Have I Reposted This Already?

The Couple Next Door IV (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part III Here

A/N: Happy Early Valentine’s Day, Y’all! I wrote a lot for the next part of this series, so I decided to split them up in two chapters. I’m posting this one tonight, and the other will be up at some point tomorrow afternoon.

This chapter is in 3rd Person Omniscient for Rogie like the previous one, and the reader will not be in this chapter but the next one, so I apologize if it’s not that good.

Don’t forget to show your support and enjoyment for the fic by leaving likes, comments, and reblogging!

Summary: Roger has a chat with the band, and does some more thinking.

(Roger can be Ben Hardy!Rog or Real!Rog. Whatever stirs your soup.)

WARNINGS: Swearing, s l o w  b u r n, Mentions of sex (BuT nO sMuT [yet(?)]), no revision and editing bc I’m lazy, I think that’s it.

This one is leaning more towards an M rating than a T, so read at your own risk.

“Eh… no no no. Take it from the top. Roger?”

 The blond looked through the window to Freddie, who just made it to the practice. 

 He was wearing some ridiculous flashy outfit as usual, a pair of massive white sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose while an equally distracting burgundy coat made its presence known on the singer’s shoulders. Whether he wore a shirt underneath is still a mystery.

 In his right hand, Freddie held a steaming hot cup of tea, gripped tight by his long fingers, each nail painted black. From the waist down, although he couldn’t see, Roger wouldn’t be surprised if Freddie was wearing booty shorts.

 "You okay, Love?“ 

 He only responded with a simple thumbs up, and an unenthusiastic look on his face; and although Fred didn’t seem too convinced, the music started playing, and Roger tried his part again.

 "Been out of the flow all morning,” Brian informed the frontman, biting his thumbnail and crossing his legs from the wall he leaned against. “He got here, and didn’t count us in the first few times we played. Figured he needed some time to play for himself.”

 "Hm,“ Freddie acknowledged, taking a peek at some loose papers scattered around the control desk and taking a sip of his tea.

 "And how long ago did you two decide this?“ 

 "Forty five minutes ago,” John grumbled at his spot at the control desk, legs crossed, and head propped up with his hand in bore. 

 "We tried confronting him and he’s not speaking,“ Brian explained. “Gave you a call and no one answered the phone. We assumed you were on your way.”

 Freddie looked around the room, and he pointed at the second, empty seat at the control desk. “Where’s–”

 After another timing mistake, Roger flung his drumstick towards the window, shouting profanities when the stick just riccoched and hit him right back, and startling the other three men in the process. 

 "… Y/n,“ Freddie finished carefully, eyes wide and focused on Roger’s movements. 

 "We both assume she’s got somethin’ to do with it. He won’t say anything.” John mumbled with a shrug. 

 Freddie pursed his lips, and sighed, scanning the control desk for the PA system’s button. 

 "Rog, my Love. Just… put the drumsticks down.“

 Roger, who was about to send his second drumstick against the wall to meet the fate his first one did, lowered his arm slowly to his side, eyeing his band’s frontman in the window, who was twiddling his fingers at him. 

 "Good. Now, come on in here. We’re all gonna sit down. Have a chat.“ 

 Roger’s shoulders slumped, and he left the recording room so he could regroup with his three other bandmates. Roger just frowned. Just as he suspected, Freddie was sporting a pair of body shorts. 

 Freddie moved his eyes from Roger to the empty seat next to John. 

 The drummer dropped into the chair, letting it roll him a little bit away from the staring eyes of the others. 

 "The others here tell me you’ve been a little… upset, since you’ve been here this morning." 

 Roger scoffed, and tried to stand from his chair, but Freddie dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

 "I know there’s something wrong,” Freddie quietly mumbled. “We just wanna help you. Tell us what’s wrong, and you’re helping us, too.”

 Roger chewed the inside of his cheek, looking guiltily towards John and Brian. “… Hope you know I didn’t mean to shout earlier, yeah?" 

 "Kind of assumed so, yeah,” John offered a kind smile, to which Roger tried to return, but he just looked uncomfortable. 

 "It’s uh… it’s just, um…“

 "Is… y'know… is y/n okay?”

 Roger’s smile fell. “Wait, why? Why would she not be okay? Did you get a phone call from her?!” Roger stood up, “oh my God, is she okay?!”

 "Hey, hey, hey, calm down, calm down!“ Brian intervened, hands up. "She’s fine. We’ve heard nothing from her. We were just asking you.”

 Roger sat back down, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and sighing deeply. “Look, I’m sorry. Yes. Yeah, it is her. She’s… Driving me nuts right now.”

 "Why now? You two were perfectly fine last week.“

 "It’s been the interactions with the neighbours,” Roger complained. “do you know how hard it is not to start sweating every time we hold hands in public now?”

 John frowned. “But… You hold other girls’ hands all the time. Why would y/n be different?”

 "I don’t know! I don’t know and that’s why I’m like this!“

 Freddie smirked, and Roger could sense the glint in his eyes despite them still being covered by his sunglasses.

 "Seems to me,” Freddie popped his lips. “Roger’s in love with y/n.”

 John smirked at the thought, and Brian had this wide grin on his face Roger really wanted to slap off.

 "Fred, I really don’t think that’s the problem here–“ 

 ”‘Ts weird. I’ve always had a thing for y/n, maybe I’m in love with her.“ 

 "Seeing a girl naked by accident doesn’t mean you’re in love with her, John.” Roger snapped back nearly immediately, to which Brian chimed in: 

 "Funny how you’re the one telling John that when I had to say the same thing to you in high school.“

 Roger was mad, but he was even more embarrassed. His face was a deep scarlet, and Freddie wasn’t sure if the colour of Roger’s cheeks were because of his fury, or because he knew Brian was right. 

 "Come talk to me, Roger. Talk to the King of Love,” Freddie coaxed Roger with his index finger as he fell back dramatically on the sofa against the wall opposite the control table. 

 Roger simply rolled his eyes and relocated to the empty seat on the sofa by Freddie’s feet. The frontman kicked his bare legs out and crossed them over Roger’s lap while stretching this thin arms and placing them behind his head.

 "When’d this all start happening, Rog? I mean the weird feelings.“ 

 To this, the drummer simply shrugged. "Last week we had dinner at the neighbours’. The husband was talking about children, and marriage, and it was like…" 

 Brian and John raised their eyebrows expectantly. 

 "It was like I wasn’t acting anymore.”

 Freddie gave a knowing smile, and hummed gently. “Did you feel comfortable? Being domestic and romantic with her?" 

 "Fred, I’ve lived with those two for three years, and they have zero personal space.” Brian’s eyes moved from his reflection in Freddie’s sunglasses to the stressful gaze in Roger’s. “… is it different?”

 "Bri, I had women over all the time when we lived with you. I had no reason to have a girlfriend. I slept around, got the physical affection I needed, and she was just a friend…“

 John pursed his lips. ”Was,“

 Roger nodded a little, his eyes casting downward and burning holes into his already torn jeans. "Yeah. Was." 

 The blond suddenly looked up at his other bandmates. "We’re pretending to be a couple in a conservative, strict neighbourhood. It’s not like y/n would allow me to invite groupies home with us while catty neighbours spy on us from across the way. I’m not getting the physical attention I used to have, especially since sleeping around is impossible now." 

 The room then fell silent, and no one exactly made an immediate effort to say anything. 

 And then John gave a half-shrug. 

 "Why don’t you ask y/n?" 

 "Ask her what?”

 "Ask her to give you that attention,“ Freddie finished John’s point in a matter-of-fact tone. 

 ”No,“ Roger gasped. "No. No no no!" 

 "What? It’s a great idea,” Brian tried to reason. 

 "It’s bloody suicide! What would she think of me?! A sex-addict? A creep? A waste of time?“

 ”Roger,“ Brian stopped Roger’s listing. "She’s a single, gorgeous woman who loves you with all her heart, romantically-speaking, or not. You two already have this sort of secret commitment thing happening anyways but with housing rather than physical affection.”

 "And your point is…?“ 

 Freddie took over for Brian then with a sigh. "She has nothing to lose. You have nothing to lose. Why would adding onto your deal be a bad thing?" 

 To this, Roger didn’t respond. He didn’t have an answer. Freddie continued. "You sleep with women with no strings attached all the time. Living with your best friend while also bedding her doesn’t seem like a bad idea. What are you gonna do, catch feelings for her? You’re just horny.”

 "… Do you really think that’s all that’s wrong?“ 

 "That you’re stressed and just need a good lay?” John clarified.

 "Absolutely.“

 It was almost as if a weight had been lifted off Roger’s shoulders. All of his past issues were gone, out of his mind. 

He had nothing to worry about. 

 "There’s that smile we all needed,” Freddie gushed at Roger, who lowered his head in mild embarrassment. 

 "C'mon Rog. Let’s get to work.“ Freddie jumped up to stand before the control table, and Brian took a seat next to John. Roger returned to his drum kit inside the recording room, and after a count-in, Roger started drumming. 

 Needless to say, practice was flawless for the rest of the day.

_______________________________

A/A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed! Remember, new chapter up tomorrow!

@culturefiendtrashqueen @luvborhap @amy-brooklyn99 @scarsout @kimmietea @ohtheseboysilove @demo-wise @suavishowell @bohemianahoy @pippin248

Freddie: So we’re still squabbling over that fact, that’s what he’s trying to say Roger: rawr

(x)

My therapist- John Lennon saying and I oop- as George squeezes passed him in the 60s isn't real, it cant hurt you

John Lennon saying and i oop- as George squeezes passed him in the 60s-

We've Got Tonight (Paul McCartney x Starr!Female!Reader)

Find Part Two Here

A/N: WOW, is all I can say. The alarming support from those of you reading my work is driving me to write more than EVER right now! I cannot say thank you enough, y'all. Your notes and comments inspire me, so please keep it up if you wanna read more from me!

I'm about to bless y'all with some McBeardy angst, so I hope you all enjoy!!

Also, this fic was inspired by Bob Seger's We've Got Tonight, so I highly recommend listening to the song before and/or after reading this one to get into the vibe of it.

Summary: Paul is in his lonesome after a break up. So are you. You decide to keep each other company.

WARNINGS: ANGST, but it gets sweet in the end. Mentions of cheating, low self esteem. Suggestive actions, mentions/insinuation of sex, but no smut (that'll be saved for a bonus part 2 if anyone's interested in that.)

There is mention of the Beatles' extended family, so if I have any incorrect info in here, I apologize in advance; I didn't want this to become too much of a history lesson.

Also, like my other fics, this one is a NOVEL, so please read when you have a good half hour+ of free time :)

I don't wanna rate this a T, but there is no smut in this, so please just be aware that there is sex mentioned/insinuated, so PLEASE just read at your own discretion. But most of all, enjoy!

Paul was sitting on the sofa in the den, alone with the lights out. He was staring out the window at the night in silence as he sucked down another cigarette and sipped at another glass of scotch.

It was late enough that the world around him was dead sleep, yet he was wide awake, and alone with his thoughts.

He broke it off with Linda. She was a sweet girl, and no one was really quite sure why things ended between them, but they all knew it was a mutual agreement.

Paul really hadn't been taking it well, though. He hadn't been sleeping right for almost a month, and he stared drinking a little more. He didn't want anyone really knowing, which is why he did it in his lonesome.

He wasn't necessarily by himself, because the rest of the Beatles were upstairs in their collective rooms asleep; but what made him feel alone was that alongside the bandmates in their rooms were their families and wives. And Paul just didn't have that.

Usually he would have been rather vocal over something that bothered him so much, but the band felt like recently they'd been clashing, so he wasn't wanting to bother them with something like that.

While Paul finished the final puff of his cigarette and put out the butt in the ashtray on the coffee table, his head snapped to the entrance of the den, where he caught sight of a silhouette in the threshold.

You stopped in your tracks when Paul made eye contact with you. You supposed he'd heard your footsteps.

From what you could tell from the light of the moon shining in through the window, Paul seemed worn out. He rubbed the side of his face with his free hand before wordlessly nodding to you in acknowledgement.

"... I'm sorry to intrude. I didn't know anyone was still awake. I was just needing a drink," you explained quietly. You'd met Paul a few times here and there-- you had to, with Ringo-- or Rich-- your brother, being one of his bandmates and all.

Paul was always kind when you interacted with each other, but you could definitely tell something was a little off about his behaviour this time around.

Rich did mention Paul's break-up to you briefly, but you were going through your own separation, so you were in your own head with your own problems. That's why Rich offered to bring you along with him, Maureen, Zak, and Jason on this trip with the rest of the guys and their families, so you could get away from thinking about your ex.

Unfortunately, the unfamiliar space put you in the same position as Paul; wide awake, in the middle of the night, with a racing mind.

"'S alright," he sighed before drinking the rest of the scotch in his glass and raising to his feet. You watched him move around the room to the alcohol cabinet right outside the kitchen.

He refilled his glass right to the top before wordlessly grabbing a second glass out, tossing in a few ice cubes, and filling it three quarters of the way before sliding it over to you.

Your eyes widened a little, considering you'd actually come down for some water, but maybe this was a sign you were going to want something stronger.

"... Should've asked you if you even like this stuff," Paul stated apologetically when he realized how gentlemanly he was not being. You smiled sadly at him, but picked up the glass anyways.

He matched his glass to the same level as yours before you both gently tapped them together. The sound of the glass chimed for a moment before you and Paul raised the drinks to your lips.

The scotch was harsh, and you surely made an unflattering face as you took a sip, but Paul didn't say anything to you, as he was too busy staring at the ice swirling around in his own glass.

"... What're you doing up so late, if you don't mind me asking?" You asked after a moment of silence, and Paul's big brown eyes met yours for another quiet second as he thought about what to respond with.

He pushed his tongue into his cheek before shrugging and mumbling into his glass, "thinking."

After taking another sip of his drink and staring off into space for a moment or two, he bit his lip, gesturing over to you with his glass.

"And you?" You shook your head, realizing it was your turn to scrounge up an excuse for being wide awake at such an absurd time.

"Can't sleep," you lied.

Paul frowned, motioning you to the sofa he was just sitting on to invite you to sit for a while. After a moment of pondering whether you should really go back to your room, you made up your mind and headed to the sofa, Paul following suit.

There was just something about the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, and behind them was this sadness you just couldn't ignore.

Before he took a seat, you were able to get another good look at him. He was in black jeans, and a green sweater; his day-clothes completely contrasting your pyjama set. He'd grown his hair out since you saw him last, and now he was sporting a full beard.

You always thought he was a good looking guy, but now, without being blinded by any bias, there was really no denying how handsome Paul had become since you seen him last.

In fact, it felt like every time you ended up seeing him next, he always seemed to look better and better, and you weren't quite sure how that was possible.

Paul took the seat right next to you, and he set his drink down on the coffee table, clasping his hands together, elbows on the thighs, and hanging his head.

"To be honest with you... I went through a separation about a month ago. And I don't seem to be handling it well." He finally sighed, turning his head so he was looking at you again. He unclasped his hands and ran his fingers through his beard a few times.

"I'm a romantic, y'know, and I'm not a fan of being so lonely." You nodded your head a little at his words. What was tough was that you didn't have anything encouraging to say to him because you were in the same boat.

Paul swallowed when you remained silent, and then he cleared his throat. He scratched the back of his head nervously as he leaned back into the sofa.

"I'm sorry, I know it's late, and you're probably just wanting to head to bed." He gave a little head nod of understanding as he rubbed his eye with his finger. "You're not here to talk to me about my problems."

It was your turn to set your drink down on the table, turning your attention to him again.

"Well... will that help make you feel better, perhaps?" you watched Paul's eyes meet yours again, and he pressed his lips together tightly in thought.

"... I don't know if there is really much to say," he said after a moment, reaching for his glass again.

"Thank you, though. Was very kind of you to offer somethin' like that."

After he took another sip of his drink, he gestured to you again with his glass.

"... Ringo sort of mentioned you were going through a separation too... You doin' okay?" Paul tried his best to be as inclusive as possible, but it was all rough stuff to talk about, so he treaded carefully.

"I mean..." you trailed off for a moment before responding with a simple, "I'm angry, above all else."

You were honestly taken aback by Paul's question. Rich wasn't necessarily the greatest person to receive comforting advice from, especially when it came to this separation, since he thought so highly of your ex, but you perhaps weren't telling him the whole truth.

But you were definitely surprised he even mentioned your pain to anyone else, let alone his bandmates.

"Kept a lot of heavy things to myself for a long time, it just became exhausting." Now it was your turn to reach for your scotch, still cringing at its strength as you took a generous mouthful.

Paul waited a beat before asking, "would talking about it with me maybe make you feel better?"

"... you really care to know that stuff?" You asked gently for clarification. As mentioned, you and Paul weren't close, you could probably count on one hand the amount of times you met him prior to this moment...

And this was heavy stuff you were seemingly about to share, and you really wanted to make sure he was okay with that.

Paul nodded his head without hesitation, and offered, "'s the least I can do for you for keeping me company so late."

You sighed a deep breath, and took a few more sips from your glass before putting it back down, curling your legs up to your chest, and began.

You told Paul about your ex. You told him about how you were with him for five years, and watched him slowly fall out of love with you, sleep around, and how you struggled with self-image and self-worth for a long time.

You also mentioned how you were the one to leave, but he had no idea you had any strength to do so, so he tried for a long while to guilt you into going back to him.

The difficult things to talk about made you a little more emotional, so you breathed your way through it slowly as to not cry. The drink Paul poured for you was helping you relax at least.

Paul was more than patient with you, and you were grateful for that. At one point during the lengthy conversation, he lit another cigarette, and began offering you drags throughout your story to calm your nerves.

You took those offers graciously, and thankfully.

"... I don't know. I just lay awake every night, wondering if there was something I could have done different so he didn't do what he did."

You were staring out the window with Paul now, taking in just how many stars you could actually see from the den. He took his final puffs of his smoke, the thin silver waves swirling in the air above the both of your heads.

"Sounds like he didn't cherish you enough when you were around," Paul debated gently, shaking his head and putting out his cigarette end in the ashtray next to the others. He picked up his scotch again before mumbling against the rim,

"He's not worth it."

You pulled yourself from the trance of the tiny lights outside to wipe remnants of silent, salty tears off your cheeks, and you used that moment to glance over at Paul, whose nose was still deep in the glass. When he pulled the drink away from his mouth and swallowed, you parted your lips to speak.

"... was Linda worth it?" You didn't mean it in a rude way, but you hadn't met her personally, and you wanted to pry Paul just a tiny bit.

He smiled, but it was bitter. You figured you struck a nerve, and before you could apologize for what you said, he answered simply, with tears glossing his own eyes,

"Yes. She was."

You tilted your head a little and frowned, trying to understand what drove them apart.

"It was just never the right timing. She was ready for things I wasn't in the beginning, and then down the road, when I was seemingly ready for those things, she wasn't. And I didn't want her wasting her time on a life she didn't wanna live, y'know?"

"So she's the one that got away," you mused gently.

"Indeed, she was." Paul nodded a little before finishing the rest of his scotch in his glass, leaning back again, and cradling his head in his hand as he looked at you for another quiet moment, resting his glass in-hand on his thigh.

"... I'm not a bad person, am I?" Those watery eyes never disappeared, and you had to break his sad gaze, opting to reach out and rub his shoulder comfortingly.

"Hey, no. Wasting your time, or her time, like the way my ex did to me, would have made you a bad person, Paul. Saying good bye was the right thing to do."

"Well, I wish that made me feel better," he mumbled, dropping his own gaze to the space between the both of you. He pushed a stray tear away before he thought you could see it, and then scratched at his beard again. You guessed that must have been a habit of his out of stress.

"Something about her made me feel like she was the one. Like we were meant to share the same story; but we always seemed to be on a different chapter,"

He sniffled, but only once. "That being said, was I perhaps too lovestruck in the end to want to believe that her future was meant to be shared with someone else?"

His voice carried so much sorrow, and you knew he needed some kind of advice. It took you a moment or so to find the right words to say to him.

"... Knowing my ex wasn't right for me and the reality of me leaving doesn't make me feel any better. At all." You offered to Paul, before adding,

"... But why should the expectations of those we chose to take out of our life dictate the way we behave today?"

The words that came out of your mouth were surprisingly wise, and you watched Paul's eyebrows knit together as he absorbed what you said.

He focused his sight to you again, a more determined look on his face. Paul knew you were absolutely right. He was a charmer; romancing people was his thing.

There was no denying Linda was special, but when he realized he really had no commitment in romancing her anymore, he finally understood that it was his own thoughts holding him back.

Even if it took him a little longer than expected, he knew you were right. He would recover from this.

"... I think you just opened my eyes and made me realize something... Thank you, y/n, really." He reached up with his free hand after a second, fingers grazing your own hand still on his arm in comfort, showing you his gratitude for your words of advice.

You smiled a little, glad you were able to help him somewhat through his times of trouble as you pulled your hand away.

Paul stood up again, retrieving his empty glass from the coffee table before facing you fully, a more genuine smile beginning to pull on the corners of his mouth, but it was still rather sad.

"I'm grabbing a refill, you too?"

Your sight drifted to your near-empty glass on the table.

Why let tonight go to waste? End so soon?

"Please," you asked, grabbing the glass yourself, but Paul began to tut at you as he grabbed the glass from your fingers.

"Please, I'll get it for you," he insisted, and you watched his slender figure move around the couch to head for the alcohol cabinet another time. He filled them only halfway this time, and on the way back he made a brief stop at the record player near the entrance of the den.

Soft classical music rang out quietly from the player once Paul dropped the needle down onto the vinyl, and he returned to his spot next to you with your two drinks. You thanked him quietly as he passed the glass over to you, and he leaned in a little, raising his drink between the two of you.

"Hello to... new beginnings," he began slowly.

"And Goodbye to false finales," you finished, your glasses tapping together again before you took yet another sip of the drink.

Paul matched your movements, his eyes watching you, even when you turned away to gaze longingly out the window for a moment, basking in the feeling of the gentle music flirting with your ears.

Sure, you and Paul could have went on for the rest of the night discussing your heartbreak, but you decided to drive the conversation elsewhere.

You sighted back to him after a while, his sight unwavering from you. Your eyes locked for just a beat before you decided aloud with a gentle nod,

"... you know, that beard really suits you."

Paul's eyebrows shot up, and his face darkened a little as he bit his lips between his teeth almost nervously.

"... Think so?"

You'd never seen him lack so much confidence when given a compliment before, but instead of pitying him, you almost admired his innocence.

It sounded like he needed to hear a compliment like that.

"Yes," you laughed airily, raising your glass up for another drink. Paul couldn't bite back his smile anymore, so he copied you to mask his lips. You then gestured to your head with the point of your finger as you swallowed the alcohol back easier and easier each time.

"Your hair, too. I think it's a nice length."

Your kind words made Paul feel warm and fuzzy inside, and he placed his scotch back down on the table.

"Well, thanks, Love." He rubbed the back of his neck, and laughed weakly. "I call it my 'Don't View The Mirror For Three Weeks' look."

Paul paused in his moments of self-deprecation to realize he should have maybe complimented you back. He took a second to take another good look at you as he decided what to say, exactly.

"... Y'know, the last time I saw you was a few years ago, now."

You thought for a moment on that. It had been a while since you'd seen him last. You nodded your head as you recalled the day.

"You're right, it has been some time. Christmas, 1966." John and Cynthia had hosted this massive holiday dinner, and everyone's extended family was there.

You were single at the time, and spent dinner conversing with Paul's sister, Ruth, who was at least fifteen years younger than you. There was no introduction made by Paul, she just walked up, introduced herself to you, and made a friend by herself.

She went on and on about school, and music, and how the potatoes were her favourite part of dinner; and you paid attention to everything she had to say, responding with your own opinions and jokes to keep her feeling included amongst the adults at the table.

And Paul, who was seated next to Ruth, couldn't help but overhear your conversations throughout the evening, and he found it rather charming that you treated Ruth with such respect despite her young age.

And after dinner, you and Ruth danced together almost the whole night. She eventually went over to do a little dancing with Paul, and you watched as she bounced around excitedly with her brother, who, for just a moment, locked eyes with you across the sea of dancing guests.

You remember giving him a shy wave with a smile, and he sent a wink back your way before returning his attention to Ruth, spinning her around as she squealed happily.

"... I'm rather fond of that evening," Paul stated simply, the reality of your melancholy evening strongly contrasting with the memories of the wonderful night.

Now you and Paul weren't so young, and this time he was noticing the little lines under your eyes, indicating the dragging march of time slowly catching up to you both.

"And, even after all the years that have passed... you still look as lovely tonight as you did then."

You blushed at Paul's compliment, biting back a stupid grin as you repeated the words in your head.

"And I admire your ever-present kindness," he added on, and you knew he really just meant he showed appreciation for lending him an ear in his time of need.

"More people need to be like you."

"I don't know what to say," you said honestly, settling for a gentle "thank you," in the end. Paul just nodded, unsure if there was anything to say back.

"You know..." you paused for a second, watching as Paul went for another sip from his glass. "It was quite a shame we never got a dance in that night together, just you and me."

Paul was mid sip when you said that, so you continued on.

"The music was great, everyone was in high spirits, and I was maybe too shy to approach you myself and ask you to dance with me. So I guess that's on me." You scratched your elbow as you announced your rather dumb confession to him.

Paul, who was nearly done with his drink now, waited a moment or two in thought, before rising to his feet, and wandering back over to the record player, scotch still in hand.

You tried to watch his movements over your shoulder, but it was really dark. All you knew was that he was changing the music.

The classical tune cut, and the player began to drawl a much slower, more recent song; one you hadn't yet heard.

Paul turned on his heel as he reapproached the sofa, taking the final sip of scotch he had left in his glass before placing it back down on the table, and reaching his hand out for you to take.

"Well, let's not let this dance wait any longer, then, yeah?"

You froze for just a moment, Paul's outstretched hand hung in the air for a few seconds, and your sight moved up to his face, where you noticed his confidence falter just a little.

"Again, I know it's late, and I know your plans for the night surely didn't include me..."

"But, still, here we are." Your words came out almost effortlessly. You finished your scotch as well, and when you finally put your hand in Paul's, he squeezed your fingers gently, that warm upturn finally returning to his lips.

He guided you slowly over to the windows so you weren't in so much darkness, the moonlight still shining just enough for you both to see one another; and when Paul decided he could see your face much better, he let his other hand drop to your waist, watching as your own hand rested on his forearm.

You both shifted from side to side to the beat of the music, and you stared absentmindedly at the small space between you both.

"... You okay?" He asked you quietly after a minute, and you looked up at him, cheeks reddening as you realized you could feel his breath fanning your face.

"I've realized just how long it's been since I last danced with someone like this," you mentioned sheepishly, and a little smirk pulled at the corner of Paul's mouth.

"You don't have two left feet, y'know," his tone was almost teasing, and you smiled back, glad he wasn't feeling so much sadness anymore.

Paul then added with a little shrug, "'Sides, I wanted to dance with you that night, too. But I'm very glad I have the honours now."

Paul began turning with you in slow circles together as you continued to sway, and you took a moment to decide your next words carefully.

"... I suppose what I'm trying to say is that it's different when you're dancing with someone who actually wants to dance with you. It's just... it's really nice. So thank you, Paul."

Paul let go of your waist for a moment, and raised your clasped hands above your heads so you could twirl under his arm.  When you did just that, and faced him again, he pulled you just a little closer than you were before, your torsos flush as his hand snaked slowly to the small of your back.

"Thank you," he mumbled back, quietly. You weren't entirely sure what he was thanking you for this time, but you never asked.

Instead, you shut your eyes and opted to rest your head in the crook of his neck as the hand you had on Paul's bicep slid upward so your arm circled around his shoulders, in a half embrace.

And then you felt Paul tilt his own head down as if to envelope you more. You'd be lying if you said your heart didn't skip a beat when he did that.

Paul then began to hum the lyrics of the song, quietly, as if you were the only person in the world who was meant to hear it. Both yours and his eyes were closed now as you two basked in such a beautiful moment.

Two lonely people, finding comfort, and peace in each other.

Paul raised your clasped hands closer to him so he could rest them against his chest. You could actually feel his heartbeat pounding against the side of your hand, which made you a little nervous, but not in a bad way.

Paul stopped moving you around in circles, but the swaying never ceased. He lifted his cheek off your crown after a while, and you couldn't help but open your eyes and raise your gaze back to his face.

Paul smiled so sweetly at you, and you watched his eyes shift ever so slightly from left to right as he looked back into yours. His eyebrows then worried for just a moment before he opened his mouth slightly as if to say something, but no words came out.

Your shifting finally slowed to a standstill, and you opened your mouth this time to speak, yet you found yourself in Paul's very position.

There was nothing to say.

You watched as his gaze softened on you, and you weren't sure if it was the drinks, or the lack of sleep, but it was like you could almost feel the gravity around you manipulating you to move just a little closer to him.

And he must have felt it as well. Paul's head began to drop slowly, and it wasn't long before you met him in the middle, your lips coming together in a very soft, and very unplanned kiss. The both of you kept still, almost as if the smallest move would have frightened the other away.

You were both holding your breath as well, and Paul pulled away from the kiss first, arm still wrapped around your back, hand still clasped in yours.

He was staring at you in awe, as were you, eyes wide, and lips still slightly parted as you both processed what exactly just happened.

Paul still couldn't muster any words, nor could you, for that matter; but he could definitely read your gaze. Your eyes were almost begging him to do that again.

And that's exactly what happened; your lips came crashing into each other again after only another second.

You weren't stupid, and neither was he. You both already knew this night was going to become something else entirely. You were craving the touch of someone, and you didn't even have to tell him.

You could just tell with the way he was moving his mouth against yours, and the way his body was flush with you, that he was wanting it just as bad.

Paul's hand finally let go of yours so he could lace his fingers into the hair at the back of your head, and your own hand slid around to his back. He tried pulling you even closer, but it just wasn't possible.

You sighed quietly as you kissed him again, and again, and Paul's hand unweaved itself from your hair as he cupped your face before breaking the kiss off again, another troubled look on his face.

"Ringo'll kill me if he knew I was--"

"Paul, please. I need this," you didn't let him finish his sentence. You didn't really care what your brother thought of anything, and you assumed, deep down, Paul really didn't care either, because he dove back in for more kisses as soon as he could.

His hands cupped your jawline as you gripped his sweater in your fists at his chest. You parted your mouth slightly and just melted into Paul's arms when he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip.

You moaned lowly against him, ears ringing, and all Paul could think to do was blindly shuffle you backwards towards the sofa, but instead, you felt the coffee table hit the back your legs, and you nearly stumbled back. The glasses, once filled with scotch but now only ice, shuffled against the table's surface at the force of you bumping into it.

Paul ended your kiss once more, one of his hands leaving the side of your face to circle around your hips quickly so you didn't fall back. He smiled at you when he knew you weren't going anywhere, offering you a teasing, "maybe you do have two left feet, Darling."

That wonderful pet name made your flesh rise with goosebumps, but all you could mumble to him was, "Just shut up and kiss me, Paul."

Without hesitation, he did just that, which felt like an eternity to the both of you since the last one.

He, still blindly, yet carefully, directed you around the table and to the sofa. Paul, with his hands holding your hips, was the first to sink down, but encouraged you to straddle him as soon as he was fully seated with an encouraging tap to the back of your thighs.

It was your turn to pull away now, your dominant hand resting flat against the centre of Paul's chest as you gave him a good once-over, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Paul was leaned back, lips parted and shining, assumably from the spit you'd been exchanging, and his eyes almost twinkling at you in adoration.

Your heart was full of something you hadn't felt in a very long time, and it was all because of this sensual interaction.

You reached out with your other hand and ran your thumb over his bottom lip, his shallow breath fluttering gently against the skin on your fingers. You tilted his head up and kissed him again, and your fingernails just couldn't resist playing with his beard any longer.

Paul's grip on your hips tightened when you started doing that, and when you decided to take your other hand off his chest and start playing with his hair, he let out a very low groan against your lips, and to both of your surprise, his hips bucked up involuntarily against you.

He gasped at his own actions, and you pulled away to view the look of apologetic shock written on his face. His cheeks and neck were flushed, and his eyebrows were bent in worry, again.

"I-I promise I didn't mean to..." Paul's voice carried a hint of... shame, almost. You watched as he nervously toyed his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried searching his brain for something to say, but the effects of his drink and your sweet attention had him grasping for any type of clear thought.

But all of his attempts went completely out the window when you lowered your hips down and rocked them back against his, his head falling back against the sofa as his eyes rolled, a guttural moan rumbling from deep within his chest.

It was absolutely apparent that Paul's jeans were lacking the room they'd possessed a few minutes prior, and when you repeated the circular motion with your hips again, feeling him hard against your core, you were rewarded with another low growl from him.

"W-wait," Paul uttered weakly after a second, arms and fingers tightening at your hips to keep you from moving around and teasing him again, as much as he didn't want you to stop.

"I want this so much. I want you so much," he began, taking a beat to rake his eyes down your body as his tongue swiped against his own bottom lip. His gaze flitted back to your eyes, and he swallowed nervously.

"I don't want you to do this if you aren't, y'know..." you waited for him to finish his thought, and his round pink cheeks seemed to flush just a little more.

"If you're not okay with it."

You took a second to think on his argument. You and he were relatively fresh out of troubled relationships, and you both seemed to be hurting from the aftermath of said relationships...

But you were so lonely, too. And, to each other, you were simply beautiful, and respectful people, offering your... company... in a time of isolation for you both.

And it wasn't like there was any label for what you two were, either. All you and Paul needed was to feel wanted-- to feel loved.

And only if you could experience such a feeling for one more night in your life, Paul was offering now. And you were going to take it.

"I want this moment to last, Paul. If you're okay with making me feel wanted again, I am more than comfortable doing the same for you."

You could see him visibly relax when you said that, relief washing over his features as he reached a hand up to caress the back of your neck and bring you into a single, sweet kiss. You still couldn't get over how gentle and polite he was still being about all of this.

"We should really... go to my room," Paul suggested quietly after pulling a fraction of an inch away from the contact. You nodded your head, sighing "okay" as Paul closed the gap between you both just once more, only for a peck.

He let go of your hips and he reached for your hands instead, fingers intertwining slowly, and affectionately. You slid out of his lap, and Paul rose to his feet, guiding you without a hurry towards of the threshold of the den, where you stood to greet him unexpectedly just an hour or so before this moment.

The 45 on the record player had since finished playing the song, needle spinning needlessly in silence. Paul briefly resituated the player before continuing your journey one step at a time towards his bedroom, the heart in your chest beating erratically.

You climbed the stairs together, one dragging step at a time, and Paul led you around the corner of the hallway, pausing at the first room on the right. He glanced over at you, hand on the doorknob as he gave you another look. One that was asking a final, "are you sure?"

You placed your free hand over Paul's without a sound, and together you opened the door. He pulled you in for one more intimate embrace, lips on yours again before he pulled you into the dark room, gently kicking the door closed behind him.

And that night, you stayed with Paul. Hand-in-hand, bodies entwined, souls healing, loneliness fading away, and hopes of feeling whole again finally returning.

Being awake in the middle of the night had never been so gratifying.

------------------------------------------

A/A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this! like I said, I can always whip up a part 2 regarding what happened behind those closed doors, so lmk if you're interested in that at all! Thanks for the support again and stay tuned for more works!

PERMENANT TAG LIST

@culturefiendtrashqueen

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(If you wanna be added/ removed from any of my lists, please message me and let me know!!)

Joe Mazzello was always predestined to play John Deacon, because he was born on World Funky Disco Studio Day. September 21st, World Earth Wind and Fire Day.

Happy birthday Joe Mazzello. And happy Earth Wind and Fire Day.

no one:

not a single soul:

me at the shower:

hey jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better, remember to let her under your skin, then you’ll begin to make it better

beTTER bETTER BETTER BETTER bEtTeR,

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA—

nA, NA, NA, NA, NANANANAAAAAA

NANANANAAAAAAAAA hey jude

“I pray that you hear these words before it’s too late.” - Joseph

Before The Lift (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

A Prequel To Lift Confessions

A/N: okay WOW. First of all, thank you so much to everyone who noted my last fic! I was shocked from all of the positivity I received! As a thank you, I wrote a prequel to it! You can read either first, it doesn’t exactly matter. You can even skip over this, if you want. Like always, comments, requests, and ideas are always appreciated!

Summary: Two years before you and Roger Taylor are stuck in a lift together and your lost friendship is found, your friendship with Roger had to be lost in the first place.

(This can be read as BoRhap!Roger or real Roger, idc)

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol/intoxication, Smoking, Breakups, Fighting, Vomiting, Mentions of sex (but not smut), and Suggested Domestic Abuse (WOW what a long list. (I apologize in advance if I missed anything)

This fic is fluffy af but it turns angsty REALLY fast. I’d rate this fic between a T and an M

In 1974, a usually barren pub in downtown London was nearly filled to the brim with people, most of them with the intention of just being in the same room as the geniuses performing that cold Saturday evening.

Those geniuses were none other than Brian May, John Deacon, Freddie Mercury, and Roger Taylor.

Queen.

These four boys were about to make it big, so it only made sense that this small pub was crawling with crazy fans and starstruck young adults who would kill for a smile from Brian, a point from Freddie, a nod of acknowledgement from John, or a wink from Roger. Honestly, you could see the appeal.

Anyone with a right mind could see the appeal.

The guys on stage were attractive, and it was only expected that these fans would come drop to their knees and worship the musicians as if they were Gods.  

How such a big band like Queen got into such a small pub on a usually dead night, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that the pub owner was probably rolling in a pile of pound sterling in his office right now due to the spectacular turnout.

None of that exactly mattered to you, though; you had the best seat in the house– with a perfectly good view of Roger.

Despite being in a relationship with one of your friend’s cousins, you liked Roger.

A lot.

You and him had a special bond since the moment you two met. You met at one of their band practices when you and Brian reunited after university. He brought you along to meet his band members and needless to say, you and Roger just clicked.

“There was a lot less practice being done that day, and a lot more flirting,” as you remember Brian putting it.

Despite this minor “setback” Brian brought you along more and more. It then just became the norm.

Often times, during practice breaks when the boys would go out for a sandwich or a coffee, you would stay behind with Roger and listen to him play the drums for you.

He even let you play the drums one day. You weren’t very good at it, but you did it, nonetheless.

“You have to be a very special lady to be able to play these bad boys,”

You smiled to yourself at the memory. You honestly weren’t even paying attention to the music anymore. You just watched your boys move and perform they way they always did.

Effortlessly.

Gracefully.

Perfectly.

After the last cord for the Seven Seas Of Rhye stopped echoing through the pub, the crowd erupted into cheers, and enthusiastic girls in the front waving to whichever band member they wanted to grab the attention from and be with for the rest of the night… and nearly all of them wanted Roger.

Despite this, you remained calm, and showed your appreciation to the band by whistling, and clapping. Roger looked over the heads of all the hot and bothered girls trying to get his attention, and he winked at you with a cheeky grin.

You could tell your face was rosy, but that didn’t matter. You felt a little smug when Roger found himself off the stage and all of the girls turning to look at you. You could sense all of the jealousy coarsing through their veins, and you loved every second of it.

Joke’s on you, bitches. I’m his favourite.

It had been roughly an hour after the set, and the boys had retreated to the maintenance room until some of the crowd in the pub gave up on waiting for them to emerge from hiding, and soon disbanded.

You were at the back of the pub, unplugging and collecting all of the cords on stage after putting Brian’s guitar and John’s bass away safely.

“Hello, Pretty Lady,” a voice cooed to you as you bent down to peel up small x’s of tape put on the stage. Even during smaller sets like this, Freddie thought it was important to determine where everyone stood; even if he’d move wherever he wanted just moments after the set began. You look over your shoulder, and brand the same grin the voice had on his face.

“Hey you! You had a great set tonight!” “Well, it must have been that lovely good-luck hug you gave me earlier.” You rolled your eyes and straightened your posture, rolling the tape into a ball and playfully throwing it at Roger’s chest.

“Dumbass. You know luck isn’t real.”

“Now how is that possible? I met you.”

“Touché, Taylor.” This sassy blond could capture your heart so easily and have you wrapped around his finger in seconds. Something told you he knew that. And he loved it.

“Well, Lovely, since you’re working awfully hard, I’m gonna buy you a drink. We can unwind.”

“Have you checked in the mirror lately, Pretty Boy? I’m not the one sweating from all the hard work.” Roger smirked. He enjoyed your sense of humour, especially when it could vaguely have a double, more erotic meaning.

“Besides, I’m still cleaning things up. You go, have a drink, flirt with a gal who looks like you, try and take her home.” Roger’s grin weakened when you said that, but you didn’t notice. You were turned back around, peeling up more tape and searching for the ball you threw at the drummer.

“I’ll just be at the bar. I’ll be sure to save a seat for you, Doll. Don’t think a drink won’t be there waiting for you.” You smiled to yourself, and after throwing the ball of tape away, and placing the cords away with the band’s instruments, you met Roger at the bar.

Sure enough, a glass of amber liquid was waiting in the empty spot next to him.  

“Something clearly isn’t right, here.” You sat down next to Roger, picking up the glass and swirling the drink around, the ice tapping the inside of the glass’ walls.

“I thought pretty girls had their drinks paid for by others,” you teased.

“And that’s what happened.”

“I’m calling you a girl, Roger,“ you retorted. "And I’m calling you pretty, y/n.”

You smiled rather shyly, and Roger happily raised his drink towards you. You clinked glasses before sucking the drinks down rather quickly. No slower than it was to place your glasses back onto the bar, Roger had already knocked on the bench, the bartender moving to prepare more drinks for the both of you.

Not even an hour later, you were four drinks in, and Roger ordered one more for you, as per request. He was sipping at his eighth glass of brandy. At least, you thought it was his eighth.

Or… was it his eleventh?

His cheeks were very rosy, so it might have even been more. You expected the bartender to cut Roger off at some point, but that never happened.

Again, things like this didn’t matter. What mattered was that Roger kept sliding the bartender bills, and he slid Roger drinks in return.

The both of you had finished discussing a funny situation regarding John the other day when the band was packing for their trip.

“Speaking of, do you guys even ‘ave any song ideas for this album?”

“Fred wants to call it 'A Night At The Opera’,” Roger explained, examining the floating ice in his cup.

“He explained it to Ray as 'an album anyone can enjoy’.” Roger quoted Freddie as a sports announcer would have.

“How thoughtful of you boys,” you mused teasingly, your eyelids heavy and your cheeks as rosy as Roger’s.

“Yeah. I got a song I want on the album. I was telling you about it a few days ago.”

“I’m pretty sure when you mean an album for everyone, guys who wanna fuck their cars isn’t on the list, Roger,” you slurred his name, and laughed at your comment.

“It’s a metaphor, y/n!”

“I beg to differ. You really enjoy that car of yours,” you scrunched your nose. “Is that why the back seat has a stain on it?!”

Roger looked horrified. “John wanted ice cream and he dropped his vanilla cone on the seat and it won’t wash out!”

You laughed loudly, a few loners sitting at the bar turning to look at you in mild annoyance. “I’m only teasing!”

Your fifth and final drink of the night was slid over to you by the bartender, and you picked the glass up.

“To your final night 'n greater London?” Roger tapped his nearly empty glass against yours with a soft smile on his face.

“To my final night in greater London.”

“May you not leave me here alone for too long.”

You took a sip of your drink and set it down. Roger was just watching you move, and when he was drunk like this, he never shied away from being obvious, or confident.

In fact, that’s how you often realized he was drunk. His confidence was out of this world. Roger was really good at holding his liquor. He was also the kind of guy who didn’t look or act drunk when in reality he’d be absolutely wasted.

You, on the other hand, were the very opposite.

You turned to look at him, and you opened your mouth to say something, but Freddie interrupted your conversation.

You were somewhat glad because you had no idea what you were going to say.  

“Hello, Lovies. How’s the night?” He grinned his signature smile at you, and you returned it.

“Pretty good Fred, and yours?”

“Oh just wonderful, my dear y/n.” Freddie then turned to Roger.

“Roger, Love, there’s a young lady over there who wishes to speak with you.” He gestured to his right with his head, and sure enough, a woman was there.

She was seated at the bar, her posture a lot straighter than yours. Impulsively, you shifted uncomfortably and straightened your own back.

Despite this, she was the epitome of beautiful, and not even good posture, you thought, could even place you anywhere near her on a “beautiful scale”.

She had very long legs, and long wavy hair. It was a rich chocolate colour, and you impulsively reached up to touch your own bland hair. You envied this woman even more.

She turned to look over at you three and she twiddled her dainty hand at Roger, clearly batting her long eyelashes over her big brown eyes. She smiled a perfect grin and your stomach churned violently.

This woman had everything Roger was into. Judging by all of the women he’s brought along to band practices and parties, you could confirm that this was his type.

She got off the bar stool, and slowly made her way towards your group. Before she got too close, you leaned into Roger, who was too busy looking at this other woman he was going to most likely pursue. “Im'a go out for a cigarette. Make good of tonight, Roger.”

You patted his shoulder, and glumly stumbled out of the bar.

You knew you shouldn’t have been upset. You were in a relationship. Roger wasn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to want to control his love life when you had yours… somewhat under control.

You shakily raised your lighter up to your cigarette, but the ignition never lasted long enough to let you light the cancer stick. “Fuck’s sake,” you mumbled, sitting down on the curb in defeat.

You sat there for a while, taking in the scent of the humid London night. The street was completely dead.

You wanted to lie down in the middle of the road and fall asleep. You scrunched your face up.

Was that really a drunk thought? You very rarely got drunk, but when you did, you doing stupid shit definitely ensued.

“Mind if I join you?” A gentle voice asked you from behind. You glanced over your shoulder and shrugged, looking back down at your unlit cigarette.

Roger found himself seated next to you, and he retrieved his own lighter from his Jean pocket. He ignited it, and you lit the cigarette. You immediately took a deep breath, and exhaled with instability.

Roger opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to make you more upset.

“I thought you went to chase after that girl,” you mumbled before putting the cigarette back between your lips.  

“Nah. She chased after me, and I got away.” You shook your head, the smile on your face nearly invisible.

“What, she have bad breath or somethin’?”

“You have no idea, y/n,” Roger said helplessly. You laughed, smoke leaving your mouth in short puffs.

“It was like a garlic factory!” He tried his very hardest to keep you smiling and laughing.

And it worked.

He liked how pretty you looked when you were laughing.

“So you came out to be with good ol’ y/n.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be with anyone else tonight.” The night got quiet after your giggles subsided. You took a nice long inhale from your cigarette, and blew it out slowly.

A ring of smoke danced over the heads of you and Roger, and you offered the rolled object to him.

As he inhaled from the cigarette, you looked down at your stretched out legs.

“… d'you really have to leave, Rog?” He simply nodded before blowing the smoke into the air.

“Unfortunately.”

“Will you miss me?” He laughed halfheartedly– a simple quick exhale from the nose. He stared out into the street, shaking his head.

“Is that even a question?” You took your cigarette back and drew in another breath of the poison.

As you breathed out, you felt an arm gently slide around you. Roger kept his hand at your waist, and that’s where it intended to stay.

“Why would you even think I wouldn’t miss you?”

“I just don’t want you forgettin’ about your special girly at home,” you explained in a hushed tone. This seemed to be an appropriate time to be a little quiet.

Roger rested his head on your shoulder, his other hand reaching out to take your cigarette for one more drag.

“You mean so much to me. Forgetting you will be impossible.”

You took the cigarette from Roger’s hand and finished it off, snuffing the butt by squishing it into the sidewalk next to you.

“Just don’t want you runnin’ off with a prettier girl.” You slurred, smiling sadly.

“Trust me, everyone in Surrey probably looks like everyone here in GL.” Roger’s free hand reached over to grab one of yours.

“Besides, you’re the prettiest girl I know.” The laugh from your mouth sounded stale.

“Very funny, Rog.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“We’re drunk, for one,” you counted on your free hand.

“Two, I am, and will always probably just be a roadie. To you, n’ the rest of the band.”

Roger lifted his head off your shoulder and looked at you.

“Three, you’re famous. You can have any girl. You can choose them like a little kid picking a candy bar off the shelf.”

You looked down at your feet, shutting your eyes and dropping your hand.

“I know now is the worst time to have this conversation. We’re both very drunk. But… ’M not good enough for you. You can do so much better.”

You felt a hand cup the side of your face, and turn your head to the left. Roger slid his fingers into your hair, and he pulled you in for a kiss.

You didn’t move for a moment, your eyebrows lowering in confusion. But as soon as Roger pushed closer, and caressed your cheek with his thumb, you found yourself closing your eyes and kissing him back.

You were enjoying the kiss much more than you should have been. Roger pulled away too soon, and you found your lips chasing after his.

You caught yourself doing this and Roger smiled, his fingers combing through your hair.

“Even if it were possible, I don’t want to do better. I want you.”

You found yourself kissing him again, but it was you who made the move. Your hands reached up to grab Roger’s face, and his hands moved down to grip your hips.

You tilted his head to the side by pulling his hair, and Roger parted his lips to gasp. This sound of surprise was muffled by your tongue which you slipped into his mouth.

Roger placed a hand on your back, and another at the side of your neck before pulling you flush against his chest.

You could feel his heart drumming against your chest at an insanely quick pace, as did Roger.

But then he felt yours stop.

“Y/n…?!”

You and Roger broke the kiss and turned to the voice, your hands dropping to the drummer’s shoulders.

“Steven…?!” Your boyfriend of nearly two years marched towards you and Roger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with her?!” His face was burning hot.

He was angry he found his girlfriend sucking face with a famous drummer, and he was humiliated that he was unaware of whatever this was, and how long it was going on for.

“Steven, t’s not what it looks like!”

“Get in the car, y/n!”

You got off of Roger and guarded the blond with your arms outstretched. “If you hurt him Steven, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!” Your warning was slurred, and didn’t sound too threatening.

“Get in the goddamn fucking car y/n!”

“You don’t talk to her like that!” Roger exclaimed angrily.

Steven grabbed your arm tightly and moved you away from Roger, his fist grabbing the front of Roger’s shirt. “I can speak to her however I want, asshole!”

Steven looked over at you, teeth clenched. “Get. In. The. Car!” He shoved you away, and you followed his orders.

Steven turned his attention back to Roger, who tried to shove him away. Despite this, Steven didn’t budge.

“How long have you two been seeing each other, huh?!” When Roger didn’t respond, Steven shook him around like he was a rag doll.

“Answer me!”

“I’m not even seeing her! We just kissed!” Hot tears rolled down Roger’s cheeks, his lip quivering.

He hoped to God your relationship with Steven wasn’t like this. Roger would have sold his soul to make sure you were safe, and happy.

Something Steven wouldn’t have ever done.

“You touch her again, Taylor, and I will fuck up your face so badly that you’d be unrecognizable to your own mother. Do you understand?!” Roger nodded rapidly, and Steven shoved him to the ground.

“Fuck you,” he huffed at your boyfriend.

Steven turned around, and kicked Roger in the side. The blond turned over and threw up all over the sidewalk, sobbing quietly to himself.

“No. Fuck you.”

                                                          “Get the fuck out of here!” You were shrieking at Steven, throwing various things of his at him with the intention of hurting him.

“Why?! So you can invite him over to the house I pay for?! And fuck him in our bed that I bought us?!”

“You are so childish, do you understand that, Steve?!” Steven pulled a suitcase out of your shared closet, and zipped it open.

“Why don’t you two go have sex in the shower I renovated for us?!” He started violently shoving his clothes into the case, moving to leave the bedroom and go to the bathroom.

“Hell, why don’t you just have his kids?! Marry him! Wake him up every Sunday morning with breakfast and coffee and a kiss!” As he rummaged your bathroom cabinet for his things, you shouted back at him. “Well maybe I will!”

Steven picked up a brush, and threw it at you. You shielded your face with your arms, and you shouted when the brush came in contact with your arm. Hard. Steven then shoved you against the door and walked back into the bedroom with his pills and toothbrush.

“I never want to fucking see you again!”

“See if I care, y/n! That pussy can have my sloppy seconds! I can just call up the tens of girls lined up waiting for me! Can finally get between the legs of a woman who’ll actually enjoy what I give them!”

Your eyes were burning as more tears flooded your waterline. “Get. Out!” You picked up a vase of flowers off your bedside table and followed Steven out the bedroom door with it. He struggled a little with getting his suitcase out the front door, but you threw the vase, and it shattered against the closed door.

You screamed, and sunk to the floor, broken glass all around you. All of the photos of you and Steven had either been turned downward or broken. The living room, bedroom and bathroom had been flipped upside down, and you were left by yourself in this massive house.

You curled up into a tight ball, and cried violently until you nearly fell asleep on the floor.

You crawled up the stairs helplessly, and climbed into bed, not even worrying about changing your clothes. You didn’t even care. As soon as your body relaxed into the mattress, you started crying again. This time, you successfully cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you knew you were supposed to say good bye to the boys before they took off for the next handful of months. They were to be in complete isolation so they could record parts of their new album.

Unfortunately, just opening your eyes killed your head. You tossed your comforter over your head, and began crying yet again.

You didn’t have Steven, and you didn’t even have Roger.

For the first time in your entire life, you had never felt so alone.

                                                    A/A/N: Wow so I’m sorry if this isn’t as good as my first one, but I still really like it. Enjoy, and don’t be afraid to leave your feedback!

@benders-diamond-earring​ @radiob-l-a-hblah​ @bohemiansweede​ @demo-wise​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​

Hey! I hope you are doing well and staying safe! I was wondering if you could add me to the tag list for TCND?? I am so invested in this story, thanks for writing it 😊 the @ is @lukewalksinthesky 💜🌼 have a nice day!

Of course! I'm adding you right now! Thank you sm for reading💖💖