BLACK LAKE (1976) – Episode 178 – Decades Of Horror 1970s

“Dang creature . . . I’m gonna get my shotgun and make a rug outta that damn thing!” And Jack Elam is just the one who can do it! Join your faithful Grue Crew – Doc Rotten, Chad Hunt, Bill Mulligan, and Jeff Mohr – as they make a trip to the bayou to check out Creature from Black Lake (1976) and its new Synapse Films Blu-ray, released December 13, 2022. It’s a beauty!

Decades of Horror 1970s Episode 178 – Creature from Black Lake (1976)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

Two young students from the University of Chicago hear of the mysterious happenings at Black Lake and armed with a van packed with scientific equipment set out to solve the mystery.

  Director: Joy N. Houck Jr.

Writer: Jim McCullough Jr. 

Produced by: Jim McCullough (Sr.)

Production Company: Jim McCullough Productions

Distributors: Howco International Pictures (1976) (USA) (theatrical)

Music by: Jaime Mendoza-Nava

Cinematography by: Dean Cundey

Film Editing by: Robert Gordon

Sound: Thomas Causey

Creature design: Dean Cundey

Makeup Department: Charlene Cundey (makeup artist)

Poster Artist: Ralph McQuarrie

Selected cast:

Jack Elam as Joe Canton

Dub Taylor as Grandpaw Bridges

Dennis Fimple as Pahoo

John David Carson as Rives

Bill Thurman as Sheriff Billy Carter

Jim McCullough Jr. as Orville Bridges

Roy Tatum as Fred/Creature

Cathryn Hartt as Eve-Waitress (as Catherine McClenny)

Becky Smiser as Becky Carter

Michelle Willingham as Michelle

Evelyn Hindricks as Grandma Bridges

Roger Pancake as H.B.

Karen Brooks as Orville’s Mother

Chase Tatum as Baby Orville

Jim Garth as Willy (uncredited)

Bob Kyle as Rufus

Joy N. Houck Jr. as Prof. Burch (as J.N. Houck Jr.)

I.M. ‘Buddy’ Brumley Jr. as Barber (uncredited)

To begin with, your Decades of Horror 1970s Grue Crew are universally impressed with the quality in the look and sound of the new Synapse Films Blu-ray release of Creature from Black Lake. In the past, many of the crew had seen the film in a cropped, pan-and-scan version on TV or videotape. They discovered that Creature from Black Lake is an excellent movie that had been marred by the poor quality of many of the prints to which they had access. The Synapse Blu-ray release is a great showcase for Dean Cundy’s cinematography and facilitates a far more enjoyable viewing experience. As far as bigfoot movies of the era, Creature from Black Lake moves to the top among a select few. Synapse did a great service to horror fans in restoring Creature from Black Lake to this pristine, widescreen format.

After gushing over the Synapse Blu-ray, the Grue-Crew gushes equally over the movie itself. A great cast of character actors led by Jack Elam, Dub Taylor, Bill Thuman, Dennis Fimple, and John David Carson, supported by a well-cast group of locals, makes Creature from Black Lake a heck of a fun watch. In fact, they were having so much fun, they forgot to mention that Cathryn Hartt (credited as Catherine McClenny), who played Eve-the-waitress, is Morgan Fairchild’s sister. And be assured, there are plenty of creature shenanigans to supply the tension required in a good bigfoot film. 

The crew’s thanks go out to Synapse Films for supplying them with the Blu-ray screeners! The official release date is Tuesday, December 13, 2022. You can purchase your copy at Creature from Black Lake (1080p Blu-ray + Limited Edition Slipcover) – Synapse Films. You know you want it!

Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror 1970s is part of the Decades of Horror two-week rotation with The Classic Era and the 1980s. In two weeks, the next episode in their very flexible schedule will be Count Dracula (1970), directed by Jesús “Jess” Franco and starring Christopher Lee, Herbert Lom, Klaus Kinski, Maria Rohm, and Soledad Miranda. Yes, Grue Believers, this is their first Jess Franco movie.

We want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: comment on the site or email the Decades of Horror 1970s podcast hosts at [email protected]. 

Check out this episode!

[rockstarqueenie]

me listening to sheer heart attack and a night at the opera like

#Queen #sheer heart attack #a night at the opera #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH #thank you for your service Roger Taylor #in the lap of the gods #'39 #bohemian rhapsody #and many more #roger taylor

[lonelyasawhisper]

Tearful Elton leads farewell to Freddie

Daily Express, 28 November 1991 (x)

ELTON JOHN yesterday led the world of showbusiness in saying a sad farewell to Queen star Freddie Mercury.

The superstar was in tears as he joined the singer's family and close friends at the West London crematorium.

Freddie's former girlfriend Mary Austin, who shared his last hours before he died of AIDS, was comforted at the service by Sixties singer Dave Clark.

The singer's elderly parents, Jer and Bomi Bulsar, were inconsolable with grief and had to be helped from their car.

Four hearses were laden with hundreds of bouquets from fans and friends worldwide.

Stars' agony as they say farewell to tragic Freddie

By Jane Langston and Jack Lee

FOR a man whose life was an extravaganza, it was a most unlikely farewell.

Only the field of wreaths - enough to cover a tennis court - recalled the flamboyance and showmanship of Freddie Mercury.

Otherwise the funeral of the Queen singer yesterday was a dismal and low key affair, attended by just a handful of grieving family and close friends.

Yet there were echoes of Freddie's bizarre lifestyle in the 20-minute service. It was conducted in the Zoroastrian faith with two white-robed Parsee priests chanting prayers in the ancient language of Avasta.

Tearful Elton John, wearing a black suit and hat, joined the three members of Queen to say a sad farewell to the tragic singer who died of AIDS on Sunday night.

Bisexual Freddie's former girlfriend Mary Austin, 35, who shared his last hours, arrived at the West London crematorium with Sixties pop drummer Dave Clark who put a comforting arm around her.

The star's family went to great lengths to try to keep the funeral a secret and a team of 20 police officers was drafted in to ensure there were no gatecrashers.

Freddie's army of adoring fans, who have maintained a round-the-clock vigil outside his Kensington home, were unaware the funeral was taking place.

His frail and deeply religious parents, Jer and Bomi, who also belong to the ancient Persian sect which condemns homosexuality, were disconsolate with grief and had to be helped to and from their car.

Freddie's solid oak coffin, lined with white silk and topped with a red rose, arrived in a vintage Rolls-Royce.

It entered the austere chapel to Aretha Franklin's Precious Lord Take My Hand, followed by You've got a Friend.

The sombre ceremony finished with Freddie's favourite aria, Verdi's D'amor dell' ali Rosee by Montserrat Caballe, with whom he recorded the chart-topping theme for next year's Barcelona Olympics.

Four hearses laden with thousands of bouquets from friends and fans worldwide, accompanied the coffin. They were later distributed to AIDS hospitals throughout London.

After the service Queen stars John Deacon and Roger Taylor were driven away in tears.

Among the sea of floral tributes, was a huge, heart-shaped wreath in pink roses from Elton John with the poignant message: "Thank you for being my friend. I will love you always." Mary Austin sent a wreath of yellow and white with a single red rose in the centre. A moving message read: "For my dearest. With my deepest love. From your old faithful."

After the service, mourners returned to Freddie's £4 million home where six minders joined police standing guard outside.

Dave Clark left after two hours, looking distressed. In a barely audible whisper he said: "It was a lovely service. I think Freddie would have liked and appreciated it."

#article #daily express #1991 #elton john #dave clark #freddie mercury #freddie

[ragweed98]

This is my first, tentative post, it's borderline smut with Roger Taylor. I've only ever edited and brainstormed with the amazing writer @a-bisexual-phantom

So I guess tension as a warning?? Mild cliffhanger as I can't write the actual act for the life of me?? I tried to be accurate!!

You were so excited for the opportunity to intern with Queen, not only was it a huge learning experience but you had the feeling that you were watching history go down. Some aspects of your job included anything and everything anybody else needed, paperwork, snacks, occasionally breaking up fights between band members when the manager wasn't able to. 

You loved the little farm house that the band would be recording their album at. You really hoped the quiet countryside would provide maximum song-writing atmosphere for everyone. Once everyone got settled into their bedrooms, yours being the closest to the bathroom probably due to the fact that you were the only female, you decided to explore a little bit as this may be your only chance before being buried in paperwork.

After looking through the studio, you began exploring outside and you discovered a few worn paths that went who knows where. Naturally you picked one and immediately started walking down it. You weren't scared of getting lost or running into any murderers. Along the first trail, the plants were growing together overhead, creating a tunnel of green that the last of the sun shone through.

You made your way back and decided to grab a torch so you could continue your adventure into the night hours and then departed to the second trail of the trip. As you walked you dragged your feel, shuffling through the leaves, smiling to yourself at the noise you created. Your smile grew, splitting across your face as you came to the end of the trail, as you took in the sight before you. 

It was a gorgeous lake, "perfect", you thought to yourself "for relaxing". 

The fact that you had no swimwear was a trivial thought, and easily fixed since you were most likely to be the lake's only occupant. 

You walked back to the house around three a.m. water droplets clinging to your hair. The door didn't creak, but as you crept down the hall towards your door the floor squeaked with every step you took. Though you thought you were in the clear as you entered your room, you failed to notice a door open and a shaggy blond head poke out to see who was squeaking in so late.

With three and a half hours of sleep under your belt you started making a huge breakfast for everyone at about 6:30 a.m. As the smoke from the grease filled pans hissed up, the aromas of bacon, eggs, and much needed coffee coaxed everyone out of their rooms. Everyone filtered in, sitting down sleepily, looking like rock and roll zombies. You set plates out for everybody to dish themselves up, Roger grabbed the last two plates, setting them down to dish up next to you on the counter and put his other hand on the other side of you. 

"Someone had some late night adventures last night", Roger whispered in your ear, his raspy voice laced with sleep. 

You turned to face him intending to ask why he had been up at that hour too when you realised since the whole band was still in their pyjamas you came face to chest with the shirtless drummer. With the toned arms of Roger Taylor on either side of you, you put on your best professional, no nonsense face about half a foot away from his. You couldn't put much more distance between you and him due to the kitchen counter and he seemed to know that as he smirked, leaning forward slightly with his whole body. 

"Mr. Taylor, that's quite enough", you said in a soft stern voice. 

"Oh you two are adorable." Freddie said at the same time Deaky started complaining about Roger not being able to go five minutes without blatantly flirting with the band's intern. 

"Roger, please leave Miss L/N be, as she is here to help Miami help us with our career." Brian said without looking up from his songbook and coffee. 

Roger sighed at Queen's comments, then looking at you, drawled, "it doesn't seem as though Y/N wants me to move..." 

His eyes widen as you suddenly put your hands on his bare shoulders and use him to hop up on the counter in front of him, lift your legs over his arm, back onto the floor and walked off with your plate, saying since his ego was so big and heavy you moved so he wouldn't have to strain himself. Freddie barked out a laugh, congratulating you on rendering Roger speechless. 

"It's not often he doesn't know what to do with his mouth." You chuckled. 

"Especially when a beautiful girl is involved," Freddie said, causing the drummer to blush as he continued gawking like a goldfish. 

It had been a few weeks of stress filled song writing and you were attempting to enjoy a shower when you heard thumps coming from outside the bathroom. You ignored the commotion and finished your shower, toweling off only to realise you hadn't brought clean clothes to change into.

You wrapped your towel around your body securely and cracked the door to peek out and seeing that the coast was clear you calmly walked towards your open door. As soon as you went to close the door, hands grabbed your waist and pulled you behind the door, against the wall, your hands pushing at the possible kidnapper. 

You let out a yelp only to be silenced by a hand over your mouth as a body pushed up against you HARD. Roger opened the door back up until it was touching his back and put a finger to his lips, touching both of your noses as he did so. Freddie thundered down the hallway and tiptoed into your room brushing by the door as he entered. Roger pulled your leg up around him and leaned  all the way into you to give the door an inch to swing inward as Freddie walked back out of your room, having unsuccessfully found anyone. 

"We're playing hide and seek, Love" Roger breathed in your ear as he let his hand slide down from your mouth to lightly rest on your throat, smirking at your current attire. 

"Well, Mr. Taylor, you should have said so." You said as you decided to get him back for his 'unprofessionality' as Brian referred to it. "FREDDIE! ROGER'S IN--" Roger cut you off with his hand, cursing as Fred's footsteps pounded back into your room. 

"Oi, Roger! Put her down" Freddie yelled at the drummer who realized you were still flush around him in his hiding spot. He glared at you as he let you push him off you this time and slipped over to your dresser. Freddie shoved Roger out of the room for you to change, thanking you for your service in the game.

As the door clicked shut you let the façade of professional indifference fall as your face blushed red hot at the situation and proximity you had just come out of. Deciding that taking another shower would be doing too much, you changed into shorts and a tank top and took a dry towel to head to the lake. You poked your head out to see that it was Roger free, strode down the hallway and headed down the stairs, listening all the while for band members.  

You stopped by the kitchen for a coffee and ran into Freddy when you opened the lower cupboard to grab a lid to take your coffee with you. Managing not to react too wildly you grinned at him and asked if Roger was seeking now. Freddie nodded and Mr. Taylor came in from counting outside to find you putting the lid on your coffee thermos having closed Freddy's hiding spot back up.

"Well if it isn't my newly declared hide and seek enemy," Roger greeted you with fake hurt puppy eyes.

"All is fair in love and war Mr. Taylor" you said, sipping your coffee you grimimced then turned around to grab some sugar to add to the bitter bean water, knowing exactly what held the drummer's gaze now that you were facing away from him.

"Maybe," Roger said slowly, stalking towards you, "you and I could help each other….you know in the game" his pause implying the other game he was playing, with only you.

 He continued walking slowly toward you as you continued slowly walking backwards until your back hit the counter and he smirked. You set your coffee down and jumped up to sit on the counter, crossing your legs and picking your coffee back up.

Roger stopped at the counter you were seated on, placing his hands on the counter right up against your leg and under the crossed one. 

 "Perhaps you should make it up to me, losing me the game I mean" his thumbs coming up to rub your legs.

"What if I tell you where Freddy is currently hiding at this moment?" You asked, fighting a shiver from his rubbing.

"Mmm I had something else in mind but I suppose that will do for now." His hands came up to rest on your still crossed legs, making it abundantly clear to you what else he had had in mind.

"Mr. Taylor it is a bit unprofessional to put your hands on a working intern as you have today-"

"Are you saying this?" He gestured with his head, "professionally does nothing for you?" He grinned cockily.

"What I'm saying is that A. I'm not a groupie, I'm here to work in a field I enjoy, B. I'm not one of your countless harlots, C. You're just horny because you've been here a few weeks and I'm the only female in a hundred miles and D." You leaned in close to his ear as Freddy silently closed his cupboard door and tiptoed to a different hiding spot, "you are a terrible seeker" you leaned back to sip your coffee.

"Well I convinced you to tell me where Freddy is, so I can't be that bad, speaking of which Love, you have yet to actually tell me where he's hiding, unless you want me to...continue convincing..."

"The cupboard, behind you."

Roger opened the cupboards behind him to find nothing. 

 Turning back to you, his face like that of a predator, stalking his prey; his eyes looking straight through your bones to your core. Uncrossing your legs to get down, Roger walked back up to you in one long stride, leaning right up against the counter, pushing your legs apart with his hips as he did so, causing you to fall back, catching yourself on one hand. Caught off guard you set your coffee down perhaps harder than you meant to and put your other hand on his warm chest to prevent him from getting closer than he already was.

"You lied"

"I said I could tell you where he was at that exact moment, he moved since then, while you were...preoccupied."

Placing his hands on your hips his eyes bore into you, "well then I suppose you still owe me for costing me my title at world champion hider. Do you have a preference as to when I should collect?"

Roger smirked as though you were trapped when really you knew all you had to do was say 'no' and he would back down immediately….though you never would.

"Mr. Taylor, I wonder if you could perhaps be more specific as to what sort of debt I am owing you, then I could be more helpful-"

Roger Taylor's soft lips cut you off, sampling the coffee in your mouth and you sighed into the kiss.  

"Sorry Love, couldn't play our game much longer with you looking so fucking delicious," Roger pulled away to gauge the situation, wanting to make certain he wasn't crowding you.

"Oh-ho no, you don't get to do that and just walk away mister! Get back in here!" You ordered him, snapping him back to you with your legs.

"Yes Ma'am," Roger saluted, clearly bemused by your little show of dominance. He slid his hands under you and turned to leave the kitchen.

"And just where are we headed now?" You inquired, tying your legs around him, doing your best to hide your smile at his cockiness.

"Ahh well, I just thought- I mean I..maybe," confidence gone he stuttered "we were-umm going for a swim?" His eyes fell on your towel.

"Good answer, now let's go 'swim' before the rest of Queen realizes you're not actively seeking them."

His smile returned a bit shy as he stopped and fell into your eyes before the words "so fucking gorgeous" whispered from under his breath causing your cheeks to heat up.

#queen #roger taylor #smut #queen smut #ben hardy #ao3feed #my life #long reads #x reader #txt fluff #kpop headers #kdrama #kpop rp #kpop gg #kpopgfxnetwork #kpop girls #kpop edits #k pop 2021

[omgsquee2001]

The Pure Elemental

Chapter 5

The sounds of coffee machines grinding coffee beans drowned out the noise of the people talking in the small cafe. On the weekends, I worked at a small cafe called the Silver Bean to make enough money for both myself and Mallory. Though it didn’t pay very well, it still gave us enough money for lunches at school and groceries. [F/N]’s family helped to pitch in sometimes, but more often than not, the we refused to take money from [F/N]’s family. It’s not that we didn’t appreciate the offer, we just didn’t want to take away from the family. We wanted to do things for ourselves.

“Wait, so she asked how things at home are going?” [F/N] asked, sitting at the bar in the cafe. I nodded, stirring [F/N]’s hot chocolate.

“Yeah. I mean, I appreciate her concern, but like, she had never asked about my home life before.” I said as I put whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. [F/N] frowned.

“You didn’t tell Miss Honeycomb about you and Mallory, right?” They asked. I shook my head, handing the hot drink to them.

“No. I would never tell any of my teachers about me and Mallory. There’s too much risk of Social Services coming, putting us into Foster Care and separating us.” I said.

~~~~

Mallory was sitting at home, watching a movie and doing homework. This was something she did everyday. Wake up, get ready for the day, watch tv and do homework as long as she focused and then wait for [Y/N] to get home around 12. Mallory was just about to take a break, when there was the familiar rhythmic tapping on the front door. Tap, tap, tap-tap. Mallory frowned in confusion. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was 11:30. [Y/N] wasn’t supposed to get off of work until 12:00. She still had thirty minutes left, so why would she come home now? However, [F/N] also knew the rhythm that the siblings used, so Mallory assumed it might be [F/N]. They often came to check on her if [Y/N] was busy. Mallory paused the movie she was watching and got up from the couch to check the door. She looked through the tiny spy-glass in the door. She frowned when she saw, what looked like, a dark purple, almost black, floating mass.

“[Y/N]?” Mallory asked. She gasped and screamed as the door was busted open, the dark mass entering the house, looking for the Pure Elemental.

~~~~~~

I sighed as I leaned my head against my hand propped up against the counter in boredom. Around noon is when business got slow at the Silver Bean. [F/N] had to leave when their father called, wanting help with something at their house. Tapping on the glass of the door caught my attention, making me look up. Annoyance flooded my system when I saw that it was Roger Taylor. Sure he had a hat and sunglasses on as a disguise, but I recognized his blonde hair. I looked at my boss.

“Hey, my cousin is outside, can I go talk to them?” I asked. I knew that Roger probably didn’t want me giving away who he was, so I pretended that I knew him. My boss nodded.

“Go ahead. You can get off early since business is pretty slow.” My boss said. I frowned slightly.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” I asked. My boss smiled and waved their hand.

“You go ahead. Besides, I’m sure Mal will be waiting for you to get home.” My boss said. My boss was the only person who knew about my situation with my sister. I smiled and nodded, taking my apron off and putting it away.

“Thanks! Have a good rest of your day!” I called. My boss smiled and nodded. My smile fell as I stepped outside. I walked into an alleyway where Roger was waiting. “What do you want?” I asked, crossing my arms. Roger sighed.

“Look, I know that you might be a little freaked out, especially with what I showed you, two nights ago.” Roger started. I scoffed.

“A little freaked out?! I am terrified! My favorite band entered my dreams, which I have no idea how you even managed that, and told me that I’m something called, “the pure elemental” and I needed to fight some dark energy.” I said angrily. Roger smirked smugly.

“So we’re your favorite band?” He asked. I rolled my eyes.

“That’s beside the point! Look. I’m sorry, but I’m not the person your looking for. I don’t have any magical power hidden inside me. I don’t plan on fighting any dark energy or saving the world. I just plan on graduating high school and looking after my sister.” I said. Just then, my phone started vibrating, letting me know someone was calling. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at who was calling me. Mallory’s contact photo was on the screen. I sighed and slid on the green answer button. “What Mal? I’m coming home, I promise I’ll be there in a bit.”

‘[Y/N]! Help me! Please!’

My blood ran cold at hearing my little sister screaming for help on the phone.

“Mal?! What’s going on?! Are you okay?!” I shouted. Roger’s face fell to one of concern.

‘[Y/N]! Please help me! They’re trying to get me!’

I shook my head.

“W-wait, whose trying to get you?! Mallory, tell me where you are! Are you at the house?!”

‘Yes! Please! Hel..’ the line went dead. My breath quickened as I looked down at my phone. Turning it off and stuffing it in my pocket, I turned to run home when Roger grabbed my wrist.

“Wait, [Y/N], let me come with you.” He said. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“No. I’m not leading a complete stranger into my house!” I shouted. I shook his hand off of my wrist and took off running. I had to get to Mallory.

~~~

Mallory screamed again as the dark figure tried to bust down the bathroom door. She reached for her phone, calling [F/N] first, desperate for help. The line went straight to voicemail. She grunted in frustration and ended the call. She then clicked on [Y/N]’s contact and hit the number. Mallory held her phone up to her ear as best she could, while also trying to keep the dark being out.

‘What Mal? I’m coming home, I promise I’ll be there in a bit.” [Y/N] said on the other end of the line. Mallory gasped, struggling to keep the door closed. She had locked it, but the being was slowly tearing the door apart.

“[Y/N]! Help me! Please!” Mallory shouted. She grunted as the being slammed on the door again, this time, managing to break the lock and push the door open a little bit. Mustering all her strength, she pushed the door closed again, pressing against the door with her back.

‘Mal?! What’s going on?! Are you okay?!’

Mallory was slowly loosing her strength.

“[Y/N]! Please help me! They’re trying to get me!” She shouted, trying to get her sister to realize the urgency of the situation. Her feet started to slip out from under her. She grunted as she forced herself up again, pressing against the door. She couldn’t hold out much longer.

‘W-wait, whose trying to get you?! Mallory, tell me where you are! Are you at the house?!’

Mallory nodded, exhaustion flooding her body.

“Yes. Please! Hel..” The door was finally pushed in, sending Mallory, screaming and ramming into the opposite wall, knocking the 15 year old girl unconscious. The dark being slowly entered the bathroom. It twitched and shifted, breaking into two. The first being looked to the second one. Through a series of clicks and whines, the first being told the second to stay behind, that the pure elemental would be coming. The first being walked up to Mallory’s unconscious form. It extended a handless arm and tendrils of dark energy slowly enveloped Mallory. Mallory’s body was lifted as if it weighed nothing. She was absorbed into the body of the being. The being then shot out of the house, returning to its master.

~~~

//I am so sorry this took so long to finish. If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.//

#the pure elemental #Queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody x reader

[illfoandillfie]

I gotta agree with that anon-your tags about being a nanny felt up by roger... Oh Lord 😍 Even imagine you were like a housekeeper, there for purely maintenance purposes because he is off around the world for so much of the year, but then when he comes home he makes his presence felt very much so y'know 😖🔥

Here's the first of the bday blurbs! This was requested a while ago (try december 2020 😬) in response to my tags on THIS post.

(Also just a heads up a lot of these first few blurbs were written between midnight and 2am so please excuse any mistakes lmao)

Working for Roger Taylor was a dream. Not because of who he was but because of the job he’d given you. Property manager was the official title but it was more than that. Whenever Roger was out of the country – be it for a tour or to record at the studio in Montreux or just for a family getaway – you stepped in to manage things for him. A lot of your duties were things like making sure the gardener arrived when he should, sorting out people to service the gas and electrics, and checking insurance payments had gone through on time. But curveballs were thrown your way all the time – sudden calls to pest control and afternoons watching his kids when the babysitter was ill being the easiest to deal with – and you were happy to do whatever he needed. He was a good boss too. Roger always made sure you were paid fairly and treated you with respect. He’d hit on you once when he was less than sober and you’d caught him looking a couple other times but he never made you uncomfortable. In fact, you’d liked it and encouraged it and somehow you’d ended up in his bed. It hadn’t been planned but it was fun and nice and he’d made it clear your job didn’t hinge on it happening again. Of course, you couldn’t stop at just the once and it turned into a semi-regular thing. After that he’d told you to use his pool and his house whenever you wanted, even offering you his room if staying in the house you were maintaining would be easier. It was fun to imagine what he might do if he came home and found you in scanty pyjamas or just your bathers.

Roger was due back from his latest trip to Montreux and you were patiently waiting, as had become your habit, in his living room. Typically, his return would mean a conversation to debrief him about what had been required while he was away. He liked to be as on top of things as possible and this time there had been an incident which resulted in a broken window that you needed to tell him about. Although you suspected it would have to wait until after he’d been on top of you. But, to your surprise, Roger was not alone when he let himself inside. He was accompanied by his two kids who squealed with excitement as they ran to the pool. Roger saw you and sighed with relief, “Thank god you’re here. Do you mind hanging around for the rest of the day? I’ll pay you overtime.” “Oh, of course, whatever you need Rog.” “Thank you. The flight was exhausting and I wasn’t expecting the kids until tomorrow.” You waved your hand to cut off his explanation, a little disappointed that any fooling around would have to wait, “Let me know what I can do.” “Just help me keep an eye on them.” he chuckled before heading out to the pool.

You delayed joining the family until you’d changed into your bathers and loaded a tray up with drinks and some snacks. Roger smiled gratefully when he saw you and his fingertips grazed your hand as you handed him a glass. You shivered at the contact but were quickly distracted as the kids pulled you towards the pool. You played along with their games, keenly aware of their father watching, until you could convincingly claim you needed a drink and make your escape. “I was thinking I’d order pizza for dinner,” you said as you passed Roger, “easier for everyone.” “You’re a life saver Y/N.” You bent forward to pour yourself a drink when you felt Roger close behind you. “I hope you’ll stay the night,” he said softly, tracing his finger over the back of your arm. You turned around, looking up into his gorgeous eyes but struggling to find any words. “We haven’t had a chance to go over everything yet, and there’s something very important I need to discuss with you.” Your heartbeat quickened as Roger’s hands settled on your hips, slowly rising higher and higher until his fingers grazed the sides of your breasts. You pressed yourself closer and he smiled lazily as he cupped your breasts and squeezed them. But all too soon his touch was gone and he was moving to the edge of the pool, getting ready to cannonball in while the kids cheered him on.

By the late afternoon Roger seemed so tired you decided to take pity on him. He had a cat nap on the sofa while you took the kids to a video store and bought a tub of ice cream for desert. And then you let them jump on him to wake him up before he overslept. In the evening you called up to order the pizza and sat through the first of the inane children’s movies as you ate but once the ice cream had been served you excused yourself. You itched to touch Roger, to continue what he’d started, and couldn’t stand just sitting there any longer. Instead, you made your way to his office to tidy up the papers you’d left out, and then to your room to read.

You’d been there for close to an hour before Roger knocked on your door. Snapping your book shut at the sound you quickly scooted out of bed and tried not to seem too eager as you pulled open the door. “Thanks for today.” He said seriously, “You were a huge help and I promise tomorrow morning we can go over all the business stuff. But right now the kids are asleep and there was that very important thing we need to address.” “Of course, Mr Taylor,” you put on your most innocent voice and looked up at him, biting your lip, “You know I’ll do whatever you want.” Roger hummed as his hands found their way to your tits again, squeezing you through your sleep shirt, “Good. I need obedient employees.” You giggled as he caught you in a kiss, hands moving to grab your arse as he kicked the door shut.

#bday blurbs #my writing #my blurbs #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine

[slashscowboyboots]

Happy Taco Truck: Ice Cream Dreamboat (Part 1)

(all photo credit goes to owners)

I know it’s only been months, but it feels like years since I’ve shared a fic!  This is a continuation of @no-stone-no-bone​‘s awesome fic Duff’s Doughnuts (link here).  I agree with Skyler, I’d love to see other writers write about the different food trucks and make this a series.  This was supposed to be a one-shot, but as I am physically incapable of writing short fics, this is a two-parter.  Buckle in!

Tag list: @izzysdenimjacket​ @no-stone-no-bone​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll​ @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands​ @smokeandmirrorz​ @sodalitefully​​ @roger-taylors-car​​  @harley-m-rose​ if you’d like to be tagged let me know, we all know how wonderful the tags work though

Warnings: language, sibling promiscuity, lonely cooking, terminal embarrassment, Axl and Tracii are Axl and Tracii

Thunk thunk thunk.

It was another scorcher inside your food truck, the vicious heat wafting off the griddle pummeling your face as you deftly raked your spatula through a pile of crisping beef tips, then piled them into a fluffy shell, handing it off for your sister Skyler to kiss with your award-winning cilantro lime crema and hand out to the customer.

You couldn’t resist moving up to the open side to watch the patron, a long-haired man wearing a nose chain with “Endless Burgers” stitched on his shirt, take a bite of your creation, then bend at the knees from ecstasy and dig a ten dollar bill from his pocket, stuffing it in your tip jar.

It has been gangbusters during the lunch rush in The Circle, the informal name given to the parking lot of ornery hooligans who fed the masses during the day and lingered behind late in the evening for a bit of recreational hell-raising. 

There was a plethora of culinary delights scattered around you, including Duff’s Doughnuts, Tracii and Phil’s Sno-Cones, Stoney & Cready’s Homewrecker Corndogs, and Jon and Richie’s Jersey Essentials (you never really knew what they were selling, apart from Aqua Net and the occasional cheesesteak, but after they began offering rippers-deep fried hot dogs-Skyler made frequent trips over to ask Richie if she could eat his weenie).  And from what you heard, they all knew how to throw down at night.

You never stayed to find out, though.  Your shyness forced you to fire up Helen the Happy Taco truck and drive home, leaving Skyler behind to do God-knows-what to who-knows-what, and you arrived in the mornings to find her either helping Kelly from Nickels’ BBQ feed his pink-painted porcine smoker, both of them covered in hickeys, or nearly trading blows with the loudmouth redhead who ran the ice cream truck.

Today, however, you’d found her with someone new.  When you pulled into the lot, you saw her with her arms wrapped around a guy with long hair wearing a flannel shirt and shorts, gazing raptly into his piercing blue eyes.  “Bye, Ed,” she murmured, pecking a kiss on his mouth.

“Who was that?” you asked, your eyebrows shooting skywards.

“Produce man,” she answered quickly.

“Were you getting us a good deal?’

“You know it.”

You peeled your gloves off and wiped your sweating face with a paper towel, trying to blot off as much grease as possible.  “I’m taking a break.  I need some ice cream.”

“I got you a frozen lemonade on my break.  It’s gonna taste like shit when you drink it with that ice cream.”

“I don’t care.”

“Punch that dick Axl in the face while you’re over there.  He’s on my last fucking nerve.”

You trudged down to “Axl and Izzy’s Frozen Delights,” eager to leave the brutal swelter inside your truck.  Standing in front of their window, you bent backwards and cracked your aching back, then a raspy voice asked, “Can I help you?”

You looked up into the most beautiful doe eyes you’d ever seen, hazel verging on gold in the afternoon sunlight, belonging to a guy with messy brown hair tied back with a bandanna, and suddenly your feet didn’t hurt anymore.  “Hi,” you said faintly.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at you, and you felt your breath leave you.  “I’m Izzy, who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

“What can I get for you?”

Your brain instantly forgot how to make words.  “Cone,” you muttered.

His smile grew even bigger.  “What do you want in your cone?”

“Ice cream.”

He chuckled softly.  “What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

Those gorgeous eyes were full of merriment, crinkling at the corners.  “You don’t know?”

“No.”  Get ahold of yourself, you’re sounding like a moron.  “Uh, chocolate?”

“Sure.  I mean, as long as you’re sure about that.”  He winked at you, then turned to the freezer case behind him, and you got an exquisite view of his perfect ass, your mouth open and your breath coming in gasps, then he turned around and grinned, catching you mid-gawk, and you immediately wanted the earth to swallow you up.

“Thank you,” you blurted when he handed you your cone, then you turned to leave.  

“Uh, Y/N?”

“Uh huh?”  You couldn’t believe he was going to prolong putting up with your awkward ass.  

“Aren’t you going to pay me?”

“Oh,” you said, humiliation bringing a knot to your throat, and you handed him a crumpled pile of bills and scuttled away before you could cry.

“Sis, you mind if I head out a little early?” you asked.  “I’ve got a headache and I want to go home.”

“Sure.  I think we’re done for today.  You sure you’re okay?”

You hadn’t said a word all afternoon, just cooked and sweated and tried not to think about what a failure you were.  This was why you didn’t stick around at night, even though you longed to, to laugh and have fun with all the crazy characters around you.  Because you’d fuck it up if you did.

Why wasn’t I born normal? you thought bitterly.  Why am I the disaster in the family?

“Yeah,” you said quietly.  “I’m fine.”

That’s why your tacos were so delicious.  Because you were such a loser, you stayed home and perfected them instead of going out and having a life.  With no demands on your personal time, you discovered that lime made your chicken taco sing, while a little tomato sauce was the secret to juicier ground beef.

Your loneliness was the key to Happy Taco’s success.  

And you’d give everything you knew away just to be cool for five minutes.

“OPEN UP!!” a male voice hollered.  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!”

Skyler dropped the hatch.  “Tracii!  Ferfucksakes!  We just got here!”

Tracii grinned under his bandanna.  “I wanna eat your taco.”

“It is an honor and a privilege to serve you a Happy Taco,” she answered, leaning on the counter and linking her fingers.  “However, we haven’t got anything set up and the only kind we can get you is our el pastor.”

“Okay,” he said, “gimme two,” and Skyler nodded to you.

You sliced the meat off the trompo, carefully evening out the sides, all the while reliving the embarrassment of the previous afternoon in your head.  Maybe you could drive Helen down to Baja California and start life anew, under a different name.

“Hey!” Tracii yelped, his eyes on you.  “I know you!  You’re the one Izzy was talking about last night,” and your knife nearly stabbed the metal pole holding up the pork and pineapple mass.

“Yeah,” he smiled lazily, “you are a looker, aren’t you?  How come you don’t party with us?  Izz said you seemed kinda shy.”

With your eyes wide and heart hammering, you handed the tacos to Skyler, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

Before she could say anything, Tracii handed her his money and sauntered off, orgasmically moaning as he chewed, and Axl stepped up to the window.

“The fuck you want?” Skyler snapped.  “”It’s too early in the day for you to pick a fight, asshole.”

“I’m not here to fight,” he growled, slamming down a wad of dollars.  “This is from Izzy.  For her ice cream,” and he jutted his chin towards you.  “He says you eat for free at our truck.  The bo-both of you,”  he gritted, the agony of that idea etching deeply on his face.

“Thank you,” you smiled in surprise.

His eyes met yours, waving off your delight.  “Yeah, he’ll be down later.”

“Yes, thank you, Axl,” Skyler said.  “May we offer you an el pastor taco?”

“No,” he said, already retreating.  “Pork gives me the shits.”

Izzy did come by later, just in time for your sister to run off on her break.  

“Hi, Izzy,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” he smiled, looking delicious in his sunglasses.  “So what kind of tacos do you have?”

You recited the list.  “El pastor, carnitas, beef tips, seasoned ground beef, chicken, shrimp, and uh, lengua.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, tongue.”

He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue, and you giggled, your shyness melting away at his goofiness.  “No, no, it’s really good.  Imagine the most tender, flavorful pot roast.  Everyone always orders seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass on the tongue, that one anyways, and have one shrimp and one chicken.  How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.  Uh, you and Axl, you eat for free here too.  Thank you, by the way, that’s very generous.”

He grinned wider, and you noticed he’d hadn’t stopped smiling at you since he showed up.  “Don’t mention it.”

You opened the shrimp and chicken containers, then threw the meat down on the griddle and moved it around, forcing yourself to focus on sauteing and not burning down the fucking truck because Izzy was outside.

He peeked in the window, looking around the interior of the truck.  “So how long have you been cooking?”

“Oh, since I was small.  I was at a stove before I could see over it.  These are all my grandmother's recipes.”  You scooped the fillings into their shells, then grabbed the crema.  

“Hey, I only ordered two,” Izzy protested when you handed him his tacos in a cardboard to-go basket.

“One of the chicken ones is Axl’s.  Consider it a peace offering.”

“Thank you.  Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if-”

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if I could get some fucking service around here,” a mullet-sporting, Confederate flag t-shirt wearing asshole growled, and Izzy waved, then walked away.

He returned the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, working his way through your menu and bringing you a different-flavored milkshake each time.  He loved all of the tacos he tried, even daring to sample the beef tongue, then immediately ordered another one.

“Told you,” you grinned.

He always made conversation with you while you cooked, his eyes locked on yours as he ate, but every time he finished, there was always a line to tend to, and Skyler made herself scarce as soon as she spotted him.  You never returned to his truck for ice cream, and spent your downtime cleaning the flattop, lighting out as soon as you turned over the CLOSED sign.

“You know,” your sister said to you as you turned the key in the ignition, “if you stayed, you’d probably hook up with Izzy.”

“No,” you said sadly, “I’m a hot mess.  I’d say something stupid and he’d run away.”

“Can’t talk with his tongue in your mouth,” she teased, “or some other part.”

“SKYLER!” you shrieked as she cackled, then you sighed and leaned your head against the steering wheel.  “I’m not like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said, leaning over and stroking your hair.  “Just give him a chance.”

“I can’t stay here and have Helen be a-a sin wagon.”

“It’s not like we have orgies!” Skyler laughed.  “At least your man doesn't.  He plays guitar and Axl sings, when he’s not being a dumbass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  And then Izzy sings, and Kelly gives me The Look and……”

“Or the produce man shows up.”

“Or Eddie the produce man shows up.”  She gave you a slight smile.  “C’mon, Sis, stay.  He likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“Then get to know him.  Axl says he’s pining.”

You looked at her in surprise.  “When did you talk to Axl?”

“When he told me that chicken taco you gave him was the best thing he’s ever had.”

You smiled at his praise, drumming your fingertips on the steering wheel.  “Maybe I’ll stay sometime.”

“Pining,” Skyler said, then hopped off the truck.

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic

[natromanxoff]

The Sun - November 27, 1991

Stars’ agony as they say farewell to tragic Freddie

Freddie’s army of adoring fans, who have maintained a round-the-clock vigil outside his Kensington home, were unaware the funeral was taking place.

His frail and deeply religious parents, Jer and Bomi, who also belong to the ancient Persian sect which condemns homosexuality, were disconsolate with grief and had to be helped to and from their car.

Freddie’s solid oak coffin, lined with white silk and topped with a red rose, arrived in a vintage Rolls Royce.

It entered the austere chapel to Aretha Franklin’s Precious Lord Take My Hand, followed by You’ve Got a Friend.

The sombre ceremony finished with Freddie’s favourite aria, Verdi’s D’amor dell’ ali Rosee by Montserrat Caballe, with whom he recorded the chart-topping theme for next year’s Barcelona Olympics.

Four hearses laden with thousands of bouquets from friends and fans worldwide, accompanied the coffin. They were later distributed to AIDS hospitals throughout London.

After the service Queen stars John Deacon and Roger Taylor were driven away in tears.

Among the sea of floral tributes, was a huge, heart-shaped wreath in pink roses from Elton John with the poignant message: “Thank you for being my friend. I will love you always.” Mary Austin sent a wreath of yellow and white with a single red rose in the centre. A moving message read: “For my dearest. With my deepest love. From your old faithful”.

After the service, mourners returned to Freddie’s £4 million home where six minders joined police standing guard outside.

Dave Clark left after two hours, looking distressed. In a barely audible whisper he said: “It was a lovely service. I think Freddie would have liked and appreciated it.”

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen scans #the sun november 1991

[ourimpavidheroine]

You always post your writing soundtracks. Mind sharing your top ten albums with us?

I actually laughed when I read this because I’m thinking of the Anon who complained that all of my music was OLD. I mean. I’m old! What did you expect?

Never mind me, I’m easily amused. Thank you for using the word album so I would not feel like Lady Danbury with my lethal cane.

Yes, sure I can do that! I don’t know that these are my forever and ever amen top ten, but they are the ones that are coming to mind right now. So.

Under a cut, it’s long. 

In no particular order.

Brutal Youth - Elvis Costello

My ex-husband was in love with Elvis Costello and who could blame him? The man is a genius lyricist. This is not one of his more commercially popular albums but I love every single track. (I also lined up at Ticketmaster in Oakland, CA when the man was touring in order to get tickets for my ex. I got there at midnight and spent the night, meeting a group of drag queens who were getting tickets to see Barbara Streisand. God, that was a fun night, we ate donuts one of them went on a donut run for and sang showtunes for hours. One of my favorite memories.) This verse, from Clown Strike, is one that has resonated with me since I first heard it.

Tell me what you want of me Or are you terrified of failure? You put on a superstitious face Behind all this paraphernalia We're not living in a masquerade Where you only have three wishes It isn't easy to see In a lifetime of mistaken kisses

Unrepentant Geraldines - Tori Amos

I remember the first time I heard a Tori Amos song. It was the summer directly after I’d graduated from college, I was driving my ex-husband’s car and Silent All These Years came on the radio and I was just fucking gobsmacked. I bought Little Earthquakes that day and haven’t looked back. I have all her albums. I am a big, big fan.

Unrepentant Geraldines, though. God. It came out the year before my wife died and it got me through her death. The song Weatherman is about a man losing his wife, and how he sees her in the nature surrounding him. 

And. 

No, sorry, I can’t write more about this, not right now. But I sing it to her sometimes. 

He is not a weatherman But his bride lies with the land And she will whisper to him I'll be dressing up in snow Cloaked in echo it's almost As if only Nature knows How to paint his wife to life With every season's tone "One more look from her eyes One more look can you paint her back to life"

Ray of Light - Madonna

This album got me through my divorce from my ex-husband. I’d go out every single day during my lunch hour, this on my walkman, and walk and walk and walk until I got myself in enough control to go back and finish my work day. It’s a great album and I still listen to it a lot. It empowers me. And then my daughter was born and Ray of Light has always been her song to me, even though that wasn’t the song on the album that Madonna herself wrote for her daughter.

Faster than the speeding light she's flying Trying to remember where it all began She's got herself a little piece of heaven Waiting for the time when Earth shall be as one And I feel like I just got home And I feel And I feel like I just got home And I feel

Seven and the Ragged Tiger - Duran Duran

This one was a difficult choice. For one thing, I really love their album Big Thing, which almost nobody’s heard about but one I love deeply. This one though...I think it’s the memories, including going to see them at the Oakland Coliseum with my cousin during their tour for this album and finding out they were partially filming the video for The Reflex that night. I like to think of us as being one of those girls in the audience. (Although I wasn’t screaming. I am a Capricorn. Have some dignity.) Duran Duran were responsible for my first fanfic and I’ve had a love for them since my Dad bought me their first album for my 13th birthday. I am nothing if not loyal. I have all of their early albums, all of their 12″ singles, too, including Secret Oktober, which I have always loved with a passion.

Also, Roger Taylor can still get it.

Freefall on a windy morning shore nothing but a fading track of footsteps Could prove that you never been there Spoken on a cotton cloud like the sound of gunshot taken by the wind And lost in distant thunder racing on a shining plain And tomorrow you'll be content to watch as the lightning plays along the wires and you'll wonder

Touch - Eurythmics

Another band I still love and listen to on the regular. Annie Lennox could sing me the telephone book and I’d be thrilled. Seeing her at age 14 in the Sweet Dreams video for the first time in my Grandmother’s living room quite literally woke something in me that led to moving across the world for a woman years later. (GOD.) I have all of their albums and choosing a favorite is difficult but this one won by a narrow margin, if only for the song Regrets, which is one of the songs that describes me until I became a mother, really. Like I RESONATED with that song. Still does in certain ways, if I am being truthful to myself.

I've got a delicate mind I've got a dangerous nature And my fist collides With your furniture I've got a delicate mind I've got a dangerous nature And my fist collides With your furniture I'm an electric wire And I'm stuck inside your head

Combat Rock - The Clash

Ah, teenage Impavid first understanding that music can also be political. Listen, I didn’t know much about what was going on outside of my own miniscule sphere - I was young and the internet didn’t exist yet. We got what news we got from our local paper and TV stations and they weren’t really reporting on what was happening in the world, not in 1982, let me fucking assure you. I got this album because my Dad was a part time DJ at a radio station that played mostly country music and the general manager of the station would just toss the rest of the non-country albums they’d get as promotions. My Dad would bring them home to me to listen to. You can imagine thirteen year old me listening to this album that opened with “This is a public service announcement - with guitars!” going WHAT THE FUCK? Let me just say there were a lot of trips to the library to read various newspapers after that.

Not to mention Rock the Casbah. What was a muezzin? I had no idea. I spent half a year reading books about Islam, about the Middle East and Northern Africa, which led to a curiosity about other religions beyond the Roman Catholicism in which I’d been raised, about other cultures as well. This album and The Color Purple by Alice Walker were the two things in my teen years that woke me the fuck up.

Now the king told the boogie men You have to let that raga drop The oil down the desert way Has been shakin' to the top The sheik he drove his Cadillac He went a' cruisin' down the ville The muezzin was a' standing On the radiator grille

Synchronicity - The Police

This fucking album. This fucking album. This album reached deep down into me and pulled out my soul and kicked it around for awhile. Every single song on this album hit me like a brick wall. Still does. Most likely always will.

Listen, you either like King of Pain or you live it. There’s no in between.

There's a little black spot on the sun today It's the same old thing as yesterday There's a black hat caught in a high tree top There's a flag pole rag and the wind won't stop I have stood here before inside the pouring rain With the world turning circles running 'round my brain. I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign, But it's my destiny to be the king of pain...

Sign O’ The Times - Prince 

The soundtrack to my University days. Jesus, it starts out with “In France a skinny man died of a big disease with a little name,” and it just keeps going. Pain, sex, wonder, glory, politics, love. It’s all there. I wore the vinyl out on this one. Amazing, amazing album. In fact, I still play it so often my kids practically know it by heart, and they don’t even like Prince!

To this day I think If I Was Your Girlfriend is the sexiest song ever written.

I will tell you this much: Sayuri’s main writing soundtrack song is Starfish and Coffee off the album, the same song I used to sing my kids as a lullaby. This should tell you a lot about her.

Cynthia wore the prettiest dress With different color socks Sometimes I wondered if the mates where in her lunchbox Me and Lucy opened it when Cynthia wasn't around Lucy cried, I almost died, U know what we found? Starfish and coffee Maple syrup and jam Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine And a side order of ham If U set your mind free, honey Maybe you'd understand Starfish and coffee Maple syrup and jam

Nina Simone Sings The Blues - Nina Simone

This was one of my Daddy’s albums. He loved it and so did I. As a child I just loved the sound of her voice - something in it both soothed me and pulled at me, made me want to run and just keep running. She still makes me feel like that. If you don’t know Nina Simone I urge you to change that, right now. There’s nobody at all like her. She’s irreplaceable. All of her material is good, not just her blues songs. Not to mention, she was an absolute brilliant genius at the piano, never mind the strength she had as a Black woman in a time when doors were shut in her face on a daily basis. Seriously. Read about her.

When I became a woman, of course, her songs took on a much deeper meaning for me, one that I could relate to. Isn’t that the hallmark of a good album, though? One that stays with you and changes with you? I think so.

If you’ve never heard her cover of I Put A Spell On You then do yourself a favor and go right now and listen. You’re welcome.

Oh and Buck from this album? Nuo to Wing, right there.

Also one of the sexiest songs ever written, this one. Especially how she sings it. The Hot Frenchman (have I ever told you about The Hot Frenchman? no? OH BOY THERE’S A STORY) told me he thought it was about drugs and I was like, honey, this tells me a whole lot about you, more than you probably wanted it to.

I want a little sugar In my bowl I want a little sweetness Down in my soul I could stand some lovin' Oh so bad I feel so funny and I feel so sad I want a little steam On my clothes Maybe I can fix things up So they'll go Whatsa matter Daddy Come on, save my soul I need some sugar in my bowl I ain't foolin' I want some sugar in my bowl

I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got - Sinéad O’Connor

This is a beautiful album, full of pain and joy, her hallmark. She sings every single word with everything in her; she’s far too intense for many, many people (and while she’s been open with her mental health struggles I’ve often wondered if she isn’t somewhere on the spectrum as well) but never for me. Her raw honesty has always appealed to me. She’s political, she’s a lover, a mother, a survivor of horrific abuse, someone who keeps reinventing herself as a way to find her way through pain. I always feel, when I am listening to her music, that I am bearing witness. I’m not afraid of pain; I’ve survived it as well. This album, one of her oldest, is still my favorite.

The line “You used to hold my hand when the plane took off” is the most evocative lyric I have ever heard with regards to the ending of love. It’s a punch to the heart - she felt it and she shared it with us, her fragile heart in her palms. Oh, Sinéad.

This is the last day of our acquaintance I will meet you later in somebody's office I'll talk but you won't listen to me I know what your answer will be I know you don't love me anymore You used to hold my hand when the plane took off Two years ago there just seemed so much more And I don't know what happened to our love

#personal #favorite albums #long post #Anonymous

[spreadyovrwings]

Scuff Up The Sidewalk

Pairing: Roger Taylor x (f) reader

Warnings: Smut, you know how it is

A/N: i wasn’t intending this to be this long so i can only apologise lmao but you see, i have this best friend and she’s in love with roger and it’s her birthday today!! so hopefully this is okay, i love her more than life itself, i hope she likes this. ANYWAY, i hope you enjoy!

//

The early morning sun struck the marble floor in rosy pinks and violets, like when you’d hold sweet wrappers up to the light and see the world through a kaleidoscope. You carefully held out your foot, letting the colours slide across the stark black leather of your uncomfortable Sunday shoes.

The priest was still droning on. You supposed you should be listening but the rainbow scattered across the floor was far more interesting. You looked up at the stained glass window, trying to line up the colours with the squares of glass in the portrait of a saint, long dead. 

Your father caught you and harshly whispered for you to stop fidgeting. Annoyed but smart enough to know better than to argue, you looked forward again, resisting the urge to sigh. 

Two pews in front of you in the next row, Roger looked equally bored. His fingers drummed a steady rhythm against the wooden bench. It was a wonder his mother hadn’t scolded him yet. You watched his fingers, trying to match the pattern with a tune, but you couldn’t guess what song was rolling around in his head. Maybe it was one he’d written himself. 

Then, as if he could feel you watching him, he looked back at you, china-blue eyes tired but soft in the low light. He gave you a wicked, gap-toothed grin. You knew that smile, it was a question, a promise. You returned it, an answer, a sealed pact.

The moment the service was over, Roger took his mother’s hand and asked her something. You watched with bated breath and when Roger smiled and looked back at you, you grabbed your father’s hand and asked the same question.

“Can me and Roger go play?”

Your father glanced at your mother, who shrugged as if to say it was his decision. Your parents didn’t mind how much time you and Roger spent together, although they seemed to be hinting more and more that at ten years old, it might be good for you to have some friends who were girls, especially as you were starting secondary school in the autumn. 

It didn’t bother you. No matter how much they tried to tell you that grown-up girls and boys couldn’t be friends, you and Roger were inseparable. You’d known each other almost all your lives, he grew up in the same street as you, in the house opposite, the one with the yellow door. You’d seen each other almost every day since the day he moved down from Norfolk.

“I suppose it’s alright.” Your father took your hand before you could run off. “But back before it gets dark, alright?”

“Yes, dad.”

He nodded and let go of your hand, allowing you to race after Roger like two toy cars, pulled back so that the mechanism shot them forward again. 

You both stopped by the door of the church, politely nodding to the priest and saying ‘thank you’, before you were tearing off across the grass, past ancient headstones and rabbit warrens, running towards the sea, running under the sun, running forever.

You always ended up at the same place, though you liked to take a different route every time. Today you ran through town, scuffing the cobbled streets. 

Roger took the lead, as usual. He was always in charge and prone to sulking when he didn’t get his way, but you didn’t mind him being the leader. He always came up with the best games, and he always had a plan.

Today he knew he was taking you down to the seashore. He’d made sure to bring his pocket money with him so that he could buy you both lunch, a bag of chips each and maybe an ice cream if he could afford it.

Seagulls sailed above your heads as you pelted down the hill at breakneck speed, knowing that if you stopped or stumbled, you would smack into the pavement, scraping the skin off your knees. But you didn’t, you flew towards the sea, stretching out your arms so that you soared like the gulls above.

You both collided with the stone wall that separated the promenade from the beach, letting out breathless laughs as the air was pushed from your lungs. 

You giggled softly, turning back to face the hill you’d just pelted down while Roger scrambled up onto the wall, never staying in one place for long, eager to get as far away as possible before night fell and you had to trudge home again. 

“Hang on.” 

He reached out to you and you immediately let your palms rest against his, your fingers locking like puzzle pieces, meant to be interconnected. He pulled you up onto the wall next to him, making sure you were steady with a careful hand on your elbow, then he flashed you a bright smile and jumped down onto one of the huge boulders that leaned their backs up against the wall.

You jumped down beside him, crouching so that your hand pressed flat against the cool, sea foam-splattered rock. It was slippery beneath your palm, you worried your sensible shoes wouldn’t give you any grip, but Roger didn’t seem to care. He hopped from rock to rock like the seabirds around your feet, and it gave you the courage to move faster. That was Roger, always making you feel brave.

You followed him, as you always did, your fearless leader, down rock after rock until you finally reached the pebble beach. You knew your mother would scold you later for scratching the inky patina of your best shoes but right now, you couldn’t care less, because you suddenly realised that Roger was taking you somewhere new. 

Usually, you turned right and wandered down the beachfront, chucking stones into the ocean, not caring whether they skipped across its rough surf or not. You’d wander so far that you’d begin to climb a steep hill, where you could peer down over the treacherous cliff face and find seals harbouring from the winds, huddling close together. 

But today, you went left, following the curve of the beach to where the stacked rocks formed a wall. There was a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. The tide was on its way out but water still seeped between the rocks, like the ocean was breathing deeply, the soft sound of the waves like gentle snores.

Roger began to climb. He looked back at you, making sure you were still following him. When he saw you hadn’t moved, he grinned. 

“Scared?” 

You scowled, furious with him for knowing you so well. You took his outstretched hand. Roger made you braver, yes, but it was mostly through unrelenting goading. 

He helped you find your footing in the narrow groove between the rocks, then led you through to the other side. Here, the beach was completely empty. The summer sun was hidden by the imposing cliff face so no one visited this part of the cove, favouring the more open, sandy end of the beach. The sudden change in temperature made you shiver.

Roger led you round to the flat face of the cliffs, stumbling and giggling over the stones until you came to the mouth of a cave. You hesitated, while as usual, Roger didn’t err. You gazed into the darkness, feeling another chill roll over your skin as you pictured what might lay within.

Roger stepped inside, looking back at you expectantly. He seemed to sense your nervousness and for once, he didn’t tease you about it.

“Hey, it’s alright,” He smiled and it lit up the darkness that surrounded him. “Do you trust me?”

You did. God, you did.

You pulled in a deep breath, then followed Roger into the cave’s gently smiling jaws.

Thankfully, you didn’t go in too far and there was more than enough light to see by. Water splashed beneath your feet. When the tide came in, the cave would be flooded. You had a few hours until then but the lingering danger sat on the edge of your mind as you followed Roger deeper. 

You placed your hand flat against the cave wall, feeling the soft vibration of the sea against your palm, like you were in the belly of a living, breathing creature, swallowed whole like Jonah.

You found a groove in the ancient stone and you traced it with your fingertips. The furrow curved round and you realised it was a letter, someone had carved their name into the rock. You glanced at Roger; he looked very pleased with himself.

“Found this place a few weeks ago. I’ve been waiting for the right time to bring you here.”

“Roger, you shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not allowed.”

He frowned. 

“Says who? No one owns this place. No one should be allowed to own rocks ‘n’ mountains ‘n’ stuff, should they? They don’t belong to anyone.” He grinned. “‘Part from that bit, right there. That’s mine.”

You thought for a moment, looking back at the wall and then down at your feet where there lay shards of metal, the last shreds of what was once a ‘do not enter’ sign. You picked up a piece, just like Roger had done, and began to carve your name beside his.

When you were finished, you turned to Roger with a smile. 

“It’s mine now too.”

“Ours,” Roger said. He pushed his long hair back from his face, the sea breeze already making it curl. “Belongs to us.”

You were too young to know it at the time, but in that moment, that split second, you made a promise to yourself: you adored that boy, you’d do anything for him, you’d love him till the day you died.

You left the cave soon after that. As much as he wanted to explore further, Roger could tell the slowly rising tide was making you anxious, so he made sure to get back to the safety of the sunlit beach with plenty of time to spare.

You were late home. Dinner was already on the table when you finally got in and your mother was furious. But it was worth it. It was always worth it.

/

“So how’d you do?” 

The words left your mouth before you could think about their effect. You bit your lip as Roger turned to look at you, but thankfully, he was smiling. It wasn’t his usual bright, cheek-bunching smile, but it would do. You couldn’t know it had nothing to do with his results, it was for you, because of you. 

You sat beside him, sighing as you sank down in the long, soft grass. The hillside overlooked a steep cliff, a perilous drop if you got too close. Ancient steps led down to the beach, another hidden cove, the stuff of myths and legends, where bright sunlight turned the water a glorious, magic turquoise, your own little paradise.

Roger was uncharacteristically quiet. He had been since that morning when the results came in. Your year group was only small but the school hall had felt suffocating as you walked up to collect your exam results. 

You didn’t see Roger there but you knew where he’d be. Good or bad, whenever he needed to think, he came to this hillside. 

The wind coming off the sea was so strong, it broke the warmth of the August sun and you shivered. All around you, the faded gold grass swayed in the breeze, rippling and shimmering like a pebble dropped in still waters. 

Not too far away, a crow hopped in and out of sight. To Roger, it was little more than a black smear in the shape of a bird, too proud to wear his glasses. This place, this little heaven, he didn’t need to see it clearly to know it was beautiful. It was just a feeling, a feeling that grew stronger when your bent knee pressed against his.

“Two As. One A*.” 

He raised his hand, showing you on his fingers, then dropped it again, letting it fall heavily against his thigh. 

You smiled, proud. 

“That’s great, Rog.” 

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. Roger didn’t want to talk, to tell you, but the anxious rope wrapped around his gut keep squeezing tighter and tighter until the truth was pushed from his lips. 

“I’m going away.” 

Silence fell between you. Even the sea seemed to hold its breath. 

You kept your gaze on the ground, following a ladybird as it made its way through grass that towered over it as an oak might loom over you. You felt just as much as you heard Roger sigh.

“I got into LHMC.”

You forced a smile. Meeting his gaze, you raised an eyebrow. 

“Doctor Taylor, eh?” You drew out the title, trying it out for the first time. It sounded so grown up. It didn’t feel real at all. 

Roger gave a scornful laugh.

“DDS.”

It hurt your heart to hear it. This was what he’d been working towards for years and it had paid off. All those sleepless, worried nights, the endless studying, the frightened tears, it was all finally worth it. But Roger tore at the grass, letting it slip through his fingers, carried away by the wind. 

“That’s… That’s wonderful.” You saw his lip curl with disdain and sighed. “It’s a good job, Rog.”

“That’s what my parents say. They want me to make enough money that I won’t have to worry.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” His voice cut through the air. Roger saw your face fall and sighed, resting his head in his hands, “I don’t know. I just… I always thought…”

“What?”

You weren’t put off by the harsh bite of his voice, like his words had jagged teeth. You knew he was upset, that he just couldn’t explain himself properly. You and Roger knew each other inside-out and back-to-front. Whatever was bothering him, it would bother you too until you got it out of him.

“It’s stupid,” he said quietly.

You leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder briefly. You murmured his name, and with just one word, you told him that whatever it was, it wasn’t stupid, that he could tell you, and that you weren’t going anywhere. Getting Roger to talk about his feelings was always like pulling teeth. 

You smiled, and told him so, knowing he’d appreciate the joke. You were relieved when he finally cracked a real smile.

If you were anyone else, he might’ve pushed you away. He knew that. You did too, but you couldn’t have known just how much you really meant to him. Not then, not at seventeen, just a kid.

Even Roger couldn’t understand the extent of it. With anyone else, talking about what he felt was like thrusting his fist against a splintering wood fence. With you, it was as easy and as natural as breathing, as the tide on the shore, the sun that warmed your skin.

“I don’t want to spend my life… Bored to tears. Stuck in a little town, not going anywhere. The same things, day after day.” Roger twisted his mouth, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be some sad middle-aged man sat in an armchair, watching bloody Coronation Street on a Friday night.”

A fearful pang reverberated in your chest, a sickening tug in your stomach. You knew exactly what he meant but at the same time, you couldn’t understand it at all. 

It saddened you that he felt that way, that he couldn’t see himself the way you did. But you were angry too, angry that he seemed to think himself so much better than the people that had raised you, your parents, your teachers, your friends. And, more than anything, you were worried that he included you amongst their apparent monotony.

“I don’t think it’s so little,” you said quietly. You looked away, following the edge of the cliff as it curved around out of sight. “This town. Or a life like that.”

Roger shifted beside you and then you felt his arm wrap around your shoulders. He pulled you closer, your side pressed against his. You could feel the warmth of his body through his clothes. He was always so warm.

“I don’t mean it like that.”

As he murmured by your ear, you felt his long eyelashes brush your skin, then his forehead pressed against your temple before he pulled in a deep breath and rested his head on your shoulder, gazing up at you. 

You laughed at him, your silly best friend. It didn’t occur to you that the thudding of your heart could be caused by anything other than the relief of knowing that he was alright.

“What do you mean, then, idiot?”

“I mean…” Roger elbowed your ribs, making you laugh softly and shove him back in retaliation. His smile soon faded. He wrinkled his nose, turning to look away for a moment, before he said, “Just always thought I'd be something more, you know?”

It was only late afternoon but you had to go soon. Yours and Roger’s mothers were throwing a party to celebrate your results. It was going to be an exhausting day but it was kind of them. 

If you didn’t leave soon, they’d be wondering where you were. You both knew it, but you also knew, without speaking a word, that you wanted, needed, to stay here in this moment, in this other Eden, just a little while longer. It was painfully obvious that it might be the last time.

“You still going Queen Mary’s?” Roger said after a few minutes.

You nodded, smiling. 

“Maybe I’ll see you on University Challenge.” His grin in response could’ve brightened the darkening sky. “I’ll miss you.”

“Nah, I bet you’re glad to see the back of me.”

“Yeah, been trying to get rid of you for years.” You spread your arms out wide, letting the strong wind hold them up for you. “Finally, I’m free!”

 You dropped your arms again and found Roger gazing at you with a smile. He looked tired, sad, but alright. You knew the feeling all too well. 

You were both quiet again for a moment. You watched the breeze play with Roger’s stupid, fluffy, lovely hair, lemon-yellow in the sunlight. 

You sighed, and then, 

“When will you be back?”

/

The Driftwood Spars looked exactly the same as he left it. Roger looked around the dimly-lit room with an odd, sentimental fondness. 

He’d grown up in this pub. He could measure his life in darts games. He could remember sitting in his father’s lap as he told a story that made all his friends laugh, giving Roger sips of their drinks when he got a little older. 

His family would do the quiz every Saturday night. They never won anything but it never dampened their spirits. He had his first drink at that table, and his first fight in that corner. 

He remembered ordering the same meal every time he came. He remembered the warm glow from his first pint. He remembered sitting at the bar on the night he and his parents moved here, to this little town by the sea, far, far away from his old friends and the little square of land that had made up his whole world.

It was good to be home. 

“Rog?”

The voice echoed through his head but he barely registered it, too lost in his own memories. 

“Rog!”

Finally, Roger broke free of his thoughts. He looked over at the stage where Brian had a face like thunder. 

“You gonna help set up or what?”

Begrudgingly, Roger slid off the bar. With his hands in his pockets, he sloped over to the stage, raised just a foot or so off the sticky ground. 

Freddie sat on the edge of the platform, picking anxiously at the front of his gilded jacket. Beside him, long legs bent almost up to his knees, John was plucking at his bass, tuning it for about the fourth time.

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“He’s nervous about the show.” 

John glanced back at Brian, who was talking to the landlord. He still felt like the new boy and was conscious of stepping on anyone’s toes.

Roger frowned.

“What’s he got to be nervous about?”

“It cost a lot to get down here. If they don��t pay us, we’re buggered.”

“They’ll pay us,” Freddie assured them.

He put on a good show of confidence but his heart was thrumming in his chest. Nervous as he was about the performance, Freddie believed in them. They would put on a show, the likes of which these people had never seen. They just had to be themselves.

Freddie grinned. 

“But not if you don’t set up your bloody drum kit.”

Roger groaned, but did as he was asked.

It didn’t take long for the pub to fill up. The Driftwood Spars was famous for its live music every Monday night. Roger had come to the free dances almost every week since he could remember. 

He didn’t do much dancing in those days, too cool to put himself out there, but he remembered the way you would stand in the middle of the dance floor, eyes locked on his, and dance like a maniac just to make him laugh until eventually, he had to join you. 

You always managed to make him feel better, you always made him happy.

“For one night! And one night only!”

Roger smiled into his drink, taking a moment to savour the sound of his favourite voice, before turning around on his stool. 

For a moment, he truly believed you were a figment of his imagination, as if just thinking about you was enough to summon you here. It wouldn’t be the first time. Roger thought about you so often, he’d lost count of how many times he’d been sat in a lecture and thought he saw you sitting two rows away from him, or heard your voice calling his name in the hallway. 

But no, this was real, you were here, walking towards him with a smile so wide that for a minute, he forgot his nerves about performing tonight, he forgot that he hadn’t spoken to you in months, he forgot he’d ever been away.

“The Devil on the Drums. The Star of the South West. The Cornish King himself. The great Roger Taylor.” You grinned. “And Queen.”

He knew seeing you again would make his heart stumble, but Roger couldn’t have anticipated the almost sickening lurch in his chest when you smiled at him, practically glowing in the low light. 

You looked a little different. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, you hadn’t changed much. Perhaps your hair was a little shorter, your clothes a bit more adventurous. 

With another painful wrench in his chest, Roger realised he kept expecting to see the young girl who’d wait for him at the school gates, gap-toothed and scruffy, one sock rolled down to your ankle, hair slipping out of your bunches. You’d changed. And so had he.

Roger slid off the barstool and swept you up in his arms, practically squeezing the breath out of your lungs. He lifted you off the ground as he hugged you so tight, you could feel each other’s laughter rumbling in your chests. It had been far too long.

He eventually put you down but his hands immediately found your shoulders, keeping that contact for as long as possible. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“I shouldn’t be, I’ve got exams in two weeks. But your mum sent me this in the post.” You pulled a folded piece of paper out of your pocket, holding it up for him to see. “How could I resist?”

Roger groaned. 

“No, she hasn’t.” 

He flattened out the paper to find it was a flyer for their show tonight. In bold letters, the words ‘The legendary drummer of Cornwall’ were printed under the pub’s name. Underneath, in much larger letters, was his name, then in small type again, ‘and Queen’. 

His mother had booked the small pub, just one stop of many on their ‘Cornish Tour’. Either he’d managed to build a reputation for himself without knowing it, or she’d made the ad too.

Roger folded it back up again, barely stopping himself from tearing it into shreds. 

“That’s so embarrassing.”

You carefully took back the flyer, oddly protective of it. 

“It’s sweet.”

“I’ll have a word with her.”

“They’re all over Truro, good luck tearing them all down. I’m gonna have mine framed.”

Roger grinned and took the ad back before you could protest. He leaned over the bar to grab a pen from the till then scrawled his name across the bottom of the flyer.

“There you are. Sell it when I’m famous.”

You gave him a rueful smile. 

“But aren’t you already famous? Er…” You held up the paper and ran your finger under the first line. “‘Legendary Drummer of Cornwall’?”

“Listen, right-”

“Rog?”

The spell was broken. Your smile faded as you saw Roger’s body tense, like he’d allowed himself to slip back into his old life and the new voice had reminded him that he was someone else now.

You looked over his shoulder to find two young men, about your age, the taller of who had called Roger’s name.

“Oh, these are my friends, the rest of the band.” Roger pointed out each of them in turn as a third man joined them. “That’s Brian, and that’s Freddie, and this is John. Deaky.”

They all seemed surprisingly reserved for boys in a rock band. Brian loomed over you, lanky and smiley, while John hid behind his long hair, his shy smile just shining through.

Freddie had one arm crossed over his chest, brushing his thumb under his eye with the other to swipe away any stray liner. It was him who spoke first, offering you a broad smile.

“Are you staying for the show?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You beamed up at Roger. “You know, he used to play the ukulele in a band when we were little. What was it called again?”

Cheeks a little pink, Roger shrugged. 

“Don’t remember.”

You felt a swell of pride as the memory surface in your mind, of Roger and a few of your friends gathered in his dad’s garage, trying to dissect songs they’d heard on the radio, learning how to play them piece by piece.

“Oh! The Bubblingover Boys, that's right.”

“Alright, I was seven.”

“And then there was that one from school. What was that called?”

Roger hesitated, glancing at his friends, before mumbling, 

“Reaction.” 

“They were good.” You told the rest of the band, who were all smiling now too. “I liked that one. He played guitar then.”

Brian raised his eyebrows. 

“Better leave that to me, eh, Rog?” 

Roger sneered but his retort was cut off by the landlord. He called to them from the bar, jabbing his thumb towards the stage in the back. They were on in five.

Excitement and nerves coiled round each other like writhing snakes in the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t seen Roger play in years. Too long. You knew he’d be wonderful, knew these boys must also be good because Roger never settled for less than the best. No, no, you weren’t worried about him.

It was the tremendous ache in your chest as Roger turned to follow his friends towards the stage without saying goodbye that left you feeling sick to your stomach. It was only when Freddie called back over his shoulder, saying it was nice to meet you, that Roger seemed to remember you were there. 

You’d been an afterthought before. Never did you think it would come from him. 

Roger slipped his hand inside the collar of his shirt, kneading his fingers into the skin above his racing heart. 

“Listen, are you free afterwards?”

You summoned a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice how weak it was in the low light. 

“My train’s not till tomorrow afternoon, so I’m all yours till then.”

“Sounds good.” He made to walk away again but stopped, looking you up and down. His fingers drummed against his thigh, anxious, unsure. “You look good, by the way.”

“Good?” 

Roger seemed just as surprised by the compliment as you were. 

“Just… You know, you look nice.”

“You this smooth with the girls in London?”

You grinned at him and like that, he was back. He was your Roger again. The boy who saved up all his pocket money to help pay for a window you shattered while playing a game he’d devised. The boy who let you stand on his shoulders to reach the apples hanging enticingly low from a tree at the end of your road, and who took the blame when the neighbour came running out, furious.

“There’s no one in London like you,” Roger said, eyes shining in the low light. “Or anywhere.”

That smile of his. You wished you could frame it, bottle it. It made the corners of his mouth crease, his nose wrinkle. A real smile, not the faux one he took out and put on for photos, or people he didn’t really like, or his family when he wasn’t in the mood. It was authentic, familiar like it was a part of you, and although you didn’t know it yet, completely and utterly yours. 

“Go on, drummer boy.” 

You squeezed the top of his arm, letting the silk material of his shirt slip through your fingers like water. 

He gave you one last sweet grin, then went to join his friends. 

You enjoyed the show. Even though you were almost immediately swallowed up by a crowd of kids a few years younger than you, you had a good view of the stage. 

Freddie was a fantastic performer. His voice so powerful, it hit the back wall, making you feel like your feet weren’t touching the ground. 

Beside him, Brian was so conversely still as he played, it was almost funny. His face was stern and focused but whenever Freddie crossed his path, he’d shoot his friend a little grin, always making sure to play a little louder.

Deaky bobbed his head as he played. He seemed to be in his own little world but he kept time so perfectly, the deep voice of the bass reverberating through you. He kept watching Roger, but not nearly as much as you.

The room thrummed as the song reached its height. All around you, people swayed and danced, arms in the air, smiles broad, sweat coating their skin. You tried to convince yourself it was them and the pounding beat that was making you feel dizzy. But you could lie to your friends, you could lie to Roger, much as you hated doing so, but you couldn’t lie to yourself.

You had to arch your neck to see him, over the crowd and through the rest of the band, but Roger still managed to make your head spin. His hands flew across the drums, moving so quickly and so precisely. You felt every beat until you weren’t sure if it was him or your own heart you could hear pounding in your ears.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, off the sheen of sweat that made his bare chest and arms shine, the way his hair moved whenever he threw his head back, the way his spine arched, his mouth open, eyes dark. You swallowed, face flushed, pressing your thighs together. 

Roger caught your eye from across the room. For a moment, you thought he’d look away again but he seemed to change his mind at the last moment. He held your gaze, then he grinned wickedly, and went back to playing, hitting the drums even harder than before, spinning the sticks between his fingers, showing off now that he knew he had your attention.

When they finally finished their set, you realised you’d been holding your breath for so long, your lungs were starting to ache. You pulled in a long breath, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead. 

All around you, people were applauding and screaming, cupping their hands around their mouths as they cheered. Someone even threw their hat on stage, a floppy beach hat with a bow on it, and Freddie caught it with one hand, dropping it on top of his head with a pleased little smile. 

You waited by the bar, your stomach still tight with nerves. You shouldn’t assume that Roger would come straight to you. He probably had other friends he wanted to hang out with tonight, he might even have been invited to some fantastic after-party. He had no reason to want to spend the rest of the night with you.

In all honesty, you were glad of the wait. It gave you a chance to catch your breath, to clear your head. You could still see the sheen of sweat on Roger’s skin as he played, the way his lips parted, that focused frown on his face. You wanted him to look at you with the same intensity, wanted to make his lips part just like that again, but as you made him sigh your name. 

The thought stunned you. You’d never looked at Roger like that before. Or maybe you had and just hadn’t noticed, or you’d played it off as some other platonic feeling. Either way, you could still feel the heat pooled between your thighs, making you squirm on the bar stool. You downed your drink, hoping that would help cool you down.

You waited for ten minutes, which turned into twenty. You knew the band was probably still getting changed or packing away their equipment, but you couldn’t help worrying he might’ve left without saying goodbye. 

Just as you were about to give in, Brian came weaving through the crowds towards you. You gave him an anaemic smile as he approached, thinking he’d come to say goodbye. But no, he’d finished changing first so Roger had asked him to make sure you hadn’t left yet, and to keep you company until he was finished getting ready.

Brian brought you a drink, even though you protested.

“I should be getting in the first round, you’re the guest.” 

Brian merely shrugged.

“They actually paid us this time. It’s a turn up for the books. The drinks are definitely on me.”

You stayed at the bar so that the others could find you easily, you swirling a non-alcoholic cider around in your glass because you would be driving later, and Brian nursing the cheapest beer they had on tap. They had been paid, yes, but not a fortune and only after a considerable amount of arguing. 

As you were both university students, you talked about the only thing you knew you knew you had in common, your degrees. It was all you ever seemed to talk about these days. You dreaded the day you left uni and you had to think of some other conversation starter.

Brian asked about your course and you explained your modules, not going into too much detail. It wasn’t much fun to talk shop with someone who had no interest in the subject but Brian was a good listener and you had more in common than you thought.

“But I’m thinking of minoring in astronomy, so...” You sipped your drink, glancing over his shoulder when you thought you saw Roger walking your way. 

It turned out to be just another blonde. In fact, it was a boy you knew from school. You hid behind your glass, not wanting to make your anxiety worse with awkward small talk. You were so busy hiding, you only caught the end of Brian’s sentence. 

“That’s really interesting, I’m thinking about doing my thesis on, uh, radial velocities in the zodiacal dust cloud.”

You laughed, assuming he was kidding. When Brian blinked at you, you laughed again. But he still looked confused. 

“You’re not a dentist?”

“What?” Brian laughed. “No.”

It was your turn to be confused. 

“Sorry, I thought… What uni are you at?”

“Imperial College.”

“So how did you meet Roger?”

“He got bored of dentistry, apparently. He does Biology at the Polytechnic.” Brian frowned. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Sadness sat in the pit of your stomach like a stone. That anxious doubt you had felt earlier was back, creeping across your skin like cold water. 

“No,” you said quietly, just as Roger appeared through a doorway in the back of the pub. “No, he didn’t.”

You stayed quiet as Roger and his friends made their way towards you. Poor Brian looked so uncomfortable, you thought he might fall off his stool. Neither of you said anything as Deaky and Freddie bracketed you, John immediately catching the attention of the girl behind bar. 

Roger stood close by you, so close you could see a bead of sweat slipping down his neck. You watched it disappear inside the collar of his shirt as he said, 

“You wanna get out of here?”

He said goodbye to his friends quickly and with very little ceremony. You thought perhaps that meant you were only going for a short walk and he intended to meet them back at the pub. 

But Roger patted his pockets for his wallet and keys before you left, and made sure that his drums were safely stored in the back of their battered old van, something he wouldn’t have been so careful about if you were just ducking out for a few minutes.

Roger needed some fresh air. His skin was burning after the set, all he wanted was to relax and rest his aching muscles, preferably with a drink and his best friend. 

You spoke quietly as you walked side by side to the edge of the cove. The Driftwood Spars sat just a stone’s throw away from the edge of the sea. It was dark, the only light came from the pub windows and the occasional passing car, but you braved the little incline until you could sit on the edge of the ancient rock, legs dangling over the side. 

Roger slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and brought out two packets, some salt and vinegar crisps from the bar, and a box of cigarettes. Something else he’d picked up and not told you about. 

He offered you a cigarette. You shook your head and took the crisps instead.

“You played really well tonight.” 

Roger smiled to himself. 

“S’funny. I think that was our first perfect show. Well almost. I’m glad you were there to see it.”

His words made your chest squeeze. You felt like you’d swallowed a box of fireworks, even though you couldn’t understand why. You liked that Roger wanted you to see him perform. You liked that he wanted you to be proud of him. And you were, you were so proud it defied words. 

So you resorted to the language you were both fluent in, the way you’d spoken to each other since you were kids.

“I’m not saying it was perfect cos I was there, but…” 

You grinned at him and Roger scoffed.

“You might’ve helped.” 

He nudged your ribs, laughing softly when you shoved him right back. He caught your hand as you dove for him again, holding it tight so you couldn’t get away, even if you wanted to. 

Moments passed, and he still didn’t let go. His palms and the pads of his fingers were rough, sore, you thought, from clutching the drumsticks so tight. They were warm against yours, so much bigger, his long fingers encompassing yours. You found yourself wanting to kiss them better.

There was a ring on his right hand now, his father’s. The way your hands had fallen, it rested against the fourth finger on your left hand. The sight made you shiver. 

“I’ve missed you,” Roger said quietly. 

You looked up from your hands and found he was smiling at you. He looked so different, less boyish than you were used to, but still sweet. 

“I’ve missed you too.” You couldn’t resist brushing his damp hair out of his eyes with your free hand. “You need a haircut.”

Roger had to bite back a groan as your fingers slipped through his hair, almost moaning when you got caught in the tangles formed while he was drumming. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it, you’re just looking a little scruffy.”

You let your hand smooth down the side of his face, brushing your thumb over the ridge of his eyebrow, across his cheek, and along his jaw until his face rested in the palm of your hand. Roger hummed, closing his eyes for just a moment. 

You laughed gently, watching as his smile grew then he opened his eyes again. He leaned into your hand, sighing softly. His eyes were so bright, so full of life, but tired too. They were the only thing about him that hadn’t changed at all.

You blinked and Roger was leaning closer. His gaze had dropped to your mouth, his smile slowly disappearing. You realised he was still holding your hand, his thumb smoothing back and forth across your skin. 

You let him move closer, letting your heart take control for once in your life. But then you caught the scent of him, like cigarette smoke and sweat. It blanketed the smell you were used to. He didn’t look the same, didn't dress the same, he didn’t even smell the same. 

You remembered how he had held himself so differently around his friends. You remembered what Brian had said about him changing unis. You thought about the feelings that had burned your blood, not feelings you ever thought you would associate with Roger. 

It made you falter, your heart stumbling, and as he dipped his head, your hand fell from his face and you laughed nervously, leaning away from him.

“God, you’re not gonna kiss me are you, Rog?”

His gaze snapped back up to meet yours. Cold dread settled in your stomach when you saw a flash of hurt, then fear in his bright blue eyes. He didn’t laugh. 

You licked your lips, your next teasing words dying in your throat. 

“Roger?”

He sat back, shoulders hunched and tensed. Roger’s hand slipped from yours and when he spoke again, he didn’t look at you.

“Thought never crossed my mind,” he said quietly. 

The silence that followed was agonising. Something was wrong. You used to be able to read each other with ease and now you couldn’t get past the guarded look in his eyes. Roger looked embarrassed and just as confused as you felt. 

With a sickening jolt, you realised what you’d done, how stupid you’d been. You couldn’t get his face out of your head, the hurt in his eyes when you laughed and moved away from him, and worse, you realised that you wouldn’t mind if he did want to kiss you. You wouldn’t mind at all. 

Panic gripped you, stealing your words, and your breath, and all sense of what to do next. You were still trying to think of something to say when Roger laughed, short, terse, scornful, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened either. 

Then, almost angrily, he said, 

“What’s going on with you?”

You twisted your mouth, suddenly uncomfortable. It was the first time you’d ever felt like strangers. 

“You’ve changed.”

“What you on about?” Roger scoffed, stubbing out his cigarette on the rock beneath you. “I haven’t changed.”

“You used to tell me things. We used to know everything about each other.”

“We still do!”

“You changed unis without telling me!”

That got him. Roger blinked, wondering how and when you’d found out. He flushed, shaking his head. 

“S’boring, you don’t wanna know about that.”

“You changed your degree.”

Roger’s face was still burning from your reaction. All he could see was the way your nose had wrinkled, all he could hear was how you’d laughed at him, the shock in your eyes, the disappointment in your voice. 

“S’not important. Do you want me to write to you about every tiny little thing in my life?”

You scoffed. 

“That’d be a turn up for the books considering you barely write at all.”

“We’ve been busy with this album.”

“Album?”

“Me and the lads. It’s almost done.”

“You’re making an album?” You shook your head, confused. “What about school?”

Roger laughed but it wasn’t a nice laugh, not his usual bright, happy, gorgeous, almost like sunshine laugh that you were so honoured to be used to. 

“You sound like my mother,” he said, going for another cigarette but stopping when he saw the look on your face.

The air had shifted again. 

You were quiet for a moment, then you murmured, 

“I didn’t realise it was so serious.”

“It is. We are.”

“I’m happy for you, then.” You gave him a weak smile, gently nudging his arm. “Remember me when you’re famous, yeah?”

Roger met your gaze again. When he smiled at last, the creases by the corners of his mouth made your chest squeeze. 

You thought about kissing him, what it would feel like, what he might do with his hands, if his lips were as soft as they looked. 

“How could I forget about you?” he said softly.

You were back to the way things were. Except… Except you weren’t. You had fought before, countless times, from stupid spats that were solved quickly to full-on arguments that meant you didn’t talk to each other for a day. 

But a day was all you could ever handle. After that, one of you would always break, and you would be back to annoying each other like nothing had happened. In those days, neither of you ever apologised. You'd never hurt each other so badly that you felt the need to. You just moved on, forgetting whatever it was you’d been fighting about almost immediately. 

It was happening now. Roger had already decided he was over it. He wasn’t angry with you, he just wanted to move on. But you felt two steps behind. You knew something was wrong but you couldn’t figure out what. You had always been two halves of the same whole but now you felt disconnected, there was a piece missing, a loose wire. It left you feeling cold inside, and lonely as a star. 

“D’you fancy chips?” Roger asked after a few minutes of contemplative silence. “I want chips. Let’s get chips.”

You nodded faintly, trying to summon some warmth back into your smile. 

“Okay.”

/

That night, alone in your childhood bedroom, you couldn’t think of anything but Roger. That wasn’t unusual; you thought about him most of the time. He’d been in your life for so long, longer than you could remember, he was part of you now. Maybe that was why it hurt so much. 

He was all over your room. He was in the tin cans by your window, connected by a string long enough to reach his house across the road. You’d talked all night with it, whispering down the line, telling scary stories and jokes or just dictating to each other from whatever you were reading at the time.

He was in the collages of photographs that bloomed on your walls, some so old and faded that you could barely see them anymore, sun-bleached and spotted but still far too important to lose. 

There was one from your last day of secondary school, Roger’s arm slung around your shoulders, still in your horrible old uniforms. 

There was another of your seventh birthday party, when you’d shared the day despite your birthdays being a few months apart. You just wanted to celebrate with each other.

He was in the curtains you’d accidentally pulled down while playing one winter, and the springs in your bed you’d worn away from jumping, and the papier-mâché moon on your dresser that you’d made together on a rainy day.

You thought about him a lot. But now instead of your childhood best friend, all you could see were the beads of sweat slipping down his bare chest, the smell of his aftershave still sticking to your skin. 

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you let your mind wander to the way he’d looked at you just before he tried to kiss you, his soft, raspy voice filling your ears as he murmured your name.

With a groan, you threw down the clothes you were supposed to be unpacking, letting them sprawl across your mattress as you sank down to the floor with a sigh.

Thoughts rattled through your head. This was Roger you were talking about. It didn’t make any logical sense to you. But it wasn’t logical, that was the problem. Before your brain had caught up with your body, you had wanted him to kiss you. 

He looked so good on that stage, twirling the sticks between his long fingers. Roger Meddows Taylor, all slim lines and taut muscle, oozing confidence, so smart and so cool, the boy all the girls wanted. And he… He wanted you.

Groaning softly, you pressed your face into your palms, pulling in a long breath that did little to ease the anxious knot in your stomach. 

“Shit.” 

//

The grimy, orange softness of a London evening warmed your skin as you crossed the street to Roger’s flat. Your bags thumped against your calves, tripping you every few steps. 

You hadn’t seen him in months but you suddenly woke up yesterday morning with this idea in your head that you should surprise him. You and Roger talked when you could but it wasn’t the same. You needed to hear his voice, feel his arms around you, especially today, the most important day of the year. 

You struggled up the flights and flights of stairs, searching for the door number your mother had passed on from Roger’s mother. When you finally found the right flat, you unceremoniously dropped your bags to the floor and knocked hurriedly, excited to see your friend after so long.

The door swung open and your broad smile slipped. It wasn’t Roger. It wasn’t even Freddie. A young woman had answered the door. She looked frazzled, like you’d interrupted her in the middle of something. 

“Oh.” You took a nervous half-step backwards, clutching the handle of your bag a little tighter. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was- I thought-” You glanced at the door number. “Maybe I’ve got the wrong flat.”

The girl smiled. 

“You looking for Roger?”

That made you pause. You wondered how she’d known, if Roger had talked about you before or if it was just a safe assumption. Maybe Roger had girls turning up at his door every day of the week.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m his best friend.” You frowned. “Or I was, we haven’t spoken in a while. Not properly, anyway. We write but it’s hard. I’m doing my masters in Aberdeen so it’s…”

The girl blinked at you and you flushed, realising you’d been rambling. Then you saw that she had one of Roger’s jumpers tied around her waist, black and soft and almost as old as its owner. 

He wore it so often that his mother had to sew patches on the elbows and replace the hem twice. Roger loved that jumper more than he liked most people. And she was wearing it.

“I was just gonna…” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth but you pushed on, suddenly feeling so small and lost, you just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there till this feeling, whatever it was, went away. “I wanted to surprise him. You know, for his birthday.”

The girl cocked her head to the side, surprised. 

“I didn’t know it was his birthday.”

That made your gut twist. This girl knew Roger, she was in his flat, she was wearing his favourite jumper, but she didn’t know what day it was. 

The anger broiling in your chest slowly fizzled out until nothing remained but an overwhelming, cold emptiness. You’d made a mistake coming here, you could see that now. If Roger had wanted to see his little friend from home, he would’ve said so.

You thought about how you must seem to this tall, beautiful city girl, and felt like an idiot. You were an embarrassing, over-eager little kid, desperate to cling onto the one person in your life who’d ever made you feel important. This was all a stupid mistake. 

“I’ll just go,” you said quietly, already turning to leave, but the girl waved her hand at you. 

“Nah, you’re alright.” She turned and grabbed her bag from an armchair sat close to the door. “I’ve gotta go to work but you can hang out here if you like. Freddie’s in his room. You know Freddie?” When you nodded, she smiled. “Great. See ya.” 

The girl slipped past you into the hall, leaving the door open for you. She only stopped when she remembered that she still had Roger’s jumped wrapped around her. 

“Oh, can you give him this?” 

She tugged at the sleeves, undoing the knot with so little care that it made you gut twist. She pushed it into your hands, giving you a fleeting smile.

You watched her walk away then looked down at the jumper in your hands. It was just as soft as you remembered. With a smile, you turned it over, wondering if perhaps… Yes. There, on the inside label, Roger’s mum had written his name in blue ballpoint pen. You ran your thumb over the faded letters. You’d missed him so much.

“Oh, Christ!”

You jumped about a foot in the air. Clutching your chest, you turned to find Freddie standing in the living room, eyes wide.

“God, you frightened the life out of me. I almost jumped out of my skin.” 

“Sorry.” You’d only been here five minutes and you’d already apologised about a hundred times. “Thought I’d pop down and surprise Rog.”

Freddie nodded to the open door. 

“She let you in?”

The disdain in his voice was clear as day. You made a sympathetic noise, moving further into the flat after you’d shut the door behind you. 

“Not a friend of yours?”

“She’s been over a few times but I don’t think he sees much in her.”

“Does he have-” You hesitated, not sure if you actually wanted to ask, but you couldn’t help yourself, curiosity and jealousy loosening your tongue. “Does he have a lot of girls over?”

Freddie laughed, 

“Not nearly as many as he’d have you believe.” 

He offered to help you carry your bags of food to the tiny kitchen, shouting directions to Roger’s bedroom over his shoulder.

Behind the first door leading off from the hall, Roger’s bedroom looked much the same as his one back home in Truro, a little messy, very boyish, but ultimately, just very him. There were clothes all over the floor like he’d got dressed in a hurry that morning, and his window was wide open, letting in some cool air.

You walked further into the room and dropped your small bag on his bed. You only intended to stay one night, you would be getting a train down to Truro in the morning. When you told your family that you would be dropping by Roger’s flat on your way, they were surprised. You hadn’t mentioned him in months, not since… 

You huffed to yourself and shut his window for him. You hadn’t talked about Roger to anyone but that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about him every single day. 

You sighed, looking down at his bedside table. A picture frame sat amongst the junk, the only photo Roger had in his room. You gingerly picked it up, trying not to unbalance the plaited leather and beaded bracelets that he’d slung over the corner. 

Careful not to smear the glass with your fingerprints, you gazed at the happy scene, now captured forever. It was you and Roger, just a few years ago now but it felt like forever. You were sitting on the garden wall outside his house, legs swinging, the summer before you left for uni.

You let your gaze travel over your own bright, smiling face before you finally allowed yourself to look at him. You hadn't expected the clench in your heart to be quite so powerful. 

Seeing Roger again, it brought everything back. All the pain and sadness you'd managed to suppress was loose again and stronger than ever. God, you missed him. Just seeing his face nearly brought you to tears. You both looked so happy, so close.

You were brought out of your memories by the sound of Freddie calling your name. You carefully put the photo frame back down and turned to find him shrugging on his jacket in the doorway.

“I’m surprised you remember my name,” you admitted.

You’d listened to Roger talk about his amazing new friend for hours, Freddie Mercury, the kid he ran a stall with in the market, who had a voice that could shake the world, and who proposed they live together while they both figured out what they wanted to do after uni.

His clothes were so bright and colourful, the way he held himself so refined and regal. You didn’t think someone like Freddie would remember someone like you in a hurry. But he laughed.

“Not bloody likely, the way Roger goes on about you.” He missed your flushed face as he turned to check his reflection in the mirror beside the door. “I’ve got to go, I’m having dinner with friends. Will you be alright here by yourself?”

Freddie let you have free roam of the flat. Roger wouldn’t be home till at least seven, so you had plenty of time to set up the somewhat meagre decorations you managed to grab on your way here before the shops closed. 

When you were finished, you looked around, feeling a little underwhelmed. It seemed like a lot more when you were trying to stuff it into your bags. Chewing on your lip, you hoped it would be enough. Thank God Freddie had some taste and had decorated the flat as best he could with their limited funds. 

You knew it was a mistake, but you ended up back in Roger’s room, perching on the end of his bed. You felt weird standing in the living room alone. If you’d frightened Freddie just by standing in the doorway, you’d probably give poor Roger a heart attack if he found you waiting for him in the dark. 

You slipped on the jumper that girl had thrown to you, pulling it on over your clothes to keep yourself warm. Roger didn’t let people borrow his clothes often, so it was always a nice surprise when he allowed you to steal his jumper, his favourite and yours too. It had been a few years since you last wore it but it still smelt the same, still felt just as soft and comfortable as you remembered.

Soon the stress of your journey caught up with you and your tired muscles persuaded you into lying down on the bed, wearily pulling the duvet over you, promising yourself you were just closing your eyes for a minute or two.

Hours passed but it felt like nothing to you. You were finally pulled from your dreams when you felt the mattress dip, and you were cold for just a moment as someone lifted the duvet. You almost complained but your words melted on your tongue when you felt a familiar warmth against your skin, the smell of him, of home, all around you.

You cracked open one eye. Though your vision was bleary, you would know him anywhere. 

“Roger.”

He looked exhausted. You lifted your head, about to apologise for falling asleep, for ruining the surprise, ready to ask him about his day, but then you realised he was wearing his glasses. He was home, he was safe and comfortable. You didn’t want to talk about the outside world, you just wanted it to be him and you for a little while longer.

“Not the girl I was expecting to find in my bed when I got back but I’m not complaining.” 

You gave a breathy laugh, pushing your face into the pillow for a moment to hide your pink cheeks. But his words struck a chord, your chest tightening as you looked up at him again.

“She seemed nice,” you said quietly. 

Something shifted in Roger’s face. His soft smile, so delicate in the moonlight, turned downwards at the corners, just for a second, but you were close enough to catch every moment of it. 

“She’s, erm…” 

His gaze lowered, lingering somewhere near the collar of your shirt while his long fingers fidgeted with the bedsheet. Then whatever it was that had clouded his thoughts disappeared again, pushed to the back of his mind for later, and his gentle smile was back. 

“What are you doing here? Not that it’s not brilliant to see you, cos it is. I just thought you were in Scotland.”

“I was. Came down ‘specially, didn’t I.”

“For me?”

His bed was small, there was barely any space between you. Another few inches and you'd be in his arms. Which would be nice, you thought, it would be really nice.

You smiled. 

“It’s not every day you turn twenty-three.”

Roger’s expression shifted again but this time, a flash of light in his eyes made your heartbeat quicken. The exhaustion in his face was gone, whatever it was that creased his forehead forgotten for the moment. 

Slowly but surely, he slipped his arm over your waist, gently pulling you closer until your chest was pressed against his. You could feel your own heart thudding against your ribs but strangely enough, you found you weren’t afraid. You adored the closeness, you adored him.

As Roger turned onto his back, you rested your head on his chest, the silk of his shirt warm against your cheek. You tucked your head under his chin, turning your face to breathe him in, all shyness and awkwardness gone. 

You couldn't understand it, how a person could make you feel so at home, even after everything that had happened, after months without seeing each other.

Roger closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose when they stung with exhaustion. He’d been at work all day. He hadn’t even been able to talk to his parents for more than a few minutes when they rang that morning to say happy birthday. 

He’d trudged home in a daze, just wanting to crawl into bed until this day was over, but then he saw the balloons in his kitchen, the banner over the door, and you in his bed, and his heart lifted, all his sadness and loneliness gone in an instant. You were here. You were here.

Roger desperately needed sleep but all he wanted was to keep talking to you. A small part of him couldn’t believe this was real, that you were in his bed and wearing his clothes, but no, it was you, you and your gentle, sleepy smile, your kind eyes, your smell, your soft skin. You, nothing but you.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

He whispered the words into your hair. You shivered, closing your eyes as you let yourself melt into him. You stretched your arm across his chest, tucking your fingertips underneath his back, holding him close.

Roger finally began to breathe easily again. Your face was pressed into his shoulder, the length of your body against his side. When you hummed happily, he closed his eyes. All he could think to do was kiss the top of your head, whispering those same words again, ‘I’ve missed you’.

You were quiet for a moment, just listening to each other breathing slowly in and out. An ambulance siren echoed in the distance, the busy London streets still alive despite the late hour, but here it was dark, and warm, and comfortable, and it was just the two of you.

You could feel Roger’s heart beating under the palm of your hand. You focused on that and nothing else, closing your eyes, trying to push all your sad thoughts away. But they still sat there at the back of your mind, scratching away until you had to say something.

“She didn’t know it was your birthday.”

Roger didn’t say anything for a moment. Your heart thrummed so fast, you thought it might give up altogether. He rested his chin on top of your head, closing his eyes, then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it,

“No.”

You raised your head from his chest, meeting his gaze. 

“Freddie didn’t mention it either.” When Roger glanced away, your face fell. “You haven’t told anyone.”

Roger sighed, and you were so close that you felt your whole body move up and down with his as he pulled in a deep breath and slowly let it go again.

“He knows but I didn’t wanna make a fuss. Nobody’s really got any money at the moment and I didn’t feel like celebrating so…”

His voice was so soft, you had to strain to hear it even though the room was perfectly silent.

“Should I not have come?” you murmured. “I was worried it was a bit much, turning up out of the blue like that.”

Roger hummed, low and soft. 

“I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life,” he murmured, so close that you felt his breath tickle your cheek. 

He reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling slightly as his fingers brushed your skin.

Your heart lurched. Roger still looked tired and a little sad, but he still smiling. 

You didn't think you'd seen him this happy in a long time. He was so relaxed, perfectly at ease for the first time in months, ever since he went away, ever since he last said goodbye to you. 

You wished you could keep it that way for him, you wished you could take away all the bad things in Roger’s life that meant he couldn't be this happy all the time.

He met your gaze. 

His eyes. Such blue eyes. Blue like the sea that raised you. Blue like the skies that you gazed up at on long, lazy, hazy, summer days. Blue like the ribbons in your hair on the day you met. Blue like his first car, and the walls of both your childhood bedrooms, and the logo on the bags of chips you got every Friday. Blue like that shirt of his that was always so soft, and the flags that crisscrossed the town square, and the tiny flowers in the cracks in the concrete on the street where you both grew up.

You saw your home in his eyes. That was Roger. Home.

You realised you were staring and felt embarrassment creep over your skin. Roger was smiling at you again. Perhaps he’d noticed you drift away, or seen the memories cloud in your eyes. He was still so close.

“I brought cake,” you said suddenly.

Roger laughed, bright and full, and you barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at yourself, but then he sighed slightly.

“God, I love you.” 

You thought he might just be teasing you, that he’d laugh again and you’d be back to the way things were. But Roger didn’t laugh, though he was smiling this soft, pensive sort of smile, his gaze on you and only you, and where you thought you’d see shyness and regret, you only saw gentleness and openness, and it made your heart pound,

“Wait here just one sec,” you said, trying not to blush like an idiot and failing miserably.

Roger raised his arm, letting you slip out from under the covers to rush into the kitchen where Freddie had so kindly put away the food you’d brought with you.

You couldn’t afford much, the wages from your part-time job could only get you so far, and most of it had gone towards the price of the train down. But you’d scraped together just enough for the decorations and most importantly, a small cake and a couple of candles.

Roger sat up as you came back into the bedroom. Reasonably, he knew you weren’t actually glowing, that the golden light surrounding you was just from the endearingly wonky candles on his endearingly wonky cake, but then you always looked like that, surrounded by lovelight, brighter than any candle.

“You brought all this down on the train with you?” he murmured, still stunned that anyone would go through all this trouble for him, especially since you hadn’t spoken properly in months now you were at the opposite end of the country, and he’d been so busy, he’d worn away the soles of his shoes.

“Don’t, it was murder getting through Waterloo with this lot,” you said, then shushed him so that you could sing for him. 

You carefully approached the bed, picking your way through the clothes and the odd drumstick strewn across the floor. As you finished singing Happy Birthday, you sank back down on the edge of the bed, holding up the cake for him to blow out his candles.

The lights danced in his eyes as he smiled, looking between you and the small chocolate cake in your hands.

“You always did have the sweetest voice.”

You tried to tell yourself that your burning face was because of the heat from the candles but even in the low light of his bedroom, you knew Roger would be able to see you were blushing.

“Make a wish!”

Roger did just that, then blew out his candles in one puff, laughing softly when you cheered.

“We haven’t got any clean plates.”

“S’alright. You got two forks?”

You disappeared and came back again with a fork for the both of you, and you sat in the middle of Roger’s bed. While you were gone, he’d reached over and put on an old Beatles record, leaving it on the lowest volume so that you could still talk quietly and he wouldn’t disturb the baby that lived in the flat next door.

He asked you about school, about your masters and how you were getting on, saying he was proud of you, and you asked him about his job and the album that he and his friends were still working on. 

He told you it was almost finished and laughed when you asked to hear something from it, saying he’d send you a copy when it was printed but he didn’t want any of his friends and family to hear it until it was perfect.

You made each other laugh so much, you forgot about your worries, and the distance between you, metaphorical and literal. It was like old times again. But that awful thought still sat at the back of your mind, worming its way through the happy glow that surrounded you. You almost didn’t want to bring it up again but you couldn’t forget Roger’s crestfallen expression, the weight in his voice.

“That girl.” You fiddled with your fork, batting the same bit of cake around the plate. “Are you and her..?”

“No,” Roger said firmly. “No, she actually…She finished with me last week. She was just coming to collect her stuff.”

You tried not to show how relieved you were but you thought your voice must have sounded light as air as you said, 

“Sorry.”

Roger shook his head. He was having trouble meeting your gaze. 

“Don’t be. She wasn’t…” 

You frowned, putting down your fork. 

“What?”

“Nothing, she just…”

He looked down at his hands. His glasses slid down his nose a little, obscuring his vision. He hardly ever wore them, he hated the way they looked, thought they didn’t fit his image, but you’d always secretly adored them. You reached up and ever-so-carefully pushed them up his nose, bringing him back to you.

You gently called his name, and Roger felt his heart ache. 

“It just felt like…” He scrunched up his face, embarrassed, nervous, cross with himself for getting upset. “It just felt like the only time she wanted me around was when she wanted to… Otherwise, she barely touched me.”

Roger let meaning fill the silence, feeling his face grow hot when your expression softened with realisation. 

He hadn’t told anyone. He wasn’t even sure what the feeling was. It had followed him all his life, girls only letting him get close when they wanted something from him, never sticking around long enough to hold him, or laugh with him, or… Love him. 

No one ever stayed. It terrified him, left him feeling hollow, and meant he never risked letting himself get close to anyone. It was just safer that way.

You still hadn’t said anything. He almost didn’t want to look at you, worried about what you would say, terrified that you might think he was being ridiculous, or worse, that you might laugh. He heard you draw in a sharp breath and winced but when he looked up, Roger saw your face crumple and he realised you were crying.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s-”

“I don’t- I don’t know how to-” You angrily brushed at the tears streaming down your cheeks, wishing you could put everything you felt into words but it was just too much. “I’m just- I can’t believe anyone could…”

Yours. He’d always been yours and it made you furious that anyone could treat Roger like that. You thought you were being selfish when you saw that girl leaving the flat and felt jealousy burn in your chest, you thought it was selfish to hate the idea of anyone who was less than worthy getting to touch him.

But, you thought, why couldn’t you use that anger, turn it into a shield? He was yours, you should protect him, his hopes and dreams were yours to protect too, and god forbid anyone try to take them from him. 

You huffed and met his gaze, feeling all the pressure that had sat in your chest over the last few years finally ease.

“It makes me furious that anyone could treat you like that. It’s not fair that- I just don’t understand how anyone couldn’t love you. And it makes me so angry that you’d be with someone who makes you feel like you’re not worth anything when you’re everything to me. I love you so much.”

Roger’s heart plummeted in his chest. He knew he was staring, he knew he should think of something to say, but his mind was a complete blank. His heart was beating so hard, he was sure you must have been able to hear it. You were staring right back at him, then your face settled into a determined frown and he saw stars.

Breathless, you held his face and pressed your lips against his, eyes squeezed shut. Your noses bumped, Roger’s fork clattering onto the plate as it fell from his hand. He made a surprised sound. His eyes were wide but by the time he realised he ought to close them, you had moved away.

Your chest rose and fell heavily, left breathless by the kiss and the overwhelming tension that had enveloped you. You bit your lip, searching his face for some kind of reaction. 

Roger’s lips were parted in silent surprise and a little pink from how hard you’d kissed him, his eyes still wide. The moon cast a silver light across his face, making him look more beautiful than ever. His eyelids fluttered as what you had just done finally seemed to sink in.

Cold dread settled in your stomach. You’d got it all wrong. You’d ruined everything. 

“Sorry,” you breathed. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, surprised at yourself. Your lips were still tingling. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Before you could say another word, Roger’s hands were on either side of your face and his lips were pressed against yours. 

Your breath caught, your heart hammering as his nose squashed against your cheek from the force, letting out a soft whimper when he pulled away for a fraction of a second to catch his breath before going back for more, his lips moving against yours in a desperate and long overdue kiss.

You finally regained control of your body and gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer against you until you could hardly breathe. He tasted like home, and like the chocolate cake you’d been eating, and of something that must be him, Roger, God, Roger, you couldn’t get enough of him.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far, pressing his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You kept your eyes closed, just focusing on the feeling of Roger’s hands holding your face, his warm chest against yours, but you heard him give a soft chuckle.

“Blimey,” he breathed, “My wish came true.”

You opened your eyes, heart brimming. He was grinning at you, looking so stupidly happy you thought you could cry. You laughed, shaking your head with fond exasperation. 

“Shut up, you ber-”

He dipped his head and kissed you again, softer now. Your head was spinning, you couldn't believe this was happening but at the same time, it felt completely right, like you’d been waiting your whole life for this without knowing it, like the missing puzzle piece had finally been slotted back into place. 

With another soft groan, Roger broke away, but his hands stayed on you the whole time, smoothing down your neck to your shoulders, then down to your hips where he stayed, just wanting to keep that contact a little while longer. His hands fit perfectly in the dips of your waist, like he was meant to hold you, like he was the only one who had the right to do so.

“How long have you..?”

You shook your head. When you spoke, your voice was low and rough and it made Roger’s stomach flip.

“I dunno. Ages, I s’pose. I just didn’t… When you came home and I realised how much I missed you, I knew it had to be…” You pressed your hands against his chest, feeling his heart pounding against your palms again. “When did you-”

“I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old,” Roger breathed. 

His eyes were so open and warm, hopeful, adoring, and the bluest blue. You could have sworn your heart stopped, just for a moment. You stared at Roger, hardly allowing yourself to believe what you'd heard.

“Even when it was bad. Even when we argued, and I went this way and you that way. Even when you ate the last of my Jammie Dodgers on that school trip.”

Suddenly he was smiling and it took your breath away, then he gently guided you so that you were both lying on your sides, heads safely against the pillows. Roger pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“And the time you threw that rubber at Mr. Wilson and blamed me. And when you shouted at that boy who made fun of my middle name, and the time you broke my bike. And when you pushed me down that hill, and signed my cast when I broke my arm and it said ‘Roger is an idiot’.”

As he spoke, he continued to press soft, little kisses all over your face, at your temples, your chin, the corner of your mouth, the tip of your nose, both cheeks, until you were giggling softly, your face all scrunched up.

He moved away, just far enough to meet your gaze. Roger’s hands were warm against your back, holding you against his chest. He’d let you go once, he was never making that mistake again.

“And the time I tried to kiss you after a show.” His smile turned sad, remorseful. “Guess I really am an idiot,”

“Not an idiot,” You dipped your head and kissed him softly, quickly, heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s. “Just a bit early.”

You followed his lead, peppering his face with soft kisses, moving slowly, carefully, making sure that he felt your love with every touch of your lips against his skin.

“Never been accused of that.”

You felt a low moan rumble in his chest as you kissed the corner of his broad smile, then his soft laugh as you kissed the end of his nose, huffing a soft laugh of your own when you pressed your forehead against his.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

He caught your lips with his before you could move away, chasing your kiss, just grazing his mouth against yours. 

You opened your eyes and saw that his were still closed, savouring the moment before he kissed you again, almost reverent. 

The slow, searching way that his mouth moved against yours, you knew that he felt just as desperately in love as you did. You felt more at home than you had in years.

You ran your hand along the length of his neck, then up through his hair. It felt as soft as you always thought it would, slipping between your fingers just like he almost had. You groaned as his tongue brushed your bottom lip, surprised but definitely not complaining, and pulled on his hair in response.

Roger gasped, mouth falling open as a moan slipped from him and you deepened the kiss, pressing your tongue against his, wanting to make him moan again. 

You could feel a hunger sitting beneath your skin. Years of suppressed feelings and the agony of knowing no one had cared for him properly before, touched him gently, loved him like he deserved, it made you want to kiss him and kiss him till he was moaning and whimpering, making him melt like you knew no one else could.

You felt it in Roger too, you could feel he was holding back, that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but this was so new, this was so precious, delicate. You both understood that you needed to slow down, to breathe, even though putting space between you now felt like trying to pull two magnets apart.

Roger sighed, resting his head against the pillow. There was a light in his eyes that you’d missed, a golden spark that you used to see every day when you were kids. It meant you were about to have an adventure, that he was going to look after you just like he always had. Just him and you. Just you and Roger.

His hand came up and gently brushed your hair behind your ear, letting his thumb graze across your cheek, following its path with his eyes. 

“There hasn’t been a moment where I haven’t loved you,” he murmured.

For a moment, you had a vision of a young boy, always an infuriating few inches taller than you, hair like sunshine and eyes like the sky. He was standing at the front gate outside your house, mischief incarnate. He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation.

You looked down at your hands, then back up at Roger, gorgeous, smiling, happy Roger. Your heart softened, and you squeezed his hand. You didn't think it would be possible, but his smile grew.

When your lips met again, there was nothing rushed about it. It was gentle and slow, and so sweet, you could have cried. It was almost innocent, gentle but confident, and you knew you could get lost in the feeling forever. 

Roger let you borrow one of his old shirts to sleep in even though you’d brought your own pyjamas with you, and you both laughed when it completely swallowed you. He lifted the covers, letting you get comfortable before he tucked them around you. 

You sighed as you felt your body sink into the mattress, then Roger wrapped his arm around you until you were pressed against his side again. As he smoothed circles against your back, his other arm came round and hugged you tighter. You felt your aching heart soften as he bent his head and kissed your forehead softly.

“You know,” he said quietly. “John’s got this song. I didn’t really get it at first. Think I do now.”

You hummed, already feeling sleep stealing you away, but you summoned enough energy to ask, 

“What’s it called?”

“You’re My Best Friend.” Roger smiled. “I think you’d like it.” 

/

It occurred to Roger, as he awoke the next morning, that he hadn't slept so well in months. He resisted consciousness as best he could, not wanting to escape the warmth of his dreams, but even as he blinked open his bleary eyes, he realised he felt oddly refreshed beneath his fatigue.

He hadn't thought to close the curtains last night and so now sunlight engulfed the room, making it even harder to keep his eyes open. 

Roger groaned softly, thanking God that he didn’t have to go to work today and he and the boys weren’t meeting up till the afternoon. He didn't want to get up, he didn't even want to move. He was perfectly happy right where he was, and all because of you.

He turned his head and saw you, his beautiful best friend. Your face was partially hidden behind the pillow but Roger could still see the curve of your lips, the faint freckles on your nose, and found himself smiling just from looking at you.

He turned onto his side to see you better but his movement made you stir and your face scrunched up. Roger laughed as you finally cracked open one eyelid, tenderly moving your unruly hair out of your face for you.

“Mornin’, angel.”

You smiled fondly at the sound of his husky voice, heavy with sleep. 

“Morning.”

You liked the way he looked in the morning, so peaceful and soft. You stayed there, just smiling stupidly at each other before you eventually turned your head, burying your face into the pillow as you laughed.

Roger grinned. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” 

He wrapped a hand around your waist, drawing you closer, and kissed your cheek, trying to get you to show your face again.

You did, cheeks a little pink, but still smiling. It was a strange feeling to wake up next to someone, it felt even stranger waking up next to Roger. But a nice strange. Different. New. Good.

You tried to move closer to him but Roger’s smile slipped,

“Sorry,” His voice cracked, his chest tight. “Shit, sorry, I’m-” 

He moved his hips away from you, his face red with embarrassment. 

You scrunched up your face, confused. You balled his shirt up in your fists, gently tugging him back to you. Roger was always so warm, your only source of heat in his draughty, old flat. It had been far too long since you’d been able to touch him, you weren’t going to let him get away so easily. 

But as you shuffled closer, you felt him straining against the thin material of his pants. Roger whimpered as your fingers brushed against him. Oh. 

You pulled back just far enough so that you could trail your gaze down his body and felt heat rise in your cheeks when you saw the tent in his pyjama pants. You looked back up at him and found his eyes were dark and fixed on you. 

“Sorry, it’ll go away in a sec.”

Roger’s voice was rough and low. It made you shiver, though that may have been the way he was looking at you, so obviously mortified but underneath that, hungry and barely holding himself back. 

You licked your lips, your gaze drifting between the obscene outline straining against his pants, his lips, so soft and close to yours, and finally his eyes, darker than you’d ever seen them.

“Rog,” you whispered, moving closer until you were pressed tight against him. “Kiss me.”

Roger hissed as his hard on pressed against your stomach, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip. He fought every instinct that begged him to grind against you, to relieve the pressure, but you were so soft and warm and you smelt so good, wearing his shirt, calling his name.

“Are you sure?” He gasped as you pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, unable to help yourself. “You don’t have to…”

“I’m sure. I want you.” 

You didn’t know where this sudden bravery was coming from but you didn’t care. You couldn’t summon much rational thought at all. All you knew was that you were in bed with the boy you loved and he was so hard for you, his face flushed and pink. You didn’t have to think about it for long, you didn’t have to think at all. 

“Please, Roger.”

Your words made him melt and all sense of restraint left him in a moment. Roger felt all the tension in his muscles slip away. Hearing you beg for him, the need in your voice, the way you pressed yourself against him, it made his breaths come short and fast, but he held back, testing the waters, worried about overstepping a boundary, about making you uncomfortable, no matter how eagerly you kissed him.

But then you slipped your hand up to his hair again and pulled, remembering the noises he’d made last night, and something in Roger snapped. 

He growled against your lips, pushing the duvet out of his way so that he could pull your leg over his hip, holding it there, grabbing your thigh, long fingers splayed across your bare skin.

You both gasped, whining into each other’s mouths as your clothed heat met his hard length, still straining against his pyjamas. 

With a desperate sound, Roger pulled your hips against his, rolling them so that you ground against him again and again until you were moving with each other, moaning as heat flooded your bodies.

You existed for a moment in a haze of grinding and sloppy, messy, loud kissing. You almost sobbed as the pressure and intensity built up to unmanageable levels, then his grip on your hips tightened again and the next thing you knew, you were on your back, your head against the pillows, and Roger was on top of you. 

The groan that slipped from your lips surprised you both. You’d never felt anything like this, your heart was hammering out of your chest, but Roger moved back just far enough to meet your gaze. He gave you a soft smile, asking if you were alright. 

You opened your mouth to answer but you realised you could feet his heart pounding under your hand. He was just as excited and nervous as you were.

“I need to tell you something.”

Roger cocked his head to the side, silently asking you to keep going and you looked down.

“I’ve never….”

You nervously looked back up at him, suddenly feeling shy. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You weren’t embarrassed, but you knew Roger had been with other girls, other girls who were better at this, who knew what they doing. 

All you wanted was to make him feel good, and with a stab of possessiveness, you found you wanted to make him feel better than anyone else ever had. But you’d never done this before and as much as you knew you wanted this, you needed Roger to know that he was your first.

You watched him put two and two together. When Roger finally realised what you meant, he surprised you by kissing your cheek sweetly.

“Well, that’s alright.” He beamed at you. “Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.

Roger laughed, not at you, but with you, and you saw that his cheeks were pink. You wondered if any other girls had got him to blush like that before. With a surge of pride, you knew they hadn’t, and it gave you confidence.

You suddenly wanted him close and gently guided him back down so that you could kiss him again, soft and sweet. You liked the feeling of him on top of you, you felt safe like this, like you knew Roger was going to take care of you. 

As his hands smoothed down your sides, you let out a shaky breath, but then his mouth left yours and found the underside of your jaw and you had to bite back a groan.

Roger pressed a gentle kiss to the mark he left behind then brushed his lips against the corner of your mouth, laughing softly when he saw the look on your face. 

"You just tell me if you want me to stop, ‘kay, love?" he whispered.

You nodded, already looking down at his lips again. 

"Don’t think we’ll have to worry about that but good to know," you muttered before pressing your lips back to his.

Roger’s laugh rolled into a groan as your hands pushed down on his back, pulling him against you. He could barely think straight, you were all around him. He tried to keep his breathing steady but it had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and he’d loved you for so long, he almost wanted to cry. 

His hand slid under your shirt, his fingers splayed as he ran his palm up your stomach. You stiffened at first, not used to being touched there, and Roger felt it immediately. He stopped, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable, but you shook your head.

"It's alright, please don’t stop." 

You were a little embarrassed at how breathless you were but then Roger grinned and your mind went blank as his mouth found yours again, moaning softly as he ground his hips against yours, desperate for some friction.

With a groan, Roger moved away, gently tugging at the hem of your shirt, asking if it was alright to take it off. You felt your heart pick up again as you sat up a little, allowing him to pull it up and over your head, smiling when you heard him murmur, ‘arms up, sweetheart’.

You settled back against the mattress and felt your face heat up as Roger's gaze swept over you. You felt strangely shy. But Roger's gaze was warm, his smile soft.

"You're the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen," he murmured, brushing his fingertips against your cheek.

You smiled, feeling your nerves start to ebb under his loving gaze. 

"You're not so bad yourself, Taylor."

Roger laughed, shaking his head, blushing again and all because of you. He bent his head and grazed his teeth over the swell of your breast, and you let out an embarrassing whine, begging him to hurry up and take your underwear off.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, kissing your neck as his hands slipped round your back to undo the clasp.

You bit back a groan as the cold morning air sent goosebumps over your skin. You thought you heard Roger swear under his breath at the sight of you. He licked his lips, nuzzling his face against your soft skin, double-checking that you were alright in a soft voice, before his mouth found your breast.

You arched your spine as you pressed your head back into the pillow, mouth hanging open, eyes closed as an unfamiliar but definitely not unwelcome pleasure swept over you. 

Roger moaned against you, his free hand kneading your other breast, brushing his thumb over you, making you arch into his touch.

"This weekend s’going a lot better than I thought it would," he mumbled against you.

You laughed softly. 

“And it’s not even ten yet.”

“We’ve got all day, love. And I could spend hours doing this if you wanted.”

"Oh-" You let out a choked moan as his tongue swirled over you, his breath warm on your sensitive skin. One of your hands slid back into his hair, pulling Roger closer against you. “Fuck, Rog.”

He groaned in response. All Roger could think about was his bare skin against yours. With an impatient moan, he pulled his mouth away from you, grinning at your disappointed expression. 

He breathed heavily into your mouth as he kissed you with all the finesse of a man who'd been waiting for you his entire life, and his hands began to wander more and more, his fingertips tracing across your stomach, then lower still to your hips. 

Your mouth left his as you let out a soft sigh, your eyes firmly shut. Roger smiled, feeling quite pleased with himself, but his mouth fell open as you raised your hips, experimentally rolling them against his, whining desperately as his hard length rubbed against your heat. 

Roger caught your bottom lip between his teeth as a low moan escaped him, then sighed as his forehead touched yours.

"You're gonna kill me, sweetheart."

You grinned, pleased with yourself and rolled your hips again, pulling gently on his hair. You were enjoying investigating, finding out what felt good, discovering what he liked. 

You felt so honoured to be the one who got to touch him like this, to be the first to treat him with the love and the care that he deserved and craved more than anything. It was just as much his first time as it was yours.

Roger sat up suddenly, pulling off his shirt and chucking it carelessly over his shoulder. 

“There. Now we’re even,” he said brightly, still smiling as his mouth found yours again, pulling you even closer, kissing you so hard, you thought you saw stars.

You pressed your hands against either side of his jaw, keeping his mouth against yours, whimpering softly as your bodies moulded together. He felt so firm and warm, so strong and reassuring against you. His mouth was less harsh on yours now, more intimate and searching and sweet, but that only maddened you more.

Your fingers slipped up to his shoulders, feeling his muscles shift beneath his soft skin. Your hands drifted lower to his chest, then you slowly dragged your fingertips down to his middle, down further still to the hem of his pants.

Roger groaned softly into your mouth, his hand moving down to grasp your ass and pull you tight against him. 

You gasped, you could feel him pressing against your thigh through your clothes, and instead of feeling nervous like you thought you might, all you could think about was getting the rest of his clothes off as quickly as possible.

As Roger ground his hips against yours, you were a little mortified at how loud the sound you made was, especially when he drew back to look at you, his bright eyes searching yours, making sure it was a good noise and not a sign that he should stop. But you kissed him again, messily, hungrily and he moaned, surprised by your enthusiasm.

You broke away with an ecstatic, wet sound that sent a surge right to your core. 

“Roger, please.” 

You weren’t even sure what you were begging for, you just knew you wanted him to get on with it.

Luckily, Roger seemed to understand. He moved over you, pressing kisses down your neck, murmuring sweetly against your skin, telling you that you were beautiful, and he loved you, and he couldn't believe this was happening in a breathless voice that made your heart soar.

He wasn’t sure how you managed it, but you always made him feel bigger, stronger, and right now, gasping softly together in his room, he knew you felt safe with him. 

It made his heart pound, feeling so in love he could barely speak, but it made his cock twitch in his pants. He just wanted to take care of you, to make you moan and whimper for him and only him, to make you feel half as in love as he did right now.

"What do you want?" he asked, brushing your open mouths together.

You tried to answer but his fingers brushed against you through your sleep shorts and your reply was cut off by your own breathless moan. You could feel him smiling against your neck as his thumb rubbed against you, then he moved your shorts out of the way and slowly drew the tip of his finger against your soaked underwear, right over your centre.

You whimpered and tried to grind down against his hand, searching for more friction where you needed it most, but Roger’s free hand gripped your hip and pinned you to the bed. 

You saw a flash in his eyes, and you knew that was him making sure you were aright with this before his determined expression was back, the focused crease in his forehead making your heart soften despite the situation.

He slowly slid your shorts down your thighs, so slowly you thought you might pass out if he didn’t touch you again soon. You tried to press you thighs together to relieve the ache between them but he held them down, fingertips pressing into your skin.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you have to wait.”

You whined but did as you were told, trusting him, knowing it would be worth it in the end. You were rewarded for your patience as he moved back over you, kissing you infuriatingly softly, asking what you wanted again in a low voice that rumbled in his chest.

You were too embarrassed to say and he could tell, so he pushed his knee between your thighs to give you something to grind against. 

You gasped and threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut as his thigh pressed against you, relieving you of some of the built-up tension but ultimately only making your need worse.

He asked you again, 

“What do you want?”

You met his gaze, chest heaving. 

"You, Roger.”

He grinned. 

“Good girl.”

Roger moved back down your body, settling between your legs. You felt his warm breath against your thighs and then he pressed a soft kiss against you through your underwear, working his way up to your clit. 

They must have heard the moan that fell from you in the next flat as he wrapped his lips around your clit, lightly sucking and pressing another soft kiss there before he sat back to tug down your underwear.

You lifted your hips to help him, smiling when Roger groaned at the sight, his hands scrabbling at his own pants, and soon you were both undressed. 

You felt suddenly very vulnerable and it unnerved you for a moment. It was the first time you’d ever been completely bare in front of anyone, but Roger's appreciative moan and his soft smile as he moved back over you set you at ease.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You laughed softly, reaching down so that you could cradle his face. 

"Love you too.”

Roger beamed up at you, loving the sound of your voice like this, so rough and low and all because of him. He lay on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs, asking one more time if you were alright, saying it was never too late to stop. 

When you desperately shook your head and begged him to keep going, Roger thought he must have died and gone to heaven.

He flattened his tongue against you, a moan escaping his throat as he finally got to taste you. The vibrations against you made you gasp and pant, eyes squeezed shut again as you focused on the pleasure. 

You missed Roger looking up at you with absolute adoration, his eyes bright and awed and aroused as his tongue swirled around your clit.

The sound of his tongue moving through you made you both shudder but then he pressed his finger in, and you swore you saw stars for the second time. 

"God, you're-" 

You cut yourself off when he suddenly added another finger, hitting a point inside you that made you cry out.

Roger felt you clench around his fingers and groaned. 

God, it had been so long since sex felt this good. All Roger had known for years was fear and anger and sadness, and now there was nothing but happiness, nothing but you. He couldn't believe how good it felt to be touched, to be wanted and loved. He didn't realise he was starving for you until now.

He curled his fingers and you felt your body melt into the mattress. 

"Roger, please- Fuck, please don't stop."

You tasted even better than he imagined and, God, had he imagined. Roger groaned against you, cursing under his breath as your hands slipped down into his hair, pulling gently, making sure he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He could've laughed at the thought, as if there was anywhere else he'd rather be right now.

"Christ, you sound good,” he groaned, grinding his hips against the mattress for some relief of his own.

He sucked harshly at your clit and you moaned his name, squirming under his touch, legs twitching, jaw hanging open. Roger grinned as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, making you gasp at his strength and the hungry grip he had on your thighs. You could hear him tasting you, his tongue everywhere at once, his teeth grazing you.

"God, sweetheart, you..." 

Roger cut himself off, eyes drifting shut as he moaned into you, kissing at your core and your clit and along your inner thighs, leaving behind soft bites and feather-light kisses.

He swirled his tongue, groaning your own name against you, and you ground your hips against his mouth in response. All the while, Roger watched you carefully, listening intently to every sound you made.

You pulled his hair tight, grinning when he moaned against you again. He held onto your thighs, pulling you close enough so that his nose rubbed against you while his tongue worked, shaking his head slightly so that you bucked your hips against him.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, causing you to moan and buck your hips again.

You could feel your muscles trembling as a warmth you’d never known before began to sweep through your body. You were so close; Roger knew it too. He gripped your hips tighter, holding you down against the bed, focusing his attention on your clit with a precision that left you a whining, squirming mess, until suddenly you tensed.

"Roger!" 

Your mouth fell open, thighs pressing against his head as he took you over the edge, waves of pleasure sweeping through you. You shut your eyes, your hand in his hair pulling gently when Roger kept moving his tongue, sucking at your clit, prolonging the pleasure for as long as possible. He hummed against you, making your hips stutter under his hands until you melted back into the mattress.

As you got your breath back, he moved over you, smiling happily, pressing kisses against the insides of your thighs, up your stomach where he stayed for a little while, pressing soft kisses all over your tummy, nuzzling his face into your skin, then up again to between your breasts.

"Still alright?" he murmured, running his free hand over your hair.

“Think I blacked out for a sec, there.”

His smile could but the sun to shame. 

“You old flatterer.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Taylor.”

So he did, slow and loving. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding his mouth against yours, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue, his mouth glistening. The thought made you moan, hitching your hips to grind against him again. 

Roger let out a choked moan. Another move like that and he'd be done for, so he moved away a little, even though every fibre of his being was screaming at him to press as close to you as possible. 

Roger sat up to wriggle out of his underwear and you couldn't keep the excited grin from your face as you moved to help him, both of you laughing softly between messy, giddy kisses.

You couldn't help running your hands down his chest, fingertips tracing over his collarbones and across his shoulders, trailing your fingers down his chest where there was only the slightest suggestion of hair. 

You brushed your hands over his soft middle and felt him tense under your fingers. Whether he was ticklish or embarrassed, you weren’t sure. Maybe he wasn’t used to being touched so gently. Either way, you knew you would enjoy finding out, but it would have to wait for another time because you realised Roger was watching you.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes following the path of your hands as they smoothed down his arms. 

"You're staring," he murmured, feeling his heart pound when you smiled to yourself before you met his gaze.

"Sorry, you're just a bit of alright, aren’t you?"

Roger laughed, shaking his head as he moved over you again. 

"Well, thank you very much.”

He made sure that you were alright again, unable to keep the smile from his face when you nodded desperately and practically pulled him on top of you.

Roger's mouth pressed against yours as he slowly pushed into you, watching your face carefully for any sign of discomfort. You broke the kiss as you finally felt him fill you, his nose crammed against your cheek.

Roger gasped, whispering your name, and you dug your fingers into his shoulder blades, swearing under your breath at the delicious stretch. After a moment, you tentatively rolling your hips and watched as Roger closed his eyes, cursing as he rested his forehead against yours.

"You alright?" he asked, concern overtaking the pleasure on his face. His voice was strained and deep, breathless.

"Yes," you laughed, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "It feels so good, Roger, please..."

"Alright, love," he smiled, trying his best to keep his breathing steady. "I'm gonna start moving now, alright?"

You nodded, pulling him down to kiss you again. As his mouth moved against yours, Roger set a steady, deep rhythm. With each stroke, he hit a sweet spot that made you cry out. 

You pulled him against you, wanting him as close as possible, murmuring his name, all rational thoughts slipping away as Roger moaned against your neck.

"You- Ah- Fuck, you feel so good," he moaned, and you clung to him, pulling him in deeper with the heels of your feet. "God, I love you."

“Love you too,” you just about managed to gasp out before he slipped his hand underneath your back, lifting you to slide in deeper, and you moaned, tilting your head back. "Fuck, Roger."

Roger bent his head and kissed you hard, making your breath hitch, then he broke away to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, his hips thrusting slow and deep. You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, moaning so loud, but you couldn't care less.

Roger picked up the pace, snapping his hips even harder than before, his hand moving down between you to rub harsh circles against your clit, your desperate moans all he could hear.

Your movements grew sloppy and desperate as you drew closer, whispering sweetly to each other, groaning the words into each other’s mouths as the pressure built and built. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, the tension in your abdomen like a rubber band, about to snap, mouth hanging open in pure, unabashed pleasure, and with one more perfectly angled thrust, Roger hit that perfect spot.

"Roger," you gasped, choking on the word as you felt herself tighten around him, and then heat bloomed inside you and you tensed, moaning wordlessly as he gripped your thigh, pulling you so close it almost hurt. 

Roger cried out, falling over the edge at the same time, panting and groaning into your mouth before you pulled him down to kiss you again, just wanting him as close as possible.

You groaned, sinking back into the mattress, laughing softly as Roger practically collapsed onto you, his muscles trembling, unable to hold himself up any longer. 

You ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead as he raised his head to kiss you, whimpering when you moved your hips and clenched around him a final time.

After a moment, he slowly pulled out, but he didn't go far. Roger sat up, looking down at you with so much love, you almost sobbed. God, those eyes. 

You felt a shiver roll over your skin and suddenly realised how cold and empty you felt without Roger on top of you, inside of you. You moaned his name, waving at him to come back to you, and Roger smiled, tired but so, so stupidly content.

"Wow," he said, moving over you again to kiss you deep and slow. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you grinned and he pushed himself up so that he could flop down beside you, immediately pulling you against his bare chest.

You were quiet for a moment, just a tangle of limbs, exchanging gentle kisses, smoothing your hands over each inch of exposed skin, filling the room with soft sighs. Roger pressed the tip of his nose against yours. He couldn’t stop smiling if he tried.

“Does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend?”

You laughed, gently shoving his chest. 

“Yes, you idiot.”

“What! I thought it was polite to ask! I didn’t wanna assume.”

“I think it was safe to assume when I told you that I’m in love with you.”

You saw something shift in Roger’s face. Just for a moment, the humour left and in its place, an open, vulnerable but ultimately adoring warmth filled his gaze, like he was half afraid he’d imagined the whole thing and you saying it out loud had confirmed that all his dreams really had come true.

You smiled, feeling your heart swell until it felt two sizes bigger. You laid your head down on his chest, letting your arm fall across his middle. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deep sigh as the warmth of Roger’s skin persuaded you back into your dreams, his hands on your back and in your hair making you feel safer than you ever had.

Roger watched you drift off, smiling. He considered how quiet the room was now, and how despite being in a grotty old flat, so far from home, he didn't feel the least bit afraid for the first time since he moved here, and all because of you.

He considered how your hand felt pressed against his chest, and the slow in and out of your breathing, so soothing that soon, he was on the brink of sleep himself. Roger kissed your forehead, smiling to himself when you hummed sleepily but happily back at him.

He knew, without a doubt, that he was the happiest he’d ever been, that he was safe, that he was wanted, and loved. He thought about you, and the way you looked at him, and the way you clutched him so tightly, like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

He smiled. 

"So this is what it feels like."

/

When you woke up a few hours later, you were alone. You felt cold without Roger there, the bed suddenly feeling much bigger.

You slipped out from under the duvet, pulling Roger’s shirt back on and a pair of his red and yellow striped shorts. You crept through the tiny flat, following the sound of music and metal clattering, softly calling Roger’s name.

“’m in the kitchen!”

The soft pad of feet on the cold kitchen floor behind him made Roger look up from the stove. His heart started racing the moment he saw you, smiling without even thinking about it.

You couldn’t help beaming back. As he yawned and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt rode up, exposing a small band of his skin. His jogging bottoms were far too big for him, so they hung loosely around his hips but you weren’t complaining. His hair was a tangled, wavy mess, mostly your fault, and his glasses were back on.

“What are you doing?”

Roger scoffed, tapping a fork against the side of the saucepan he was watching intently. 

“Cooking, what does it look like?”

You smiled to yourself as he held out an arm, inviting you to join him and you easily slipped under it, humming softly as you leaned against his side. 

“Is that what we’re calling it?” 

“Oi, I’ve come on leaps and bounds since uni.”

“You couldn’t boil an egg when you left.”

“And now,” He kissed the tip of your nose, then tapped the saucepan again. “I can.”

His smile was sleepy, faint but content. You hadn't realised it before but Roger always looked happy to see you.

“You’re a right spanner.”

Roger turned down the heat on the saucepan so that he could turn his attention to you, wrapping his arms around your middle. 

“Only the best for my best girl.”

You hummed as he kissed your forehead sweetly. 

“Mmm, I could get used to hearing that.”

Your nose bumped against his as you kissed him. What was meant to be chaste turned into more as Roger moaned softly into your mouth, gently pulling you closer. His hands drifted down to your lower back, then your hips, keeping you tight against him as you held his face.

When he pulled away, Roger was breathing heavily. He pressed his forehead against yours. He couldn’t stop smiling if he tried. 

“Sorry, my heart’s going like the clappers.”

“Tell you what,” you murmured. “Mine too.”

He just had time to smile before you pressed your lips to his, once, twice, then the third much longer. His mouth moved against yours slowly, deeply, drawing a moan from you that made Roger smile against your lips. 

He broke away but stayed close, his nose brushing yours as he pressed soft, gentle kisses at the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

“I’ve gotta meet the lads later, we’re doing some recording. Do you wanna come?”

“I think you already took care of that.”

Roger laughed, the sound rumbling against your throat. 

“Oh, you’re cheeky this morning. I like it.”

The timer on the counter went off, making you both jump. Roger apologised bashfully and went to turn it off, but you grabbed his hand before he got too far and kissed him again, cradling his face in your hands.

When you pulled away, it took Roger a moment to open his eyes again, still stunned by your kisses. When he finally summoned the sense to look at you again, he found you gazing at him with open, aching adoration, the likes of which he’d never seen, and only prayed he would see in you one day.

“I love you so much, drummer boy,” you whispered. 

You brushed your thumb across his cheek, tinged pink by your sweet touch.

Roger could hardly believe this was real. You kissed him with such force, with no sign of holding back, he could feel just how much you loved him. He’d never known anything like it, he had never felt so wanted by anyone. His heart felt like it was going to burst as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You could feel his breath against your face, his heart pounding under your hand as you patiently waited to taste him again, and sighed with relief when he pressed his lips to yours, hearts pounding to the same rhythm while the pot on the stove bubbled over, forgotten.

//

//

Master List

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #queen fic #smut

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 3: Signed In Blood]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

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

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, physical frailty, sneaky foreshadowing.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​

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

The cashier blinks at you as he scans the items in your basket: two Cokes, an orange juice, a Mountain Dew, a grape Fanta, a box of Ritz crackers, a KitKat, three packs of cherry Pop Rocks, and assorted bags of Lay’s chips. “You must have, like, a lot of kids.”

“Something like that.”

Terminal E of Logan International Airport is bustling with swiftly-moving businessmen dragging rolling suitcases, tidy-looking flight attendants, careening toddlers and frazzled mothers. The band is waiting at the gate; their plane to Heathrow is scheduled to board in thirty minutes. Our plane, you correct yourself. I’m going too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran out of paper bags but I can check in the back if you want—”

“Oh no,” you protest, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and gathering up the snacks. You’ve cultivated a stubborn solidarity with your fellow service industry employees. “That’s cool, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a great day!”

“You too! Good luck with your kids!”

You laugh as you trot away. Yes, my very large, extremely anarchic British children. You could have sent Freddie and Rog for the snacks, but you don’t trust them not to try to steal something and end up getting strip-searched by TSA; Brian is still too weak to go anywhere alone; and John...well, John dissolves into blood-red cheeks and averted eyes if you ask him anything. You weave through the crowded terminal, shifting your arms to keep the snacks centered.

“Wow, you have your hands full there!”

You peer around the heap to see a businessman in a powder blue suit, neatly combed black hair, mid-thirties, benign smile. Your arms are beginning to ache. “Ha, yeah. I guess I do.”

“Need some help?” he asks, still smiling.

“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got it—”

“Nonsense.” He cheerfully plucks the chips and Pop Rocks out of your grasp. “Where are we going?”

Oh no. You know this type of man. He’s the guy who flirts with the nurses while his wife is recovering from a gallbladder removal, who tries to impress you with his mid-level accounting job and Marshall Field's neckties, who obliviously—or worse, forcefully—offers assistance when it’s least desired. He’s the type to play superhero so he can get a taste of what it feels like to be someone who matters. He’s not usually dangerous, but he is viperous if his fantasy gets interrupted, bitter and desperate and striking out like a wounded animal. Jesus christ, I do not have time for this bullshit today. The muscles in your forearms are screaming now. “Seriously, I can handle it. Thank you. Can I get my snacks back? My friends are waiting.”

His smile falters; suddenly, Mr. Aspiring Superman doesn’t seem so benign at all. And you can’t help but notice that his grip around your criminally overpriced airport snacks doesn’t loosen. Oh fucking hell. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it, I’m trying to help—”

“Hey, baby!” chimes a voice from nowhere. An arm appears around your shoulders, pulling you in; John lands a series of kisses across your neck and jawline as the businessman gawks, speechless and horrified. “Did you finish shopping? Oh, you remembered my Coke! Thanks, baby. You’re the best. Come on, they’re gonna start boarding soon...” He stops, stares at the businessman, points with narrowed steely grey eyes: “Are those my Pop Rocks?”

“Uh, uh, yeah, uh...” The man hastily shoves the snacks into John’s hands and flees. John immediately backs away from you, clears his throat, casts his eyes down the opposite end of the airport terminal.  

“Oh my god,” you say, stunned. “I’ve never heard you talk that much at once. Ever.”

He flushes and combs his agile fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I just thought...I saw that he was...I figured that would get him to piss off without causing a scene...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I—”

“No, John, seriously, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” And you think you can detect something in his voice like hope: cautious, fragile hope. More than that, you can still feel his lips against your skin, hot and sure and assertive, almost dominating.

You grin over at him as you walk together towards the gate. “I bet everyone thinks you’re real innocent because you’re the shy, quiet, mysterious one or whatever. But you have some serious game under all of that, don’t you?”

John chuckles out of pure shock, still not looking at you. “I doubt it.”

“I’m onto you, bassist. Those groupies aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Wait, he has a girlfriend, isn’t that what Freddie said? But if he does, John doesn’t correct you.

“Do I see my beloved Pop Rocks?!” Roger squeals when he spies you both. John tosses all three packets to him. Roger rips one open, pours the entirety of the contents into his mouth, then motions for you to pass him the can of grape Fanta. He gulps the Fanta and drums his palms against his thighs as his mouth erupts into sugary explosions.

“Majestic,” you comment.

“Wha...?! I will not be outdone!” Freddie seizes all the remaining Pop Rocks—both packs—and empties them into his mouth, then douses them with Coke. Dark fizzing soda and ruby crystals spew out of his nose. Roger throws back his head and cackles like a hyena as John launches balled-up napkins at Freddie. You ignore them and check on Brian, who is lounged sideways across five seats.

“How you doing, Bri?”

He groans in reply. You give him the orange juice and Ritz crackers.

“Eat, please, Bri.”

“I can’t. I’m dying.”

“You aren’t bloody dying!” Freddie sighs, exasperated, still mopping Coke off his face.

You lay the back of your hand against Brian’s forehead and frown. “You’re burning up, Mr. May.”

“I’ve got aspirin somewhere...” Roger says as he rummages through his luggage.

“He can’t have it. His liver’s still recovering, no over-the-counter meds.” You take two still-cold cans—your Mountain Dew and Bri’s orange juice—and press them to Brian’s cheeks. John, without speaking, lays his Coke against the back of Brian’s neck. “Think you can make it through a six-hour flight?”

Brian’s glassy eyes roam to you. “No offense, but I would literally rather be disemboweled by rabid opossums than spend another night in Boston.”

“Opossums very rarely contract rabies. But your point is noted. We’ll get you home.”

“Thank you,” Brian breathes, drained. “And thank you, John.”

“Not a problem.”

Freddie squats in front of Bri in skin-tight jeans littered with patches, brushes the mess of curls off Brian’s forehead, and pushes a Ritz cracker into his mouth. Brian grimaces but chews it reluctantly. Freddie grins. “You must be truly desperate to trust your wellbeing to Deaky.”

“He’s unexpectedly ferocious,” you warn Brian. “He ran off some creep at the snack stand. Kid could definitely murder you if he tried.”

“Yeah? Well done, Deaks!” Roger gives John a high-five, then aggressively ruffles his hair and growls. “Who’s my favorite little killer bassist?! Grrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Come on. Show me them pearly whites, Mack the Knife.”

John chomps at Roger’s hands in his very best impression of a shark. Roger laughs and yanks teasingly at John’s hair, his face lit up like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

The next time you look for Freddie, he’s disappeared. You finally spot him several seats away, bent over a notebook and scribbling furiously, snapping his fingers over and over again and murmuring to himself: “Killer bassist...killer woman...killer bitch...killer queen.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When boarding begins, Freddie and Roger practically carry Brian onto the plane. They drop him into a window seat and Brian promptly drapes a sweater over his head and falls asleep. You sit beside him and flip through a fashion magazine you found in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of you, but Roger keeps interrupting by ranking the pictured outfits on a scale of one to eleven.

“Why eleven?”

“Because I gave that neon yellow coat three pages ago a ten, but now I like these rainbow pants even more. So they have to be an eleven.”

“Okay Roger.”

Freddie and John sit in the row in front of you and alternate between scrawling in their notebooks—song lyrics for Freddie, sketches of some kind of amplifier for John—and tossing peanuts into each other’s mouths. John doesn’t speak to you, but he keeps glimpsing back between the seats like he’s considering it. When Roger gets up two hours in to take a smoke break and chase down extra peanut packets for Freddie, John finally turns around and peeks over his seat.

“Why don’t opossums get rabies?” he asks.

“That’s what’s on your mind?” you tease, sipping Mountain Dew.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Buckle up. It’s technically possible for opossums to get rabies. But they have naturally super low body temperatures, like 94 or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So the virus usually can’t survive in their system. Thus, squeaky clean opossums.”

“Well. Minus the ticks and fleas and dirt and rubbish and all that.”

“Most of the cute things in life are at least slightly grubby.”

“Like Roger Taylor.”

You laugh. “That man has definitely been submerged in garbage at some point.”

“You have no idea. But you have to learn to be a Londoner now. We wouldn’t say grubby, we’d say dodgy.”

“Dodgy. Got it.”

“Show me. Use it in a sentence.”

“Roger is super dodgy, while Brian is much less so. Jury’s still out on John.”

“Well done.” He applauds.

Now you reach out to touch his hair, like Roger did earlier; it’s impossibly soft and downy, comforting, almost homey. John smiles patiently. “You have fantastic bone structure, you know,” you tell him. “You should cut this off one day so people can see it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But in the meantime...” You gently thread your fingertips through his locks, twirl a strand, observe that those blue-grey eyes that seemed steely back at the airport are now as soft and innocuous as morning fog. Roger reappears with his loot of peanut packets and gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“What’s going on here?! Jesus, Deaks, I leave you alone for three minutes and you’ve got her all enamored with your soft cuddly exterior and latent homicidal tendencies.”

“It’s a winning combination.” John catches the peanuts that Roger hurls his way and turns to split them with Freddie.

You gaze up at Roger and beam. “Hey, dodgy Rogey.”

“Oh, you think that’s charming?” He slinks into his seat and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “You realize you’re one of us now, right? That makes you dodgy too.”

“As long as I don’t have to participate in any scandalous naked photoshoots.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! Freddie, Fred, hey, Freddie, why would you show her those...?!”

Hours later, when the plane hits the runway at Heathrow, Brian jolts awake and clutches for you like a staircase railing. He’s cooler to the touch now, appears less feverish, insists he feels better; nevertheless, Freddie and Roger escort him all through the airport like intense and sunglasses-armored Secret Service agents flanking Nixon, steadying him on escalators and dragging his luggage. As the five of you descend into the arrivals area, Freddie points to a group of young women and shrieks in delight, waves, blows flirtatious kisses all the way down the steps.  

“Freddie!” the blonde one calls, leaping in her heels and grinning enormously. She’s holding a large, glittery sign that reads: Welcome home, Queen! Freddie races to meet her, sweeps her off her feet, dips her halfway to the floor and kisses her deeply, theatrically. The blonde woman in his arms giggles and buries her fingers in his mane of shining black hair.

“Darling?” Freddie says, spinning to find you, flourishing his artful hands. “This is Mary Austin, the love of my life. Mary, this is our new best friend, Florence Nightingale.”

“Well,” you confess. “That’s not my actual name, obviously. It’s—”

“I quite like Florence Nightingale,” John says. “I’ve always fancied the name Florence. That’s where Dante was from. He was exiled during some political conflict and ended up bouncing around all over Italy. He eventually landed in Ravenna and finished The Divine Comedy there. By the time he died, he hadn’t seen Florence in twenty years. But Florence was always home.” He smiles at you in an off-kilter, crafty sort of way that tells you you’ve at last been admitted into the diminutive, highly selective circle of people that John calls friends; and you feel like you’ve won the lottery for the second time in forty-eight hours.

“Hmm,” Freddie replies, puzzled. Mary nods uncertainly. Then John turns to greet a petite auburn-haired girl in a simple turquoise sundress and with long, bone-white legs.

Brian pulls you away to introduce you to his girlfriend, the one he was always trying to call on the hospital phone. He rests his hands on your shoulders as he presents you. “Chrissie, I love this woman.”

Chrissie glowers and crosses her arms. “Oh.”

“Wait, no, sorry, I mean she saved my life. She was my nightshift nurse in Boston. I was completely lost before she found me, tremendously depressed. You know how I get. She’s come to London to look after me. Then we’re going to convince the record company to hire her as our travel nurse.”

“Oh!” Now Chrissie softens. She has wavy brunette hair, plump cheeks, marvelous wide-set blue eyes, a completely uncomplicated presence. She embraces you kindly, gratefully. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No, please, it was my pleasure! Bri is a perfect gentleman. And a genius. But you already know that.”

“Chris, I was hoping she could borrow our couch for a few days until she finds her own place...”

“Of course!” Chrissie replies, fussing with your hair, studying you, her mind roiling. “What’s ours is yours. But it’s not much, I’ll warn you.”

“I’ll pay rent. And cook and clean. I’ll be a certified house wench.”

Chrissie laughs, then screams as Brian staggers and collapses to the floor. “Bri—?!”

“He’s alright,” you announce calmly as everyone crowds around. You claw through your luggage, pull out an instant cold pack, crack it and press it to Brian’s forehead. He stirs and mumbles something about New Orleans. “Rog, can you flag down a taxi? We gotta get him home.”

“Sure, you got it.” Roger darts off. And as Chrissie, Freddie, Mary, John, and John’s girlfriend—whom you gather from their conversation is named Veronica—scuttle to reassure Brian and fetch him water, you lock stares with Josephine. Roger’s girlfriend—super casual, not exclusive, that’s what he told me—is beautiful and slim and tan and dark-eyed and, worse than all of that, palpably clever. She considers you silently, and what crosses through her pristine, heart-shaped face is not mere suspicion but knowing; and perhaps there is acceptance there as well.

No, not acceptance, you realize. Resignation. Disappointment. Powerlessness.

You tear your eyes away from Josephine and turn back to Brian: tilting a bottle of water against his lips, pulling him to his feet, fanning him with airplane tickets, leading him to a bench to wait for the taxi. The others help, oblivious to the shadow that has marauded through the room like an eclipse.

I won’t end up like her, you think to yourself with savage determination. I won’t let myself love him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian sinks into a plush orange lounge chair as you and Chrissie cart the luggage inside. You get a tour of their tiny apartment, shove your few remaining belongings beneath the couch where you now live, and drop into the plaid cushions, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I did this. I quit my job. I left Boston. I’m living on some random couple’s couch in London. Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Chrissie says warmly, lifting your chin. “We aren’t so random. We’re your friends. Maybe we’re even your destiny.”

“Jesus, you’re something out of a fairytale.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my house, Cinderella.” Chrissie tosses a bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to swing by work and see if my students killed the substitute teacher today, will you two be alright here?”

“Of course,” you say. Brian gives her a groggy thumbs-up.

“Okay. Bye for now. Love you lots, Bri.”

“Love you,” Brian replies weakly. Chrissie departs into a bright London summer. Brian looks over at you sorrowfully, guiltily. “I miss New Orleans.”

“What do you miss about New Orleans, Bri?” You know Queen stopped there before they came to Boston, before they came into your life.

“Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.”

He stares at the wall, vacant, acutely distressed. “I think I’m in love with a stripper called Peaches.”

“Oooookay.” You snatch up your purse and dash for the apartment door.

“Wait, no, really, I—”

“Don’t tell me about it. Call Roger or someone. Or, better yet, write a song about it and make some money so we can all have mansions with swimming pools one day. Do you need anything from that grocery store on the corner?”  

Brian sighs mournfully. “I suppose not.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Then you’re getting homemade chicken noodle soup. Everything will be better now, Brian. I promise. Everything will go back to the way it should be. Now that you’re home. Now that you’re here.”

Brian echoes quietly to himself as you open the door and sunlight floods in: “Now I’m here.”

#queen fanfic #queen #queen fic #roger taylor #roger taylor fic #john deacon fic #john deacon #borhap #but you can never leave #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave fic

[talkingismylifewrites]

14, 70 and john and rog. because this would literally fulfill all my dreams

bodyguard/locked in a room au

“you’re an idiot,” john sighed, reaching up to pinch at his nose. “how do you forget the password to your own safe room?”

roger shrugged, his grin slow and easy in the pale light. if john didn’t want to throttle him so much, he’d have found it almost attractive. 

“in my defense,” drawled roger. “i’ve never used it before.”

“no,” agreed john with a snort. “you just decide to give it a try on a whim.”

in roger’s defense, it wasn’t a bad panic room; john had honestly seen worse. in all his years of body-guarding the rich and famous-- which, if you’d told him five years ago he’d be the strategic bodyguard for the roger taylor, he’d have laughed in your face-- he’d seen panic rooms that were really just closets with locks, an attic room with zero air flow, and a basement room that had a broken window. this room was large, airy, and decorated. frankly, it looked ridiculously lovely, almost relaxing. there were worse places to hide out in from murderous fans.

to be clear, john was not the muscles. no, that was reserved for a mountain of a man named dirk. dirk was the brawn and john the brain, as freddie lovingly put it his first day on the job. dirk was there to protect roger should one of his millions of fans try to rip him apart in order to claim a souvenir of former boyband member turned successful solo artist roger. john was there to make sure that there was never even a reason for dirk to have to step in. 

in his first six months of service alone, john managed to stop two assault attempts, thirteen stalkers, twenty-six break ins, and five rather unfortunate cases of stolen identity. he rewired rogers mansion top to bottom, spent weeks pouring over the data of each hotel and venue he’d preformed at, and had thoroughly vetted each and every person roger could or would ever come across. he had plans a-through-z for protecting roger.

he just had none when it came to protecting roger himself.

for all that roger was beautiful and kind, sensual and talented, he was also the biggest idiot john had ever met. roger was the kind of person to 100% walk into a trap thinking it was kosher; john had lost track of how many times roger had actually walked towards a fan practically frothing at the mouth with little regard to his own safety. he left doors unlocked, he threw last minute parties with hundreds of guests that john hadn’t vetted, and he locked himself in the very panic room he’d had installed himself. 

“la croix?” asked roger, shoving a can in john’s face. pamplemousse, his favorite. “i know you can’t drink while on the job.” 

“thanks,” grunted john, taking the can and rolling it between his hands. it was chilled, still wet with condensation. he didn’t know why roger had it to begin with; roger hated grapefruit with a burning passion. once, while ridiculously hungover, he’d chucked half of one across the room, pelting his assistant, crystal, in the face. 

“pretzels? goldfish? or would you like a cup of easy mac?” roger offered, pulling back the sliding door to reveal a pantry full of food designed for children. “i had crystal stock up a month ago with nonperishables.” 

“all of those are perishable.” 

roger frowned, staring at the boxes in defeat. “even the gummy sharks? aw, man, those are my favorite!” 

sometimes, john questioned his life choices. especially when it came to roger. roger, whom john had been sleeping with for the past three months. what had started as a drunken mistake celebrating the end of roger’s world-wide tour had turned into something uncomfortably more.

even his stupid childlike obsession with gummy snacks made john’s stomach flip, and not in a disgusted way. john didn’t just want to fuck him, he wanted to hold his hand and kiss his forehead and fall asleep curled around him. he wanted to be domestic and cute and stupid together. 

but he couldn’t. 

part of his job meant sacrificing everything for roger; he needed to be unbiased and not distracted. what would happen if he missed something vital because roger was shirtless? or, could he ever forgive himself if roger were to get hurt under his watch? 

he’d have to end what they had, and soon.

“i need a pick me up. is the la croix not doing it for you? i can make you a coffee,” roger offered, pulling out a nespresso and frothing wand. “cafe con leche?” 

“what the actual fuck,” said john, suddenly taking in his surroundings. “this isn’t a panic room, this is a goddamn bunker, isn’t it? only, instead of guns and shit, you’ve filled it with scooby-do gummies and a keg.” 

roger brightened. “they make scooby-do gummies?” lifting his apple watch to his mouth, he cleared his throat before; “siri, remind me to ask phoebe to buy me scooby-do gummies.” 

john watched in dismay as his watch lit up before repeating: “alright, your majesty, i will remind you to ask phoebe to buy you scooby-do gummies.” 

“why am i in love with you?” 

john had meant for that to be nothing more than a thought, something fleeting that he could later suppress in the middle of the night when no one was around. instead, he said it aloud. like a fucking idiot.

“excuse me?” squeaked roger, eyes wide and bright. “you’re in love with me?” 

not for the first time since meeting roger, john wanted to kill him and then himself. 

“no,” snapped john, turning away and stabbing angrily at the control pad. “i didn’t say that.” 

“you did! you said you love me!”

“no, i loathe you. i loathe you and this stupid panic room, and the fact that you don’t know your own password, and--” 

“you love me!” roger crowed, coming closer.

“dirk!” john bellowed, slamming his fist on the titanium steel door. “dirk, get us out of here!”

“you love me, you want to marry me,” roger sang obnoxiously, pressing the whole length of his body against john. “tell me, deaks, do you write ‘mr. john taylor’ on your notebook? cuz i write mr. roger deacon on mine, and i think it has a nicer ring to it.” 

john had been hired to protect roger, which arguably meant that if anyone got to murder him, it would be him. he said as much.

roger pouted, eyes wide and lips full. “but if you murder me, how can we honeymoon in bali?” 

the sad part was that if john wasn’t so wounded over the fact that roger was mocking him brutally for his feelings, he’d find the look attractive. 

“fuck off,” john snarled, shoving roger back and away from him with far too much force for it to be anything but serious. startled, roger allowed himself to be shoved, collapsing in a heap onto one of the oversized beanbag chairs he unnecessarily had placed in the room. “you think this is funny? huh? you think this is a joke? we’re locked in here and you can’t stop being an asshole for one fucking second! fuck you, roger, fuck you to hell and back, you washed up piece of shit!” 

“deaks--”

“i wish i never took this job! i wish i’d never met you! i wish you knew the fucking password so this nightmare could end, and--” 

“oh-eight-one-nine-nineteen-ninety-one,” said roger in one long breath, staring up at john, stricken. 

john paused, squinting. “what?” 

“the password,” roger repeated. “oh-eight-one-nine-nineteen-ninety-one.” 

“is that my birthday?” asked john after a beat, the wind going out of his sails. “you set your safe-room password to my birthday? wait, you remember it?” 

roger blushed, looking away. “you said it couldn’t be my birthday, but that it had to be something important. something i wouldn’t forget.” 

“....so you chose my birthday?” 

roger shrugged, chewing his lip. “I guess....i guess i might love you too? i mean, i bought you twelve cases of pamplemousse la croix because it’s your favorite drink, and i also got the velveeta mac and cheese because you once said you liked the liquid cheese better than the powder, and i made phoebe teach me how to make cafe con leche because it was all you drank in spain and the south american leg of the tour. also, i might have paid dirk to take the day off so i could accidentally get us locked in the safe-room because i know you feel uncomfortable having sex in the house where anyone could walk in on us.”

john blinked, taken aback.

“but if you want to go,” sighed roger. “that’s okay.”

“oh,” said john. then, “studies show that then package the powdered cheese comes in contains phthalate which can lower your body’s production of testosterone.” 

“that’s what you took away from that?” roger all but screeched. “I just told you i loved you and you’re talking about mac and cheese?”

“you started it!” 

“i take it back, get out of my safe room!”

“no!” shouted john. “you locked me in here! i’m staying-- take off your pants!” 

“okay,” said roger, complying. “but we’re gonna talk about this after i blow you.” 

“fine!” shouted john.

on second thought, maybe it wasn’t such a terrible job, after all. 

#i just love the idea of john being exhausperated and roger being dumb #also roger is harry styles no i wont take criticism