Imagine going to the same school as Rogerina Taylor. She has a reputation for being the “bad girl” and tries to influence you to do things you normally don’t do. You of course give in because you have a crush on Rogerina and want to impress her.
A/N:I hope this does your request some justice and hope you see your BF soon <3
–––––
You blink awake. This is the third time you’ve woken up tonight. You sigh. Sitting up, you glance at the clock. It reads three in the morning, and you groan, flopping back down onto the mattress. You’ve been having the worst sleeps ever since Roger left for tour a couple months ago. It’s been hard having to sleeping in an empty bed. You’re not used to not having Roger snoring next to you. Not used to his side of the bed being cold.
Youmiss him terribly.
Fluffing your pillow and rearranging the blanket, you try to fall back asleep. But after several minutes of looking at that one brown dot on the ceiling, you huff and get out of bed. You wrap the throw blanket around your body before making your way to the kitchen. In the mood for something comforting, you grab the carton of milk from the fridge and some cocoa powder. Growing up, you would always sneak into the kitchen and make hot chocolate whenever you couldn’t go to sleep––a habit you kept throughout your years at uni as well. After mixing and heating the ingredients in a pot on the stove, you pour the drink into a mug and take a big sip. You sigh when you feel the chocolate warm your belly and head back to the room, drink still in hand.
Pulling off your sleep shirt, you rummage through Roger’s clothing drawers. Finding your favorite shirt of his––an old, ratty, way too big Rolling Stones shirt––you throw it over your head. It smells like cigarettes and cologne and something distinctly Roger,and you smile. The book you began reading a week ago sits on the desk, and so you grab it. Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep.
–––––
Roger slowly opens the door to your shared flat, placing his bags off to the side––he’ll deal with those in the morning. After all the traveling, right now, he just wants to see his beautiful girlfriend and go to sleep. Passing through the kitchen, he sees the pot growing cold on the stove and a spattering of cocoa powder on the counter, and smiles to himself. When he reaches the threshold to your bedroom, he stops and leans against the doorframe, drinking in the scene before him. You’re in one of his shirts, sleeping on his side of the bed and hugging his pillow tightly to your chest, a book forgotten on the sheets. He can hear your soft breathing.
His heart absolutely melts at the sight, and he’s struck with a wave of pure adoration and warmth. Smiling to himself, he pads into the room while shedding his jacket and pants. Left in his briefs, he turns off the lamp, and carefully lifts up the comforter to crawl into bed with you (he now has to lie on your side, but he doesn’t mind one bit).
You roll over in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent and reaching out your arms. But you feel something solid and warm, and you shoot awake, slapping your hands wildly in front of you. His hands catch your wrists.
“Shhh, sorry, it’s just me love, just me,” he says, trying to hold in a laugh. You stop, blinking rapidly to adjust for the darkness of the room. Your eyes widen when you see Roger lying in front of you, holding your hands in his.
“Rog?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. You’re not sure if you’re actually awake or not.
“Hi darling,” he whispers.
You throw yourself in his arms and pepper his face with kisses. He laughs, voice raspy and rough.
“I thought you were coming back on Friday!”
“Was dying to see my best girl,” he says. He looks at you still lying on his side of the bed.
“Missed me that much?” He asks, tilting his chin down to your––his––shirt and the discarded pillow, and you can hearthe smirk on his face.
“Well, you did leave your poor, poor girlfriend all alone in this ridiculously big flat for two months,” you retort. He chuckles at that.
“What a terrible boyfriend I am,” he begins, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you closer, “How can I ever make it up to you?” he whispers into your hair. Your chest warms, and your mouth pulls into a smile. You tilt your chin up, puckering your lips, and he laughs softly.
Gently grasping your jaw, he gives you a kiss, long and sweet, something that makes your toes curl.
“I love you, and I missed you so much,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. You kiss him again.
“I love you too Rog.”
And you close your eyes, wrapped in Roger’s arms, legs tangled with his, listening to his heartbeat.
Summary:Roger calls you in the middle of the night, and you guys reminisce at some happy memories.
Word count: ~1.5k
Contains:angst
A/N:This was written while I listened “Falling” by Harry Styles (my fave song on the album) on repeat, so you can probably guess the tone of this piece. Hope you enjoy!! :))
His hand hovers over the telephone. He’s a bottle and a half into the handles of whiskies he picked up at the liquor store a couple hours ago. This is a bad idea, he thinks, but he doesn’t care.
He picks up the phone and dials the number.
––––––
You’re startled by the ringing of your flat’s telephone. The man sleeping next to you stirs.
“Shh, go back to sleep, I’ll get the phone, love,” you whisper. You couldn’t go to sleep anyway. After placing a kiss to his forehead, you grab your robe and pad into the living room. The phone rings one more time before you answer it.
“Hello?”
“Y/N.” Your stomach drops at the voice, and you take in a deep breath.
“Roger?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
You sigh. “Why are you calling me?”
“Wanted to hear your voice.” You hear a clatter of a glass on his end, and you clench your teeth.
“You’re drunk right now Roger, hang up and go back to sleep.”
“Wait, wait, wait––just––wait. Please.”
You can easily hang up the phone, go back to bed and your loving boyfriend, and not have to deal with what will inevitably wreck your heart again––
But you hate yourself a little bit more tonight, so you stay on the phone. Wait for him to continue.
He inhales. “I was just thinking about that night in Montreal––when we were doing the show at the Montreal Forum. Remember? It was three years ago from today?”
––––––
You’re lounging on the hotel room bed in your pajamas and reading a book that you bought at the airport on the way here. Roger’s still at the stadium, rehearsing for the show tomorrow night. The clock just struck two in the morning, but jet lag is really kicking your ass, so you thought reading would help relax you (it’s not).
You hear the sound of the key card sliding in the door before Roger walks in.
“Hey, love,” he says softly as he quietly puts his bags down. He isn’t surprised that you’re still awake, the jet lag hitting him as hard as it’s hitting you. Untangling yourself from the mound of pillows and blankets you nestled your way into, you make your way over to him and wrap your arms around his middle. He sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“How was rehearsal?” you ask.
“It was good…couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head in response. “Well good thing, I have a surprise for you,” he says before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the hallway.
You raise your brows but follow him as he leads you through the hotel. He stops at the pool area, and you gasp at the sight in front of you. All the chairs were cleared out and a single table covered in a white cloth and rose petals sits next to the pool. Sitting on top of the table is a platter of desserts: cakes, chocolate truffles, chocolate covered strawberries, crème brulée, and two flutes of champagne, the bottle sitting in an ice bucket off to the side. The candles basks the scene in a ethereal glow, and the record player sitting off to the side plays Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight.
“Ta-da,” Roger says with his arms outstretched and a big grin on his face.
“Oh my god, Roger. You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Well, the hotel helped me set it up, and did you really think I wouldn’t do anything considering how amazing of a boyfriend I am,” he says with a playful wink to which you roll your eyes at. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer.
“I love you,” you say once you break away.
“Words cannot express how much I love you,” he says softly, brushing back a piece of stray hair blown away from the breeze.
A bottle and a half of champagne later, you’re sitting in a chair, watching Roger drunkenly air play the drums while serenading you with his rendition of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.
“Rog, you’re going to fall into the bloody pool!” You warn. He doesn’t listen to you, and as he gets to the chorus, you see his foot slip and before you can warn him…
Splash.
Your mouth pops open in disbelief as you see your boyfriend fall, fully clothed, in the hotel pool at three a.m. in the morning. A second later, his head pops out of the water. He’s coughing and hastily pushing his wet hair back out of his face. You let out a surprised laugh, and when he turns his face to you, his shocked expression makes you lose it.
And now you’re laughing so hard, tears prick at your eyes. Laughing so hard that you snort, which makes you clap your hands over your mouth and laugh even harder.
“I told you!” you manage to wheeze out through laughs. He’s laughing too now, wading to the side of the pool.
“Help me out?” He asks with an outstretched hand.
And you go over, clutching your abs, and since you’re still laughing, you don’t notice the evil grin adorning his face. And so when you reach down to grasp his hand, you’re not prepared for the feeling of him yanking you down and into the pool with him. You manage to let out a surprised shriek before hitting the cold water.
“You’re such a dick!” You yell when your head breaks through the surface, and you start assaulting his arm with slaps.
He catches your hands and engulfs you into a wet hug. “You love me,” he says with a kiss to the top of your head.
“I do love you but that doesn’t mean that you’re not a dick,” your voice muffled from your face being pressed into his chest. He fakes a gasp, and you giggle.
You two stay there for you don’t know how long, you wrapped in his arms, rocking back and forth with Frank Sinatra’s voice as your backdrop and the stars as your ceiling.
“Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispers into your ear.
“Happy anniversary, Rog.”
––––––
“Yeah. Yeah I do remember.” You laugh, sniffling. Of course you remember. “We were so happy,” you say. You sigh and look down, picking at your fingernail and thinking about that night. You let out a whimper, and your face crumples thinking of just how happy you two were.
“I’m sorry, love,” he whispers over the phone, wishing that he could be there to hug and kiss you. Wishing that he could take back that one stupid drunken night that ruined everything.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”
You continue to cry silently, furiously picking at that fingernail until it bleeds.
You both stay on the line for a minute, the only sound you hear is the faint buzz of the phone and your shaky breaths. Roger is the first one to break the silence.
“I miss you. So much,” he rasps.
“Roger…Roger please don’t do this.”
“I know, I know, love––I just––I still love––”
“Roger, you were the one who––” You stop yourself.
“I know, and I hate myself for that every single day.” On the other side of the line, his heart breaks when he hears your sniffles, and his eyes blur with his own tears. He clears his throat.
“I was just calling to hear your voice one last time. I won’t call you anymore. All I want for you to be is happy.” He pauses. “I love you.”
“Thank you Rog,” you whisper into the phone, “I love you too.”
It takes all of your willpower to set the phone back down onto the receiver.
A quiet sob escapes your chest, and you clutch yourself, hugging your arms to your torso. Sliding down to the ground, back leaning against the back of your couch, you stuff your fist into your mouth to muffle your cries.
And at this moment you absolutely hate Roger Taylor, the man who was your first love, the man who shattered your heart into a million pieces, the man who, no matter how much you try, you’ll never be able to forget––never stop loving.
“Y/N?” You hear your boyfriend call from the bedroom.
“Just a minute!” You call out, voice strained. You don’t know how long you sit there, but once the tears have dried up, you get up, grab a glass of water, and head back into the room where you crawl into bed and under the covers
“Who was that?” your boyfriend asks, voice raspy from sleep.
Summary:You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.
Word count: ~3.1k
Contains:language and slut-shaming (not from Roger though!)
A/N:I AM BACK. Here is part 4, I don’t how many people still want to read it, so if you’re on the taglist, and no longer want to be on it, please message me (I will not be offended). And vice versa, if you want to be on the taglist but you aren’t on it, just shoot me a message! I hope you guys enjoy this part and thank you for sticking with me! Love you guys.
“I’m really tired of fighting. Can we call a truce until this whole thing is over?” he says after he blows out the smoke. You let out a laugh that sounds more like an exhale.
“Truce,” you say, handing him the bottle of scotch.
“Okay, well, now that we’re not enemies anymore, we should get to know each other better,” he says after he takes a swig.
“Okay, shoot,” you ask.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Really?”
“That’s basic question!”
“Fine, pink. You?”
“Yellow.”
“Ok. I wanna ask a question, why are you always wearing those sunglasses? It’s night and we’re––we were––indoors.”
“These sunglasses are sexy, and you know it,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder to yours.
And so, you two spend most of the night there––forgetting about the party raging below. Passing the bottle back and forth to one another, you both share stories of childhood memories, being on tour, and everything in between. You talk about your crazy university stories and the time you not so accidentally threw up on a douchebag at a bar.
Roger talks about the time he got into a bar fight over a pack of peanuts.
“Did you win?”
“Oh god no, I was absolutely shit-faced, and I think he was a former boxer.”
You tilt your head back and laugh, and he looks at you with a small smile playing at his lips, a weird feeling warming his chest.
–––––
After that night, you and Roger have been trying slowly to create a somewhat functional friendship.
“Can I get an iced latte with vanilla and two packets of sweetener please?” you ask the waiter taking your order. Roger pulls a face, and you cross your arms.
“What? I like sweets Mister Plain Black Coffee.” He rolls his eyes and flicks your nose. You swat his hand out of the way but laugh nonetheless.
Maybe that smile in that picture the paparazzi caught of you and him wasn’t entirely faked.
And maybe after you guys pay for the check and are walking towards the car, Roger leaves his hand wrapped around yours a moment longer than he has to even after you both get are out of the camera’s spotlight.
–––––
You sigh as you look around the room. Another night, another party, another evening spending time around drunken fools.
You stiffen when you hear a voice that makes your skin crawl. Oh no. Looking over, you spot your ex standing by the bar with his arm around another girl’s waist. Roger notices the way your shoulders tense, and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to say anything because before he can turn around, you grab his hand and drag him into the nearest bedroom.
Shutting the door behind you, you look at a very confused Roger.
“Give me a love bite.” You’re not thinking this through. Jealousy and pride clouding your logic, but you don’t care.
He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Give me a love bite.”
You almost giggle at how clueless and flustered Roger looks right now, so unlike his usual cocky self. He opens his mouth.
“Please? I think it’ll really sell our relationship!” He narrows his eyes at you. An inner conflict seems to be resolved when he exhales.
“Okay…” He walks over carefully, almost as if he’s worried that he’s walking into a trap.
Thus explains the reason why you’re currently straddling Roger’s lap in the first available bedroom you guys could find in the house. He carefully pushes the front of your dress to the side, the silk easily gliding away with his touch. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin when you feel his rough, calloused fingers graze your collarbones.
“You sure about this?” he asks you, and you nod.
He attaches his lips to the side of your throat. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his lips, and you feel his hands tighten on your hips. Your skin is on fire. You reach up, and slowly push up his sunglasses from his nose and to the top of his head. He looks up at you, hooded eyes meet your own. The blue of his eyes are almost swallowed with his black pupils, and you bite your lip at the sight, heat blossoming throughout your body. His eyes flick down at the movement, his mouth opened slightly.
At a particularly harsh suck, teeth grazing skin, your hips give an involuntary jolt into his, and he lets out a surprised, quiet groan.
“Shit, sorry, sorry,” you stutter.
The door swings open and before you can even process it, you hear a loud, “Oh shit sorry!” And the slamming of the door.
You jump, instinctively pushing Roger away from you, but his hands are still attached to your waist. So instead, he takes you down with him. You let out a surprised squeal before your body hits his as his back slams onto the bed beneath him.
Rolling off of him, you flop onto the bed panting. Heart beating out of your chest. A beat as you both lie on your backs, looking up at the ceiling.
And then you burst out laughing. Deep, heaving laughs that make you clutch at your stomach. And Roger’s laughing as well.
“You’re such a little shit!” you wheeze and hit him with one of the pillows. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”
“I thought I did! And also you were the one who basically jumped my bones out there––you should have been the one who locked the door!”
You scoff, but a smile pulls at your mouth. Pushing yourself up and off the bed, you walk over to a mirror that’s leaning on one of the walls. Poking and prodding the red mark quickly blossoming on the column of your throat, you deem it an acceptable love bite.
“Okay, this should be good, thanks––what are you doing?” You ask as you see Roger reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
“Keeping up appearances.” He gives you a wink before unbuttoning his shirt all the way open.
“Wait––” you say before grabbing a tube of your lipstick from your clutch. Opening the tube, you rub some of the color onto your fingers and proceed to rub it messily around Roger’s mouth. He looks down at you, smiling at the little furrow in your brow as you concentrate. You pull back and admire your handiwork.
“We are now the perfect sex-crazed couple,” you say with a wink and a flourish of your hand.
Walking out of the room, Roger pretends to readjust his belt, and you pull your dress down. Plastering a glazed, satisfied look on his face, he gives all the people standing in the hallway in front of the room a lazy smile.
A couple of whistles, and you just flash them a knowing smirk.
You’ve been at the party for an hour, and you’ve lost Roger after being swept away by some friends. Tired and ready to make your way back home, you’re in search of Roger and the rest of your friends to say bye. As you make your way through the too big house, you’re not watching in front of you. Instead, looking at what appears to be two people in chicken costumes dancing on top of one of the living room tables when you bump into someone. Strong arms grip your shoulders to steady you. You look up, opening your mouth to apologize. But stop short when you see who it is.
“Hey, Y/N, I just want to say congrats on your album,” your ex says with a sleazy smile. His hand lingers too long on your shoulder.
“Oh––uh, thank you.”
You see his eyes flick down, and then stay there. His brows furrow. And you let the self satisfied smile grow on your face when you know he’s looking at the dark bruise you’re not trying to hide.
“Who’s this, love,” Roger asks, coming up from behind you, his hands snaking around your waist. And you have to suppress your laughter as you can practically see the gears working in your ex’s head. His eyes rapidly flicking to your lipstick and then to the same color smudged onto Roger’s mouth. Your matching bed-ruffled hair. The way Roger possessively holds onto your waist, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles into the exposed skin of your stomach.
He blinks a few times before plastering on a slimy grin.
“Matthew,” he says, “Matthew Paul.”
“No way. You’re the bloke who stole the riff from our album!” he asks with an incredulous laugh. Your ex turns bright red, his eyes going wide. He clears his throat.
“So, uh, how did, uh, how did the two of you meet?”
“I was already a huge fan of her work. I went to a concert of hers, I think it was last Spring, and then we met at an afterparty where we really hit it off. And from there, I couldn’t think of anything but her,” he says. You blush before leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips. But when you try pulling away, his arm around your waist tightens and he deepens the kiss. When you part, your cheeks are flushed and you bite your swollen lips, slapping Roger on the chest.
“Just letting you know that you’re dating a fucking whore,” your ex says with a casual sip of his drink. If one wasn’t paying too close attention, they would have almost missed it. Roger stops dead in his tracks.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Oh shit. By now, this little exchange has attracted a decent sized crowd. You see Brian pushing his way to the front, John right behind him.
“Roger…” you warn, but he’s not even looking at you. It’s actually Brian who steps in between the two men, placing a hand out in front of him. “Walk away,” he says to your ex.
Michael scoffs. Ignoring him, he looks at you, a fire in his eyes. “Oh so you’re fucking all of the members of Queen? That it? I always knew you were such a little slut.”
That’s when Roger punches him. You hear a sickening crunch when Roger’s fist slams into Michael’s nose. Blood sprays everywhere, and you shriek when a spatter of blood lands on the side of your face. ROGER TAYLOR ATTACKS MAN AT PARTY is the headline that flashes in your mind.
“Fuck!” Matthew shrieks, bent over and clutching his face.
“Say sorry.”
“Mate, I’m sorry––”
“What the fuc––not to me––say sorry to Y/N.”
Matthew pauses and turns to look at you. “I’m––I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice thick from the blood clogging his nose.
“Fucking dick,” Roger mumbles as he grabs his jacket, placing it on your shoulders, so you guys can leave. You guys leave the house, hand in hand, and you don’t look back at the gaping crowd.
–––––
“You didn’t have to hit him, you know,” you say quietly, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton swab coated with Neosporin.
“He’s a fucking prick.” You laugh without humor because yeah, you know. You’re in your bathroom in your flat. Roger, sitting on the sink, and you, in between his legs. His hand resting in yours. He looks down at you as you work. Something he doesn’t want to acknowledge pulls at his heart when he sees your tongue poking out of your mouth and the determined furrow in your brow, the way your hair is a little bit messy and the fact that your makeup isn’t all the way off. The way you look in a ratty white tee shirt two sizes too big and how you’re holding his rough hand in between your soft, gentle fingers. The way he secretly wishes that that you were wearing one of his ratty tee shirts. It makes his heart ache. Ache for something he doesn’t want to know. Something he’s too scared to acknowledge––to pursue.
His hand reaches up before his mind can stop him. He reaches up and gently tries to wipe away the dried blood on your face. His thumb trying to rub it away.
“Roger you don’t have to do that…” you say, catching his hand in yours. It stills, still on your cheek.
“I want to,” he whispers. “Let me.” And he grabs the hand towel on the sink, dipping it in the bowl of warm water you brought and wipes your face. the gentleness such in contrast with the way he usually his, banging on his drums, fighting with the paparazzi. It makes your heart ache. Eyes so focused on getting the blood off your cheek, he doesn’t notice that you’re staring.
“Roger,” you murmur, and he looks up at you and something in his chest clenches. Your eyes a little shiny from the remnants of the alcohol, face flushed, and mouth parted. You look beautiful to him. You both look at each other for a beat too long, but you’re the first one to come to your senses and the spell is broken when you clear your throat.
“I––I didn’t finish with your fist, let me see it again.”
And so you work in silence for the rest of your time the bathroom, spreading the ointment over his knuckles before wrapping it with white gauze that you had in your first aid kit. When you fold the gauze over one last time, you pat his hand gently before grabbing the wrappers strewn over the sink countertop and throwing them away.
“All done. You change into those clothes while I make us some tea.”
“Wait––I can do it––you’ve done enough for me already…”
You give him a soft smile. “You’re in my home. Would be a shitty host if I let you make your own tea the first time you come into my flat,” you say with a wink before padding away into the kitchen.
Roger sits there for a moment longer, legs dangling off the sink counter. Hand beginning to throb. He hasn’t gotten that angry in a while now. Learned to control his anger. Usually was able to keep somewhat of a level-head around douchebags and critics––he obviously wasn’t unaccustomed to nasty language. But when your ex was spitting in your face, something in him snapped. Maybe because even though you looked calm and collected, he saw your hands––saw how you clenched them into fists to stop them from trembling.
Maybe because he hasn’t seen that look in your eyes. Hasn’t seen that type of vulnerability even when you He has seen the videos and the pictures––people screaming in your face, calling you the same names (some even worse) than what Michael said––and though you looked a little cautious––he has never seen that look of sadness that he saw when Michael was yelling at you tonight. The way he saw the fire in your eyes that he’s so used to seeing whenever you’re spitting at each other disappear.
He sighs before hopping down the sink, washing his face and then undressing in order to change into the clothes that you brought him.
–––––
“What happened between the two of you?” Roger asks when he walks into the kitchen as you mix cream into your cup of tea. You stop. The spoon clattering loudly against the mug.
“He cheated on me––slept with a new groupie every night he was on the road.”
“Shit.”
“That’s why I don’t date guys in the music industry anymore…all of them turned out to be cheaters and liars.” And maybe his heart breaks a little when he sees the light shutter from your eyes. The slump of your shoulders that are usually so defiant and angry and annoyed at him.
“Don’t worry, you’re too hot to be tied down to one guy anyway,” He says with his signature smirk, and it pulls you back to reality, puts the fire back into your eyes––and in that moment you know what he did, why he said that. And for that, you’re grateful for him.
“You’re a dick, you know that?” you say with a light push to his shoulders, but a smile pulls at your lips anyway.
“It’s one of my many star qualities.”
“Only cream right?” you ask.
“Hmm, maybe add like a spoonful of sugar,” he says, and you look up with a grin.
“Oh, I thought you were too good for that,” you tease but dump a large scoop into his. He comes up to you, and flicks your nose, smiling at the little scrunch of your nose and the way you swat at his hand.
–––––
You end up on the couch, watching whatever was on the TV at the time.
Roger looks over and smiles to himself. You let out a big yawn, glasses perched precariously at the tip of your nose.
“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers, gently tapping your leg, “I should probably get going…”
You blink awake. “Oh, you can spend the night––if you want. I have a guest room,” you say. You dont know what possessed you to say it, but it leaves your mouth before you could stop it. He stops––looks at the clock. Looks back at you. A beat.
“Okay, yeah, that would be better actually. Thanks.”
After grabbing a few extra blankets, pillows, and placing a glass of water with Advil on the side table, you deem the rarely used guest room acceptable for use. He settles into the bed, thanking you for everything.
“Goodnight Roger, if you need anything, I’m a door over,” you say before turning to leave the room.
“Hey, Y/N…” he calls out softly. You stop, waiting for him to continue. “I––I never cheated on those girls––never cheated on anyone in fact. All of them––after I broke up with them––they would run to the media. I guess given my reputation, it wasn’t hard for the general public to believe anyway.”
You furrow your brows. Furrow your brows because in that moment, you hear a deep sadness in his voice. A deep sadness filling the dark of the room. You hear him turn over, the bed sheets rustling, and before you can respond, he says, “Goodnight Y/N.”
And despite something stirring deep in your chest, you turn around and close the door.
Summary:You and John spend the week together in Tokyo, Japan. A week that would change your lives for good.
Warnings:Bit of drinking and swearing but that’s about it, lots of fluff!
A/N:I know it’s been far too long!! Sorry about that! Just been so busy between life and writing that I haven’t had the chance to take the time to upload and edit my work! Plus the eye infection didn’t help Nevertheless, here is the next part- lookout for a little song reference Enjoy!
A restless night was washed off in a quick shower. The sleep was still softly clutching onto your body however, but you had a busy day ahead and you couldn’t let that get to you. You tossed your old towels into the empty bath for the housekeeper to take away and changed into something comfortable before making your way downstairs for breakfast. It was seven thirty in the morning.
You stepped into the lift and pressed the floor where the restaurant was. When the lift stopped in the floor below yours, a flurry of excited and eager butterflies emerged in your stomach. You were disappointed when the doors opened and John wasn’t there- but he still might be sleeping. Instead a young family entered and pressed the button to the lobby. When you got out of the lift, you slowly walked to the restaurant and were led to a table. There was a spread of food along a wall and a menu on the table. You ordered a few things from it and the biggest cup of coffee they had. You got up and grabbed a bowl of funky sounding fruit to start with and grabbed one of the newspapers they had and put it on the table beside you, reading it while you ate your fruit.
Your coffee arrived…and so did someone else. “Morning!” They chirped and you looked up, a smile suddenly appearing on your face.
“Good morning, John,” you folded up the paper “How’d you sleep?” You asked.
“I didn’t.” He still managed to lowly chuckle despite being exhausted.
You smirked “Neither did I.” He was still standing- there was a spare chair across from you. “Do you want to join me for breakfast?”
“You sure?” He asked, already pulling out the chair.
“Course,” you smiled and he sat down, and placed his order with the server. “I like having company.” You smiled into your coffee cup “I always travel alone- it’s a nice change having breakfast with someone.”
“I hope I’m not keeping you from your work.” The worry was adamant in John’s voice but you waved away his concerns and told him that he wasn’t. “I’m assuming you’re a fellow Londoner from your accent?” He put that out there and then silently thanked the waiter for his tea that he had ordered.
“You assume correct. I live just west of Kensington.” John choked on his tea and you raised a brow. “What?”
“I live just west of Kensington!” He grinned. “Melrose Gardens!”
You went wide-eyed “No way! I stay on Dewhurst Road! You are like five minutes away from me!” You giggled and John rested his chin on his hand with a toothy grin. Your laughter died down and you looked at him with a soft, amazed smile. “Isn’t it funny that you can travel halfway around the world and then find someone who lives down the road from you?”
“Very funny,” he mused.
“It’s fascinating how small our little big world is.” You said just as your breakfasts arrived.
“So what are your plans for today?” He asked. “Do you focus on a particular point of interest or sights to write about?” John was genuinely interested in what you did and when he arrived back in the U.K., he was sure to get his hands on a paper to read your work.
“I try and focus on a bit on every aspect. I tend to spend a week wherever I go to try and do a bit of everything a place has to offer.” You began to explain, the pair of you still eating away at your breakfasts. “So today for example, today I’m going to the shops and I’m going to explore a little- jot down anything I find interesting or if I spot any quirky hotspots . I’ll take a lot of photos too. But during the week I’ll go on a excursion, see what modes of public transport are available, check out the nightlife, try the traditional restaurants…that sort of thing.”
“You’ve certainly got a jam-packed week. Sounds fun too!” He took a bite of toast. “I’ll probably be stuck in here all week- especially since my bandmates will be far too busy lazing about.” He added with an eye roll.
You chortled before you were hit with an idea. “If you’re not busy…you could always tag along with me if you want? I don’t mind.” You nonchalantly shrugged and sipped away on your coffee.
“R-really?! Sure! I’d love to!” John knew he sounded a little too enthusiastic.
“Great! Well I’ll get myself organised and I can meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes?” You suggested and both stood up at the same time.
“Perfect!” You both made your way to the lift, John got off at his floor. “See you soon!” You sent him a small wave and continued going up another floor. You grabbed your bag that had all your necessities in it and your camera along with a guidebook. Before you went anywhere you always read up about where you were going and took a guidebook on the journey with you. The maps inside were especially handy.
Twenty minutes later you met with John who was eagerly waiting for you and an adventure around Tokyo. “Ready to go?” You asked and he nodded and the pair of you stepped outside. The sun was out and there was a scattering of fluffy white clouds in the sky. You ended up down a busy little side street. You spotted a shop who’s window display consisted of bright yellow, plastic streamers and questionable looking mannequins in even more questionable positions. “We should head in,” you pointed to the door.
“In there?” John pointed too “It looks mad!”
You took his hand and you both felt a jolt of electricity bolt up your arms. “That’s exactly why we’re going in.” John was happy to be dragged by you into the weird wonderland of whimsical mishmash paraphernalia. It held everything from telephones to a literal kitchen sink, as well as odd pairs of shoes, cut out bras and glittery rubber ducks.
“This looks like the inside of Freddie’s head,” John murmured with a smirk while he took in the emporium of sheer madness.
You smiled and made a mental note to ask about his bandmates later. Walking up ahead, you laughed and picked up a cowboy hat “John,” you called him and he looked over, stifling a laugh. “What do you think?” You dramatically accentuated your poses.
“You actually really suit that! You should get it!” You took it off and admired it before taking his advice. John found himself in a little gap filled with rails of clothes and picked up a very jazzy, sequinned, feathery bra. “Think this is too much?” He joked and you giggled.
“Matches your sparkling eyes…” you said without even thinking. Your mouth just blabbed the truth. John had a shy smile on his face while yours went bright red. “Um…” you nervously picked up something and held it in front of him “I think you’d look good in this shirt. Brings out your eyes.” You mentally slapped yourself bringing up his beautiful eyes yet again within a matter of seconds.
“You got a thing for my eyes?” He teased but John was a giddy, nervous wreck now he knew that you liked his eyes. He’d use that to his advantage.
“I think we should pay and explore more of the city,” you managed to speak out and after grabbing a few more things which included a pair of sunglasses and funky light up earrings, you paid and headed to more shops.
You and John found yourselves in a clothes shop that was deeply embracing the trends of the 70’s along with a few traditional outfits. You snapped a few photos of the store and of the cheerful cashier who happily stuck his thumbs up when you snapped a picture. You thanked him and continued taking more photos, including one of John candidly looking through the rails. After picking up an armful of clothes each, you tried them on- some for a laugh and others because they were genuinely nice pieces. You emerged out of the changing booth, pulling back the orange velvet curtain and looked in the mirror in front of you. Then John emerged and you burst out laughing at what you were both wearing. “We look like Sonny and Cher!” You giggled and John stood next to you and scrutinised the immensely tacky outfits.
“I don’t have a moustache!” He chuckled.
You reached across and pulled a strand of his long hair in front of his face, above his lip. “Now you do!” You laughed even louder.
John grabbed a piece and placed it over your lip. “So do you.” He took it away and lightly gasped “It’s still there!” Your jaw dropped but your mouth was curving upwards at his playful remark.
You lightly jabbed his side “Very funny.” The cashier, who was laughing at the pair of you, pointed at your camera and then the two of you as if to ask ‘Would you like your photo taken?’ You nodded with a small smile and handed him the camera. He took two and handed it back. “Arigatō!” You bowed and he did the same. John looked at you with an amazed smile.
“You know Japanese?” He asked.
You shook your head and changed, still talking to him- the room was so small and the wall and curtains were thin enough for him to still hear you. “Only a little. 'Thanks’ is pretty easy- I couldn’t have a full blown conversation in the language.” You changed into a traditional dress and stepped out, John was still admiring his choice of outfit that made him look like Sonny. “What do you think?” You asked and he looked at you via the mirror. His heart skipped a beat and his breath caught.
“You look beautiful in that…” he was dumbfounded by your beauty in such a traditional look.
You sheepishly smiled. “Arigatō…” you winked and then changed back into your own clothes, picking out a few bits that you liked and a jumper that your mum would love as well as the traditional dress. You both paid and headed to the next shop, snapping yet more photos, then another, and then another, then stopped off for some street food- a platter of sushi and gyoza’s before heading to yet another shop and picking up a kimono each. “That was a very successful day shopping!” You entered the hotel with your arms full of bags.
“I think the term 'shop till you drop’ is the definition of what we’ve done today!” John tiredly laughed. “God, I need a shower now! That was so fun!”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” you managed to press the lift button. “Thanks for coming along with me. I had a great time and got lots of great photos!”
“Thanks for the invite.” John sent you a warm smile. “Now it’s my turn to return an invite- meet you at the bar later? Around seven?” He asked with a glimmer of hope in his eyes and nervous, twiddling fingers.
“Yeah!” You quickly agreed- perhaps a little too fast but that didn’t bother John.
He got off at the floor below yours and headed to his room with a smile. He had never had so much fun in such few hours- especially shopping! It was like you had opened his eyes to a new and exciting world. Then it dawned on him that perhaps the company made a difference and was the influence of why he had such fun. Sure, he had been to the shops with past girlfriends but it was a chore to him. But shopping with you and your 'eyes wide open to everything and anything’ view changed his initial perspective on going shopping with someone.
You put all your bags down in the corner of your room for now, you’d pack everything away at some point. You took out the camera and photos from the bag it was in and smiled at one- of many photos- of John. He was standing facing a sign that was in Japanese, the light from it bounced perfectly off his face and he looked ethereal- he was glowing. The shadows created perfectly highlighted his exquisite features. You were in awe.
Seven o'clock rolled around fast. John was at the bar first waiting for you with a untouched glass of Suntory beside him. He looked up at the right moment and saw you walk in wearing a lovely black dress with little flowers on it. “Thought I’d make an effort for rock royalty…” you spun on the spot.
John decided to joke with you. “That’s an effort?” He widely grinned and you feigned offence with a smirk. “I’m only kidding! You know I’m joking!”
“You’re ballsy, John Deacon!” You pointed as you sat next to him, then you saw the drink. “And you got my usual.” You leaned forward and clinked your glass with his. “Am I that predictable after being in my company for just over a day?” You both looked over hearing an eruption of laughter. The group of Japanese businessmen who were there in the same spot as last night. “People drinking for days gone by, huh?” You smirked and motioned over to them. “They were here last night too. But then again, time don’t mean a thing- especially when you’re jet lagged.” John hummed and nodded in agreement. “I wish I could sleep.”
“Me too,” John sighed and took a drink. “Maybe one night I’m here I’ll be able to.” You casually rested a hand on your cheek, keeping your attention on John. “That night feels like years away….” he laughed “But then again, time don’t mean a thing.” He repeated your words and the corner of your lip tugged upwards for a split second.
The group of men laughed again and you and John smiled “Sounds like they are having fun.”
“I had fun today,” John said before taking a sip of his drink “Most fun since I’ve been here really- our management were really pushing us last week in Kyoto. Wasn’t very enjoyable, a lot of pressure.” He sighed and played with the napkin under his glass.
Your eyebrows softened and you reached across and instinctively placed your hand on his forearm and he stopped toying with the napkin. The contact sent John’s heart fluttering. “You know, maybe you should take a break from listening to what they tell you to do and start listening to yourself. You might actually live a little and feel better if you did.” You suggested before taking a drink. “You’re your own person John. No one can ever take that away from you.” You smiled at him. John placed his hand on the top of yours, his thumb brushed over the back of your hand.
“I might just do that, Y/N.”
You were looking at each other in silence for a few minutes and then the bartender- the same one from last night- disturbed you both. You had both learned his name, Harry, he asked if you’d like another round of drinks. “Last round for me,” you looked to John “I hope you don’t mind, I want to attempt to get some sleep tonight!”
John nodded with a grin “I’m on the same boat as you! I’ll make an attempt to get some shut eye but I doubt I’ll get much.”
“The jet lag is still kicking the shit out of me so I’ll be up most of the night too no doubt.” You tiredly smiled “It really sucks.” You thanked Harry with a silent smile and raised your glass at John who did the same. You both took your time on your last drink before parting ways for the night. “Thanks for a great day, John. I had an amazing time.”
“Hope we can do it again…I’d really like it if we did.” He bit on his lip and you shyly smiled while nodding your head. You were hoping he’d say that. “Hope you get some sleep.”
“I hope you get some sleep too, John.” You got off first. “Night. Sweet dreams.” You waved and caught one final glimpse of him. Or so you thought.
John pressed his hand against the door to hold it open and popped his head out “And Y/N!” He called.
You turned around “Yes?”
He smiled, admiring the sight he knew was fortunate enough to be looking at. “You really didn’t need to make the effort. You already look absolutely beautiful.”
You bashfully smiled “Thank you.” John forced himself back into the lift. The doors shut and he endured another floor in the lift listening to yet more piano music. You quickly changed into your pyjamas, turned off the room lights and tossed yourself onto the bed- not bothering to find what remote closed the curtains. You fell asleep with the glowing Tokyo lights in the background while thinking of John.
so here it is, the very anticipated out of time and sorry for the delay, but here’s my roger x reader time travel fic! the reader finds herself in the 1970s on her 23rd birthday and bumps into queen in their earlier days.
the above picture is what the reader is wearing! im very hyped about this so please comment/reblog or send me an ask of what you think?
Out of all the ways you expected your 23rd birthday to go, this was definitely not one of them. You were sat on the barstool, holding a Tequila Sunrise, a drink that one of your friends had handed to you and you were honestly too drunk to remember which one. You weren’t one to get smashed usually, but it was your birthday, and it was an exception. It was your best friend Lisa, who’d convinced you to celebrate in a pub, more precisely one of the oldest pubs in London, The Rabbit Hole. You could tell it had been built way back in the 1970s as soon as you’d walked in, the atmosphere and the aesthetics of the place were such. It was beautiful honestly, but it wasn’t much of your style. In the end it didn’t matter anyway, you weren’t going to remember this night hopefully.
“Someone tells me you’re the birthday girl” You heard a smooth voice from next to you and you turned your head to see the most gorgeous man you’d seen here.
“Well, what’s it to you?” You asked, lifting a brow.
“I was hoping I could buy you a drink, looks like you hate that one” He said, pointing at your glass and you let out a laugh, moving closer to him.
“Oh well, how could I possibly refuse such an offer?” You asked, the alcohol getting the most of you. You were never this flirtatious when sober. Sober, you would be dying of embarrassment at that very moment.
“What can I call you?” He asked and you told him your name, throwing caution to the wind as you chatted up a complete stranger.
“I’m Ezra” He said and extended a hand to you and you laughed at the formality of the gesture. You shook his hand with a raised eyebrow, as if you were shaking the hand of a Royal and dropped it down to rest on your thigh.
“Something tells me you’re not having the best time” He pointed out and handed you the new drink he’d got you.
“Well, half the bar is filled with people I don’t know and the rest with people I couldn’t care less about” You said, sipping it and immediately realizing his taste in alcohol was infinitely times better than yours.
“Not even that eccentric blonde?” He asked, referring to Lisa, the one who’d really put all this together, against your will.
“I despise surprise parties but hell if I’m gonna pass up an opportunity to dress up and get shitfaced” You laughed “I’m not really the sort to party every weekend”
“Your appearance says otherwise” He smiled and you laughed.
“Just needed a bit of fun, really. I don’t usually celebrate my birthday so extravagantly” You explained as you tried to take in Ezra. He was cute, he had a sort of boyish charm to him and you were a sucker for that.
