All-you-need-is-paul-mccartney - Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

Lift Confessions (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Author’s Note: Okay so hello! This is my first piece of writing, so I guess you could say I’m fairly new to this whole writing thing. I’ll get used to it though, hopefully. I really hope you enjoy this. Comments and requests are appreciated!

Summary: You and Queen’s drummer Roger Taylor do not get along, and it’s unclear why until one night when the both of you are found stuck in a broken lift, alone together.

(This can be read as either BoRhap!Roger, or real Roger. It’s all completely up to you)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Alcohol/ Intoxication, Smoking, Mild Self-Harm (?), Panic attacks, Break-Ups, Etc.

I would rate this fic T just because of the swearing and subject matter.

If you want to read the prequel, you can find it here

He was the one person you hated the most.

Why did you have to get stuck in a lift together now?

You had been Brian May's best friend since high school. After graduation, the both of you had unfortunately gone your separate ways.

You'd reconnected a handful of years after university, only to discover that Brian joined a band as a guitarist. The band, according to him, was "not half bad". That band was Smile, which later on became Queen.

You befriended the frontman, Freddie Mercury, faster than it took for you to introduce yourselves to one another. Not only did he enjoy your company, but your generosity when it came to willingly helping them set up, and pack up their sets when you attended their small pub gigs.

You did it so many times that it just became a norm for you to tag along with the band in order to be of assistance to them. That was also how you ended up becoming a "full-time roadie" for the band, as John Deacon liked to put it.

One of your most important jobs, according to Brian, was not just to manage their coordination and placement on stage, but to follow them around like a lost puppy, all day, everyday. Although the guitarist insisted your presence everywhere was beneficial to your work, as well as theirs, Freddie told you at a later date that Brian just really liked having you around again.

All of the boys liked having you around.

All except for him.

You could see him, Roger Taylor, the drummer of Queen, forcibly laugh, and shake his head from the corner of your eye; and before he opened his big mouth to start complaining like always, you raised your finger up.

"One word, Meddows, and I will strangle you."

"It was your fault, y/l/n!"

"How so?!"

"You pressed the buttons last!" What a weak argument. "I should have taken the fucking stairs like everyone else."

It was clear Freddie, Brian, and John took the stairs to narrowly avoid the arguing between you and the hot-headed blond. Even when there were others around, it was hard for the both of you not to bitch at one another.

You didn't even understand why you two chose to ride the lift down together. Neither of you ever complained about it, though... you had noticed, however, that it was becoming a rather common occurrence.

You assumed it was better to ride the lift with Roger, and suffer for a handful of seconds rather than having to endure a long, dreadful walk down the stairs with him, anyways.

You reached out, and tried the open door button, like you had moments before. It didn't do anything. You hit the button again. And again. And again.

"Don't expect shit to change, y/n! Jesus Christ--"

"Do you have any other bright ideas, Car-Fucker?" Your words were cold as you turned to stare down the blond who'd retreated to the back corner of the lift.

Roger's mouth twitched threateningly, and you turned back to the refusing doors. You huffed, and hit the call button before moving to sit at the very opposite of Roger in the lift.

He watched as you sat yourself on the floor, and cross your arms over your chest.

"Take a photo. It'll last longer."

He simply shook his head, leaning himself against the wall and staring at the yellow light in the ceiling.

"... Bitch."

"Dick."

And then there was silence.

Roger spent nearly ten minutes staring at either the wall in front of him or the ceiling light, and you picked at the dirt underneath your fingernails.

There was something very uncomfortable about the lift's silence. It was so odd to be in the same room as Roger and not be verbally attacking him the entire time, and vice versa.

Roger, after standing against the wall for about five minutes more, moved to the button panel next to the door. You opened your mouth, in preparation to ask him what he was doing, but when he began to mash the open door, and call button, and then kicking the steel doors as hard as he could afterwards, you knew very well not to piss him off.

You had never physically attacked one another, and today was not going to be the day that reality would change.

"What a load of fucking bullocks," Roger's voice shook, and his shoulders heavily rose and fell with his chest. He pounded his fist one more time against the door before pacing back to his original spot against the wall. You watched him sit on the floor, and after realizing you were watching him, he crossed his arms like you had before.

"Take a photo. It'll last longer."

The mock made you even more uncomfortable. Not because he quoted the bitchy line you used beforehand, no.

Something about him not only seemed irritated, but anxious... And it struck an unpleasant nerve in you.

You had never seen the Roger Taylor unnerved in your life... and you didn't like it.

Roger's gaze was now on his hands, which he'd resided to wringing in his lap. His right foot tapped rapidly on the lift's floor, as if he was getting more restless as time ticked by.

Soon enough, the drummer was back on his feet, pacing towards the button panel and pressing the call button over and over, like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

"... Rog--"

"Come on, open up!" Roger began to slap the lift's doors with the palm of his hand, his pleads strained with distress. Sooner than later, he tore himself away from the panel to sit back on the floor. His movements were quick, and only then could you see the panic in his glassy eyes.

That's when you realized it.

Roger was claustrophobic.

You could see him looking at the lift's walls as if they were way too close for his liking. His feet began to tap against the floor like before, and he swallowed thickly before squeezing his eyes shut.

"Open up," you could hear the blond whisper to no one in particular. He brought his legs up to his chest, and buried his face into his knees.

"Oh god, get me the fuck outta here."

Considering the situation, Roger must have really thought his song about his "love for cars" was strong enough to be on the B-side of Bohemian Rhapsody if he was willing to sit in a tight cupboard for hours until Freddie agreed to cooperate with his wishes.

But seeing Roger shake in his panic made you feel sick, and even though you felt unwillingly sympathetic towards him, you also felt like you were compelled to do something.

When Roger lifted his head up next, you were relocated, right next to him, your brows furrowed with-- as much as you hated to admit-- worry.

"Take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me, Roger?"

When he didn't answer, and his silent tears spilled over his waterlines, you sighed, and slowly reached out to rest your hand on his shaking shoulder.

"I'll breathe with you. Okay? Just breathe in..." you took a deep breath in through your nose, watching as Roger began to cooperate. As he did this, you rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"... And out."

You both exhaled through your mouths, although his came out shakily. You could feel the smallest of smiles on your lips, and you nodded your head in approval.

"Good. Do that a few more times, Rog."

Roger slowly drew in, and released some deep breaths, like you had asked. You found relief to see the distress physically cease from his being. A few minutes passed, and after Roger had calmed down, he rubbed at his eyes with the pads of his hands.

"... You gonna be good, Meddows?"

His gaze moved to your face, and his eyes narrowed as he stared into your own. He opened his mouth, and closed it. He did it a handful of times before frowning, and clenching his jaw.

"... Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?"

His question wasn't meant to be condescending; even you knew that. Honestly, if you were Roger, you would have been asking the same question.

The tone in his voice was soft... which threw you off guard. You hadn't heard Roger speak in such a gentle manner towards you for... a very long time. You felt like you were talking to a different person entirely.

"I..."

Roger raised his eyebrow expectantly, and that made you hesitate even more. He was listening to you.

He never listened to you.

"I was..."

You stopped again.

You didn't know whether or not you wanted to tell him the truth. If you told him you felt sympathy for him, you feared it'd only inflate his already-large ego, and he wouldn't be grateful for your actions at all.

"... I could hear your mumbling as clear as day over there." You decided to go the harsher route.

"I wanted the noise to stop."

Roger's eyebrows lowered, and he opened his mouth as if to speak...

But no words came out.

You sighed again, and shifted to a kneeling position in order to pull yourself back up to your feet, but once you were halfway up, Roger suddenly grabbed your elbow, and gently pulled you back down to the floor.

You landed next to the drummer with a thud, and you stared quizzically at the hand cuffing your appendage.

Your eyes moved from Roger's now soft grip on your arm, to his face, your eyebrows lowering in confusion. Your stare was enough to ask the question you were thinking. 'What?'

"... What even went wrong between us, y/n?"

That was a question you were not expecting to hear.

"... Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

You pursed your lips, and looked back down at Roger's hand, which was still planted at your joint.

"I don't even know why you and I even started fighting," he confessed gently.

After a beat, as if he had been thinking about doing this beforehand, his fingers began to glide down the length of your forearm. Very slowly.

For the first time in your feud, you let Roger touch you. The contact, although minimal, brought an ironic sense of comfort to you.

"I just woke up one morning... and it was like we'd hated each other since birth..."

Roger watched himself trace mindless patterns slowly over the back of your hand once his fingertips reached it.

You would have been repulsed by his actions if he would have been doing this minutes beforehand; but now... you honestly didn't want him to stop.

"We hit it off the day we met... why did that have to change?"

You could hear your heart beating hard, and loud, and fast against your rib cage, which was an issue since Roger's voice was barely even a whisper.

The blood rush in your ears only grew more intense when Roger unexpectedly, yet slowly, curled his warm fingers around your own. Even if you wanted to pull away from Roger, you didn't think you had the strength to move.

"... You don't remember what happened... do you?"

You asked, just as quietly as he had. At the response, Roger's gaze moved up to meet yours, his face branded with confusion.

"I don't."

"You were shitfaced. No wonder you don't remember..."

You finally pulled your hand away from Roger's touch, and the fingers that were once keeping yours warm hovered in the air for a moment.

The blond eventually dropped his hand in his lap, pursing his lips, and silently waiting for you to continue your explanation. With a sigh, you continued.

"Remember Steven?" The name made the corner of Roger's mouth twitch unpleasantly.

"How could I forget him?" he said tightly.

Your stomach sank at Roger's tone, and you took a deep breath or two as a natural remedy for your mild nausea.

"... Why do you think you haven't seen him in, what, two years?"

Roger's cold gaze softened, and he parted his lips after putting two and two together.

"You two--"

"He left me," you finished. Roger ran his tongue over his teeth before hollowing out his cheeks in thought.

"... What's this have to do with me, though?"

"We were hanging out at that one pub you guys met me in. You were doing a gig that particular night, and I was helping you guys pack up." Roger tried his best to remember the night that ended your friendship.

The night that birthed your rivalry.

"The last time I remember you ever being nice to me, I went to get you a drink from the bar..." Roger's face twisted. He was clearly bothered that he couldn't remember much about that night.

"You got blackout drunk," you reminded the drummer with a tight-lipped smile. "... you offered to buy me one drink, but one turned into five, and God knows how many for you." Roger then smiled the slightest bit, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. That did sound like him.

"And at some point in the night, I went out for a smoke... I think Brian called Steven to come and pick me up."

Roger's mouth twitched again, and he nodded his head slowly after his smile completely disappeared again.

"... alright."

"You stumbled out of the pub at some point. Sat down on the curb right next to me..." The entire night was coming back to you, almost as if it were a film you hadn't seen in years, but just the mention of a scene or two had you remembering every little detail about it. You could have recapped the whole night to Roger; everything that happened in blunt detail. In times like this, you were glad to have the gift among few that allowed you to easily remember things while under the influence.

And in times like this, you were a little disheartened that Roger was not one of those people.

"... You were getting a little clingy. Physically." You laughed a little, your eyes trained on the loose dirt on the lift's floor. You didn't want to see the look on Roger's face from then until the end of your recollection.

"Shocked me, really, seeing as you're very much a "hands off" kinda guy when it comes to romantic stuff. You had your arm around me, your head on my shoulder..." You took a deep breath, and cleared your throat awkwardly. Following this was a strained huff of laughter.

"... Then you kissed me."

It was hard to keep your eyes off Roger's face in that moment, especially since he didn't say anything in response. You hoped to God the blond believed you, and didn't think you were trying to make a joke out of this whole situation. But knowing Roger, if he had suspected this to be a joke, he would have called you out on it already.

"You actually cut me off during a conversation with it..." You frowned again, your fingers moving to clasp together in your lap. You shook your head, and huffed another sarcastic laugh.

"And I was with Steven at the time. I-- I knew it was wrong for that to happen... But I kissed you back."

Your fingers began to curl in at the memory, and you watched as your fingernails began to press harshly against the skin of the knuckles on your opposite hand.

"And Steven-- he fucking showed up at the worst of times! He showed up while we were sucking face, and I had to spend the rest of my night fighting with him!"

You hadn't noticed your calm tone had blossomed into a shout. Even when you shot up to your feet, bounded towards the steel doors to the lift, and kicked them as hard as you could, you couldn't tell how scary you'd become.

You listened to the sound of the door's assault ricochet through the elevator shaft, and you dropped your tense shoulders when nothing could be heard anymore.

Roger said nothing.

The people who may or may not have been outside the lift said nothing.

You said nothing.

... You said nothing for a very long time.

And when you did, your tone was miserable, and your voice was full of tears.

"I told h-him I l-loved him! I s-started to believe it l-less and less with every time I s-said it...!" You peered through your tears at Roger's disfigured reflection in the lift's door. Even though your back was to him, he still watched you as if you were facing him. You took a few deep breaths to relax yourself, and when you decided you'd spent enough time calming down, you spoke again, in a better-controlled tone.

"He ended things. He told me you could have me."

You frowned, crossing your heavy arms over your chest.

"... He said it like I was some kind of toy he was just tossing away."

You opened your mouth, but hesitated with your next words.

"... I couldn't help but blame you at first, for everything that happened." A pause.

"And then I blamed the both of us... I blamed us for a very long time."

You finally turned to look at Roger, who was staring at you with empty eyes. When he still didn't respond, you continued.

"Months after the separation... and my pointing of fingers... I knew I fucked up. You were my friend, and just because we kissed while we were drunk, our friendship was sacrificed to make me feel better about myself."

You swallowed thickly, your eyes surveying his to see if he was going to say anything yet.

Nothing.

"I realized it was me who tore us apart. And when I finally came to terms with myself, I thought it was too late, and you could never forgive me."

One of Roger's eyebrows slowly raised, and you shifted from one foot to the other.

"All this time I'd pretended to hate you because you hate me. I was too scared to ever apologize because I feared rejection..." You looked around the lift, and pinched your bottom lip between your teeth.

"... And here we are, now. You know what happened, and..." you rested your eyes on Roger one more time. "... I just want you to know that I forgive you. And... I'm so sorry, Roger."

The blond's eyes softened, and he shifted a little to sit up straighter against the wall.

"... C'mere," he finally spoke.

After a pause, you uncrossed your arms, and moved to sit next to Roger again. He gestured down to your hand with his eyes, and you raised it up, to which he took in his own grasp.

The physical affection shocked you, even if Roger had been doing this with you minutes prior. The touching was just so unlike him, even if he were doing this with someone he genuinely liked.

"... God, y/n I don't even know where to begin..."

"... Begin?" You questioned, to which Roger nodded his head.

"My Doll, I never hated you. The distancing was a charade. I've lied to myself every day for the last two years. I told myself I never cared about you, and I don't love you. I thought that was what you wanted. I kept it up. I never believed it; those lies. I never could. You're just too... special."

You watched with an open mouth and big round eyes as Roger raised your hand to his mouth and pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles. He then opened your hand and slowly kissed the tips of your fingers, his glossy blue eyes watching your face as his lips made contact with your skin.

"Roger..."

"My Doll, I have been in love with you since the moment I set eyes on you, and I never stopped."

Your heart pounded in your chest. You feared it was loud enough that Roger could hear it.

While his one hand held onto yours, his other hovered just above your waist. His eyes moved from his free hand to your eyes. You granted him permission to touch you with a small, single nod. At the signal, Roger's fingers gently settled onto your clothed skin, and he squeezed your hand.

"Steven made me so goddamn jealous, y/n. How much I wanted to be him when he'd pick you up after our gigs, holding the car door for you like you were a princess. How I desperately wanted an oversized rain jacket so during pouring days I could offer you space in my arms and warm you up until we got somewhere dry..."

As Roger continued on, your eyes began to tear up. At first you assumed all of Roger's wishes had you missing Steven; but your heart knew that was wrong.

You wanted these things to happen as much as Roger did.

"What I would give to dance with you under a streetlight in the middle of the night like a cliché film," Roger let go of your hand, and reached up to curl a piece of loose hair around your ear. "Or what I would give to taste your strawberry-flavoured lip gloss I can smell from a room away." While he mentioned your lips, Roger didn't shy away from admiring your slightly opened mouth.

He swallowed, and looked up to you, his eyelids falling ever so lightly as his hands found their way to your elbows, and the two of you found yourselves gravitating towards one another.

"Y/n..."

Your mouths were just inches from each other when the lift jolted, and it began to move down to the ground floor. You and Roger watched as the floor numbers became smaller and smaller, and you rose to your feet, offering a hand to Roger to help him up as well.

He held your hand for a moment or so after he properly got to his feet, and he looked down at you. You returned his gaze, and he opened his mouth to speak.

The lift's doors finally opened and a man in a maintenance outfit greeted you and Roger with a curt nod of his head and a twirl of his wrench. "Sorry 'bout that, kids. Lift's been actin' up lately. Thanks for bein' patient." He moved out of the way, and you and Roger left the building after thanking him.

The two of you stepped out into the pouring rain, and you cursed.

"After all that time, I forgot my helmet upstairs." You turned to make your way back into the studio, but Roger grabbed your hand. "Princess, you're not biking home in the rain. I'm taking you."

You didn't argue. Roger unzipped his jacket and stretched it to the side. "There's room in this jacket for the both of us."

You just grinned, and slipped into the area under his arm, and the both of you rushed to Roger's car while he did his very best to shield you from the elements.

He opened the car door for you, and made sure you were in fine before closing the door and climbing in on his side. He blew hot air into his hands and rubbed his palms together, glancing over to you.

You were looking out the window until you took notice of the vehicle's silence, and you turned to look at Roger, matching his toothy grin. You laughed and shook your head

"What?!"

"I'm just so glad to have you back in my life."

"I never left, Meddows," you teased.

"You know what I mean." You reached over and grasped his hand, giving it a squeeze as he started the car. Before putting the car into drive, he glanced at you. "I'm glad too, Roger."

The next little while was you directing Roger to your house as you listened to the music on the radio, Roger's thumb rubbing the back of your hand gently. You could tell he was enjoying your company, as did he with you.

Eventually, you told him which driveway to pull into, and Roger was almost reluctant to put his car into park. He didn't want to leave you just yet.

"Hey,"

You looked at him with a tilted head, and you kissed the back of his hand, something you weren't expecting to do this morning when you greeted him with your regular insults.

"I just miss this," he explained, gesturing between the both of you.

"I miss being near you, and touching you, and..." He stopped talking on his own, and he moved his eyes up to look into yours.

"... D'ja wanna go to dinner, y/n?"

Your face burned hot, but you never hesitated in nodding, trying your best to hold back a grin. Roger on the other hand, wasn't scared to show his teeth when he grinned. He smiled so much it looked like it hurt.

"Brilliant," he exclaimed with an exhale.

"How does Friday night sound? Seven o'clock. I'll take you to a really special place for a really special lady." He winked at you to which you laughed in reply.

"That sounds perfect, Roger."

He got out of the car, and opened your door in the pouring rain, offering you protection from the weather in his jacket again. After escorting you to the door, Roger watched as you unlocked your door. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and watched as you turned to look at him one last time.

"Friday?"

"Friday," you confirmed, leaning up, and kissing Roger's cheek. He rested his hand where you kissed him, and watched you leave with starstruck eyes, and a goofy smile on his lips. "Drive safe, Lover Boy."

You closed the door to your place, and you leaned against the wall in the main hall.

You were already impatient for seven o'clock Friday.

Author’s After-Notes: Let me know if you want a sequel. I’d be down to write some more

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

Find Part Five Here

A/N: Y’all, I know this was kinda filler and may not make a whole bunch of sense bc I was half asleep while writing this, so I apologize if this is shit. I legit thought I was going somewhere with this, but I think I’ll find some more inspiration after posting this part.

Again, I am so sorry.

Summary: Y/n comes down with a case of Baby Fever; She and Roger talk a little more about their “agreement”.

(Whichever Roger you want, real or Borhap. Whatever flies your kite.)

WARNINGS: Swearing most likely, Slow burn, mentions of sex, etc. I’m sorry if I forgot some.

This chapter will be brought back down to a T, but read at your own risk.

When you woke up from your deep sleep the following morning, you weren't expecting Roger to be by your side.

And when you turned to glance over your shoulder, you were in no way shocked to find the space next to you empty.

"At least he didn't show me the door as soon as he woke up," you mumbled to yourself mid-yawn. You stretched your body out, and relaxed again. You nearly fell back to sleep, but you knew you had to get up.

The sun's rays flooded Roger's bedroom through the open window, making the off-white walls appear brighter than they actually were.

You were happy to see the clouds from the previous day dispersed and London was finally getting the sunshine it deserved.

Eventually, after a long while of you trying to convince yourself to get up, you tossed the blankets to the side to start the day, only to find, through your bleary eyes, that you were missing all of your clothes.

You had no problem with this, considering the previous night's circumstances, but you found it strange that you used to hate sleeping naked, though you had the most refreshing sleep in your entire life doing it.

You didn't dwell on the thought much longer. You climbed out of bed and walked around the room, searching for your pyjamas, or underwear, or something to leave the bedroom in.

Then you stopped.

"I don't need fucking clothes." Roger was probably at practice. And even if he weren't, it's not like he hadn't seen all of you before, or was never gonna see all of you again.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, turned on your heel, and moved towards the bedroom door.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror over Roger's dresser for a split second, and as soon as you reached for the doorknob, you rushed back to the mirror to actually get a good look at yourself.

From the jawline down to your hipbones, dark, painful-looking bruises and prominent bite marks were harshly pressed into the skin of your torso.

You had hickeys and marks on your neck, collarbone, breasts, navel, you name it.

You hissed in pain as you tilted your head back and touched a particularly large blue-violet bruise at the side of your throat. Your flesh was tender, but, much like how you reacted when you woke up nude, you were okay with it.

You started thinking of the night before, and you squeezed your legs shut, though it was somewhat painful to do.

You realized just then that the hickeys did, in fact, pass below your torso.

You shut your eyes and sighed heavily.

You didn't even want to bother looking at the damage down there.

"As long as my foundation can cover the ones on my neck," you concluded to yourself before finally exiting the bedroom.

After showering and making your way downstairs to prepare a cup of coffee, you were pleased to see half a pot was already brewed and ready for you.

You were very glad to see things between you and Roger hadn't changed a bit.

After coffee, you decided to do some cleaning. It was your day off, though you really felt like you needed to be productive.

You started by doing laundry. This included yours and Roger's bedsheets, the throw blankets on your sofa and living room chair, and all of yours and Roger's dirty clothes.

While those were in the washer, you decided to hoover all the carpets and mats, and after that, dusting.

You switched the laundry over to the dryer, and started a new wash. You were basically done everything else, and it was only noon.

You wondered if there was something to do outside, so to pique your curiosity, out the door you went.

You noticed an unoccupied flowerbed by the front window, though gardening wasn't your thing. You continued on.

Your yard's grass was constantly cut by your landlady's husband, you believed his name was Issac Welch; so you didn't have to worry about that.

You stood in your driveway completely defeated, and at a loss for something to do.

"Yoohoo, good afternoon, Y/n!" You heard a melodic call from a woman to your left. In your peripherals, you could see Bethany Lester, a young woman, maybe a little older than you, twiddle her fingers at you in excitement.

You didn't know whether to panic, or to roll your eyes. You were forced to meet seven more of your neighbours after having dinner with the Garrison's, and she just so happened to be one of them.

She was kind, but a little too bubbly for your liking.

Despite your annoyance, you thought it'd be more civil and appropriate to approach her and strike a conversation, rather than ignore her; even though you wanted so badly to just walk back inside and shut the door and not talk to anyone for the rest of the day.

You turned your head in Bethany's direction and smiled. "Hello, Beth!" You walked to her place, a few doors down, where she sat in a yellow sundress on the concrete with her little boy, Raymond.

He was playing with chalk and writing out letters and numbers, backwards and forwards, and in no exact order.

“ Say hi to Y/n, sweetie," She requested from her son, who turned his head to you, smiled, and said, "Hello! I can draw a doggie! Wanna see?!"

"Sure!" You encouraged. Raymond excitedly got up from his spot and ran to the front door. He returned with a bucket containing many more pieces of chalk, most of which were different colours.

"How've you been, recently?" Bethany asked as she looked away from her son as he began drawing his masterpiece.

"Still getting used to the new place?"

"Yeah, it's still a little weird. But kind people like you are helping me and Roger settle in quite nicely."

Bethany smiled at your comment, and nodded her head.

"We like making newcomers feel welcome. We're all like one big happy family here, us neighbours," she laughed airily.

You smiled tightly, and laughed along with her. You found yourself slipping into a situation in which plans would probably be made before you ended the conversation, though you definitely did not want to make plans.

"Well, that's awfully nice of you."

Raymond shoved his hand into the chalk bucket, and violently moved his arm around until he pulled out, to your surprise, the exact colour he was looking for, before going back to drawing his dog.

Your brief interruption didn't stop Bethany from talking more, unfortunately.

"How are you and Roger, anyways? I always see you two out and about the complex. You two really do make a good couple."

You smiled warmly at Bethany's words, your face growing hot as you, once again, remembered last night.

"He was really great..." you paused for a second, and realized what you'd just said, eyes wide in horror.

"Is. He is really great. He's fine." You took a deep breath. "Sorry. I just... I get all nervous thinking about him."

"Still in the 'Honeymoon Phase’?" Bethany guessed aloud.

"Been together five years. I think we're well past the ‘Honeymoon Phase’."

Raymond stood to his feet again, and turned to look at you. You smiled at him as he approached you, and pulled on your sleeve.

"I'm finished my doggie, Y/n!"

"Well, what are you waiting for?! Show me!"

You let Raymond pull you to the area of concrete he was working on, and he pointed to the round balloon-looking animal proudly.

You could tell it was a dog. He added some pretty identifiable features like a long tail, floppy ears, and a comedic tongue.

You sat down cross legged in front of the drawing, and began complimenting it and going into full depth about how moving the drawing was to you, like how an art critic would speak about another's work.

Raymond, although he probably had no idea what you were talking about, smiled and gushed and laughed about everything you were saying.

You found this utterly adorable, and told him that if you had a bajillion pounds, you would spend every single one of them on one of his drawings if he ever became an artist.

Raymond thanked you endlessly for your kindness until he picked up another piece of chalk and gave it to you.

"Can you draw, Y/n?"

"Well, I can certainly try, but I don't know if my skill will ever compare to yours!"

You tried to draw a cat, as badly as you could, and afterwards tried to claim it as "the best doggie I can draw". Raymond just found this hilarious, and his little giggles were contagious.

You found yourself in a laughing fit, as well.

"You're really good with kids, Y/n."

"I like to think I am," you answered with a smile as you drew a stick person with spiky hair.

"Have you and Roger thought about having kids?" You looked up from your drawing to Bethany.

"Funny you say that. The Garrisons asked the same thing." She shrugged innocently.

"You just... seem like good mother material. And he, good father material." You laughed out loud at that.

You didn't see it for yourself.

"Thanks, Beth, but I don't know if Roger even wants to have children. We're probably not even cut out for the job."

"... You've never spoken to him about it before?"

You shook your head. "No, not exactly."

Bethany frowned a little. "Cole and I had Raymond only two years after we started dating. I was fresh out of college. Your age, I bet."

You looked over at Raymond, who was sticking his tongue out in pure concentration as he tried to draw a perfect circle. You didn't know if you could imagine someone, especially a little kid, sharing your features.

"It's worth it, you know," You turned to look at your neighbour again. "Having kids, I mean. Believe me, it's tiring, and lots of hard work, but going to bed knowing you have someone else to love just..."

Bethany sighed happily.

"It'll make you feel really good about where you are in life."

The conversation you had over at the Garrisons' was more from a paternal point of view, so hearing this from an actual mother roughly your age was actually sort of... helpful.

"I... I think I may talk to him. Tonight, actually. About this whole... baby thing."

"You should. I thought I wanted to wait until Cole and I were married, but things changed and now look at us: Engaged and with a three year old boy who means the world to us."

You smiled sadly at that.

It hurt because this was something you knew you may have wanted.

And it hurt even more because this was something you knew you were never going to have.

"Hey, Bird," you heard a familiar, startling voice behind you, and you turned to see, as you'd guessed, Roger, who held a hand out to pull you back to your feet.

"You're... You're back from practice early," you commented in a flustered tone, taking his hand anyways and letting him help you up.

"We figured we'd cut things short today, go home to our girlies." Your skin rose with goosebumps, and you blushed when Roger cupped your face and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Hey, Beth, nice seeing you again," Roger said after pulling away from you, to which you puffed out a sigh of relief, though he slid an arm around your waist all too soon, and you felt your face burning again.

"It's nice seeing you too, Roger."

"Hi Roger!" Raymond waved enthusiastically to the drummer, and he returned the greeting by going over, getting down on his knees, and high-fiving the kid.

Raymond offered to show Roger the drawing of the dog he did, and you watched as Roger picked up a piece of chalk out of nowhere and started adding to the picture.

Your nervous stare melted away and transformed into one of admiration as you watched Roger bond with Raymond.

Bethany got to her feet, and approached you, her eyes on her son as he offered blue chalk to Roger, who took it gratefully and drew a flower.

...

At least you think it was a flower.

"Still having doubts about being parent material?" Bethany asked rhetorically, nodding towards the sight before you.

You knew all of this was a charade, but...

Watching Roger behave like this, with a child, had some sort of effect on you.

And you knew you needed to talk to Roger about this problem sooner than later, because you really didn't want the whole neighbourhood waiting on you two for engagement news or pregnancy announcements that were clearly not coming.

_____________________________

You and Roger eventually returned home after saying good bye to Raymond and Bethany. The both of you stepped into the house, shut the door, and that's when the both of you noticed how quiet the atmosphere was.

Roger was looking at you in a shy manner, and your face warmed up as he mumbled a quiet "Hi, Y/n."

"Hey, Rogie," you breathed back softly. He smiled a little, and toed his shoes off. You followed suit.

"How uh... how were you this morning?" He asked, frowning a little afterwards. "... I'm sorry I didn't wake you up. I just... I didn't wanna bother you."

"It's okay," you spoke as gently as he did. You didn't know why you were talking so quietly, but you both just silently agreed that it was necessary at that moment.

"I had a good sleep."

"Well... that's good. Um... I did too."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Silence took over again, and Roger, leaning against the front door, looked around the hallway to find something other than you to look at. He didn't like staring, but it's all he wanted to do when you were around.

You, leaning against the wall adjacent to Roger, was looking around the room with the same intentions.

After finding nothing else to really look at, Roger just decided to interact with you.

He pushed himself off his spot against the door, and slowly moved towards you. His arms slid around your body in a warm, comforting manner. His embrace was welcoming, and you found yourself giving in to his affection.

His lips kindly pecked your forehead like how he did outside, and you smiled a little at the gesture. He kissed your forehead again, and then your cheek.

Roger knew if he didn't pull away, he would just end up taking you to bed like he did the night before, but he didn't want you to feel like he was just using you for sex.

As much as he wanted to keep up with the physical affection, he knew he had to separate from you at some point.

You looked up at him, and as he pulled away, it was as if you were gravitating towards him. You wanted his touch to linger for as long as possible, so your body moved with his hands as they fell to his side.

You cleared your throat awkwardly when you took notice of how close you'd actually gotten to Roger, and you expanded the space between the both of you by stepping back.

"... Are you hungry?"

Roger only nodded to your question, and you wordlessly moved to the kitchen to find something to make for lunch.

Roger followed along, and watched as you started searching the cupboards for something to eat.

You picked up and put down many cans, pretending to read them before setting them back on their rightful shelves. Your mind was too preoccupied with the societal expectations this complex had, and that the stress was finally catching up to you.

Eventually, after picking up the same can of vegetable soup for the seventh time in a row, Roger made his way over, put the can back for you, and closed the cupboard.

He waited silently for you to start talking, and you felt defeated.

"Roger, they're expecting us to have a baby."

"I know."

"And they want us to get married."

"I know."

You frowned.

You thought back to how you and Roger behaved with Raymond.

Like you thought then, it was everything you may have actually wanted, but you couldn't have.

And it hurt the more you repeated that in your head.

"... What if this wasn't such a good idea?" You asked Roger, eyes casted down at the clean marble countertops you wish you'd grown so accustomed to the previous couple of weeks living there.

"Hey, hey," Roger's hand squeezed your shoulder, and you looked up at him with sad eyes.

"You wanted this place, Y/n, and we sacrificed so much to get it for you!"

"... But it wasn't my idea to pretend we're a couple just for a house, Roger."

The glimmer of hope in Roger's eyes, like a candlewick, burnt out when you said that.

Was it really his fault you two were in this situation?

You sighed. "We agreed at the very beginning of this arrangement that things weren't going to change. We were going to avoid the neighbours at all costs, and live here for as long as we could as nothing but friends."

The more you spoke, the more deflated Roger felt.

So that's how you felt about him.

Nothing more than a friend.

"We can keep this arrangement going, as well as the uh..." you cleared your throat. "You know..."

You gestured between the both of you and Roger nodded slowly.

He was rather relieved that was still on. You had a rockin' body, and you definitely knew how to use it.

".. But I don't know how much longer we will survive here if we don't shut up."

"Yeah." Roger tried to interrupt the silence between voices to make things a little less awkward, and suspenseful. "Yeah, no, okay. Okay, I got it. No more talking." He frowned.

"You need to stop talking too, y'know," he said quietly, in the kindest tone he could. "You tend to panic and say random shit and that may not be good for us, either."

You nodded. "Been trying to work on that. It's hard to avoid these people!"

"This morning, Charles was standing outside and immediately started a conversation with me. It was almost like he was waiting for me."

You shivered unpleasantly. "That's pretty creepy," you mumbled in a funny voice, all of a sudden. It was one you used in high school all the time when Roger was turned down by a girl; and, believe it or not, happened a lot more often than one would think.

"Tell me about it," Roger responded through a giggle, his eyes began to shine like they had been when you'd first walked into the kitchen, ecstatic you decided to lighten the mood with your little side comments.

You offered him a pleasant smile, and reached up for the cupboard's handle again to properly search for something to cook, but Roger closed it again with the palm of his hand.

"... I really hope you know that... everything I said last night... about you, and how pretty you are..."

You looked from one blue eye to the other in wait. You would have hated how many times Roger paused during a conversation, but... it made your heart soar.

"Everything was true."

And that is when your heart skipped a beat.

"I know, Rogie," was all you said in response, reaching up and kissing his cheek before moving past him to look into the other cupboards for lunch-potential foods.

Roger was grinning from the innocent peck you gave him, though you were unaware of it because his back was turned to you.

But you had a feeling that's just what he was doing.

Though you were happy Roger was feeling a little better, you still had this dark feeling hanging over you.

If you wanted a domestic life with a husband and children, you would have to leave Roger, and this house.

But on the other hand, this was your home; Roger was your home. And to stay with him, you would have to give up your dreams of being a caring mother, and a loving wife.

You leaned your head sadly against the cupboard door.

You silently wondered if there even was a way you could have everything you wanted.

_____________________________

A/A/N: After editing a little, I don’t think this part is horrible, but it’s not the best. Hopefully the next chapter will be good enough for us to forget about this one.

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

Read Part IV Here

A/N: I am so sorry I couldn’t get this out on Valentine’s Day like I promised. I wanted to have a wonderful day with my boyfriend, and we ended up falling asleep and I found no time to post. I really am sorry.

But anyways, I’m not sure how well this chapter is gonna go because the last one was kinda slept on :/ BUT, to be fair, the previous one had no reader, and it was literally just dialogue, so I get it. I just really hope this one does better.

Summary: Roger goes home with a proposal to change his deal with Y/n.

(Real or Borhap! Roger. Whatever seasons your chicken.)

WARNINGS: Swearing, sLoW bUrN, EXTREME Mentions of sex, but again, No SmUt, mature romantic subject matter, I think that’s it. This one was a lil sad too.

Hun, this is about to be steamy, so this IS rated M. Read at your own risk, peeps, and if you’re under 18, maybe skip the ending of this one.

Roger pulled into his driveway, and after he took his key out of the ignition, rather than going inside immediately, he sat in the driver’s seat listening to the loud taps of raindrops hitting his windshield.

He rubbed his face stressfully, glancing over to the rather expensive bouquet of flowers along with the stupid, cliché heart shaped box which only contained the most expensive chocolate Roger could find in any London supermarket.

"If this is too much, she’ll kill me,“ he mumbled to himself before reaching for the purchases and pushing the door open.

And out into the rain he went.

He unlocked the front door after being completely annihilated with the heavy, stinging rain falling fast and largely from the stormclouds above.

He was able to make it into the house before the lightning began to strike, and as he toed off his shoes in the front hallway, his hair dripping with water, the low rumble of thunder vibrating the floorboards below his socks.

No matter, he was safe, and at home, and… something smelled really good.

Roger removed his soaked jacket and hung it up on a hook in the hallway behind the front door before moving deeper into the dark house. The only light that could be seen on was in the kitchen, at the end of the hall.

He turned into the room and stopped in the threshold, taking in your lovely appearance as you wordlessly chopped up carrots, turned away and unaware of the visitor behind you.

Roger quietly set the flowers and chocolates on the counter before moving behind you, and after you put the knife down, he rested his freezing, wet hands on the back of your neck.

Almost immediately, your shoulders rose to your ears, and you let out a loud squeal, turning on your heel and shoving Roger backward, to which he laughed hysterically as he backed into the counters on the other side of the room.

"You scared me!” You groaned before turning back to dinner stubbornly.

"Ah, Love, I’m sorry. The look on your face was priceless.“ He softly combed his fingers through your hair, pushing it to the side to leave a soft, warm, innocent kiss on the back of your neck, where he’d just placed his hands.

At the contact, you shut your heavy eyes and hummed gently in appreciation.

"Make that noise again, and we may end up having a late dinner,” Roger mumbled hotly, and deeply. Your face burned when you felt the drummer’s lips curl into a devilish smile against your skin.

"Y’know, I bought you something today,“ he continued on, and you swallowed nervously.

"Yeah?” You squeaked, to which Roger hummed in return, his hands planting on your hips over your clothes to not disturb the warmth of your body with his freezing fingers. He gave your hips a little squeeze, and let another hum reverberate in the back of his throat.

Your cheeks glowed pink, and you wordlessly brought your thighs closer to one another.

Make that noise again, and we may end up having a late dinner, you thought to yourself.

"Oh yes. Because you’re such a good girlfriend to me.“ And like that, his touch was gone.

You opened your eyes, and looked over your shoulder, where you found Roger cutting the stems off the bouquet of flowers one-at-a-time. Your eyes fell to the heart-shaped-box, and Roger put the knife in his hand down to move the box closer to you.

”’S’ll be our dessert,“ he smiled kindly. You offered a friendly smile back, your cheeks still warm from earlier, as you turned your attention back to dinner.

"Y'know… if we even get there,” Roger finished. Your eyes widened and you turned your gaze back to him. The little bugger was back to cutting the stems off the flowers he bought you, his lips gently upturned in an innocent grin.

"… Are you okay?“

"Hm?” Roger opened up one of the cupboards to retrieve a flower vase. He moved to the sink, ran the faucet, and began filling it with water.

"What are you talking about? I feel great.“

"You’re just…” You squinted your eyes. “You’re acting really weird."

Roger shut off the faucet, and leaned back against the counter to look at you.

He was giving you this look… it was like how he looked at you at the Garrison’s the week before. But there was something off about it.

His gaze seemed… Darker.

"Just getting my mind off things,” was all he had to say before picking the vase up from inside the sink and returning to the flowers on the counter.

You tried your best to return your focus back onto dinner, reaching for another carrot to cut up. Meanwhile, Roger was dissolving the plant nutrients in the water.

By the time you reached the final carrot, the room was still quiet, and Roger, moving to pick up the bouquet and redirect them into the vase, paused his movements to look over his shoulder at you.

Roger watched intensely as you moved around the little area you were working in. His eyes were fixed on the back of your head, but as time progressed, he began to find it difficult to keep his eyes from viewing lower, and lower…

"… Y/n, have I ever told you how pretty you are?“ Roger asked suddenly. You turned to him in startled confusion, and Roger made a face of regret. He mentally chastised himself for saying that.

This was how he picked up women. You were not just a woman. You were much, much more than that.

You laughed nervously, and awkwardly turned back to the carrot that had nearly been forgotten on the cutting board. You tried distracting yourself from Roger’s strange behaviour by dicing each carrot slice you prepared.

"You do realize you’re not in public, right, Rogie? You don’t have to be that nice to me."

"But I’m being serious.” The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board ceased again, and you finally dropped the knife to properly approach Roger.

You crossed your arms over your chest and sighed in pretend annoyance, though the charade didn’t last long.

“Alright. You got me. What do you want?"

"A favour."

"What kind of favour?” you challenged with a smile, one you’d tried to suppress, but gave in to.

Classic Roger, you thought, King of bribery AND flirting.

Roger opened his mouth to speak again, but the words were caught in his throat.

He suddenly went pale, and your smile contorted into one of worry. “… Roger?”

"O-um… well Y/n, y-you see, uh…“ Roger’s gaze fell helplessly to the floor as he stumbled over his words nervously, his cheeks growing hotter with every try. This especially worried you.

Roger was the most confident man you knew, and watching him be this hesitant about something really bothered you. In a case like this, you would have probably made fun of him, but you could see how stressed he must have felt, so you rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

It was as if your touch was magic. Roger’s stuttering ceased, and he looked at you with big round eyes.

Then he took a deep breath.

"Y/n, I talked to the guys today.”

"… About?“

"Us. This…” Roger gestured to the house. “… Situation we’re in.” You both knew he was stalling from asking what he needed to, but you tried to keep patient.

“Look, Y/n, I feel awful, and I know I made a promise to you about no groupies…"

”… This is what this is about?” you asked dryly. “You not being able to have women over?“

"What?! No! Well– yes, but–” you removed your hand from Roger’s shoulder and went back to cutting vegetables, the sound of the blade hitting the wooden cutting board getting louder and louder as time ticked on.

All of that stuttering just for him to tell you he needed sex. Of course you were pissed off, and Roger knew that. You had a deal. In fact, he was horrified with himself. And now that you were angry, he was certain you would say no to the burning question he needed to ask.

"Then go.“ You told him sharply. "Go find someone to sleep with. Just don’t bring her back here. If you’re ever caught, we are done for."

Roger’s heart ached at your words. He tried to speak, but, like before, he couldn’t get the words out.

He didn’t care if it was too late, he had to tell you he wanted you; that he needed you.

"Y/n,"

"I said go!” You turned to him angrily as you shouted, and Roger could swear your eyes were glassy with fresh, unfallen tears, though you blinked them back stubbornly.

He breathlessly apologized, and rushed out of the house as fast as possible, leaving you alone in the kitchen, homemade pizza in the oven almost ready to come out, and a half prepared garden salad that would never be eaten.

_________________________________

Roger stood in the candy section of the supermarket for a second time that day, red eyes scanning the shelves for something you liked.

Rather than listening to you and getting laid, he was more focused on rebuilding the relationship he was unintentionally tearing down.

He needed to apologize to you as soon as possible, and going empty handed, Roger decided, was not a good idea.

"Pissed off your girlfriend too, mate?“ Roger looked to his right to see another man his age, looking at the wide selection of romantically-wrapped sweets before him.

”… Yeah, you could say that.“

"Figured. See, in times like this,” the stranger began as he slowly walked down the aisle before reaching out and grabbing a cheap candy bar from off the shelf.

“The best thing you can do is buy her her favourite candy bar, give her a kiss, and tell her how much you appreciate and love her.”

Roger silently thought this to himself, and although he wanted to somehow thank the guy for his advice, he was already giving Roger an encouraging slap on the shoulder and exiting the aisle to pay for his girlfriend’s gift.

______________________________

When Roger got home it was just before midnight. He made sure to enter the house and close the door as quietly as he could in case you were sleeping.

After toeing his shoes off and hanging up his once again wet jacket, he went to the kitchen. There, he set a large bag of your favourite candy bars down on the counter so the rustling of the plastic bag didn’t wake you up.

He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his back pocket, and opened it to retrieve a new one. He mumbled a curse when he realized he only had two left, and he hadn’t bothered to pick any more up when he was in town more than once that day.

He just tossed the nearly empty carton on the table, and that’s when he saw the vase of flowers he neglected to finish preparing.

They were placed and displayed beautifully and intricately; the definite works of a woman. Roger couldn’t pull off making such a display if he tried to do it on his own.

He guessed that was one reason to appreciate you: your creativity.

But he appreciated you for many other things. The list was just so long; if Roger had to name everything he appreciated about you, he wouldn’t even know where to start, and his rambles would surely never end.

He placed the cigarette between his lips, and wandered to the back door. He took his time getting there.

There was no need to hurry.

He slid the door open a crack, and lit his cigarette with a lighter he’d left on the counter.

After the first inhale, and watching as he blew the smoke out into the wet, miserable night, Roger already began to feel a little better.

He still felt guilty about his earlier conflict with you, but he planned out and repeated what he wanted to say to you to and from the supermarket.

"I don’t want just anyone. I want you.“

Like his journey home, Roger began mumbling the statement like a mantra between his draws of smoke.

After getting to the filter of the cancer stick, Roger flicked it outside before sliding the patio door shut and locking it. Afterwards, he went upstairs, prepared for bed, and went to his room.

There, he turned his bedside lamp on and retrieved a notebook, his book of lyrics and brainstorm ideas for songs, from under his pillow. He opened it up and began writing in it.

Hearing a knock on his door was the last thing Roger expected that night, but when you slowly walked in, and stared at him from your place at the door, he put the book down and gave you his full attention.

"Rog… Look,"

"Y/n, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You pursed your lips, and Roger beckoned you over with his finger.

You slipped into the room completely, and shut the door behind you.

When Roger felt the dip in the mattress, he reached out to touch you. He didn’t have an exact plan on what he was doing, so his hand fell to your back, and he decided to rub slow, soothing circles around your shoulder blades.

"… Y/n, I don’t want just anyone,“ he finally blurted out after a while of silence.

You looked at him in confusion, and Roger’s hand stopped rubbing your back. The silence in the air was thick, and Roger tried his best not to start panicking again.

"I uh…” He removed his hand from your back and awkwardly shifted in his spot.

“I wanted to explain earlier that… that I wanted to um… maybe… talk to you about uh… adding onto this… this agreement."

The look you gave him was devastating. Big, sad eyes, and downturned lips. You felt guiltier than ever. You wanted to apologize for what you’d said, and how you acted earlier, but you didn’t even bother.

Roger wouldn’t have allowed it, anyways.

"Yes…?"

You asked gently, reaching your own hand out and placing it reassuringly on his thigh. Roger stared down at your hand for a moment, taking a shaky, deep breath.

”… Don’t you think it’d… y'know… be easier if… we were friends but… helped each other uh…“ he couldn’t continue further than that. He tried, but he physically couldn’t say any more.

"Are you… suggesting what I think you are?"

"If what you’re thinking is that we can sleep with one another with no strings attached then yes.” His words rushed out of his mouth like a flood, and Roger felt as if he was overheating.

He wouldn’t dare to speak, or move until you did.

And he was glad to have made that decision.

You, after recovering from the shock of Roger’s confession, wasted no time in gripping Roger by the hips, and pulling yourself up into his lap.

Roger exclaimed in surprise when you did this, and after wrapping your legs around his hips, your fingers slid back into his blond hair, and you kissed him with a hunger neither of you expected you to possess.

Kissing you, Roger decided, was better than he ever dreamed it could be. Your lips were soft; your kiss was forceful and controlling, only making this more enjoyable for him; and the way you were touching him– pulling his hair and tightening your legs around him– teased the absolute hell out of him.

And he loved every single passing second of it.

Roger’s hesitation melted away quicker than he expected, and in no time one of his hands was gripping your thigh while the other held the back of your head.

You pulled at Roger’s hair harder, and a smirk played at your lips as he let a deep growl elicit from the back of his throat.

You let your tongue slide past Roger’s lips and into his mouth, to which he made another, pleased noise. Both of his hands grabbed your hips, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the waistband of both your pyjama bottoms and your underwear beneath as he forced his tongue into your own mouth.

You encouraged him to continue when you whined rather loudly, practically begging him to kiss you like that again.

His confidence and ego only inflated from there.

He moved the both of you around so you were lying beneath him, his hands on either side of your head. He dipped down to kiss and suck your neck like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

His hips lowered down onto yours, and you, without thinking, whined again and slammed your hips up to excitedly grind against Roger’s, who let out another deep, guttural moan.

His hands tightened into fists as grasped his bedsheets beneath you and pulled at them tightly to restrain himself from either being too rough with you, or taking you right then and there.

In fact, he had to eventually force himself to pull back, but just enough to get a good look at you. He noticed your beautiful, untouched hair just waiting to be pulled; your hot, red face; your parted lips swollen from the assault of his own; and your quick, heaving chest.

His eyelids lowered and he licked his lips.

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on.

He shifted his hips around once or twice more, and when he watched you shut your eyes and bite your lip, he decided he couldn’t handle your erotic behaviour any longer.

"Fuck,“ he huffed deeply, hands releasing the blankets beneath you to grip your ass. You opened your eyes slowly, and smirked.

You, of all people, had Roger Taylor hot, bothered, and completely at your mercy.

Roger reached over without breaking eye contact with you to retrieve a condom and a bottle of lube from the dresser in his bedside table, meanwhile, you clicked the lamp on the very same table off.

It was time to get to work, and see how beneficial this new addition to the deal would be for the both of you.

_____________________________

A/A/N: Man, I REALLY hope this chapter does well. Things are only gonna get better from here, and I promise! No more lacking!

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Gentle Reminder

That not all of the writers/artists/creators that you follow actually have more free time than normal due to Quarantines and Stay at Home directives.

Some of them are doctors, nurses, grocery store employees, emergency personnel etc, etc, etc. Some of them may, in fact, have less time than normal as they step up to the communities needs and may also, with the worry that comes from that, not be in a very good headspace afterwards to work on anything.

And sure, not everyone is still working right now. Some of them suddenly are stuck at home 24/7 with family, including small little’s that are just happy to have their loved ones home and are demanding extra time. Littles demand a lot of extra time and constant attention.

(from experience, even my teenager does. there are days when i can’t go five minutes without being interrupted. i love her dearly, but constant interruptions does make it hard to word - its worse for someone with a toddler or more than one kid - though that also can depend on the kid/kids)

Some of your creators may have anxieties and depression etc, that this forced stay at home is only making worse. it’s hard to create anything when you’re in such a state…

Some of them might also be sick or otherwise affected right now. We might never know.

Demanding that your favorite creator update something because you now assume they have all the time in the world to do so is not cool - and actually stress inducing.

Hoping is one thing, demanding… is kind of rude.

This has not happened to me (Thank you guys, for being so cool :D I love you all!) but I’ve seen other creators getting hit with this, and how upset they’re getting.

So please, please, please, do not make assumptions on your favorite creators current situation.

Please be understanding.

We’re still here, we’re still making stuff. Promise!

Stay safe!

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all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney

6 years ago