You've Seen It Here, Peeps. Another Drawing.

Please continue "The couple next door". I find the plot just AAHHHHHH, And. I. Need. To. Know. More.

I have a good chunk of time off work the next little while and I'm trying to figure out the next chapter. I have a feeling it's gonna be a shorter one, but the payoff will be big. I know the climax of the story is coming very soon, so please hang tight! And thank you for reading!❤

Okay so

I am so sorry for the users coming to me and telling me to put a "read more" link in my fic so the whole post doesn't run down all the way. I know this is annoying, and I apologize for the inconvenience at the moment. For some reason, when I insert a "read more" link, it sometimes glitches and disappears. I'm trying to fix this issue as soon as possible, and hopefully I can get that stupid button to work again.

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

other people buying clothes: i chose this based on my hair color, skin tone, the time of year, the recommendations of 10 different fashion magazines and my horoscope

me buying clothes:

Hi, I'm not dead!

Hello everyone! It's been a minute or two since I've logged on and WOW! I feel like a whippersnapper because I'm a little rusty on how to use this app, but the amount of positive reviews I've been getting on my fics, even though I've neglected to update them for years is just AMAZING to me. Thank you all for your respect, and your positive feedback. I'm actually wanting to return to writing, so look out soon for some pieces. There are lots of people who ask for tags in my posts, so I will try my very best to get you all in.

Again, thank you all for your amazing words; your requests revived me, and even though I have many series fics to return to, I think I'm gonna do a few one shots here and there so I don't get bored.

Very excited to be returning!

This incredible piece of art has become an in joke in my family its so hysterical i cant get over the sheer talent funky moves and angelic singing that one man can display

Paul McCartney could never

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

Find Part Eight Here

A/N: Surprise! I’m briefly back from a year-long Hiatus and I have one chapter for TCND, one for ATU AND a George Harrison one-shot I’m just gonna drop and then probably disappear again for another few months. I’m also finding it even more difficult to write for Roger seeing as I’ve kinda been listening to nothing but The Beatles for the last fifteen months and I really only hear Queen at work, so that’s gotta change. But I am very sorry about the LONG wait. I really do appreciate you guys, and I think you’ve all waited quite long enough to find out what happens next...

Summary: Roger and Y/N spend the morning taking care of Bobby; they talk a little more about the future and come to the conclusion they both want the same thing.

(Let your imagination run free, bc this can be either Canon or Borhap!Roger)

WARNINGS: Swearing is probably a given at this point, self-doubt, mentions/ suggestions of sex (advise you to avoid if you’re under 18), and I usually revise when I’m stoned so there’s probably some typos in here too, sorry.

Rated T for Teen-- (I feel like a video game rating smh)

Bobby was crying again.

Granted, it was about seven in the morning, and he did sleep for the rest of the night.

Roger was the last of the both of you to wake up; not because of the crying-- he didn't even hear the crying-- but he was wrapped up in the blankets with you, and you were trying to remove yourself from his grasp.

"Don't leave," Roger grumbled as he pulled you tightly against his chest, eyes remaining closed as you whispered back to him.

"But I have to go. Baby's cryin'."

Roger loosened his grip on you, much to his dismay, and you slipped from his embrace, leaving him cold, and alone.

"Come back, Baby..." He really hoped his gravelly plea would entice you to return from the nursery after tending to Bobby, and although you were probably against having sex in your friends' bed, he figured there was no harm in testing the waters.

"That's not how that works when you have a baby, Rog. The day starts now."

Roger groaned in protest, but as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, he revealed to himself that you were no longer in the room, and the baby's cries settled when he heard your voice float down the hall from the nursery room.

Roger, as much as he didn't want to, tossed the comforter off of his body, and after rising to his feet and combing his fingers through his hair, he shuffled out of the bedroom and made a beeline to the stairs.

He was glad he was familiar with John's kitchen; because he was certain you had no idea where anything was, meaning he would be the one preparing breakfast that morning, and the one following it, most likely.

Fuck it, he would (try to) cook you up seven different meals a day if you asked him.

Anything for you.

He put the kettle on, and moved to the pantry in search for John's teabags, yawning lightly as he pulled the door open.

Nothing in the pantry really stuck out to him as being a good breakfast that morning, so Roger ended up migrating to the fridge after retrieving the tea, where his eyes fell on the carton of eggs on the bottom shelf.

He settled on making French Toast for breakfast seeing as he, according to you, made the best French Toast in England.

So he got to work whipping up some eggs and pulling four slices of bread from the bread box on the counter-- but not before he got one of Bobby's bottles out for you, warmed it, and placed it on the kitchen table.

Roger was frying the French Toast in no time, and he hummed gently as he busied himself with focusing on the now whistling kettle, and when the right time to flip the toast would be.

"... I thought you were still in bed," your words were sudden, and it made Roger jump a little. But when he realized it was only you, Bobby in your arms, his mouth contorted into a dopey smile.

"Nah," Roger turned the pan's burner down a little, and after he flipped the French Toast, he set his spatula on the counter, turning to face you.

"I was gonna let you sleep in, since you were so reluctant on waking up," you explained with a yawn. "But here you are awake, and making breakfast before me."

"Well it wouldn't be fair then, would it? Me sleeping in while you've all this work to do?"

"I don't know, would it?"

"I really don't think so, Dove."

He felt pride swell in his chest when pink dusted your cheeks at the sound of your new nickname, and he took this chance to swoon you further by pulling you in gently by the elbows, and he enveloped both you and Bobby in his embrace.

"Beautiful..." Roger's voice was barely a whisper as he touched his lips to your jawline, and you responded with a soft exhale.

"Even when you've just woken up," Roger mumbled against the skin of your neck, lips curling into a smile, "you are the prettiest goddamned thing I've ever laid eyes on."

"Mmm, down, boy," you purred back jokingly, taking a small step back. "Baby still needs to eat."

"Well yours is coming right up," he teased, "and Bobby's is already at the table." Roger pointed to the bottle on the other side of the room before tapping your rear. "Take a seat, and I'll bring your food over."

You didn't have to be told twice. You took a seat at the table, and although Bobby was growing a little agitated, it was short lived when you put the bottle of milk in his possession.

Roger, not five minutes after you sat down, joined you at the table with your French Toast and your mug of tea, made just the way you liked it, of course.

"'S the right tea, yeah?"

You took a quick look at the label hanging from the mug.

"Yep." Your eyes squinted after letting the label fall where the string tied to it would let it. "Y'know, you've been making my tea right for months, you don't have to check to make sure you're right."

"You know I'm always gonna make sure it's to your liking."

"And I love you for it."

"Hopefully for other things too. I'm not just good at being your barista."

"Oh, don't you worry. I'm not overlooking your other good traits," you smiled as you brought your mug to your lips and having the first sip of tea of the day.

As Roger sat down next to you with his own plate of food and mug of tea, he decided to wait on Bobby to finish so he could eat with you.

So, naturally, he took the time to evaluate again what kind of situation he was in.

There was nothing like watching you care for Bobby. Roger had known you for years, and not once in his life did he ever think he would be sitting next to you at breakfast while feeding a baby, whether or not the child was his own, or yours.

The whole scene looked too good to be true, though like the previous night, Roger just drank in the sight of you putting all your love and care into a child at breakfast with him.

How did you think you weren't cut out for being a mother?

This was in your nature.

The domesticity of the situation made Roger a little emotional. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to experiencing a breakfast with a family he'd built, and he spent every passing second filling his mind and heart with the beautiful sight before him.

"Y/n, you would make a wonderful mother." Roger's words left his mouth faster than his brain could register what he'd said.

You looked to Roger from Bobby, cheeks and tips of your ears darkening, and Roger was talking again before he could realize it and catch himself.

"Any man would be so damn lucky to have you. I honestly can't believe you stick around me still."

Your face was feeling real hot, now. Roger's head was still lagging behind his words, and clearly, he wasn't done talking.

"You could be out building a beautiful family right now, but instead you're babysitting with your best friend who you also occasionally sleep with. I just... I don't understand."

It took you a second to respond, but Roger didn't blame you. Honestly, he didn't even know what he would have said if he were asked the same question.

"... Well, I love you, Roger."

Your words were simple, and Roger knew your statement was nothing but platonic, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.

You'd said those exact three words to him minutes earlier, but the context of the conversations contrasted their meanings.

"But we promised each other at the beginning of all of this that we'd be fine giving up pursuing family life if that means living with one another..."

"... You sound unsure, now."

The atmosphere felt heavy, and it was almost as if Bobby had known making noise wasn't in his best interest. He decided to finish eating at the right time.

"... It's not that I'm unsure. It's just..."

Roger waited patiently for you to answer, but you had noticed Bobby finished his milk, and you took the bottle from him.

You burped him, and placed a pacifier you pulled from your pocket in Bobby's mouth. You must have gotten it from upstairs before you came down.

"Let me," Roger offered his arms out for the baby, and you let him take Bobby. You'd stood up and moved to the sink to wash the bottle.

Meanwhile, Roger, who'd also gotten to his feet, was slowly walking around the kitchen. He was praising Bobby for finishing all his breakfast, insisting he was so proud of him, his smile wide and gaze adoring as he evaluated the child in his arms.

"It's just that. There. The way you're behaving with him," you turn to face Roger, finger pointed at him. "The way you're treating him as your own."

Roger's mouth opened and closed a few times, but after shutting his jaw for the third time, he decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to keep quiet.

"You'd make the most wonderful father, Roger. The way you behave with Bobby, god, the way you behaved with Raymond the other day," you sounded frustrated, and all Roger could do was watch you pace the kitchen, his sheepish face now a deep red.

"It's just that I would want the father of my kids to be just like you. I wouldn't settle for anything less."

Roger opened his mouth again to speak. He felt like his chest was on fire. Your thoughts were becoming painstakingly parallel to his, Roger had noticed. He couldn't get any words out before you started speaking again.

"Like you said last night, this job is giving us a chance to experience what it'd be like to have a family... and maybe I'm upset I did throw the chance to have all of that away."

You looked like you were on the verge of tears, and all Roger could do was watch you and listen to what you had to say.

"Roger, I hope you know you will always have a special place in my heart. You're my family, you have been for the last five years of my life, and there's no doubt about it. But being able to have a child..."

Your hands ghosted over the robe's fabric covering your definitely unpregnant belly. "... I think I want to have children."

"... Y/n I hope you know I feel exactly the same way."

And then everything was clear.

Roger understood where his band was coming from.

Getting married to you would solve all your problems.

He knew what the both of you were thinking in this new moment of silence, but there was absolutely no way Roger was going to fall to one knee and propose to you right now when he wasn't even romantically involved with you.

And he just felt it would be very inappropriate if he took this moment to spontaneously ask you on a romantic date with the intentions of courting you.

"Listen, Y/n," Roger finally built up enough courage to break the silence. Bobby cut him off with a short cry, and Roger immediately started swaying the baby in his arms. Sure enough, Bobby's agitation ceased, and Roger could continue, keeping the movement going.

"Just because we're living together without families now doesn't mean we won't be able to have families, say, five to ten years down the road."

At this point, although it was necessary, Roger didn't really want to mention the discomfort he felt when imagining you falling for someone who wasn't him.

Your eyes were big and sad, lip pouted as you considered Roger's words. "... are you sure?"

The idea of you and him having to move out of the condo Roger risked the both of your love lives for didn't sit well with him.

You'd be gone making sweet love to some lucky asshole who probably didn't deserve to be in your presence, while Roger goes on a bender, gets ahold of some weed and coke, and sleeps with enough girls to distract him from realizing he'd thrown the best thing in his life away-- you.

He didn't want you to think he thought you were selfish. The last thing he needed right now was to feel guilty for making you feel guilty.

So he just nodded. "No house isn't forever anyways." When you didn't respond to his little joke, he sighed.

"Y/n, we're still so young. You don't have to commit yourself to anything like that just yet. Enjoy being able to go out drinking with me every weekend, and sleeping in on our days off. Your chance to start a family will come when the time is right."

You let out a shaky breath. Roger was actually a little surprised with how well you were keeping yourself together.

But his actions put the both of you here, and to see that this conversation nearly reduced you to tears had Roger drowning in guilt, even without the help of mentioning any of his inner conflict to you.

"I just hope you're right." Your voice was broken and your fingers were tangled stressfully in your hair.

"Hey," Roger's voice had gone soft again, his rocking slowing to a halt, and you looked up to find him with an open arm, awaiting your touch.

You slowly unravelled your fingers from your hair, and you gave into the hug not moments later. Roger pulled you to his chest tightly, his free arm occupied by the baby.

"Y'know... I made you French Toast to start the day off good." When you didn't say anything in response, Roger pulled away from you just enough to look you in the face.

He was giving you that same look he did at the Garrison's again; that unreadable gaze he'd achieved with those big blue eyes that seemingly bored holes into your very soul.

His free hand slipped up from your back to your neck, and he leaned in to just touch his lips to the corner of your mouth.

So close, yet so far away.

It wasn't before long that he pulled away from you, but Roger just couldn't keep his eyes off you.

"You come sit down and enjoy your French Toast, Dove. I've got Bobby."

"But--"

"Please?"

Roger knew he'd convinced you as soon as he said that magic word. Though you took a moment to look from the bundle in his arms to the breakfast you really were dying to dig into, you eventually sighed out a gentle "thank you," before taking your seat again at the table.

He came around and kissed the top of your head. "Enjoy, Honey." Roger took a seat next to you, Bobby still in his one arm, and the both of you ate your French Toast in relative silence for the first few seconds.

"... God, you really do make good French Toast, Blondie." Roger was smiling now. At least you were talking again.

"I only improved my cooking skills for you, y'know," he admitted with a mouthful of his food, though he didn't sound ashamed of it.

"And thank God for that. Cooking every other night sure beats cooking every night."

"You can say that again," Roger mumbled before shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. You still slowly ate away at your meal, and Roger was making funny faces at Bobby in between taking sips of his tea.

The telephone in the living room started ringing, and you stood up to go get it, but Roger immediately dropped his fork and grabbed your wrist.

"Nuh-uh. I just finished eating. You still have a little bit to go. Take Bobby and I'll get it." You scooped the baby up without another word, smiling when he opened his eyes.

"Can you at least bring back his rattle from his play pen?"

"Can do, Princess," he called over his shoulder as he approached the phone.

"H'lo?"

"Roger?"

"Oh, hey, John!" Roger tucked the phone's handset under his chin, carrying the telephone in his left hand so he could get Bobby's rattle.

"Isn't it a little early to be up?" Roger glanced at the clock, which read that it was quarter after seven.

"Biological clocks. Just wanting to checking in. Is Bobby okay? Has he been any trouble?"

"No, of course not! He's doing fine, John." Roger tucked the rattle in his back pocket when he found it, and returned to the writing desk where the phone was meant to stay.

That was something he loved about you. You always bought him pyjamas with pockets. The concept was cool, and being able to use them was even cooler.

"Y/n's got him in the kitchen right now," he explained, taking the handset again with his now free hand. "We're all just finishing up breakfast, actually."

"Oh good. How is she?" John paused for a second, his voice dropping a little lower. "... How are you guys?"

Roger made sure his voice was a little quiet, as well. "John, this may have been your guys' best idea ever. I don't know why I was against this in the beginning."

"Really?! What's happened already?!" John, everyone would have guessed to be one to avoid certain kinds of gossip, though when it came to Roger's business with you, he liked checking up on that.

"I told her about all that family stuff."

"And?"

"And, well..." Roger set the phone back onto the desk and scratched the back of his neck. "... She may or may not be having the same problem," he mumbled.

"So... so you both want a family?" John tried clarifying.

"Yes."

"Then why are you two not together?!" Roger slipped away around the corner into the main hall with just the receiver so he was a little further away from the kitchen. He didn't want you hearing their conversation, or John through the receiver.

"Well I'm not asking her here!"

"Then where? And when?"

Roger knew John was just getting excited, and his questions honestly had Roger brainstorming every possibility when it came to asking you.

"... I don't know, yet," Roger said after a while of thinking. "But soon. God, it needs to be soon." He didn't quite know why he was pressuring himself to ask you sooner than later.

Maybe it was because he was scared someone much better and more deserving of you (or alternatively, a selfish prick) was going to waltz in and steal you from him just before he had you for sure.

"Do you need any help with that part? I can get Fred and Bri--"

"No no no, it's okay, John." Roger leaned up against the wall of the hallway, fingers tapping the handset absentmindedly with his eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

"You guys have already done enough, really. I... I think I'm good on my own from here."

"Well, I'm glad," John expressed to Roger. "It's not every day you need to help Roger Taylor get with a girl, y'know."

"This is different, and you know it."

"I just like to tease," John defended, and Roger could even hear a smile evident in his words.

"Anyways, Veronica and I will be home tomorrow around noon. Y/n's got our number. You two take care."

"Of course, you too," Roger was making his way back to the writing desk.

"Thanks. Oh, and Roger?" John added quickly.

"Hm?"

"If you two end up doing anything, for God's sake, please wash the sheets."

As John was speaking, you'd walked into the living room with Bobby in your arms. "We're gonna go and have some play time, now! Yes we are!"

Roger was too panicked by your presence to even realize you weren't paying any attention to the phone call, and he hoped to God you didn't hear a single thing John had said. "Yeah-yes! Laundry. Will do."

He nodded his head once, though John couldn't see him, and after saying their good byes, Roger hung up the phone.

He turned to where you were in the living room. You were looking in the play pen for something, and Roger suddenly remembered the rattle in his back pocket.

He pulled it out hurriedly and held it out to you. "Shit! I'm so sorry about that--"

"Don't swear, Roger," you took the rattle, a smile on your lips you both knew you were trying to frown away. "There's a baby here."

"What? He doesn't know what that word means."

"Well, the more you keep saying it, the more of a chance he has at that being his first word, and I do not need the Deacon Family hunting us down for teaching their kid swears." You looked from Roger down to Bobby, shaking the rattle gently and grinning when Bobby squealed happily and reached out for the toy.

You took a seat on the couch, and played around with Bobby while Roger went back to the kitchen to do the dishes.

From 7:30 AM to about 2:30, all that really happened was play-time and lunch, something Roger prepared. You offered to do the dishes, but Roger wouldn't allow it. He just suggested you put Bobby up for his nap. He'd fallen asleep in your arms during play-time, like he did with Roger the night before.

The both of you thought it was crazy Bobby would just fall asleep rather than cry, but honestly, neither of you were complaining. Quiet baby for the win!

Roger just finished putting the last plate on the drying rack on the counter as he listened above for your footsteps leaving Bobby's room. He dried his hands off with the dishtowel hanging over his shoulder after turning off the faucet.

From behind, Roger felt a pair of arms slowly circle his body, and he smiled warmly at the feeling of you pressed against his back.

"He asleep?"

"Mhm."

Roger's smile only widened as you inched your palms up his chest. He turned in your arms and pressed his hands against your hips, inching you closer as he leaned back against the kitchen sink.

"Well, what do we do, now?" Roger asked. He sounded like he was up to no good. With the sultry look in his eyes and the way the smile on his lips looked like he was repressing a naughty suggestion, he knew you knew he already had something on his mind.

"Well, I mean," your hands slipped up into Roger's long hair, fingers tangling themselves between the strands. "Anything, really."

You knew what game Roger was playing, and you loved how cute he was, thinking he was going to have you on your knees for him.

His eyes shamelessly raked over the top half of your body, and he squeezed his hands, still at your hips.

"What'll you be doing with your free time, Roger?" You took one more step closer to him, and he pulled you the rest of the way to him so your groin was flush with his.

"I'm looking right at her."

He was already strained against his jeans, and you just offered a smile, fingers tightening their grip in Roger's hair.

"Mmm... I kinda like the sound of that," you admitted lowly, half of a smile on your lips. You shifted your hips from side to side, and Roger tried to pull you even closer.

You rolled your hips against Roger again, and the cheekiness in his face fell with a look of long-awaited relief, and his head dropped to your shoulder.

One of his hands moved up to grab you by the back of your neck, and when he lifted his head to look at you again, his second hand dragged upwards from your hip to squeeze your waist.

Roger lifted the hand by your neck, and combed your hair back with his fingers. His eyes fell onto yours for a brief moment, and you could have sworn there was something he tried to tell you there.

You just couldn't read him.

But he didn't care. He pulled you in close again, and his lips were on yours.

You'd kissed Roger before. Not in public, but definitely in the bedroom. And they weren't very scarce. Honestly, if Roger's lips weren't somewhere else on your body, they'd be on yours.

But why was this feeling different from all the other times he'd kissed you?

He was being a lot less forceful and needy than he usually was.

His grip wasn't tight on you, and it wasn't like he was crushing you against him as if indicating he needed more of you, now.

He was holding you rather, and the hand at your waist circled around to press against your lower back. The hand on your neck shifted a little forward so Roger could gently slide the pad of his thumb down the column of your throat.

The both of you were holding your breath, and Roger was the first to pull away. The both of you sucked in some air, and before you could even draw in a full breath, Roger's lips were on yours again.

He pushed towards you, guiding you backwards until your back was flat against the refrigerator. His warm hands grabbed for yours and he pinned them above your head by your wrists.

Okay. This, was something you were used to. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for when Roger's hands loosened their grip on your wrists, and he was lacing his fingers between your own.

Your hands felt very small in Roger's. How had he never noticed that before? What else had he neglected to realize about you?

In that moment, he felt you pull away to breathe, and he looked down at you worriedly, fingers frozen, yet still laced with yours.

"I- uh... I-I'm sorry--"

"No no, don't be. It's okay," your response was very rushed, but you didn't skip a word.

There was about a minute of silence, your hot breaths mingling in the space between your lips, though your gazes were locked with one another, and you couldn't look away.

"Did-uh... did you want me to... to stop?" His question was gentle, almost sincere-sounding, but he still made no effort to move from his place.

"No. God, no." And as soon as you'd answered, Roger closed the space between the both of you again, his fingers unwound from yours to grab you by the jaw, and you just held his waist, pushing your body as close to him as he would let you.

He shifted around a little, and moved his leg between yours. You could feel his mouth bend into a smirk against yours, and he began to apply pressure to the apex of your legs with his knee.

Before long, as much as you wanted to resist it, you fell to Roger's submission, and as you waited for him to grab your waist and put you wherever, he hesitated for a second, and dropped his hands from yours.

You opened your eyes again to find Roger, face red, and staring at your chest. Not in an ogling way, but more of a method to avoid looking you in the eye.

He could tell you were looking at him, and he shifted his gaze to you. He itched at his hands awkwardly, mouth opening and closing as he tried to explain himself.

You just waited. You gave him time to think, and he had an answer for you sooner than either of you would have thought.

"I just... I wanna try something else. I don’t want to control you like I do every night."

It wasn't much of an explanation, but a good beginning to a demonstration.

"Will you come to bed with me, Y/n?" His offer was gentle, yet confident, despite offering a hand out hesitantly.

When you dropped your hand into his, all of the tension in Roger's being relaxed, and he quietly led you up the stairs, past the nursery, and into John and Veronica's room.

Before you could say anything he gently explained that he'd do laundry later, and then he pulled you in for another kiss he'd been waiting to give you since the last one.

Roger pulled you closer to him, hands cupping your face as his lips began to desperately chase after yours. You kissed Roger back with just as much vigor, but then he slowed the movements of his mouth, and guided you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Roger helped lower you down onto the bed, and he leaned over you, dipping down to kiss your lips again. He knelt between your legs, and pulled them up around his waist so he could lean in even closer.

You felt his hands squeeze your hips, and he pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth. You hummed lowly, your eyelashes kissing your cheeks as Roger pulled away ever so slightly-- just enough to pull his shirt off of him, and close the distance between your bodies again.

You tangled your hands into his hair, and he hummed in approval before pulling back just once more.

"I'm sure that's hardly fair..."

"What?"

"This," Roger tugged gently at the hem of your shirt.

"Why's yours still on?"

"... I never said it had to be."

Roger exhaled, and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head after you raised your arms to help him out a little.

He placed the palm of his hand over the smooth skin of your belly as he stared at your bare torso. And before long, he dipping down to kiss you again.

You reciprocated his actions, wrapping your arms around his neck and tightening your legs around his hips, to which he rocked himself against your core, and then---

Bam!

The headboard hit the wall, and Bobby woke up.

"Nooo..." you squeezed your eyes shut as the baby's cries began to reverberate down the hallway.

"Fuck!" Roger groaned, eyebrows knitted together helplessly as he climbed off of you. You both knew it was Roger who technically woke the baby up, and it was just silently agreed on that he went to put him back down.

"Dammit to hell, those separated headboards."

Roger opened the nursery door, and made his way to the crib in the corner of the room. Bobby's cheeks were wet with tears, and Roger's heart sank. "'M sorry, little guy. C'mere. Come see uncle Roger."

He picked the baby up and rocked him back and forth, though it wasn't exactly doing much, so Roger took a seat in the rocking chair on the opposite side of the room, swaying the both of them with a push of his feet.

Bobby's cries settled, and Roger felt proud of himself. Sure, he wanted to get back to what he was doing before, but instead he took his time in making sure Bobby was comfortable and not in need of anything before he drifted off to sleep again.

Bobby played around with Roger's fingers a few moments after his agitation ceased, and he couldn't believe how large his hands were in comparison to Bobby's. He was once that size.

A little while later Roger set Bobby down in his crib, and the infant was out. The drummer smiled at his accomplishment. He didn't even need your help.

With that, he left the room without a sound.

He stepped into John and Veronica's room, and closed the door quietly behind him. He was in the middle of turning on his heel when he stopped dead in his tracks.

You'd taken some of the pillows off the bed and wedged them between the wall and the headboard to keep the bed from making noise.

You were also splayed out on the bed in a lot less clothing than he remembered you in when he left.

With a teasing beckon from your finger, Roger knew three things were for certain.

1. You were the smartest woman he knew.

2. You were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

3. He, the Roger Taylor, had fallen madly, and helplessly in love with you.

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

A/A/N: Again, you’ve all been waiting long enough for the next chapter, so here you are. i hope you all enjoy, and if my response is great with this one, I’ll see if I can spit out another one soon <3

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Help!  »  attempt #4

Welcome to: How Much Of This Can Julia Read?

Freddie: 85%

Brian: 50%

Roger: 70%

John: I basically just fucking gave up. Like... 25% at best

QUEEN – True Confessions 1974 ★ Read the transcription here ★