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luveline · 2 years

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tell me again on a good day [remus lupin x reader]

“Hi, pretty,” he murmured, tilting your head back to dot kisses from the corner of your lips to the centre. Your hand stuttered where it was moving from the attention. He covered it with his own and put you back on track. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Your chest heaved. ”Am I doing a good job?”

“The best job,” his breathing turned shallow, eyelids drifting shut, “just like that.”

wordcount: 9.3k

summary: you’re pregnant from a terrible one night stand. remus only fancies you more for it.

tags: smut, hurt/comfort, first and second trimester of pregnancy, nsfw, marauders era, consensual but mediocre/uncomfortable sex at the beginning (not Remus), strangers to friends to lovers, not specifically muggle au but magic isn’t mentioned, breaking the cycle or something like that, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem reader, softie remus

Admittedly, you’d fucked up.

You were 21, living with your parents in the city. They were stricter than some. You had a 9.15PM sharp curfew, a 6.30AM wake up. You did everybody’s laundry, most of the cleaning and cooked 3 meals a day everyday for them. Call you fucking Cinderella, or whatever.

It wasn’t that bad. They didn’t force you to do these things, you knew it was expected, so you did it. They didn’t explicitly tell you that you couldn’t move out, it was never talked about, so you didn’t. They weren’t too keen on details, and you assumed a general brick wall were to be built between you and a life that was more than housekeeping and playing mediator.

They never mentioned boyfriends or, god forbid you, girlfriends, and so you never had one. You desired it sometimes - you were in your early twenties, most of your friends at that point had been having (terrible) sex for years. Your friends in school had all had boyfriends and slept with boys before you’d even been of age, and here you found yourself three years later having not known the touch of anyone.

For once, you wanted to do something unexpected. Your whole life had been written in stone from the day you were born. You took off your little cross necklace, went into town at 8.15 sharp, scoured the local for somebody mildly attractive, and you let him fuck you in an alleyway.

It was terrible, as things went. Dry as sand with your face pressed into unforgiving stone, your partner mistook your pants of general movement as pleasure. He said something wanton that should’ve been a turn on, like, oh, you like that huh?

“Yes,” you said. You were lying, of course, but felt trapped by indecision. Should you tell him to get off? You were shocked by how different this felt than how it looked in the movies or how it was described in books. It didn’t hurt so badly, a dull pinch, and then he was finishing. A horrible sound, like a fish learning it can’t breathe air.

He pulled away and you straightened, rubbing your cheek with your hand. You didn’t know how you felt or what you felt, only the slimey sensation of having been used. You pulled your trousers up and walked away, even as the guy started shouting for you to have his phone number.

No, you thought to yourself. No thanks. Maybe my parents were right after all, I should stick to cooking and cleaning. Rather a housemaid to them than some rando in the pub that couldn’t find your clit, even though it was literally right there, like a button. What could you do, draw an arrow?

You didn’t feel like touching yourself ever again at this point. When you got home at 8.34PM, you couldn’t help but think to yourself how you’d reckoned sex took a bit longer, and felt nicer, and as you filled the bath up with steaming water and undressed, you found you didn’t want to look at your body at all. You washed in between your legs with detachment and pushed your head under the water to sulk.

The boy working at the pharmacist was concerned about you, evidently. He’d been working here for maybe two years and you often saw him whilst buying topicals and once, embarrassingly, dioralyte for your mother. You’d thought he’d think it was for you and so had made a big show of seeming spritely. You didn’t know his name - he was shy, though lovely, and usually in the back while Lucy, your mother's friend, worked the counter.

You’d waited for Lucy to be out for her 5.45PM smoke break before going in. You went straight to the counter where he stood, hesitant and scared and cleared your throat.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you said. You could barely get the word out. It was enough for him to look at you with recognition. His hand drifted under the counter, and he pulled out a pregnancy test.

“I didn’t get to ask my question.”

“You have that look of dread on your face, so I assumed. Sorry,” he said. You nodded, taking the box in your shaking hands.

You looked up at him. “Can I ask you something embarrassing?”

He smiled kindly. “That’s what I’m here for. Total confidentiality, and I’ll try my best.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and tried to come up with the words. “Is it supposed to hurt so much afterwards?” you asked him, the words cracked and cleaved from you, a vulnerability you hadn’t ever wanted to give anyone. But you had nobody else to turn to.

He leaned forward, his hand between you both. “No, sweetheart. No. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

You nodded to yourself and blinked hard - you’d known that. You just needed somebody to tell you.

“Is someone hurting you?” he asked in concern.

You shook your head vehemently and smiled at him, paying for the test and thanking him for his help. You didn’t feel like you were the one controlling your hands as you walked out, slipping the test into your bra. Your hoodie covered the lump of the box but you still hurried upstairs to your bathroom.

You sat on the toilet with your head in your hands, counting the three minutes like a child. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi, 4. When you reached 180 you kept going, until you’d counted to 300, 500. You pressed your fingers into your closed eyes until they hurt and your vision was blobs of black and turned to the test feeling suddenly angry.

“You better be negative,” you said, furious. “Be fucking negative.”

You turned the test over and felt instant relief - one pink line. Clear as day, bright pink on white. You threw your head up and laughed in relief, checking again.

There… faintly, the second pink line was developed. Your head fell back into your hands. Yeah, you’d fucked up royally.

That night you thought about the boy at the pharmacy. He was tall, handsome, but importantly he was kind, soft. The way he’d seemed scared for you, the compassion he’d had for a total stranger, and the way he’d said sweetheart like the word was made of stained glass, that if he said it wrong it would’ve cracked apart, had you making a decision - there was nobody else in the world who could know what had happened to you. You suspected he wouldn’t mind giving you advice on what to do.

You tried to look pleasant. Your rolling stomach, still the same as before despite the chemical reactions taking place inside, had you shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

The bell on the door tinkled as you came in. The pharmacist boy didn’t notice, enraptured in his friend, who sat on the counter kicking his legs like a child. He was laughing, a cigarette between his fingers. Lucy couldn’t have been here.

You didn’t bother pretending you were here for anything, instead walking up to the corner unabashedly (outwardly) and cleared your throat softly. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi,” the smoking boy said.

“Sirius,” the pharmacist boy scolded.

“Can I - I’m really sorry. Could I talk to you about something?”

“Sure, no problem. Fuck off,” he added the second part much more quietly to his friend.

The friend’s laugh was roaring. He winked at you on the way out. The pharmacist boy cringed, “I’m sorry about him.”

You put your hands down flat on the auburn wood between you both. “That’s okay.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

You looked at him wearily, trying to gauge if you could trust him with this.

“Complete confidentiality. Can’t even tell my boss.”

You nodded quickly, “Right,” you said.

When you failed to keep talking he frowned. “Do you want to sit down?” he asked, gesturing his flat palm at the three chairs in the tiny waiting area.

“I won’t get you in trouble?” you asked him.

“No, no. Lucy loves me.”

You found yourself sat facing him, an empty foam padded chair between you both. “I - have to admit, I’m not sure you owe me discretion with this, because it’s hardly related to the pharmacy. Or medication. Or anything. I just didn’t know who to ask, and-“

He leaned forward a tiny bit, and you took it as a cue to stop talking. “It’s encouraged that people come to us with health questions that aren’t an emergency. Is it an emergency?”

You frowned. “No.”

“Then this is a great place for you to come.”

You pinched the fabric of your skirt between your fingers and covered your knees. “The test was positive. I don’t know what to do.”

You’d both know this was going to be the topic of conversation as soon as you’d walked in. He had the kindness not to act surprised. “The first thing you should do is make a doctor’s appointment, they can give you lots of choices, check how you’re doing,” he said gently. Then, hesitantly, “Are you alright?”

You felt again as though you could burst into tears. “I’m fine.”

“Last time,” he sat up in the chair, voice quiet despite the emptiness of the room, “you remember what you asked me? How are you now?”

You could feel your cheeks growing warm. It felt so strange to tell somebody who didn’t know you these things. “I’m fine.”

“Forgive me for asking, but did you use protection?”

You winced.

“No, I know, I’m so stupid. What could I have expected, right?” you said rapidly.

His face was comforting. “You’re not stupid, okay?” he was speaking to you so softly, you couldn't bear it, looking down at your lap. “I only ask because after stuff like this, it’s best to go to the clinic and make sure nobody gave you anything, right?”

The overwhelmed feeling was building. You hadn’t thought about that, too caught up in the whole being pregnant scenario, and the realisation was like being kicked in the stomach. You spread your hands against your abdomen. “Right,” you agreed with him.

He got to his feet and weaved around the counter to shuffle through leaflets. He picked up a few and came to sit with you again, spreading the first one out in his hands. “This is the sex clinic near us. You can call this number and make an appointment, or you can walk in and sometimes they can see you straight away.”

He tucked it underneath his hand and showed you the next leaflet. “This is the number for the local midwife - she can answer any questions you have about being pregnant,” he looked up at you and smiled, “she might know more than me about it.”

There was another leaflet on what to expect in the first trimester underneath it.

“And uh,” he showed you the last leaflet. “This is for you. You want me to go through it with you?”

You nodded uselessly, eyes scanning the cover. Abortion: Your questions answered.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he began, without opening the leaflet, “if you want to have an abortion or you want to have a baby, the choice is yours. It’s completely legal to have one and you won’t have to tell anyone about it, and like me the doctor can't tell a soul about it.”

He inched closer again to show you the page. You caught it between your index finger and your thumb. “It might hurt, but it’s completely safe.”

You nodded. He passed you the collection of leaflets and you held them in your hands, unseeing.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked, a tear falling from your eye. You wiped it away quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s scary. But you have a lot of choices.”

“I think that’s the part that scares me,” you admitted, laughing wetly.

“My friend had a baby when she was young,” he said, likely trying to distract you. You wanted to be distracted, so you asked, “Was she scared?”

“So scared. I couldn’t believe it. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, and seeing her with no clue as to what direction to go in was startling.”

You wiped your face again.

“She didn’t want to have a baby?”

“She did. Her and James were thrilled straight away, truly. But she was still terrified… These things aren’t cut so clean, and it’s alright that you’re overwhelmed. It’s a really scary thing to happen.”

You knew it wasn’t a baby yet, but it could be. It’s been almost a month since you’d gone to that pub with misguided intentions, a week since you’d found out you were pregnant. You’d spent the days paralysed by what would happen but you’d also let yourself wonder, just a little, about what a baby would be like. Would it be loving and cuddly and charming? Would it burst your eardrums with its cries? Would it look like you? Would it be funny, and smart, and beautiful?

Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.

You breathed out.

“You don’t have to decide straight away,” he said, alarmed by your fresh wave of tears.

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be alright,” he tried again.

“I’m sorry. You’re the first person I’ve talked to about this. I’m sorry for crying.”

“It’s more than okay. I wish you wouldn’t, though. You’re much too pretty.”

You knew he was being nice for the sake of cheering you up: you had snot on your face. You pinched your nose and giggled despite yourself.

“Go to the clinic, make sure you’re good. They can give you some better advice than I did.”

“No, your advice was great,” you assured him, thinking much too hard about what was to come.

The next time you saw the pharmacist boy it was late, and you’d finally made a decision. You’d spent two weeks after that day at the pharmacist thinking about him and thinking about your situation. You went to the sex clinic and got the all clear, luckily, and then got your bloods taken to confirm you were definitely pregnant, which you were. You’d gone home and hidden away for a week, calling off work. You struggled to do your chores. Only when your mother had put you down for resting had you looked at her, really looked at her, and thought, I’m going to be a better mother than you. My daughter will never feel guilty for lying in bed after a long day. She won’t have to cook dinner for herself as soon as she learns how the oven works. She won’t have to cry herself to sleep, or ask strangers at the pharmacy what to do about her pregnancy. She won’t ever be alone like me.

You’d put your shoes and coat on, determined. The pharmacy would shut soon, half an hour if you were lucky and fifteen minutes if Lucy was in a bad mood.

The walk wasn’t far, you lived conveniently close to your town centre. Your legs burned as you traversed the steep hill leading to the pharmacy, and it made you think of how it would only get worse from here. The thought didn’t scare you, you realised. You were looking to it with an ironic sense of chagrin. Like, what can you do?

First things first, prenatal multivitamins. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it so well that nobody could doubt you. The pharmacist boy was there like usual. You smiled and made a beeline for him at the counter. “Lucy isn’t here, right?” you asked.

He put his fingers to lips. “She’s in the back,” he whispered.

“Oh,” you whispered back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m still pregnant, if that's what you’re asking,” you said this even quieter than the last, weary of Lucy, who didn’t respect patient confidentiality if it meant being the centre of attention, overhearing and telling your mother, who she knew well.

He laughed. The sound was like jade, shining and shot through with silver. “That’s not what I meant, but that’s great. If that’s what you want?”

You bit your lip. “I think so. I’m here for prenatals.”

He grinned. “And so responsible! They’re at the front.”

“I don’t want Lucy to see,” you confided. He nodded in understanding, eyebrows raised just slightly.

“Right…” he looked over his shoulder into the back room where Lucy was standing with her back turned, organising boxes.

“You go wait out the front and I’ll sort it,” he told you. “Quickly, before she sees you in here and tells half the town.”

You waited for him around the side, hidden from Lucy when she left. Five minutes later he emerged.

“I realised that I don’t know your name and you don’t know mine,” you said to him. He’d changed out of his polo shirt and was wearing a grey t-shirt with a coat overtop.

“You’re Y/N,” he said, pushing his hand into his coat. “I’m Remus.”

You could’ve crawled into a hole and died. “How’d you know who I am?”

He offered you the box of prenatals. They were the fancy ones, omega 3 and folic acid and all the good stuff.

“I’ve seen you around, you came in with your mother once”

“How much do I owe you?” you asked him, squeezing the box between your hands, brushing your fingertips over the Braille.

“Nothing, they’re a gift. Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you murmured. He was the first person to know and perhaps he’d be the only to congratulate you.

“Remus!”

You and Remus both turned to the voice. There was a young man with glasses hanging out the window of a nice car. “Remus, are you coming? Who’s your friend?”

“Where’s Lily?” Remus called back. “You should not be driving!”

“I’m a perfectly adequate driver!”

“This is Y/N!”

“Hi, Y/N! Do you want to come for dinner?”

“James!” Remus had begun the word shouting and ended it in a shake of his head. “You don’t have to, of course.”

“Um,” your mind was blank.

“We’re having spaghetti!” James warbled.

“Oh, well I’m convinced!” you called to James. He grinned, pleased, and sat back properly in his seat. “Is it okay that I come?” you asked Remus quietly, following him across the street.

“Sure,” he said, holding the car door open behind the driver's seat, “James doesn’t bite. Often.”

“I do,” James disagreed, turning around to face you. He had pearly white teeth and thick, dark hair that framed his brown face in a rugged halo, like feathers, “I’m James.”

“Y/N.”

“Awesome,” he said, “are you Moony’s girlfriend?”

Remus cuffed his shoulder. “Fuck up.”

James didn’t show if he felt it, instead putting the car into reverse and maneuvering out of his parking space with little finesse. Remus gripped the console.

“It’s not that bad,” James smarted.

“It’s worse,” Remus said.

“Y/N doesn’t think so, do you?” James asked you.

You let them tease each other, the box of prenatal vitamins still clutched between your fingers. You were gripped with the sudden thought that they could be driving you to somewhere secluded to kill you, and then that if your daughter ever got in a car with a stranger and a boy she’d only had one proper conversation with, you’d kill her yourself.

“How’d you convince Lily to let you drive this thing?” Remus asked James. You remembered that James was the boyfriend of the girl Remus had said had a baby young, which explained the car seat and the toys in the back seat.

“I’m allowed to drive, legally. I did all the tests. She can’t really stop me.”

“I’m still not sure if you cheated or not.”

“I didn’t!”

You could feel eyes on you.

“So,” James said. “How did you meet Moons?”

“That’s me,” Remus said helpfully. “Don’t plague her, James, she met me at the pharmacy. Where else?”

James gaped at his friend. “Let her speak, good grief! You have the manners of a vagrant.”

You laughed. “I did meet him at the pharmacy.”

“When?”

“Couple weeks ago.”

“You’ve had a girlfriend for weeks and haven’t said anything?” he said, turning to Remus, wounded.

“Prongs,” Remus said. Your eyebrows creased at all these peculiar nicknames. “She isn’t my girlfriend, please. She’s a friend.”

“Well, any friend of Remus’ is a friend of mine.”

“Except Ayesha.”

James scowled. “Fuck off, Ayesha loves me.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. “But I’m not his girlfriend.”

“That’s too bad for him and brilliant news for Sirius.”

Remus glared at him. James took his hands off the wheel to shrug, which had you and Remus both protesting wordlessly. “Relax, I’m such a good driver. I don’t even need to watch the roads, see, my skills are that good,” James said, covering his face. He parted his fingers to see through the gaps.

“Drive normally or I’m ringing your mother,” Remus scolded. You were gripping the seat for dear life as James did an incredibly fast turn down a driveway and stopped, in front of an incredibly lavish looking home.

There was a pale red-headed woman standing at the front door with a child in her arms, looking 4 or 5 years old, skin similarly tanned as his fathers and hair just as thick, though he didn’t have glasses. He was wiggling in her arms, cheering for his dad.

“Dad!” he called.

“Harry, my little man!” he cheered right back, rushing from the car to gather the boy in his arms. You followed Remus’ lead and got out, the door slamming shut behind you with more force than you’d meant.

“God, I’m sorry,” you apologised.

James turned with his son in his arms, a mirror of himself, and smiled graciously. “Harry, Lily, this is Remus’ friend Y/N. She’s come for dinner.”

“Spaghetti!” Harry shouted gleefully.

“Spaghetti!” James echoed.

Lily skirted around her small family to offer you a hug. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“You too,” you said.

You soon glossed over the awkwardness of meeting new people because the magnanimity and charm of their family made it impossible to feel anything except enchanted with them. They were a unit, you could feel it in everything they did, and Remus fit into it too. He picked up toys and stirred the spaghetti, even walked off to answer the phone when James was busy chatting your ear off and Lily was helping Harry wash his hands before dinner.

James set the table and insisted you sit down. “But either way,” he was saying, “it’s so fun to tease him. He’s a sensitive soul, you know?”

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” a new voice said. The boy who’d been smoking cigarettes the first time you’d gone to Remus for help was standing there, smiling at you like you were an enigma. You remembered his wink.

“Obviously about you.”

“I’m Sirius,” he said.

“I’m Y/N.”

“We’ve met before?” he asked, with the air that he knew the answer.

“Yeah, at the pharmacy.”

“The pharmacy,” he said. Everything he said was smooth and soft, though his face was earnest.

“Wine!” Lily shouted, “James, get the wine!”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said to Sirius.

He smiled. He was easy to talk to - they all were, sitting you down at their family table like you’d been there before, like the fifth chair had always been for you. James started to pour you a drink and you had to put your hand over the cup.

“Oh, I can’t,” you said.

The silence was palpable.

“I’m pregnant, not an alcoholic,” you said awkwardly.

“Oh wow, congratulations!” Lily said, clapping her hands together. Harry laughed at his mother’s happiness and started clapping too. James was side-eyeing Remus.

The boys were having a silent conversation. Sirius shrugged. “I’m not pregnant, Prongs,” he said, thrusting his wine glass towards James.

“Congratulations,” James said too, completely ignoring his friend in favour of clapping you good-naturedly on the shoulder. You shied away.

“Only a month, so nothing to be excited for,” you deflected, blushing.

“Not Moony’s, is it?”

“That’s so fucking rude,” Remus protested, “you can’t ask her stuff like that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Sirius said, sounding not too sorry.

You curled in on yourself, poking at the spaghetti in front of you to avoid eye contact. “It’s not. It was - some guy. I didn’t know him.”

“Aren’t all guys just some guy?” Lily asked.

“You’re a misandrist,” James said, sitting down again to finish helping Harry eat his pasta.

“Are you excited?” Lily asked you.

You’d thought a lot about it. You weren’t sure if excitement was the right word, you were determined, more like, to do a good job, and to love someone. “I don’t think it’s set in yet.”

Something certainly started to set in when you hit the 12 week mark. You looked down one day and suddenly you had a small, almost unnoticeable distension of your tummy. Of course, you noticed, you’d spent hours over these two months pressing your hand to your stomach to try and feel something, any sign that there was more than just you in there.

And now you had it - a bump.

The morning sickness started two weeks before the bump. You were sneaky, trying not to disrupt your parents or show any signs of your pregnancy - everything was hidden. The books, the leaflets, the original test, all of them were stashed far under your bed where nobody would touch them. You’d started saving despite a rising wave of fear that it wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to move out and give your baby a loving home.

You told Remus this over dinner at his house. You’d become fast friends along with the rest of his friends, and so James had been there too. It had been perhaps the first secret you had told him - you wanted, earnestly, desperately, to be a good mother, and to do this you needed to get out of that house.

“Are they bad?” James had asked.

“What?”

“Your parents, is it bad?”

You didn’t talk for a while. Neither boy pushed the subject until you were ready.

“How did you know?” you asked finally.

“People don’t leave home unless they have to.”

And so the group of friends had helped you look for a place to live. You wouldn’t move out until you’d saved enough money, was the plan. Enough to cover 3 months rent and to start buying in preparation for the baby’s arrival, which was 6 months away. 6 months away was no time at all.

You told them this too. You were hanging around the pharmacy on your day off to keep Remus company and Sirius had had the same idea. You were sitting in Remus’ chair, his orders, your hand pressed to your swelling stomach.

“I think she’ll come too soon,” you said. Truth be told, you brought up your baby slightly too often. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“What, she’ll be premature?” he asked.

“Not too soon for her. Too soon for me.”

Remus patted your shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Your stomach kept growing. Your morning sickness went away mostly, though your stomach still turned whenever it wanted to. Your favourite foods tasted wrong now and you craved things you’d never tried, not to the excess of some other people, but enough that Remus would often indulge you. He’d fallen into the habit of phoning you on the days he hadn’t seen you, asking you how you were. You’d ask after his health, his chronic pain, his bouts of depression.

“I’m brilliant, Y/N, don’t worry about me. How are you?”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s been a long day. What do you want?”

“What are you talking about? Nothing.”

“You sound distracted. You’re craving something weird again, aren’t you?”

Your face glowed with the guilty pleasure of being known by another person. “I want to try pistachios. I’ve never had them, have you?”

He sounded like he was laughing over the phone. “Baby Y/L/N won’t like them, trust me.”

And yet he’d still shown up at your door an hour later with a little box of pistachios. Your parents had given you an icy silence afterwards, but it had been worth it.

You couldn’t wear tight clothes around them anymore, so you were almost always in a jumper. One you’d stolen from Remus, one you’d been gifted by Lily, and one you’d found on clearance at the supermarket. You could’ve bought yourself some maternity clothes, if you wanted to, but you dreaded the idea of spending your money on yourself instead of the baby.

During your fourth month of pregnancy, you had a really bad week. You were worn down, worried that you were affecting the baby, Remus was bed bound with pain in his upper body and feeling useless because of it.

You’d been skirting around your feelings for Remus for a while. You liked him as a friend - he was the best friend you’d ever had - and you worried you loved him. You’d been sitting on a park bench. You’d taken many initiatives to be a happier, healthier person which included long walks through scenic paths and moments of contemplation. Remus had made a habit of accompanying you after you both finished work. You sat thigh to thigh, him with a coffee, you suffering with water. You stared at his hands in jealousy.

“Not long now,” he’d said.

“I’m not even halfway.”

“It’ll go so quickly, sweetheart. You know that.”

You did know that. It just didn’t feel like it yet.

You’d talked about the sky, Lily’s new job, telemarketing, the cinema, Remus’ new medication, the super moon, the book he was reading. He’d showed you the cassette player he’d found in the charity shopped and you’d listened to the tape that had been inside, music that was sad and not the best you’d ever heard, but there was a 30 second period where you’d both looked out over the grass and the damp pathways, knees touching, when you’d felt a kick.

You’d gasped so loud and so suddenly Remus had spilled his coffee all over the ground. You apologised profusely, pressing your hand to your stomach.

“What? What?”

You’d slipped your hand under your jumper and shirt, pressing circles into your stomach until you’d felt it. Your baby was kicking. You’d looked at Remus, eyes full of joy.

You’d grabbed his hand and held it over the place where the skin was stretching. It felt weird, uncomfortable and a smidge tight, but mostly it was a confirmation. Your baby was real. She was real and kicking. Remus had looked at you like you were the most precious thing on earth and you were hard-pushed to get his hand from your tummy afterwards. So yes, maybe you loved him.

You clung to this memory on the bad days and longed to feel a kick again. She didn’t do it often yet, but Lily assured you they could get aggressive.

You visited Remus. He was on his sofa, looking as though the colour had finally returned to his cheeks.

“Feeling any better?” you asked him.

“I am,” he said. His voice was clearer than it had been in days. “How’s bump?”

“Bumpy.”

“How’s mum?”

You flopped down on his sofa next to him. “Don’t call me that.”

He let his arm come around your shoulders in an imitation of a hug. You let your head fall on his shoulder. “How are you then, sweetheart?”

You scrunched your eyes shut. “I think I’m sick. It’s dangerous for me to be sick. What if something happens?”

“You’re not sick.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you have any cold symptoms?”

“…”

“You’re not sick. You’re tired. Go sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about my scan.”

“That’s days away.”

“What if something’s wrong?”

“It won’t be.”

“You don’t know that,” you mumbled into his arm.

“I know it’s,” he struggled for the words, “not my place, but if you want me to go with you, I will.”

You’d gone to your first scan alone. The sonograms of her, so small, hadn’t felt real. You kept the picture in a box of crackers in your room.

“I actually wanted to ask you something.”

You looked at him and realised you’d ignored his question. “Of course I want you to come.”

He nodded, looking filled with something. “Do you… like me?” he asked.

You kept your head in his shoulder. “You know I do.”

“Right, but do you like me? Because I like you.”

“You like me?” you asked incredulously, frozen.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, voice wilting. “I promise.”

“You don’t have to say these things, Remus. You don’t have to take care of me. I’ll be alright.”

He pushed the hair back from your face. It was strange to be having such a serious conversation in such a relaxed position. You supposed he was so tired, like you were. And you both knew that although you had your own reasons to doubt yourselves, the love was there.

“Tell me again when I’m having a good day and I’ll believe you’re not just trying to save me,” you whispered.

“I will,” he promised. “I will.”

You sat with Remus in the waiting room of the ultrasound, leg jumping. He didn’t mind, reading the leaflets and posters tacked on the wall aloud for you to calm you down. It wasn’t working. This was your mid-pregnancy scan, you were 21 weeks along and looked it in today’s outfit, and you were terrified.

Remus put his hand on your leg. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“It’s fine.”

“It is not fine!” you said angrily, your hormones getting to you for once.

“You’ll love her no matter what, won’t you?”

“Of course I will!”

“Then it’s fine. Here, have one of these,” he said, offering you a worthers from his pocket. You took it roughly and then felt bad. “Thanks,” you said apologetically, mouth full.

“You’re welcome. Try and relax,” he soothed.

Soon you were called in by a stout, grumpy woman who called Remus ‘dad’. You didn’t bother correcting her, too nervous and your bladder so full that your mind couldn’t focus. You laid out on the table, hands shaking from the nerves. Remus deftly slid his fingers between yours and held your hand to his chest. You both watched the screen in morbid trepidation, and there she was.

The ultrasound technician worked mostly in silence, taking measurements and clicking buttons you didn’t understand.

“You want to know the gender?” she asked gruffly.

Remus was halfway through a yes, please, when you said, “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. Beautiful, really, everything in order and she’s big for her age. 93rd percentile.”

Remus brought your joined hands to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and you promptly burst into tears.

“I’m so happy she’s okay,” you told him later, walking down the hallways with your cold, sticky stomach hidden back under your clothes and a biscuit and a napkin in the other. Remus was leading you by the hand down the hospital from the cafeteria, where he’d just bought you your buttery biscuit. You’d been so sick with worry you hadn’t been eating properly and he was determined to get some sugar in you before you crashed. Next he was thinking he’d force feed you something hearty before he sent you to bed for the foreseeable future.

“You’ve been taking great care of her,” he complimented you, grateful that you’d allowed him to hold your hand for so long.

Remus had fancied you since the day he’d first seen you and everyday after that, even when you’d come into the pharmacy looking peaky and then the second time, when you’d cried.

He wondered if today counted as a good day for you - it must, surely? Would you accept his confession now?

All he wanted to do was lie you flat in his bed and kiss you silly, sometimes. He’d settle for holding your hand. You realised eventually that you were still gripping onto him and so you squeezed his fingers a final time and let them drop, eating your biscuit ravenously.

“How’d you know she was a girl?” he asked you. Right from the start you’d been saying ‘she’.

You put your hand right at the bottom of your abdomen. “I just knew. It never occurred to me that she wasn’t.”

“Are you going home to yours or coming to mine?” he asked.

“Can I come to your house? I want to be happy about this out loud for a while longer,” you told him, wiping your fingers clean on your napkin.

“‘Course you can.”

You got a taxi home. He felt right as rain today and would’ve enjoyed the walk, but you’d been complaining of sore feet lately, and the bus was always so crowded out of the city.

“I’ll have to move out soon,” you said in the taxi. “They’re worse than before, and I’m getting more and more obvious. I left a breastfeeding leaflet on my bedroom floor the other day and only noticed it when my dad was standing in the doorway.”

“James says his mother can put you somewhere if you have an emergency, and you know you can stay with me,” he said lightly.

“It’s hardly an emergency… yet,” you said. “Anyways, the longer I stay with them the more money I can save for baby.”

��‘For baby’?”

“What else should I say?”

“The baby?”

“Well, she’s not the only baby, she’s just mine.”

He laughed at you, eyes drifting down to your lovely round belly. The pregnancy glow that people talked about was absolutely real, Remus would testify, he would swear it in court. You were gorgeous even tired and stressed, and he couldn’t help thinking about it now as you rubbed your hand up and down your stomach. Did it make you more attractive to him, how intensely you loved the life growing inside you? Maddeningly. He’d found you beautiful before. Now, you were angelic.

“Listen,” he said, “it’s only going to get harder from here. You’re so tired sometimes, you do too much. If you move out you can rest.”

You shook your head. “I have to work anyways, I can’t rest.”

“You can’t work and play housemaid.”

“I don’t play housemaid,” you said, scowling. He regretted his words, regretted how your good mood fell away.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

You huffed. The taxi pulled up outside Remus flat and he paid, holding the door open. You said thanks with little attitude so he assumed he was forgiven.

“When baby's born I’ll have to work. If I can’t handle this now I won’t manage in a few months, and I need to be able to manage.”

Remus huffed a laugh. You didn’t say much in the lift and he didn’t mind, watching you in the mirrored wall. You walked out of the lift and he opened the flat door, where you wasted no time sprawling out on his sofa, careful of your bump.

He stood in the doorway, hesitant to bring it up again.

“Do you remember what I said to you? I’ll take care of you,” he said quietly, standing just in front of the closed door.

You stared at him.

“It’s a good day, isn’t it?” he asked you.

“Remus,” you started.

“I’m not saying you would stay home and play housewife all the time, but you need to rest and I want you to. I want what’s best for you, sweetheart.”

Your hand drifted to your tummy.

“Move in with me for now. Get your own place when you can - or don’t, I don’t care. And when baby comes you can finally stay still for a bit.”

"Remus."

"It's not a misaligned need to save you, or pity or worry or whatever you're telling yourself. You said to tell you on a good day and you'd believe me, so believe me.

"And if you don't want me, that's okay too. I just want you to know you have the option.”

"Of course I want you. I don't see why you want me, is all,” you said, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “I’m pregnant, Remus, used goods.”

“Tell me you don’t think that of yourself,” he pleaded.

You smiled at him placatingly, in a way that made him want to wrap you up in bubble wrap, before looking down at your hands. “It’s true.”

He took careful, slow steps towards you.

“Your being pregnant doesn’t make you used goods. You can have as much sex as you like and you still wouldn’t be used. You’re funny, and smart and kind and pretty; you get prettier everyday. And the way you take care of you to-“ he gestured to your stomach, “to take care of her, that makes you the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You held your hand out. He gave you his, heart pounding, and you put it against your stomach, smiling at him softly. “Alright, Remus. I believe you.”

“And you’re sure it won’t hurt the baby?” Remus asked, lips pressed to yours, hand just below your chest.

“I’m positive,” you said, giggling.

“But how can you know?” he asked, looking down at your baby bump sceptically.

“Lily told me so,” you said, hands already teasing the waistband of his dark jeans. Remus pressed you down flat against his pillows in a move he knew you enjoyed, having performed it many times in the month you’d been seeing each other officially.

Your hair spread out behind your head. You looked up at him, your bright eyes shining like the setting sun, lidded and charged. He licked a stripe up your jawline to make you laugh, unbelievably pleased when you did, batting his head away gently.

His hand crept under your flowing maternity smock shirt to explore your chest, deft fingers quick to locate your perked up nipple. Your breasts were heavy, tender under his touch - he loved the catch in your breath when he pinched your skin.

“And how does Lily know?”

“She’s been pregnant.”

“She’s not telepathic.”

“Remus,” you said, tone coloured with humour. “Do you really believe you’re big enough to reach my womb?”

He pinched slightly harder. You moaned and wiggled underneath him where he sat atop your thighs. He grinned in satisfaction and took the hem of your shirt between his fingers to pull it up to your neck, exposing your tits, which bobbed up and down with your moving chest.

“You’re giving me dead legs,” you complained.

“You liar,” he accused, face screwed up in disbelief.

“Take your trousers off, won’t you? Ease the load.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked, hand pressed to his chest.

“Depends,” you said, hands coming up to cup your tits, “is it working?”

“No,” he said lovingly, kissing the skin where your chest started to rise.

You moved your hands to his hair, brushing it out of his face with featherlight movements. “It won’t hurt again, will it?” you asked tentatively, lips pressed together in concern.

“No, sweetheart. As long as you’re ready, it’ll be fine. It’ll be more than fine. And if it hurts at any point, you tell me and we’ll stop. Okay?” he told you.

“Alright,” you said, chest deflating as you relaxed. He kissed your skin again and clambered off of you to strip until he was in just his boxers, helping you out of your shirt and thick, stretchy leggings.

He’d wondered a lot in the last month how you’d look completely nude. You hadn’t brought up sex once since he’d kissed you on the sofa, and so he’d assumed you’d let him know when you were ready, until one day you’d asked him, “Do you find my body unattractive?”

He’d cleared that up straight away. You really hadn’t been ready to have intercourse yet. Instead, you’d tried lots of different things beforehand that had proved mutually pleasurable for you both.

He was blown away by the sight of you - your legs were a feat of nature, truly. He took it upon himself to kiss up the length of them, amused by your shy smile, until he was face to face with your underwear, your legs pushed up as much as you could manage so he could lie between them. His thumb found your centre, pushing up into the flesh of your clit, the bud soft and warm under his touch, and your breathing hitched. He repeated the action, drawing soothing circles in the fabric, and soon your breaths were fast and shallow.

He pushed your underwear to one side and teased the line of your slit with his fingertip, circling your dampening entrance slowly. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No,” you said quietly. He nodded, pushing the beginnings of his middle finger inside you with extreme care. He flicked his eyesight between your face and his movements. Your mouth was open. If he went any lower down your bump would get in the way and he was determined to watch your expression, so he balanced on his elbow.

You were tight around his finger. He worked slowly and added the second, encouraged by your twitching thigh. He pushed in to the knuckle and you gasped. When he looked up you’d pressed your fingers to your mouth.

“Hurts?”

“No,” you said quickly, and then flushed.

“Swear?”

“It feels nice, stop fishing.”

He grinned, he had been fishing. He scissored his fingers inside you, wetness starting to really work out of you and ease his pumping. He adored the breathy sounds that floated out of you. His fingers pushed to the hilt, Remus set about finding your g-spot, or any pleasure he could give you, curling his fingers inside you. You gasped again, covering your whole face with your hands.

“You liked that, huh, bub?” he asked, curling his fingers again. You moaned in confirmation.

Remus pushed up onto his knees to regain control of his other hand and used it to circle your clit again. You were overwhelmed at first by both sensations and quickly got used to them in tandem, whispering for Remus to go faster.

“Faster?” he repeated.

You nodded. He quirked his wrist so that every thrust of his fingers had his knuckles flat at your opening. Your self-restraint was weaning and you couldn’t stop from moaning loudly, hips bucking to meet his thrusts, cunt shiny and reddened from the repetitive force against it.

He didn’t rush, taking great pleasure in your pleasure. Although he was no stranger to you, he felt like he was learning so much from the way you trembled, the lilt in your moans when he curled just right.

You caught his wrist. “I’ll finish,” you protested.

He paused, smiling up at you. “That’s the point.”

“I want to when you’re inside me,” you said.

He groaned, feeling his aching dick twitch in his trousers at the sentiment. “It’s not pay-per-cum, you can do it again.”

You laughed so loudly your voice cracked. “What’s wrong with you? I’m begging you to fuck me and you’re a comedian now?” you said, a splitting smile on your face.

“That was hardly begging. More like gentle encouragement. You can do better.”

You shifted, lost now he wasn’t touching you. “You’re really gonna make me beg?” you asked softly.

“Yes,” he answered, prodding your clit again. You jolted at the contact and closed your eyes, knees tilting inwards.

“Remus,” you tried, voice wavering, “please. Please, will you fuck me?”

“All you had to do was ask,” he said, and then, perhaps cruelly, rubbed a tight circle into your clit until you were crying out, back tensed.

He watched your cunt contract with fascination, felt his mouth go dry. He was straining against the fabric of his trousers. His hand slipped under them with hardly a second thought,

You opened your eyes reluctantly and figured out what he was doing, stretching your hands out towards him. “Can I?” you asked. He crawled across the rumpled sheets to kneel in front of your face. You turned onto your side and took his cock into your hand, touch like silk, clumsy despite previous attempts. He didn’t care in the slightest, hand rubbing up and down your shoulder as you played with him, tracing the soft pad of your index finger in a circle around the head of his dick. You were being your lip in concentration, so he held his hand to your face and pulled your cheek with his thumb.

You looked up at him quizzically. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi, pretty,” he murmured, tilting your head back to dot kisses at your jawline. Your hand stuttered where it was moving from the attention. He covered it with his own and put you back on track. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Your chest heaved. “Am I doing a good job?”

“The best job,” his breathing turned shallow, eyelids drifting shut, “just like that.”

He dragged your hand up his shaft until he was confident you wouldn’t stop and set both hands at the slope of your shoulders, rising up your neck to bury them at the base of your skull, fingers weaving through your hair. You leaned forward to plant a kiss on the side of his abdomen before dropping down to do the same to his dick. He held your hair back as you worked him, sucking the head of his cock in your mouth.

You swirled your tongue around it like he was a lollipop. He encouraged you forward, careful not to fuck into your throat. Your morning sickness was mostly gone nowadays but your general nausea was like a faulty fuse. You bobbed up and down on his cock so that the head distended the soft skin of your cheek until he was covered in your spit.

He pulled away. “Be careful.”

You didn’t even have the decorum to look scolded, instead laying flat on your back again. He held your head up to push another pillow underneath your neck.

He pulled you sideways so you were on a diagonal, pushing one of your legs up to rest on his thigh. He rubbed the head of his dick at your entrance. You visibly held your breath.

“What did I say earlier?”

“Uhmmm…”

“Tell me if it hurts. I’m not joking.”

You gifted him a soft upturn of your lips. “I will, silly.”

“I’ll show you silly,” he said under his breath.

He pushed into you steadily, his thumb on your cunt to pull at your entrance. The other hand was gripping your waist, holding you in place. He pushed inside you with his teeth grit, pleasure going straight to the pit of his stomach as he inched forward. Your leg you were using to keep yourself in place was shaking. He pulled it down flat to relieve the strain, the other pressed to his chest.

His pelvis pressed to yours. You mewled, your fingernails digging into his hand on your hip. “How’s that feel, sweetheart?” This was your second time having penetrative sex, and he wanted it to be better than the first. You were abstracted, gaze clouded up where it was on his face. He pulled out to push in again, this time smoother, quicker. “Feel okay?”

“It feels nice,” you said quietly.

“Only nice?”

“It feels good,” you whined, his thumb further antagonising your clit.

Remus thrusted into you, spreading your tight cunt open. He could hear in your moans that you liked the stretched feeling, and your wetness was further evidence. He pushed into you, over and over, increasing his speed as you relaxed. He was hesitant to use an exorbitant amount of force, pacing himself when he longed to hit your walls, reshape you around his hard cock.

You were pleading, saying something quietly, washed out by his thrusts.

“Speak up, baby,” he said, holding your leg to his chest, allowing his dick to drive even deeper in your dripping cunt.

“Please, Remus,” you said, reaching between you both, a look of ecstasy on your face.

“What, baby, what do you want?”

“Faster,” you moaned. Well, he was never one to deny you, careful not to lean his weight on your abdomen as he adjusted, fucking into you and pulling you down to meet him simultaneously. You were overcome by this, pressing the side of your face into the cushions, mouth open and panting. Remus fucked into you so quickly he was panting himself, barely stopping to grab your wandering hand.

Your weeping cunt was soiling the bed sheets, a translucent circle formed beneath you. He couldn’t believe how wet you were, and slowly found it difficult to find purchase on your clit with one finger. He pressed all of his fingers in your sensitive button instead and opted for quick, fast lines of movement whilst he plowed into you. A moan like a half-sob left you, your hips tensing up under his hand.

“Fuck,” you said, throwing your hips down into his cock, spearing yourself open, “oh my god, Remus.”

He pushed into the hilt and towered over you, pushing your upper leg back as much as he could, weary of your bump. From there he fucked you deeply, hitting your tender spot over and over. You could barely look at him, barely speak, a stream of curse words and compliments slipping from your mouth. He hooked your leg over his shoulder and kissed your knee cap lovingly.

“Gonna cum again, sweetheart? I know you can.”

You looked as though you might start crying, tears clinging to your eyelashes. “You’re so deep.”

“Uh-huh, so deep in my girl. You take me so well, you know? So well,” he said, punctuating the praise with another deep thrust. You clenched around his dick and he groaned, the drag of him pulling out like heaven, your second release written all over your face.

He pinched your clit spitefully between his index and middle finger and smirked when you came, your leg over his shoulder digging in hard, your cunt clenching around him so tightly he had to pull out. He watched your pretty wet entrance clench around nothing, slick dripping out, with a regretful grin, lips pressed together. Once you’d calmed down enough to open your eyes he pushed back in, hand still on your clit. You reached between you both to steal his hand away, too sensitive for the prolonged stimulation.

“So fucking hot,” he said, so turned on he was sure half the mess between you both is his own precum. His dick pushed into your still trembling cunt, his head aching and so sensitive he had to stop inside you and take a breather, kissing the crest of your stomach, the skin between your tits, and then finally, slovenly, your soft, perfect mouth.

You brought your hands up to his face to keep him there, even though it was a terribly tight squeeze, your stomachs pressed together. If he’d been any shorter it wouldn’t have worked.

After a moment he pulled back to lean his forehead on yours. You were looking at him with wide, wet eyes, so full of fondness and pleasure that he came in you without thinking, a series of short shallow thrusts that milked his cum out of him relentlessly. He gave it a few thrusts for good measure, the mixture of you both seeping out and covering his pelvis.

You were giggling, fuck-drunk and blissed, kissing the length of his arm. “Good thing I already have a bun in the oven.”

He laughed too, pressing a wet smacking kiss to the skin just in front of your ear that had you squealing in protest. “Good thing,” he agreed, the flat of his hand pressed to your stomach.

hi thanks for reading! and now for tag club :3:

marauders tag list @marimorena06 @glimmering-darling-dolly @siriuslystfu @thatblackravenclaw @etneufaled @thatonecomfyjumper @lupinlust @touchdeprivedwh0re @vi0letblu3s @dracoslittlesunflower @mooncalvin @gaysnowrose @rubym13 @thatonecomfyjumper @set-myself-on-fire

tags r copy and pasted so if they arent working pls blame technology

if u want to be added or removed please let me know tysm !

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acciotwinz · 2 years

Text

Long Distance ~ R. T.

Roger can't sleep and calls a random number left of a napkin. He expected to find someone to help tire him out. He never thought he'd find love.

[Reposting and major editing of an old fic I had posted on an old blog & crossed posted on ao3]

Warnings: SMUT, +18 ONLY - MINORS DNI; swearing & cursing; unclear timeline (lmao); Brian is a bit of a douche. It's a long ass one, over 20K words. Read at your own risk!

Sometimes, being a rockstar isn’t all it’s cooped up to be.

Especially when on a world tour because it really has a way of derailing one’s internal clock. It’s the reason Roger can’t sleep. He had been hopeful that between the jet lag, the excitement of being back in his own bed, the hectic rehearsal and recording schedule as well as the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed at the local dive bar with his mates would be enough to tire him out. Apparently, he’s very mistaken.

He'd done what he usually does: counts sheep, lays in the dark, read the really boring book Brian has suggested. Nothing seems to be working this time around.

For what feels like the thousandth time, Roger turns over in his bed. He almost misses those rock-hard mattresses and non-existent pillows in the hotels around the world. He groans, casting his eyes to the red numbers glowing in the dark room. It’s nearing 1.30am and as much as his body is begging for sleep, his mind wouldn't shut off.

Throwing the light blanket to the side, Roger swings his legs off the bed. There’s no point in laying around, letting his frustration build. He eyes his discarded jacket, deciding that a quick smoke might help him relax just enough to be able to finally fall asleep. Stretching his arms above his head, his back cracks and with a loud sigh, quickly followed by a loud yawn, he lazily crosses his bedroom to reach the jacket he left by the door, fishing his half-empty pack of cigarettes from the pocket. As he rummages around the pockets for his lighter, a crumpled piece of paper flutters to the ground.

With furrowed brows and cigarette dangling from his lips, Roger picks it up from the ground. After having found the lighter, Roger starts walking towards his bed. Lighting the cigarette, he takes a deep drag, letting his lungs fill with nicotine, immediately giving him a sense of calm.

Feeling more relaxed, Roger clamps his teeth gently around the filter, using his now free hands to uncurl the piece of paper. Once he sees the hastily scrawled digits, his lips stretch into a massive grin.

Taking another drag and flicking the ash into the empty ash-tray on his bedside table, he tries to recall when the number was slipped into his pocket. It had to be from earlier that evening as the number had the London area code and he hasn’t worn the jacket on tour as he’d forgotten it at home. However, no matter how hard he thought back to his evening, no specific girl sprang to mind. There had been quite a few that came to chat him and the lads up, but none of them stood out. He doesn’t even remember being particularly flirty with anyone of them.

Roger casts another quick glance at the clock. It’s still early enough that if the girl really was out at the dive bar with them, she’s probably getting home now as he left much earlier than regular, hoping that the jetlag and general exhaustion would lead to a good night sleep.

Deciding that the woman had clearly hoped for a call from him, Roger picks up the receiver and dials the number. Making himself comfortable, he waits for someone to pick up.

It rings much more than he thought it would and he debates if maybe he shouldn’t be calling this late, if it’s better to try again during working hours.

Suddenly, the phone stops ringing, and there is a very groggy and angry voice coming through the line, “Someone better be dead.”

Rogers chuckles. “Well, hello to you too love”.

In response, he only hears a groan and it sounds so deep that he questions if he’s actually speaking to a girl.

“Who is this? And why on earth are you ringing my flat at...” there’s a small pause, as the person on the other line is clearly reaching for something “1.17 in the bloody morning?!”

Roger cringes, closing his eyes as guilt floods his body. He really shouldn’t have called but he really isn’t great at making decisions when tired and slightly inebriated. “I’m sorry, love. Thought you’d want me to call as soon as I found your number.” He hates that he can’t recall a name or even a face.

“I am not your ‘love’!” the girl says angrily, “I have absolutely no clue who you are. Or why on earth you are calling me. I certainly did not give you, my number.”

For a moment, nothing is said on either end and Roger decides d to play it cool, act confident and pretend as if he actually remembers exactly who he’s talking to. “I know we didn't spend that much time together but I -”

“Let me stop you before you start,” she interrupts and Roger can hear her shuffle around, most likely sitting up in her own bed. “I have no idea who you think you are but I can guarantee that I did not give you, my number. And before you ask, no, I don’t have any roommates.”

The girl grunts in discomfort, questioning why she’s entertaining this jackass when she can just hang up and disconnect her phone for the night.

“Oh” the syllable is so sound and dejected that she can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him, even though he woke her at an ungodly hour.

She has no know why she speaks again. “You must have made a terrible impression if some random bird decided to leave you a fake number.”

There’s an offended scoff that comes down the line almost makes up for the unwanted wake-up call. “No girl has ever done that to me. Or would need to do it. I’m a catch, thank you very much.”

“Sure you are, big boy.” She says concededly.

“Are you saying that I’m not?”

She snorts, short and derisive, “I’m sorry to break it to you but it seems that the girl who gave you the number didn’t think you were all that special.”

Roger pouts, stubbing out his long-forgotten cigarette, “You don’t sound all that sorry to me.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not.”

Roger can’t hep the small laugh that bubbles out, “And would you feel inclined to illuminate me on why?”

“Could it be because some random bloke decided to call me at stupid o’clock trying to get in my knickers?”

“You wish,” and even though she’s never seen him before in her life, she knows he’s smirking.

“Are you really telling me that you weren’t calling in hope of a shag?”

Roger shrugs, deciding to lay down and make himself comfortable, “I’m not going to lie and say I would be unhappy if it happened but that wasn’t the main reason I called.”

She bites, “Why did you call?”

“I…” Roger pauses. Why did he call?

“Are you ok?”

Roger blinks, surprised by the sudden care that seems to colour her voice. “What?”

“I just mean…” she sighs, laying back down and glancing at her alarm clock. “It’s late. Or early, depending on how you want to see it. And your voice sounded a bit off. There must be something on your mind if you think that calling a random stranger in the middle of the night is a good idea.”

She really can’t explain the sudden interest in the man. She doesn’t know him but he sounds so sad, and is clearly lonely. It tugs at her heart in all the best and worst ways. Thank you, childhood trauma.

A small, grateful smile forms on Roger’s face and his voice softens noticeably. “You’re very kind, love. I’m just a bit jet lagged.”

She hums in surprise, “That sounds fascinating! Where did you get back from?”

“That, I’m afraid, is only for friends.” He tuts, “And I don’t even know your name.”

She laughs and Roger’s heart does something weird in his chest that he pointedly ignores.

“Touché”, she’s still laughing. “The name’s Y/N.”

“Lovely name for a lovely voice,” he says softly. “I’m Roger.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roger.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N.”

There’s a small pause and it would be the perfect moment to hang up but neither seem to want to.

“Well, now that we’re friends, want to share why you’re jetlagged?”

Roger laughs, bringing his free arm behind his neck, “I was in America.”

“Fancy!” She says with a laugh, “What were you doing across the pond?”

“I’m in a band and we were on tour.”

-----

What should have been a one-time thing evolved into something more.

Roger and Y/N find themselves speaking on the phone nearly every day, even when Roger left for tour again.

The first month, it was Roger that called every day. It had started because of a particularly rough day in the studio and remembering the kindness and care in Y/N’s voice, he decided that her friendly voice was what he needed to feel better.

When the second month rolled around, Y/N asked for a way to contact him if she was having a bad day.

And thus, the tradition was born.

It’s been six months now and every time the phone rings, Y/N can’t help the flutter of her heart or the smile on her face. Roger has somehow weaseled his way into her life and she couldn't be more grateful. He’s become her best friend, her confidant, someone she can trust blindly and who would always listen to her and have her back. She feels like she knows Roger better than the people she hands out with daily. They’ve opened up about their lives, their dreams and insecurities. Y/N knows that Roger wants to make it big but he’s afraid that the drugs, the booze and the sex may cloud his mind and stop him from living his dream. He shares how much he loves his band mates but how they tend to get under his skin, especially when writing new music.

Y/N shares how she took over her mother’s bookstore while being an editor on the side to make ends meet. She opens up about her limited social interactions and how she feels like she’s a bit too clingy and overbearing.

They talk about their childhoods and what they do to relax.

The two of them understand each other in such a deep, soulful way that should scare her but only gives her a sense of calm.

Y/N has even come up with a sort of table to help keep on top of the time difference when Roger is traveling. She glances quickly at the alarm next to her bed and is excited to see that Roger should be calling her in a few minutes.

She makes sure her tea is still warm as she fluffs her pillows, settling down on the bed while tucking herself into the blankets. She waits impatiently for the phone to ring and when it finally does, she grins brightly.

“Hello there, rockstar!”

It only takes hearing his voice to know that something is up. “What did they do this time?”

“Who says they did anything?” Roger knows he’s pouting and that his tone is a clear indication that his band mates did indeed do something wrong, but he doesn’t feel ready or willing to talk about it.

“Rog, please don’t.”

They’d done this before: one of them – usually Roger – is in a mood and takes it out of the other, making everyone involved feel like shit by the end of the call. Y/N isn’t sure if she has the energy for it today but has never and will never be truly able to ignore Roger when he’s clearly upset about something.

“I know something is bothering you and I’m almost certain it has something to do with your mates since you were fine before leaving for rehearsal.” There’s a brief pause and Y/n adds softly, “I worry about you.”

Roger sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine.” He knows he’s being a bit too short with her and that nothing was her fault, but he can’t really help it. He doesn’t want to deal with it.

“Rog…I…” her mind can’t seem to form the right words to explain the thoughts running through it. She’s well aware of his temper and how it flares up around his mates; how he likes loads of sugar; how he can’t see without his glasses but still refuses to wear them.

Y/N knows that this time, something is different but she can’t really explain why or how without admitting that she feels more than friendship towards the drummer. And she isn’t ready just yet to wear her heart on her sleeve just yet.

She ends up settling for the next best thing. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I understand. But please, don’t lie to me. I know something is up and I will never force you talk about it.”

Roger sighs in relief, some of his anger evaporation as he finds himself smiling “Thank you. How was your day?”

It’s at times like this, with Y/N talking happily about her day, rambling on and on about things he doesn’t quite understand and people he doesn’t know that he questions how he got so lucky to have gotten a random number that led to having this amazing girl in his life.

“I still can’t believe that no one except Peter Pan warned me about how much it sucksbeing a grown up,” Roger can tell she’s pouting and it makes him laugh.

The laughter however is cut short when she tries asking about his day and the previous night’s concert. “I’m in a rock band. It goes as well as rock concert goes.”

Y/N blinks, surprised by the venom suddenly lacing his tone. “What kind of answer is that?” She tries to keep her tone neutral, not letting it show how affected she is.

“The one I’m giving you.”

They may have been talking for six months but she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to keep up or understand his mood swings. “Why are you taking your shit out on me?! What’s your problem?!”

As understanding as she may be, Y/N has never had much patience for people taking their anger out on innocent bystanders, who just happen to be at the right place for the wrong time.

“You’re my fucking problem!” Roger snaps, voicing raising as he continues, “You ask all these fucking questions and pester me worse than my mother ever has. You’re not her. You’re not even my girlfriend. You’re a stranger that just doesn’t know when to let go.” His chest is heaving as he sits forward on his bed, empty hand curled into a fist. “God, we haven’t even met are you’re already so fucking clingy –”

With tears in her eyes, Y/N hangs up the phone. She tries reasoning with herself. She knows he’s upset, that something got him in this horrible mood but she has nothing to do with that. He’s hurt and wants to hurt others around him and he did succeed, if you ask Y/N. He’d said the one thing that he knew would absolutely shake her confidence and make her feel like garbage. They’d talked about it, multiple times. Roger had even reassured her at every turn that she was absolutely not clingy and that he loved every second they got to spend on the phone together.

He'll apologize when he feels better.

He values you.

You’re his friend.

Y/N keeps repeating these mantras over and over again as she stands on shaky legs, heading towards her small bathroom.

The phone starts ringing but she ignores it. She lets the tears fall, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on her face. The phone stops ringing, just to pick up again a few seconds later, confirming her suspicion that it’s Roger trying to get hold of her.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly makes her way back to her bed, sipping on the now lukewarm cup of tea. She glares at the ringing phone, wanting Roger to feel what she’s feeling, even just a bit.

Almost thirty minutes go by before she feels as if she’s got her emotions under control and is ready to speak to Roger, who hasn’t stopped calling since she hung up.

With a deep breath, she closes her eyes and picks up the phone, placing the receiver against her ear.

“I’m so sorry, love!” Roger’s voice floods her system as he stumbles over his words. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Or, I mean I shouldn’t… it isn’t…”

He takes a stuttering breath, collecting himself before he attempts to explain himself again. “You had nothing to do with my shit mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said, I just knew that those were things that would hurt you and it isn’t an excuse and I understand if you’re angry and don’t want to talk to me for a while but please know that I am extremely sorry and that I will do whatever I need to for you to forgive me and I’m such an ass. I’m so fucking sorry Y/N. I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Will you now?” He can tell that’s she trying to be upbeat and wants to make him feel better but that isn’t her job. Not this time.

“I swear it, Y/N. On my drumming career. I won’t ever hurt you like this again and whatever you need me to do to get your forgiveness, I will do it. Name your price. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I s–”

“Really? Absolutely anything?”

Roger nods and realising she can’t seem him, he vocalizes his answer.

“Even if I asked you to rob a bank?”

He laughs, tears of joy springing to his eyes. “Just tell me which one.”

The line goes quiet for a few seconds but Roger’s guilt crawls up his throat. “I really am so extremely sorry, Y/N.”

“I know. I forgive you,” her voice is so soft, full of kindness he doesn’t deserve and his heart does some funky fluttering in his chest.

Roger’s shoulders lose their tension as he melts into the hotel mattress. Knowing she isn’t to upset with him and that they’ll be able to jump back from this soothes his fears of losing her. He’s not sure he’d ever be able to get over it if it were to happen.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispers and he can hear how upset she is and if he could transport himself to London to sooth all her fears with a hug he would. His urge to book the first flight out is almost uncontrollable. “I didn't mean to make you feel like I was pushing you to talk about something you didn't want to. I just worry about you, and I can't do anything if not ask what's wrong.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for love.” He shakes his head, clenching his hand against the comforter. Never before has he felt such a strong urge to hold a girl in his arms. His voice grows softer as he smiles gently, wishing her could be by her side. “You were just...just being a good friend. I should have seen that instead of the inside of my own ass.”

Y/N hums noncommittally. When she speaks again, her voice is a bit uncertain but sympathetic, “You've had a bloody terrible day, haven't you?”

“It wasn't exactly one for the books.” Roger can’t help the twinge of anger that laces his tone. He really doesn’t want to get into it, knowing full well he won’t be able to control his temper if he does.

“You're also tired.” It’s not a question. She knows. She always knows.

Roger smiles sadly, heart swelling in affection for the girl on the other side of the line “Yeah, I am.”

She sighs, frowning as she doesn’t want to let him go but knowing that he needs his rest “I should probably let you rest.”

“Please don't hang up.”

It’s Y/N heart’s turn to beat erratically as she grins ear to ear when she realizes that he cares for her as much as she does for him. “Okay.”

“Just for a little while, please.”

His voice is a whisper and she answer in the same tone, “As long as you want, rockstar.”

Roger lets his eyes drift shut, rolling onto his side as he holds the receiver tightly in his hands so he won’t accidentally drop it. He could never seem to get enough of her and he doesn’t even know what she looks like yet. What will happen when they finally meet? One thing he knows for sure is that he won’t be able to keep his hands to himself.

“I’d do just about anything to be with you right now”

Had he not been holding the phone tightly against his head, Roger would have missed it. She had spoken so softly, lovingly.

The blond smiles. “Really? Anything?”

She hums, fanning her heated cheeks as she thanks her lucky stars that he can’t see her. She hadn’t expected those words to slip out of her moth but they’ve been talking for so long and they’d just had their first fight.

“I'd swim across the bloody ocean if I could.” He means so much to her that she really would do anything to cross the distance separating them.

Roger blushes, eyes bright and cheeks hurting because of his blinding smile. She makes him so giddy, “All that work just for me?”

Y/N feels her cheek warming up even more, “You’re worth it.” She wonders how he doesn’t realize just how much he means to her or that she would do anything for him.

He hums to himself, grin never faltering as his minds comes up with all these different scenarios he’d love to make come true. Y/N laughs, almost as if she can read his mind, prompting him to ask what caused his favourite sound of the world.

“I think you might actually like me when we finally meet,” she admits finally, still laughing and it really is the best sound to ever reach his ears.

He feels a blush start to spread across his face as he realizes exactly what she said. Never being one to censor himself, he decides to push their carefully set boundaries. “You know, I sometimes imagine you’re here with me sometimes.”

“Yeah?” her laughter, just like her breath, is cut off abruptly. This is certainly not the turn she thought the conversation would be taking.

The drummer hums his assent, turning so he’s laying on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling as he imagines the girl of his dreams in bed next to him. “Yeah. I don't even have a picture of you in my head or anything...I know it doesn't make sense but –”

“No, it does!” She reassures. She never wants him to think that she doesn’t understand what was going through his mind.

He smiles, “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“What would you do if you were with me, right now?” because he knows exactly what he wishes they could be doing but he needs her to want and imagine the same thing.

“Why?” She has to put a hand over her mouth to stop the squealing his question brought to her lips. Why he makes her feel like a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush is beyond her but she wouldn’t give up this feeling for anything in the world.

“I don't know. It helps me picture you.”

She’s quiet for a second as she thinks over how much she’s willing to say out loud. “I'd make you tea...probably make sure you were all cozy, with plenty of blankets and pillows and the works. You deserve to be pampered.”

No one has ever cared about him as much as she does.

“Then what?” He’s aware he’s being greedy, but he can’t seem to help it.

YN swallows thickly, nervous as she forces herself to talk openly “I'd climb into bed with you. Hold you really close to me. I'd run my fingers through your hair –”

Roger moans, low and almost imperceptibly, at the thought. YN giggles, though she feels a warm ache forming below her stomach when she hears the sound. “You’d like that, huh?”

“Fuck yes.” His voice is hoarse and tired and it really isn’t doing much to help the situation between her legs. Y/N shifts on the bed, clenching her thighs while trying to concentrate on anything but the grovelling and sensual sound of his voice.

“What else?” He wants the conversation to take a specific turn but he’s beginning to get extremely drowsy and his voice betrays that.

Y/N smiles at the sudden sleepiness in his tone and her mouth goes dries as she tells him what has been on her mind for at least a few weeks now, maybe more. “I think...I think then I might have to kiss you, Rog.”

The line is strangely quiet and for a moment, she thinks she’s taken things too far and has completely misread the situation.

Roger gives a dopey, sleepy smile, hope filling his chest with a warm feeling. His voice is nearly a whisper in the receiver, “Where would you kiss me?”

She chokes back a sob, relief flooding her system as he doesn’t seem to mind the idea of her kissing him. In fact, she realizes with a start, he’s egging her on. “Maybe your shoulders...or your tummy.”

Roger hums wantonly into the phone as his mind conjures up the images she’s barely describing.

“Where would you want me to kiss you, Rog?”

The question is enough to wake him up. Roger groans, his voice huskier than a few moments ago “I can think of a few places.”

Y/N blushes, stuttering while trying to come up with a response while getting far too hot under the collar for her own good. Just as she’s opening her mouth, she hears a knock sounding through the phone.

Roger barely manages to hold back an angry curse as he gets up to open the hotel door, receiver still held against the side of his face. When he sees Brian, he rolls his eyes, “What do you want?”

Brian flinches at his friend's tone, holding up a tray of food as he grumbles “Fred wants to make sure you eat something before going to sleep.”

“Thanks, but I'm not hungry!” he responds before closing the door in the guitarist's face. He hears a faint mumble of "Whatever" as Brian heads back to his own room.

“Y/N –” he speaks, hoping against all odds that the mood hasn’t been completely lost. He needs to know what her answer is. Does she want to do to him all the things he wants to do to her?

“You should get some sleep, Rog.”

Roger wants to punch Brian for ruining what could have been the best night of his life so far. He was so close to getting somewhere with this amazing girl and that twat ruined his mood once again. He clears his throat, trying to not let tears of frustration gather in his eyes. “Y-Yeah...Yeah. You're right. I'll call you when I wake up?”

Y/N smiles warmly, quickly drying the single tear that had fallen at their lost moment, “I'll be here.”

Roger's chest buzzes. He whispers a faint 'Sweet dreams love' and waits for her reply before hanging up. He sighs, arm over his eyes.

One day, that girl will be his and he will be hers.

—————----------------------------------

“So” her friend drags out the ‘o’, looking at Y/N with pursed lips, “You like him.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, bringing the fuming cup of tea to her lips. She knows she’s just buying herself a few seconds as she debates how to actually address this whole thing. She knew she’d regret telling her best friend about Roger and their unorthodox friendship – or is it a relationship? Y/N shakes her head, aware of the piercing stare locked on her. She also knew that talking to Winnie would be a double-edge sword but she really needs to talk to someone about this whole Roger thing, just to make sure that it isn’t all in her head and that he too feels something for her. And to make sure it isn’t just some fever dream her mind has conjured in answer to her stress levels being through the roof.

It's been over a year since their first conversation. Roger has travelled the world and made his way back to England just to leave again but they had yet to meet. Y/N is starting to think that he might be ashamed of her. That, or he’s hiding who he really is.

“So what if I do?” Her cheeks start to colour as she avoids looking at the person across from her.

Winnie scoffs, shaking her heard “It's worse than I thought.”

Y/N's jaw drops at the remark, chest feeling a bit tight. “What do you mean by that?”

Winnie rolls her eyes, “I haven't seen you blush this much since...Well, I've actually never seen you blush this much. You've gone completely pink.”

Y/N's eyes fall to the table. She can feel her cheeks growing even pinker and hates her friend for being right.

“Y/N/N…” Winnie says with a frown, “I've got to be honest, here. I don't like it. At all.”

Y/N’s heart sinks. She never thought her friend wouldn’t approve of Roger and the words are like a knife to the chest. Sure, she knew that Winnie would be a bit skeptical but she never thought she’d be so against the idea of Roger. “W-Why not?”

Winnie doesn’t want to be harsh or hurt Y/N in any way but she also doesn’t want her best friend to get her hopes up and then her heart broken by a complete stranger. She reaches her hand across to the table and covers her friend’s. “Y/N… Just think about it rationally for a moment. The bloke calls you in the dead of night. You have no idea where he got your number or who he is and he's already trying to get in your pants –” Y/N opens her mouth to argue but Winnie talks over her. “How do you know he's not 70, huh? He could be anyone, Y/N. He could be your dad, for Christ’s sake!”

YN cringes, holding her head in her hand as she rubbed her temples. She feels utterly defeated. And a bit naïve. Even if she explains every detail to Winnie, she wouldn’t understand.

Winnie sighs, “What if he's got nothing to offer?”

Y/N clenches her jaw, anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. She knows it isn’t fair to be mad at Winnie. That her friend is only trying to look out for her. Still, she feels the urge to protect Roger and their whatever-this-is. “When has that ever been a problem for me? And that's just it, Win. He does...He offers me so much every day and he never expects anything back. He's kind to me...and he's silly and warm and sweet and–”

Winnie's expression softens as she sees the tears burning in Y/N's eyes as she takes Y/N's hands in hers again. However, she doesn’t back down, “You don't even know his last name.”

Y/N sniffles, refusing to let a single tear roll down her face. She takes a deep breath. “I don't really see where the problem is in that.” Winnie's brows knit together and Y/N crosses her arms, “He doesn't know my last name, either. It's not like I'm asking him for anything, Win. He's just great to talk to. He's kind and funny.... he’s smart. Wickedly smart, but he doesn't know it.” Y/N laughs breathlessly, getting lost in her memories of all their conversations. “Acts like this tough, careless thing sometimes but he's so soft on the inside. So good to me. He has the sweetest little laugh, too...gets all croaky when he's tired.”

Winnie squeezes Y/N's hand comfortingly, giving her a sympathetic smile. Realizing that nothing she says is going to change Y/N’s mind, she says softly “Just take care of yourself. That's all I ask.”

Y/N’s responding smile is as bright as the sun, “He's good. I know it. I can feel it. I’m going to be fine as long as I have him.”

“I hope so for you, darling. You deserve some happiness.”

Y/N takes another deep breath, reaching for her cup of tea.

Winnie grins too, “Just know that if he hurts you, I'll have his head. I don't care how old he turns out to be.”

Y/N laughs, rolling her eyes. “Thank fuck I know you've got my back, Win.”

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

Roger is so lost in his thoughts that when John sits down beside him on the small sofa of the tour bus, he flinches, knocking over his beer. John laughs at him, passing him a dirty shirt from the floor to help clean the mess. Roger mumbles a quick "thanks mate" before trying to dry the small table.

“You okay mate?” Brian asks from his spot at the table. The guitarist is barely paying attention to his game of Scrabble with Freddie. For the past few days, he had been paying closer attention to his best friend because something is definitely off. He can’t put his finger on what but he sure as hell is going to find out.

“‘Course I am. Why'd you ask?” Roger is now working on the stain on his trouser, not really listening to his band mates.

Freddie frowns, waiting for Brian to place his next tile and nudges him with a foot under the table to get his attention. When Brian keeps ignoring him, the singer exchanges a quick glance with the bass player, both of them confused about what’s happening.

Brian shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and failing, “You've been acting weird lately.”

Roger's head whips up, eyes zeroing in on the guitarist “What'd you mean?” his tone came out too suspicious and the drummer has a feeling he knows exactly where this conversation was headed.

“You've been extremely well-behaved lately and you spend most of your time holed up in your hotel rooms. What's going on?” Brian decides that beating around the bush wasn’t going to work with the blond.

Roger rolls his eyes, doing his best to hide the smile threating to pull his lips up as he tries to dissuade his friends from asking too many questions or giving them more reasons to be concerned about him. “’S just talking to a friend. No need to get your panties in a twist, old chap.”

“A friend?” Freddie's amused and now feels the need to be part of this conversation, especially if it makes Roger a bit uncomfortable.

The drummer shrugs, his ears going pink as Brian rolled his eyes, already tired of vague answers. “What friend?”

Roger keeps himself busy by wiping the now fully absorbed beer from his pants. “Just a friend.”

John chuckles when he notices how much the lack of tangible information is bother Brian.

“You don't have friends that we don't know!” the guitarist points out.

Roger rolls his eyes, head falling backwards as he drops the shirt to the ground “I do too! We don't do everything together Brian.”

“What's her name, Rog?” Freddie decides to cut to the chase, use to seeing through all of Roger’s bullshit.

The drummer sighs, knowing that the more he tries to get out of this conversation, the more they will pry. He mumbles, “Y/N”

John smiles as Freddie's lights up like a child on Christmas morning. The singer sits forward and leans into the drummer’s line of sight. “And where did you happen upon this friend, hm?”

Roger's cheeks grow pink. He can’t and won’t even try to stifle the pleased smile forming on his lips. Brian’s face pinches in confusion: he's never seen Roger like this in his life. Roger hates when people get all warm and mushy; he always crinkles his nose up with displeasure when John rambles on about Veronica, and yet, here he is, looking as if he’s about to do the same thing.

“If I’m completely honest, I haven't exactly met her in person. Yet.” He confesses sheepishly.

Fred raises his eyebrows, the conversation already taking a turn he didn't expect. “Pardon?”

Roger sighs, rubbing his face as he tries to explain the whole situation as best he can. “We kind of met by accident. Before leaving for tour, I was talking to a girl in a pub back home and well... she gave me a fake number that turned out to be Y/N's.”

John nods, intrigued by the blond's story, “Is it safe to assume you called the number?”

“Yeah.” Roger grins, “Wasn't the bird from the pub, obviously. The girl on the line didn't have any clue who I was. She was pissed, to be honest.” Roger laughs thinking back to the night they met. “She's from London and with the fact that she hadn’t been out and about that night, I accidentally woke her up at one thirty in the morning. She put me in my place for it, too. We started talking after that, I guess.”

Deacy is happy to see his friend so smitten. “How long have you been talking?”

Roger takes a sip of someone's drink, stopping to think. “About a year, I reckon. Maybe a bit more.”

Brian chokes on his own saliva. “A year!? Really?” He looks to the other boys, and even John has his brows raised in surprise.

Roger looks confused, “What?”

“Rog, I don't think I've ever seen you talk to any girl for more than a few hours.” The bass player is quick to point out. “And even when you do, it’s because they’re a good shag.”

Roger frowns, a bit hurt by the comment. He knows he’s never had a serious relationship and that he loves sex but he isn’t some emotionless sex fiend. He is capable of being committed and in a monogamous relationship. He’s just never had the right motivation before. “Tt's not like that.”

Fred smirks, “So you're saying she’s just a friend?”

Roger stutters for a second before falling silent, his face going warmer. “I just… I think she's nice, and easy to talk to.” He knew he wouldn't be able to explain their bond eloquently enough for them to truly understand. It’s more that simple attraction or wanting a relationship. There’s something about Y/N and their bond that he will never be able to explain.

“You realize you broke up with Jo so you could spend more time with your drums? Rog, you're not exactly fantastic at commitment.” Brian feels the need to point out.

Roger’s heart sinks at the lack of support from his friends and wishes he hadn’t let any of this slip. “She's important to me, whether you understand us or not. I want to fly her out here so we can meet –”

Brian scoffs, arms crossing over his chest “You sure she's not just trying to sneak her hands in your pockets, mate?”

Roger is stunned into silence and his temper flares. “What?!”

“How can you be sure that she's not just trying to make a few bucks off you? We make good money now, Rog. People know that.” Again, Brian is pointing something out as if it’s the most obvious reason in the world for a girl to talk with him for so long. Why else would a girl want to spent a whole twelve months speaking to Roger, right?

Roger doesn’t even know where to start or how to respond. The fact that Brian would even imply that YN would ever think about doing something like that is infuriation.

“There are plenty of smart girls out there, mate.” The guitarist carries on, oblivious to the turmoil going through the drummer’s mind. “You've got a keep an eye out for the ones sniffing out gold –”

Roger sees red. “Don't fucking dare finish that sentence, Brian.”

The guitarist rolls his eyes, unimpressed by the drummer's outburst. “All I'm saying is you ought to be careful.”

“I know you think you're smarter than the rest of us but I'm perfectly capable of handling myself.”

Freddie rubs his temples exasperatedly, knowing that this is not going to be the end of the conversation and it’s going to end poorly for all parties involved.

“Roger, you're letting yourself fall in love with this girl and you don’t even know her! She's a complete stranger!” Brian raises his voice, “You've never bloody met her!”

“Fuck off, Brian. You have no fucking idea what or who you're talking about.” Roger slams the bottle against the table and storms off towards the back of the bus “Leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the day.”

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

Roger’s eyes blink open as soon as he registers the phone in his hotel room starts ringing. He scrambles for the receiver, nearly falling off the mattress in the process as the sheet tangle in his legs.

It's been nearly a fortnight since he's last spoken to Y/N. It seems the two have less and less time as the summer months have rolled around. There are interviews to do, books to edit, concerts to play, shelves to stock. All their work seems to be never-ending.

“Y/N?” Roger chimes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He knows that the likelihood of it being anyone else is nonexistent but he always likes to make sure she knows that she’s always his first thought.

“Hi, Rog.” She smiles to herself. Hearing his voice always makes her days better.

Relief washes over Roger's body at the sound of her voice. “God, I've missed you.” He admits, chest aching happily. “Missed you so much. Every day. Fuck, you don't know how good it is to hear your voice.” Roger relaxes against his pillow, playing with the phone chord as his eyes close blissfully.

Tears well in Y/N’s eyes as she tries swallowing around the knot lodged in her throat. “I’ve missed you too, Rog.”

Roger's brow furrow. Her voice’s hoarse, as if she’s been crying. And tired. Immediately he can tell that something’s wrong but he tries clearing the thought from his head, trusting that she would tell him anything she wanted him to know.

“Had a dream about you last night.” He mumbles, smiling at the memory as he tries to make her smile. “I can't remember what you looked like in the dream but it couldn’t have been anyone but you. It felt like you.”

She smiles against the speaker.

Roger eyes furrow as he tries to recall if they’ve ever shared physical details of each other. He knows they’ve shared what’s in their hearts and minds but never have they spoken about what they look like. He needs to know. “How tall are you?”

Y/N doesn’t answer and Roger's worry comes back stronger than before. “Y/N?”

“Hm? What was that Rog?”

The drummer doesn’t like how tired she sounds. They’ve had had their share of bad conversations but she’s never ignored or not answered one of his questions. “How tall are you?”

“Oh... uhm... I guess /your height/.”

It took her too long to answer. Roger bites his lower lip before sighing, knowing that the only way for him to feel better is knowing that she’s okay. “There's something wrong.”

Y/N pauses, finally fully present in the conversation. Her heart beats a bit too quickly in her chest. “W-What?”

“You're not acting like yourself. Something's wrong.” Roger hates how certain of this he is.

She goes silent while trying to hold it all back, but it’s no use. Her face crumbles as she lets out a sob against the receiver. Calling him had been the best and worse decision she made today.

Roger's heart feels like it’s shattering as he fights helplessly to calm her from oceans away.

“Y/N...” He feels stuck. Someone he loves is sobbing and he’s a million miles away. “Y/N, my love, what’s wrong? What's happening?”

His mind is working a million miles a second. It’s been so long since they last spoke, that there are hundreds of things that could have happened. Is she hurt? Did someone she know get hurt? Has the press somehow found out about their conversations and been harassing her?

She chokes on her words, trying to explain as best as she could but her breathing is still too choppy and labored for her to be understandable.

Roger listens as she struggles to breathe and he doesn’t think he’s ever known fear before his moment. The sounds coming from the woman he loves sound painful and he wants nothing more than to hold her and soothe all her pain. “Y/N, my love, just breathe. Can you do that for me? Take deep breaths.” He does what he’s asking her to do so that she has something to mimic. “Just do what I am okay? I'm right here baby.” He keeps his breathing slow and steady, guiding hers until she settles. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, sniffling painfully. Roger wishes he could reach through the phone and scoop her up in his arms. He's trying to figure out how angry the boys – and the label – would be if he were to fly out to her for a few days.

“I had to fire them all.” She admits in a whisper.

His stomach drops, “Who love?”

“My employees... I couldn't pay them anymore.” She starts crying again, her voice breaking and he can barely make out the words tumbling from her lips.

Roger frowns, a thought he doesn’t like pushing to the front of his mind. “Who's been running the store when you aren't there?” Y/N cuts herself off abruptly and when she finally answers, he hates what he hears. “It's just been you. Oh, love, it's just been you all by yourself?”

Her sobs grow louder as Roger hushes her soothingly through the phone as he fights off his own tears. “Oh baby, I'm so sorry.”

“I-I didn't want to. I had to.” Y/N needs him to understand. She really has no other choice and she hates how powerless she is. She’s trying her best to ground herself but everything hurts.

“I know, sweetheart.” He reassures her, “They understand.”

“M-My landlord threatened to evict me and I've got no food in the pantry and I just didn't know what else to do.” She grabs her hair tightly as the pain in her chest increases.

Roger's throat tightens to the point where taking a breath is painful. “Why didn't you say anything, darling? I would have sent you mone–”

'No. No. I don't want to take money from you.” She states resolutely. “That's not fair and it’s not me. I will figure something out.”

He rolls his eyes at her stubbornness. “What's ‘not fair’ is that you're suffering, Y/N.” He pauses, “When's the last time you had a meal? Like, a whole meal, not just a snack.”

When doesn’t Y/N answer, Roger knows that it has been too long.

“I've been eating little things here and there.” She finally admits with a small, fearful voice, “I don't have time to sit and eat at work, anyway.”

“Y/N,” his tone doesn’t allow for any room for her not to answer, “when was the last time?”

She swallows thickly, “A week ago. I think.”

Roger feels like someone has punched him in the throat. His eyes burn as he fights off tears. Now is not the time for him to breakdown. He can do that once he knows she has some food in her system and she’s taken care of. He counts to five and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Haven't been sleeping either, I bet. I can hear it in your voice. You're exhausted.”

Roger pauses and then add stubbornly, “I'm sending you money.”

Nothing she says is going to change his mind on this. She needs it, he has loads and he will never sit back and let her suffer when he can actively do something to make things easier for her.

“Roger, no.” She counters immediately, “Absolutely not!”

“Y/N, you need it! I want to help you. I need to help you. I need you to be safe and happy and healthy –”

“I can do it, Rog.” She guarantees, “I just need to work harder.”

She’s stubborn but so is he.

He sighs her name. Nothing he says will convince her to take the money. She’s too proud of that but there is nothing she can do to stop him from sending it anyway. Y/N doesn’t need to know until she gets it.

There is one thing that he can’t drop though. “Promise me, and I mean promise me you'll eat and you'll sleep. I want three meals a day and eight hours at night.” Y/N sighs, knowing that keeping that promise is going to be rough but Roger keeps speaking, “I know money is tight and it seems like it's hopeless right now but swear to me that you'll take care of yourself.”

Y/N's voice thickens as she whimpers pathetically. Never had she thought she’d be the kind of girl that needs a man to keep her together, but here she is. “I need you to hold me.”

Pain shoots through Roger's chest and this time, he can’t keep his emotions at bay. Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to not sob too loudly. It hurts. It bloody hurts how badly he wants to be with her.

Roger moves the receiver away from his face, letting out a few sobs before he composes himself. He takes a deep, shuddering breath as his nose burns because of the tears he’s trying – and failing – to hold back. He does his best to keep his voice steady when he speaks to her again, “What if I fly out to you? Just for a few days. I could –”

Y/N’s tears start anew. “I want that, so badly but Rog, baby, you can’t. The tour –”

“To hell with the tour!” he says through gritted teeth, “I don’t care about the bloody tour! I care about you.”

Her breath catches in her throat. They’ve both tiptoed around their feelings, both making it clear that this is more than a simple friendship but never had either of them been so direct. It gives her hope and now, more than ever, she refuses to let him give up on his dream. She will get through this and knowing he’s willing to drop everything to help her is enough.

“I care about you too, Rog.” She admits softly, “But there are so many people counting on you. It’s your dream.”

“Maybe I have a new one” he mumbles. “Okay. If I can’t come to you then I can fly you out.” He needs to see her and make sure, with his own eyes, that she’s really doing better. He can’t lose her.

Y/N sighs wistfully, wanting nothing more than to accept his offer. “You know I can’t. Not right now, at least. The shop –”

Roger curses in frustration. “It’s not fair!”

“I know.”

Silence fills the line. Roger’s anger quickly dissipates and all he’s left with is unrelenting sadness. He feels so unlike himself; pitifiul and needy. He feels as if he needs Y/N more than he needs oxygen.

“Soon,” Roger’s voice breaks the silence, “Promise me. We’ll be together soon.”

Y/N smiles through the tears, “I promise.”

“And promise me you’ll eat and sleep. I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I promise, Rog. I will get as much sleep and food as I can stand.”

“Good.” He swallows thickly, “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She lets out a wet laugh, “Good thing is you’ll never have to find out.”

Roger finally relaxes a bit, breathing deeply. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you out of my sights once we meet.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

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

Roger keeps his head down, with his visor of the baseball cap pulled down almost over his eyebrows as moves quickly through the city. He’s hoping that between his disguise and Queen still being relatively unknown in the US will help him avoid any run ins with the press. It had been hard enough leaving the hotel without being seen by his mates or any of the roadies. He really doesn’t need word of his morning excursion getting back to Brian.

With a grimace, Roger walks into the American branch of his bank and lines up to speak to a teller.

It takes longer than he would have liked to get all the documents set up and money withdrawn but Roger definitely feels lighter as he steps back out into the sunlit streets and heads to rehearsals. Luckily, he was careful enough that no one noticed his prolonged absence.

The green room is still empty when Roger enters, heading straight for the vanity against the opposite wall. Slipping off his hat, he removes all the bank documents from his back pocket and sits at the mirror. He slides the signed check and bills into the same envelope, setting it aside as he removes his jacket. He definitely feels a lot better knowing he’ll be able to help Y/N in a way that matters and that will make her life easier. It also helps that their conversations have returned to being a daily occurrence, helping him ensure that she is as well rested and fed as she can be. Although she’s doing much better with his support, Roger doesn’t miss the stressed tone or how her work load seems to be constantly growing.

Roger only wishes he had managed to get to a bank sooner though this way, since it’s been a bit over a month since he offered her the money, she shouldn’t suspect anything.

Roger digs around the vanity for a pen and when he finds none, he uses one of Freddie’s eye-pencils and a tissue to write a short message to his girl. He hesitates, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his friends aren’t going to barge in. He really doesn’t want to try explaining the money or check to them.

Roger sighs, mussing his hair as he tries to put pencil to tissue. There is so much he wants to say but he isn’t even sure where he should start. He knows that no matter what he says, she is going to rip into him so with a chuckle, he scribbles down one line before signing the tissues and placing it delicately inside the envelop with the money and check. He knows he’s doing the right thing, and even if she won’t happy about it, she’ll be grateful.

For once in his life, he’s grateful for his foresight of asking for her full name and address so that he could send small trinkets and post cards when calls aren’t enough.

“Morning, Rog.”

Roger nearly jumps out of the chair, quickly turning to see a confused looking John smiling at him, a cup of coffee in hand.

Roger exhales, laughing at his own reaction. “God, Deacy. You scared the living shit out of me. Didn’t hear you come in.”

John laughs too before sipping his coffee as he takes a seat on the couch. Roger turns back to the envelope, hiding it under his arm.

“Didn’t see you at breakfast this morning, I though you’d still be in bed.” John chimes, brow quirked.

Roger clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “Just had to um...run some errands is all.”

John nods though he clearly doesn’t believe him. “What are you doing here so early?” The drummer desperately wants to change the subject before he gives himself away.

John shrugs, smiling “I tend to get here early to help the roadies with the amps. I built most of them from older models that'd been trashed so they can be a bit finicky.”

Roger hums in understanding, slipping the envelope into the pocket of his jeans as Brian and Freddie waltz in. The drummer nods at both, fighting back a yawn.

“Sleep well?” Freddie asks with a smirk.

“Not well enough.” Admits Roger, standing from his chair and lazily making his way over to the costume rack. He doesn’t notice the envelop slipping from his pocket when he bends down to look for his converse. Roger curses under his breath, “I’m going to see if I can track down my trainers. I could’ve sworn I left them here yesterday.”

Brian quirks his brow curiously as the drummer trots out the door, stepping forward to snatch the envelope off the ground. Freddie cranes on his tip toes to peek over his shoulder, curiosity lighting up his brown eyes, “What've you found?”

The envelope hasn’t been sealed yet so Brian doesn’t feel too guilty as he snoops. The guitarist runs his thumb over the hastily scrawled name and address, Y/N Y/L/N.

“What’s inside?” The singer asks, hoping it’s a love letter and that he can take the piss out of the usually emotionally constipated drummer.

Brian pulls back the flap of the envelop and frowns when he notices that there’s cash inside. He moves toward the couch where John is sat, quietly observing the situation as it unfolds. The guitarist clears off a small section of the coffee table and dumps the content of the envelop on it. A wad of cash falls with a small thud, as a tissue and slip of paper flutter down after it. He quickly counts the cash and his eye widen in shock. £500. And the piece of paper is a blank check that has been signed and dated with today’s date. The name on the check is the same of the envelop and it finally hits him: it’s the girl Roger had mentioned on the bus.

Don’t be too angry. R

Brian feels like his brain is going to explode. A blank cheque?! He’s sending her a blank cheque! Anger boils in his veins as he tries to comprehend how his best friend of years goes from dumbing his girlfriend of almost ten years in order to become a successful musician to blindly sending money and blank cheques to a complete stranger. Clearly, something has happened because not even Roger would be that stupid.

Brian grips the empty envelop tightly in his hand as Roger wanders back into the room, muttering about his missing shoes.

Brian walks up to Roger where he’s now lounging on the couch next to John and throws it at him. Roger eyes the envelop before his eyes fall to the coffee table.

The blond lets out a frustrated sigh, looking up into Brian's eyes. For this, his reaction angers Brian even more.

“Mind sharing with the group, Rog?” the curly-haired man asks condescendingly. “Mind explaining why your ‘friend’ who isn't taking advantage of you is getting direct deposits?!”

Roger does his best to swallow back all his annoyance, but apparently, Brian isn’t done digging into him. “A fucking blank cheque, Roger!? A blank cheque, really? Are you trying to get robbed?”

Roger can’t even get his explanation fully out of his mouth before Brian cuts him off. “She's lying, Roger! She's a con artist!”

“She's not!”

“And you're giving her exactly what she wants! She'll be laughing all the way to the bank!”

“SHUT UP!” Roger screams, raising to his feet and pushing Brian back. “You've all got spouses or children. I don't. I've got no one to take care of. Tell me what's so fucking criminal about sending some money to help someone I love.”

The three other people in the room are shocked into silence. Never before has the drummer tossed around the l-word so easily. Roger picks up the money and the check from the table, carefully tucking it back into the envelope and smoothing it out.

Roger heads for the door, turning to look back at the group one last time before he leaves.

“If you need me, I'll be buying stamps.”

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

“What the fuck, Taylor!?'

Roger chuckles into the receiver. “Well, hello to you too, darling.” He had been waiting for this call for about a week.

“Do not ‘darling’ me right now. I told you not to send money!” Y/N has rarely experienced such a mix of emotions. Anger, love, humiliation, sadness, helplessness, love. She whines into the phone, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “Why didn't you listen? I'm not a charity case!” She hates feeling like a burden.

Most of all, she hates how loved and better she felt when she opened the envelope.

The blond frowns. It was never his intention to upset her, “Love, I –”

“Don’t you dare use your pet names on me right now, Roger Taylor!'’ Roger tries to hold back his laughter.

“I told you I can do this on my own!” she explodes, “I am perfectly capable of handling –”

“Oh, trust me, I know you are.” He interrupts. Roger toys with the phone chord, blowing some of his bangs away from his face. “You could run circles around me, darling. Just because you're able to do it on your own doesn't mean you have to.” He smiled softly to himself, “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. I can't physically be there for you, and I hate that. If it were up to me, I'd be stopping by the store to bring you food or help lug books around.” Y/N exhales, hand running through her hair. God-damnit. Why does he have to be so bloody perfect and far away? “And as much as I wish I could change it, I know I can't be there right now to hold you and promise it will all get better.”

“Rog–” There’s so much she needs to tell him.

“Let me do this, Y/N.” He begs, “Just this one thing to help you keep a roof over your head and eat and take care of yourself.”

Y/N gives up all hope of arguing with him about this. And just like that, she’s crying for a completely different reason. Her voice wobbles as she sobs into the phone, “You're so stupid, Roger. You're such a goddamn idiot.”

He laughs as he too starts crying, smiling lovingly to the empty room. “I thought we’d already established that.” She gives a breathy laugh, clutching the money and cheque to her chest like a security blanket. “Hasn't ever kept you from talking to me before, though.”

Y/N wipes her tears with her shirt sleeve, sniffling pitifully. She knows she’s never felt love like this before and she never will again. Not even her parents had shown interest in supporting her; she never thought any less of them because of that.

But here’s Roger. Sweet, stupid Roger forking over hundreds of pounds and sending it to her from worlds away without batting an eyelash. All because he wants to help in any way he can. She can hear him as he rambles on, still trying explain how it “really isn’t a big deal".

“Roger–” her voice’s is so soft that he misses it completely.

“–I just care about you and I wanted to help and–”

“Roger!” She yells with a laugh.

He stops, eyebrows quirking as he smiled. He hears her take a deep breath and waits impatiently for her to speak.

Y/N’s heart is beating like a hummingbird's. “I love you.”

“What?” Roger feels completely frozen until she repeats those three beautiful words to him.

There’s another long silence and panic set in YN's stomach as she bites her lip. She really doesn’t want to pressure him into saying it so it’s her turn to start rambling, “I'm not just saying that because of the money and I don't expect you to say it back but I just needed you to know because it’s true and –”

“I love you too.” He interrupts her panicked mumbles.

Y/N's whole body relaxes. She exhales, hands shakily holding the phone as she lets out a watery, “Thank Christ” that makes Roger laugh.

“God, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much.” Now that he can say it aloud, he doesn’t think he'll ever be able to stop.

Tears well in Y/N's eyes again, “I...I want you, Roger. I want you here.” She sounds selfish but she doesn’t care.

This is the moment she’s been waiting for. Now that it’s out in the open, she needs to see him, feel his body against hers. She wants to show him exactly how much she loves him.

His heart aches, “I know, my love. You have no fucking idea how much I want to be with you right now. Fuck, I'd fly out to you right this second if I knew you'd actually let me.”

Y/N chuckles, sniffling “It's really tempting.”

He grins, “Tempting enough to let me?”

She shakes her head, “I can't be the one to deprive the world of Roger Taylor. I know how that feels and it's too damn painful.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Why can't you just be selfish once in a while?”

“I'm afraid I'm not as strong headed as my rockstar boyfriend.”

Roger smiles brighter than the sun, face red and heart full at her words. “Boyfriend, huh? I like the sounds of that.”

“Do you now?”

His smile seems to grow, “Love it, actually. 'Specially hearin' it from my girlfriend.”

Y/N giggles, loving his ability to make everything better with just a few, simple words. “Be careful saying that in front of all your groupies, might break their hearts.”

Roger scoffs, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Groupies!? Who do you think I am?” Y/N laughs and it’s his favourite sound in the world “You're the only groupie I've got, darling. Take you with me everywhere.”

“That's my official title then?” She jokes, “Resident Groupie?”

“Yes. And it's a paid position so you have to accept the money I sent.”

Y/N gasps, grin on her lips “You absolute wanker!”

“You love me, really.” Her smile softens, “I really do.”

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

Roger's shoulders and hands ached as he plops down on his hotel bed. He winces at the contact between the sheets and the raw skin of his worn hands, biting his lower lip as he reaches for the phone. Hearing his girlfriend's voice always make it all worth it.

The line rings more times than Roger is used to and a very bad feeling sinks in his gut. Even more concerning is the fact that he goes to voice mail. The drummer frowns, setting the receiver back on the base before lifting and dialing again. Still no response. He tries a third time. Nothing.

Finally, on his fourth try, YN answers the line and relief washes over him.

“Hey, Rog.”

“Oh, thank god! I thought something had happened to –” He freezes, heart dropping when he realizes that she’s crying. “What's wrong my love?”

Y/N sniffles, hating herself for being the girl that cries at the sound of her boyfriend’s voice. She isn’t even sure what to do. If she tells Roger that his best friend called her and said she was a gold-digging whore, he’ll react rashly and she isn’t there to stop him from doing too much damage to the band or himself. On the other hand, these phone calls are all they have. Honestly is important, they both said so from day one and fuck, they’re in a relationship for crying out loud. She knows Roger loves her. He’s proven it more than enough times. It’s just that… If his best friend, the people he spends every waking moment with think that of her, maybe it’s because he’s said something. And she’s sure it isn’t only Brian thinking those things. They couldn’t have come to that conclusion on their own. Could they?

“Is it work? Did something happen?”

“No...” She hums, trying to gather herself. She’s not going to tell him.

Roger frowns, worry clawing at his chest. She isn’t tired of him, is she? “Talk to me, love. Please.”

His plea breaks some of her resolution and she fights hard to not start sobbing. She’s sick of crying every time they call. “It's nothing, just having a rough day.”

“No, it isn't.” Roger insists, brow furrowed determinedly. Something is gnawing at him to not trust her words.

Y/N swallows, mind running in circles. “Rog…You know I'd never lie to you, right? I'd never do anything to hurt you.”

Roger blinks in confusion, “Of course I do, sweetheart. Where's all this coming from?”

“Nowhere.” She lies, “I just want to make sure you know how much I love you.” She hesitates a moment. “Promise me you understand that, though. That when I talk to you...I'm never trying to get anything out of you. I'm not...digging for gold.”

Alarm bells ring loudly in Roger's head. Brian. Fucking Brian. “Did Brian call you?”

“No.” She answers too quickly.

“Brian called you, didn't he?” Roger is beyond furious as his voice raises along with the anger in his chest. “He called you and ran his fucking mouth, as he always does and hurt you. The fucking arse can’t accept that he’s not the smartest person in the room and wants to ruin everyone’s happiness because he’s a miserable bastard. Once I get my hands on him, I –”

Y/N sobs, “Don't fight with him! Please, don't. He was only trying to protect y– ”

Roger slams the receiver against the base, fists clenching as he tears through his door and down the hall towards the conference room turned music room, where he knows the lads are still rehearsing. He’ll apologize later to Y/N but right now, he needs to not be talked down. Brian deserves everything coming his way.

Roger slams the door open and as soon as he’s face-to-face with the guitarist, Roger punches him in the face.

Brian stumbles backwards as Roger keeps shoving his chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! What in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?!”

Brian's eyebrows furrow as he catches his balance, still trying to keep Roger at bay as he massages his sore jaw.

Roger's face is red, rage clear as day in his blue eyes as he spats his words at Brian, Freddie putting himself in the middle of the two. “Somehow, by the grace of fucking god, I'm happy for the first time in my miserable goddamn life and you have to go and try to fuck it up!” Tears welling in his eyes, Roger shoves his kit to the ground, cymbals crashing as pieces of set scattered across the floor. Freddie is grateful that it was just the four of them in the room, though the ruckus is sure to gather unwanted attention.

Brian rubs his bruising jaw, rolling his eyes at Roger's reaction. “I did it for your own bloody good, Roger! She was just going to keep leeching off you –”

“I don't fucking care, Brian!” Roger kicks his bass drum, foot going through the decal of his own face as he shoves Freddie away. “I don't fucking need it! I don't need any of it!”

Brian's eyes fall to his shoes as guilt filled his gut. Maybe he had been too rash and cruel. Maybe he should've given Y/N a chance to explain herself.

“What am I going to buy with all this money you've saved me, huh? Cars? Drugs?” Brian opens his mouth to argue but Roger cuts him off. “I love her, Brian! I don't care if she takes every fucking cent I have!”

Brian scoffs, guilt quickly being replaced by frustration at how idiotic his friend is acting. “Do you hear yourself? You've never met this person, Roger! You're being ridiculous! You're asking to get your heart broken!”

“I'm fucking grown, Brian! I can handle myself, you condescending prick! She's all I've got!”

The room goes eerily silent.

Brian clears his throat, pursing his lips. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “Since when don’t you have us?”

Roger stares right at Brian, daggers in his eyes. He scoffs sickly, “This? The band? The so-called friends that call up my girlfriend, making her cry and calling her a gold-digger?!” He gestures to the group, knowing that John and Freddie had done nothing to stop Brian from making the girl he loved question their whole relationship. “This is over. The second tour's finished, this is never happening again.”

Deacy knits his brows, “Roger–”

Roger takes a menacing step towards Brian, grabbing the front of his shirt in his tired and sore hands. “You ever speak to her again and I'll rip your fucking balls off.”

The blond turns from the group, retreating down the hall and back to his own room.

Brian, Freddie, and Deacy stand in shocked silence.

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

Brian sighs as he raises his fist to knock on Roger's door. He feels bad. He really does. And he doesn’t want the band to break up because of a girl. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t still think Roger was acting like a mad man.

The guitarist hopes that the few hours he had left Roger to wallow in his self pity has been enough for the drummer to calm down and reconsider the whole quitting nonsense.

“No, Y/N! I won't! I won't forgive him.”

Brian freeze, dropping his hand to his side. Why on earth would Y/N be defending him? Brian rests his ear against Roger's door, curiosity itching beneath his skin. There’s a pause as Roger listens to Y/N's response.

“I understand that he was trying to look out for me. I get that, but I'm a grown fucking man, Y/N. He thinks he's the smartest person alive and I'm sick of it! I could have lost you!”

Brian rolls his eyes. He doesn't think he’s smarter than Roger. He just thinks Roger is dumber than him.

“No, I'm quitting! Soon as tour's over I'm flying out to you and I-.... No, I'm not! I'm not being dramatic!”

Brian smirks, chuckling to himself. “I wouldn't miss them. Not for a second. I can play drums anywhere. I don't need them! ... It is not bullshit!”

Brian’s surprised. Impressed even. He never thought that this girl would be defending them after everything he'd said to her. “I don't want to talk to those wankers. They treat you like you're some conquest. They don't even see it. I'm not like that anymore, Y/N. I'm just not that person anymore. You need to know that.”

Something in his words give Brian pause. Roger’s right: it'd been ages since he'd heard any moans coming from the other side of Roger's door. The drummer barely showed up at after parties anymore. Hell, even when women throw themselves at him, he just smiled politely, signing whichever body part they present him and returns to his previous conversation with the lads or their entourage.

There’s so many things Brian was used to seeing Roger numb himself with. Booze. Drugs. Sex. Anything that would bring him any sort of temporary relief. It had all stopped suddenly. Roger is now more focused and plays better. He fights less. He even started apologizing for things. He smiles more. It’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. No more dark circles under his eyes; no more empty bottles; no more smears of white powder left on tables.

Things are different now. They had been for a long time, he’d just been too conceited to notice. The changes seem to coincide with her sudden appearance in Roger’s life.

Brian bites at the inside of his lower lip, sighing as he knocks on Roger's door.

Roger curses, mumbling something to Y/N and brings the phone with him as he pries himself up off the bed and shuffles over to the door, flinging it open roughly.

“What the fuck do you want?” Roger spats. He’s vaguely aware of Y/N's voice in his ear, telling him to take it easy.

“To apologize.”

“Apology not accepted.” Roger tries to slam the door in his face but Brian’s quicker, smacking his hand against the hard wood.

“Really? I'm trying to be nice and you're going to bitch about it?” the guitarist can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yep. That's the plan.” Roger is just about to try slamming the door shut again when he hears Y/N call his name loudly on the other line. He holds the receiver to his ear. “What did you say, love? ... No! Y/N, I don't want to hear anything he has to say.... Why should I?” The blond exhales angrily, eyes shooting daggers at Brian as he holds the receiver against his ear. “Come on in.”

The air is tense as Brian sits down next to Roger on his bed, biting at his thumbnail as Roger hits the speaker button on the base of the phone. “He can hear you now, love.” Roger mumbles. “Don't see why you're bothering with letting him apologize after he –”

“Just let him speak, Roger.” The voice from the speaker is crackly with static, sweet yet exasperated.

Brian smiles a little, feeling marginally better about things knowing she’s not too angry or hurt. “I, um...I wanted to say I'm sorry. I know I was wretched. I just got worried. Roger can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes and I –”

“I am not! You're the one that bloody –”

Y/N heaves an exasperated sigh, “For god’s sakes, Roger, just calm the fuck down and let him explain.”

Roger grumbles something under his breath. Brian can’t help but smirk. “Brian, I understand where you were coming from. You were only trying to protect him.”

Roger scoffs. “You're really going to side with Brian!?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, feeling a headache forming. Men. “You're being such a baby.”

Roger groans, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenches.

Brian is starting to like this girl more and more. She knows how to put Roger in his place and he lets her. It’s refreshing, “I... I may have been wrong about you.”

Y/N smiles, “No shit!”

Roger can’t help but grin. That's my girl.

Y/N sighs, “But we'll get to you apologizing to me later. Right now, you two need to get your heads out of your asses and forgiving each other. Queen won't end because the two of you can't act like adults.”

Roger scoffs, “Fat chance.”

Brian shakes his head exasperatedly. “I swear, you're a child.”

“And you're a pompous asshole!”

“Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I'm pompous.”

“Oh, so now you don't think I'm smart?”

“Not when you act like a twat, I don't!”

“Piss off!”

“No! You –”

Y/N drops her phone back onto its base. Roger should have known she wouldn't sit there and listen to that crap. Roger and Brian go silent at the dial tone. The drummer curses, grumbling as he redials her number. It only rings once before she picks up.

“You two finished?” There’s silence and Y/N giggles. “I can't believe two grown men are being such babies.” Both of them open their mouths to argue in self defense but can’t before she’s laughing at them.

Brian sighs, “Rog, I'm sorry. I know you're not stupid and I –”

“You sure bloody act like it –”

Y/N exhales sharply, “Roger I swear to god if you don't stop interrupting, I won't pay my phone bill this month.”

Roger immediately goes silent and Brian laughs smugly. Roger flips him off.

Y/N shakes her head, “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Brian. You're already on thin ice.”

It’s Brian’s turn to go quiet and Roger’s to laugh smugly.

“Why do I feel like a mother scolding her two idiotic children?! Roger, Brian was just trying to look out for you. It was a shitty way of doing it but he loves you and wants you happy. Brian, Roger is hot headed, you know that better than me but because of you, I almost lost him and Roger was right in his reaction. You had no right to call me and call me a gold digger and an actress. You should have trusted your friend's judgment.”

Brian held out his hand, “I'm sorry, Roger.”

Roger takes it, giving it a reluctant shake. “I'm sorry, too.”

Y/N sighs in relief until Roger speaks again, “You need to apologize to Y/N as well. And you should know: she didn't ask for the money. I sent it to her without her knowledge and she yelled at me.”

Freddie walks by the open hotel room door, having heard their screams from the hall and leans against the post, observing the scene in front of him. Brian rubs his neck, cheeks turning red. “I'm sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge.”

“You're right, you shouldn't have but I forgive you. I'm still hurt but I know it was done in good faith.”

Brian nods, guilt eating at him. “I understand completely. I... I wouldn't have forgiven me had I been in your shoes.”

Y/N smiles, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. “Lucky for you, I'm very forgiving and understanding. And as much fun as this is, I'm going to be late for a meeting.”

“Make sure to eat something, please.”

“Don't worry rockstar, I'm taking care of myself. I love you.”

Roger smiles sappily, “I love you too.”

After she hangs up, Freddie smiles and makes his way into the room and drops down next to Brian, “I like her.”

Roger grins, “Yeah, she's amazing.”

“I'm sorry I didn't stop Brian.”

The drummer shakes his head, “It's all good mate. You lot were just trying to look out for me. I was just angry because she was already hurting and you managed to make it worse. I hate hearing her cry.”

The two nod, realizing what a mess they had made. Freddie claps his hands, “Well, now that it's settled that you're not quitting the band and we're all friends again, we should celebrate! I won't take no for an answer, my darlings!”

————————————————————

Y/N’s pulled out of her thoughts as the phone rings at nine am. She knows it’s Roger: no one else calls her but she almost never gets calls from Roger this early in the day. There’s only a four-hour time difference, but it’s still rare for her to get a call before the middle of the night.

It’s nine and two minutes, meaning Roger is calling her at five in the morning his local time.

She picks up the phone in an instant, worried that something is wrong, “Rog? Are you ok?”

“Y/N? Y/N! It's me! It's Roger!”

She chuckles, realizing what’s going on. She can hear the smile in his voice as he basically screams across the distance separating them. “Hi, Rog. Sounds like you're having fun.”

He laughs drunkenly, stretching his legs across the couch he’s sitting on. “And you sound –” He groans longingly, “You sound so sexy, Y/N. So beautiful. Fucking gorgeous. Prettiest girl I've ever seen.”

Y/N giggles, face heating up at his words. “You've never seen me before, Rog.” She hears a few snickers from around him. “Am I on speaker phone?”

Roger nods, forgetting he was on the phone in his drunken state. He’s just happy to be speaking to his dream girl.

“Hello Y/N!” Brian calls, taking another swig from his nearly empty beer bottle. Y/N returns the greeting but Roger frowns, quickly switching her off speaker. “Brian doesn't get to ever talk to you ever.”

YN smiles sympathetically, “Aw, Rog. I told you I forgive him, so did you. He was just being friendly –”

“I don't have to see you to know you're pretty.” He interrupts, drunken mind already returning to the most important thing. “I just know it. I do.” He frowns, grumpy that she dares question how highly he thinks of her. “Prettiest girl in the universe.”

He yawns, rubbing at his eyes. “Wanna meet you so bad. I think...I think it's scary.”

YN hums, confused. “What's scary?”

“W-What'll I-...What is-...What if you don't think you like me as much? What'll I do then?”

Her heart stutters, “Oh Rog, of course I'll like you. I love you.”

“But you love hearing me but what about seeing me?” He croaks, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “What if you don't like seeing me?”

Y/N sighs, “Roger, I'd love you if even if you were bald with green skin.”

“What if it's worse than all that?”

Y/N laughs, “Worse than bald with green skin!?”

Roger hides his drunken smile, as if she was there to see it. “I'm serious! I'm being serious and you're laughing at me!”

“Aw, Rog, I’m sorry. I won't laugh anymore.” She speaks through her giggles. “I'm listening. Really...”

Roger sighs, self consciously looking down at his body. “I...I'm not big.”

Y/N quirks her brow, intrigued by where this conversation is going. “What?”

“I'm not so big and muscly! I'm skinny! I mean...well...My shoulders are ok but –”

She chuckles, “Roger, my love, I promise I'm going to love the hell out of you no matter how muscly you are.”

Roger groans, “You've got to stop that.”

She frowns, “Stop what?”

“Stop...Just stop being so goddamn perfect all the time.”

Y/N scoffs, “I'm far from perfect, Rog.”

He groans again, “You sound so goddamn sexy.”

She laughs at him, loving how his drunken mind seems to go in circles. “Is it my 'I just woke up and haven't spoken yet' voice?”

Roger moans, running his hands through his hair. “You're just teasing now! You have any idea the kind of things I want to do to you?”

“I might have a vague idea, yes.”

Roger let his eyes fall closed, mumbling. “God, I just want to suck on your tits.”

Y/N's jaw drops, “Roger!” She feels her face turn scarlet, knowing he’s just a few steps away from his band mates and they are absolutely listening in.

“I mean it!” He whines, “You make me so fucking hard –”

“Roger, I am not having this conversation with you in front of your mates.”

He whines again, “'m not asking for full on phone sex!” His lips turn up in a smirk, “Maybe I could just get you off? The boys aren't listening.” He glances at his friends but he’s too drunk to really see, “At least I think they’re not.”

Y/N buries her face in her hand, “They most definitely are, Roger.”

He frowns, not comprehending what the issue is, “But I love you.”

“I love you too, rockstar.” She smiles, “Do me a favor? Put an aspirin and a glass of water by your bed.”

Roger feels himself tear up, “Are you hanging up?”

She knits her brows sympathetically. “I've got work, baby.” The last thing she wants to do is hang up on him when he sounds so adorable and horny but she’s already running late.

“Call me?” he asks, “Once you get home? The minute you get home.”

She’s smiling, “I don't think you'll be awake.”

“Wake me up, then.”

She chuckles, “Ok, rockstar.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Roger wakes up hours later, unsure on how he managed to get back to his room and with a pounding headache. He reaches for the aspirin and water he vaguely remembers putting on his bedside table, as requested by his amazing girlfriend.

While going to wash his face, he notices an envelope by the door. Reaching down to grab it, his heart flutters when he sees the name of the sender: YN LN. It’s priority mail, meaning she probably spent quite some money on it and it’s dated three days ago.

His hands shake as he tears the envelope open and tears filled his eyes as he finally knows what the girl of his dreams looks like.

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

Y/N makes her way into her small apartment, keys held in her teeth, a grocery bag in one hand and mail in the other. She stops in the kitchen, quickly putting her groceries away before sitting on the sofa and going through the mail.

As usual, there are a few store coupons, a reminder that her rent is due in two weeks and an envelope from Roger. She’s come to love and hate these: postcards are great, full of witty comments and loving remarks. Envelopes usually mean that he either sent her money or a small gift. Stupid, sweet Roger.

Y/N's heart is beating like a hummingbird's as she opens the letter from Roger. She pulls out a single photo, clipped from a magazine with a single word written across the bottom.

Guess.

She smirks, sliding the photo back into the envelope and hurries to her room. She dials his number the minute she gets to the phone, sitting on the edge of her bed. It only rings once before he picks up. He doesn’t even get a chance to greet her. “You think you're so clever, don't you?”

Roger laughs, knowing exactly to what she’s referring to. “Yes, actually, I do.”

“You're such a wanker.” She’s laughing, shaking her head as she looks over the photo of Roger and his band mates.

He laughs, adjusting his pillow as he rubs his eyes, waking himself up a bit more, “Thought that was why you love me?”

Y/N smiles, kicking off her shoes as she lays back, “You want me to play that game? Fine, I'll play it, rockstar. I bet you twenty pounds I'll get it on the first try.”

“You really think you will?” Roger loves how confident she sounds. God, he loves this woman.

“Of course I will, drummer boy. I'd know you anywhere.” Her smile’s soft, the love she feels for the boy knew no limits.

He bit his lower lip, a grin breaking out on his lips 'You're on, sweetheart.'

YN pulls the photo closer, excitement rolling in her stomach. “Let's see...”

Every face in the picture is a beautiful one but she knows immediately that her Roger is the blond one but there’s no reason to make him aware of her discovery just yet.

She grins, the idea of making him sweat extremely amusing. “Suitor number one, here...Tall! He's got some legs on him, doesn't he? And just look at those curls! Gotta love a man with curls.”

Roger feels jealousy boiling in his stomach, but he does his best to ignore it, not wanting to give anything away. He starting to regret sending her a group photo. “Number two...Oh! that jacket is lovely. I like the silk. He knows how to dress, for sure.” Roger chuckles. Good old Fred.

“Number three...Number three looks like he's quite a sweetheart, doesn't he? So smiley! And that little striped vest!”

Roger purses his lips nervously, knowing she’s about to focus on him and talk about her first impression. What if she doesn’t find him attractive?

“Number four is this blond fellow.” Y/N smiles, her heart fluttering as she gazes at the man she loves. “Sparkly pink shoes, looks a bit tired. Might be drunk in this photo, actually. Stunningly handsome. Looks like he's got a bit of an attitude too.” She pauses for a moment, making Roger smile. She’d described all his friends perfectly and he can tell from her voice that she knows. He loves her even more for it.

“Yep, there's my Rog.”

Roger laughs, cursing his mind for doubting her even for a second. “I do not have an attitude!”

“You do!” She counters between laughs, “I would too if I wore pants that tight!”

He smirks, “I just wanted to show off my cute ass for you, love.”

YN grins, “Wait 'til you see mine, pretty boy. I can guarantee it's cuter.”

Roger's face goes red. The power this woman holds over him was astounding.

She hummed blissfully, head relaxing against her pillow as she admires the photo once again. “You're beautiful, Rog. Knew you would be...”

How she ended up being so lucky, she will never know but she will thank her lucky starts everyday from here on out.

Roger's heart stutters. He wants to ask her if she really means it but his heart knows she would never lie, especially about this. He looks over at her picture, propped against the base of the phone. He’s been carrying it in his wallet and keeps it next to his bed when they stop at hotels. His eyes scan her smiling face. “Do you have any birthmarks?”

She giggles, thrown but the sudden question. “What?”

“You know, birthmarks.” He realizes that it sounds random but he wants to know everything he can about her. At this point, he’s aware of her family history, of her interests and hobbies, and friends but he knows almost nothing about her body except for what he can make out from the picture. Roger wants to memorize every inch of her.

She quirks her brows, “I've got a little one on my back but it just looks like a mole. Why?”

“Just curious.” He admits, “What about scars? My hands and arms are covered in small ones because of the drumming and stupid fights.”

Y/N laughs at that, not at all surprised by his sheepish confession. “Mm... I have a scar on my left wrist. Got it when I was probably around five-ish. I was riding my bike and ran into my garage door. The glass window shattered on my arm. It both scared and scarred me.”

Roger smiles, imagining how her body looked liked, her scars and all. “Are you ticklish?”

“Depends on where you try it.”

Roger grins, “I can't wait to figure it out.”

They settle for a moment, letting the familiar silence wash over them. Words hang unspoken in the air and Roger decides to through caution to the wind. “I wish I could touch you. Just explore you. Every inch of your gorgeous body.” He’s wanted to say these words for so long.

Y/N smiles, a warm feeling washing over her. Roger can’t help but imagine her sitting in her room, holding the receiver to her ear. He hums, picturing his hands running down the smooth skin of her stomach. He swallows thickly, arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Have you got a soft spot?” God, he wants to be with her so bad it’s a physical pain.

She smirks, her voice lowering a bit and taking on a sultry tone, “Why ever would you asking Rog?”

He chuckles, pants tightening at her tone and implications but two can play at that game. “Think you know why, love.”

She feels heat pool in her stomach, “Maybe you should wait and find it yourself.”

He groans in frustration, “What if I don't want to wait? What if I want to hear you moan my name right now?”

Y/N clenches her thighs, biting her lip to hold back any sounds that might escape her lips. Roger isn’t done though. “If you like that, just wait till I get my hands on you. I'll ruin you in the best ways. You'll be screaming my name.”

YN's head falls back, hitting the wall with a small thud as she moaned, panties growing wetter by the word. “Is that so drummer boy?”

Roger nearly moans, “Well, you know what they say about drummers, don't you?”

Y/N bites her lip. “What do they say?”

He smirks, “They do it harder.”

The silence is pregnant. Roger's boxers are tented and he’s feeling too hot under the hotel blanket so he throws it to the side before speaking again. “I had a dream about you last night.” His tone leaves little to guess about the nature of said dream.

“Lucky you,” She’s breathless, mind buzzing and body aflame.

Roger chuckles huskily, “And you said I have an attitude. What I am to do with you?”

Y/N smirks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Are you taking requests?”

Roger moans shamelessly, boxers too tight to be comfortable as he rearranges himself. “I wouldn't mind having you under me.”

It’s her turn to whimper, legs rubbing together to alleviate some of the building pressure in her core. “I wouldn't mind having you on top of me.”

Roger closes his eyes, imagining the scene and wishing it was currently reality. “You won't get anything if you keep talking back.”

Y/N giggles, “You didn't think I'd go down without a fight, did you rockstar?”

God, he loved her. He can’t wait to fuck the attitude right out of her. “Honestly, I thought I'd be the one going down...”

Roger doesn’t expect the moan that comes out of Y/N's mouth and he wishes he could hear it in person. He smirks, “I bet you're an absolute mess right now.”

“You're welcome to come over here and find out.”

Roger wants nothing more, “That's tempting, sweetheart.”

She smirks, “It was meant to be.”

“You're such a brat.” He loves it.

“You didn't know that?” She’s playing coy, riling him up and Roger is soaking up each word.

“You've got quite the mouth on you.”

She bites her lip, “You'll love it even more once you feel what I can do with it.”

Roger moans, palming himself over his briefs. “I'm so bloody hard right now. All because of that mouth of yours, you minx.”

Y/N whimpers, “What do you want me to do about it?”

Roger squeezes himself, hips canting up from the bed. “I can think of a few things, actually.”

She palms her breast, bra getting in the way and she quickly rids herself of it. “Yeah? Want to know how wet I am for you? Would you like me to touch myself? Let you hear as I moan your name?”

Roger's breath comes out in pants, hand slipping beneath the elastic of his briefs to grip his cock. “That'd be a great start.”

She smirks, loving how worked up he sounds. “Bet I can finish too.”

Roger laughs breathlessly, “Damn right you will, love.”

Her underwear is soaked, fingers itching to remove them and get some relief and her mouth works faster than her brain. “What are you doing right now?”

Roger swallows around the knot in his throat, “I'll give you three guesses.”

“What if I get it wrong?”

Roger smirks, “Don't find out.”

Y/N has always loved a challenge, “What it I want to?”

“It might involve you not getting to cum, so I'd think about it real hard.”

“Is that a hint, lover boy?”

Roger moans, finally slipping his cock out of his boxers and slowly starting to run his hand up and down his shaft.

“That sure was pretty, rockstar. Let me hear it again.”

“You first, love.” He pants, “Touch yourself for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds I know you make.”

Y/N lets her hand slip past the band of her panties, fingers teasing herself as she slowly circles her clit. She moans, making Roger speed up his movements as he smirks. “So you can follow directions.”

She moans again, applying more pressure to her clit. “Only you for.”

Roger can’t get enough of the sounds coming from the phone. “You sound so sexy. I can’t wait to taste you baby.”

Y/N slides her finger lower, teasing her entrance as Roger continues speaking, “I’ve had some many dreams about you, baby. Dreamt about watching your face as you clench around my cock.”

Y/N moans loudly, the images in her head and the words spoken in her ear driving her mad. “Roger”, she whimpers, fingers sinking into her slick core, “want your cock in my mouth, Rog. Want to feel it against the back of my throat.”

Roger curses, hips bucking wildly as he pumps himself. “God, the sounds you make will be the death of me.” He closes his eyes, holding the receiver close to his ear to make sure he won’t miss a single sound, “I'm so hard baby. Leaking all over my hand.”

Roger swipes his thumb over the tip, gathering the precum and using it to aid his hand. “Wish it was your hand.”

Y/N whimpers, fingers pumping her heat faster and faster. “Feels so good, Roger. I need you so bad.”

Roger curses again, “How'd you want me, love? You want my face buried in your cunt? That make you feel good?” The more he speaks, the closer she gets to her release. “Or would you want me inside you? I'd fill you up so good, baby.”

It’s Y/N's turn to curse, closing her eyes as she pictures his blond hair between her thighs. “I bet you'd look beautiful between my legs, rockstar. I want you so bad. Need to feel every inch of you stretching me. Fuck, Rog.”

She lets out a pathetic whimper, phone held between her shoulder and ear so both her hands are free, one to tweak her pert nipple and the other rubbing her clit furiously. “So close.”

Roger places the receiver on his shoulder, using his now free to cup his balls as the other increases the speed of his strokes. “hat's right love, cum all over your pretty fingers. Let me hear you.”

His vision goes fuzzy, chest warm as he lets himself cum while listening to Y/N whimpers and moan his name as she orgasms.

Roger whimpers as he finally lets got of his cock, breath coming out unevenly. He can hear Y/N's own sounds reducing, breath steadying. Never in his life has he felt such a strong need for aftercare. Through the years, he'd humor the stranger in his bed, playing with their hair or kissing them before they finally left. He never saw the point in pretending that the night of passion they shared was going to lead anywhere but he wasn't a complete jackass.

For the first time in his life, Roger wishes he could hold this amazing girl in his arms, kiss her lips as she relaxes against him. Maybe even clean her up, if she'd let him.

“Rog?” her voice sounds tired yet satisfied, and it makes him smile.

“Yes, my love?”

“I love you.”

Roger feels complete. “I love you too.”

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

“Are you excited the tour is ending tonight?”

Roger sighs, a smile on his face. “You have no idea! No more sharing a tour bus with those three wankers, I get to sleep in my own bed and eat food that isn't prepared in a restaurant or that comes in a take-out container.”

Y/N grins, putting a pillow behind her knees as she gets comfortable in the sofa, “Sounds like a dream.”

Roger hums, not completely agreeing. His dream is now something more domestic. “And the record label said we'll be in London for a while.”

The unsaid words hang in the air. Roger desperately wants to ask her to meet in person. They’ve been together for a bit over a year, speaking for almost three. If he’s honest with himself, he’s scared shitless. So much could go wrong and he needs her in his life.

“Oh.” Y/N isn’t sure on how to reply. She wants to meet him, hug him, see the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs or how cute his face is when he pouts. She’s scared but she knows she needs him in her life and it’s time she feels his arms around her. “Maybe we could grab a coffee?”

Roger grins, voice full of emotion. “Yeah? You sure you want to hang out with a rockstar?”

“You sure you want to hang out with a book worm?”

Roger laughs wetly, heart beating furiously in his chest. “I wouldn't want it any other way.”

—-—————————————————-

Every corner he turns, Roger can’t help but let his eyes drift over the crowded streets, searching for that familiar face. He keeps a hand in his pocket, thumbing over his photo of Y/N like a security blanket as he trails behind the rest of the boys. He unwraps another strawberry sweet, popping it in his mouth as Freddie grabs John's arm, leading them all into another women's clothing store.

Roger has been back in London for almost a month now, and both him and Y/N have yet to find the time or courage to meet in person. It’s an odd, nervous game each time he goes out now, like a "Where's Waldo" from hell. What if he’s right beside her and he doesn't even know it? He shakes the thought from his mind immediately: he would know her face anywhere.

“C’mon Rog,” John sigh, an arm wrapping around the drummer’s shoulders as Freddie digs through a rack of leather pants. He pulls a pair off the rack, holding them up to Brian but they fall about mid shin against his outrageously long legs, making the guitarist scrunch his nose in annoyance. “You’ll meet her soon enough, mate. You don't have to go searching every time you're out.”

The blond groans, letting his head fall back against his friend’s arm. “You have no idea how hard this is, John.”

The bassist frowns, “Sure I do. I've got a family. I miss 'em more than anything when I'm gone.”

Roger sighs as Deacy gives him a firm pat on the back. “But it's not the same, though. Yeah, you miss Veronica and the kids when we’re away but...but at least you know what it feels like to hold her. Kiss her... All I have is that one photo of her. You get to go home, to a house full of life and love. I went home to an empty flat.” His hand hovers over his coat pocket where said photo sat, tucked away.

Freddie gives a sympathetic look as he folds his arms over his chest. “It’s going to happen darling. You just have to be patient. The universe is waiting for just the right moment to spring her on you!” He winks, grinning brightly.

Roger rolls his eyes, “Fuck the universe.” He doesn’t care if he sounds like a child. He’s waited long enough. “It's been three bloody years. I'm tired of waiting.”

Brian smiled softly, “I'm sure she’s just as eager as you are, Rog.”

Roger wanders outside the shop, tired of their optimism. He just wants to meet the girl of his dreams. Is that too much to ask for? He ends up flipping through a little rack of postcards set up next to the door. He chuckles to himself, trying to figure out how funny it would be if he sends Y/N a 'London' one.

He pulls her photo out of his pocket, admiring it as his eyes wander about the crowd. He knows he'd recognize her in an instant. The moment he sees her, there will be not doubt in his mind. No other smile in a crowd of people could be as bright as hers. He’s so busy people watching that he barely notices it, tucked away on the street corner.

Author’s attic.

He freezes, heart speeding like a train as his eyes fixate on the store on the opposite side of the road. It’s a quaint little shop. Vines climb up the side of it, nearly obscuring the sign. It'd clearly been painted ages ago and cracks had long since riddled the letters. Roger feels like he can’t move a single muscle. It can’t be that simple, can it?

Roger pays the boys no concern, abandoning them in the shop as he forces his feet to move from their spot glued to the pavement. He stumbles across the street, eyes locked on the store as his heart sits in his throat.

Please, let this be the right place.

A small bell chimes as he allows the door to close behind him. The place is exactly the way he'd imagined: books lining every available surface, books piled by the register, books stacked beneath a potted plant. There are even books arranged beside a small armchair under the front window. It smells of coffee and old paper, and it feels welcoming and homey.

“I’ll be right with you!”

Roger feels like he’s stopped breathing: he would recognize that voice anywhere. Tears gloss his eyes, his hand trembles as he reaches into his pocket, fingers grazing over his worn picture of her.

He turns towards her when she buzzes into the main room, arms full of thick story books.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” She chirps, eyes not leaving her work as she flits around her desk, putting things in their right place. “Things have been so busy around here lately.” She chuckles, “I've barely been able to keep my own head on my shoulders!”

He watches her with a smile, tears threatening to fall. He blinks them back quickly, refusing to let her see him cry. His throat tightens with emotion and he can feel his palms starting to sweat. He wants to say something suave, something that’ll make him sound poetic and well-educated. Something that won’t make him sound like the love-struck idiot he is, but his mind seems to only hold her name. “Y/N...”

She turns around so fast he fears she might get whiplashed. Her eyes are wide as she meets his blue ones. The room spins for a second, and she can't quite tell if she’s imagining it or if it’s real. Her rockstar. Home after all this time. Seeing him here, in her world of books, with his messy blonde locks. He’s even prettier than any photo she’s ever seen.

His name is a breath on her lips, “Roger.”

She drops the books in her arms to the side, stumbling over her own feet as she runs to him, falling into his arms. She presses her face against his neck, her arms lock tightly around his shoulders. She can’t even try to contain the sobs that wrack her body. He smells of cigarettes and wood. He smells like home.

Roger can't believe how perfectly she fits in his arms; how normal it feels. He wraps an arm around her waist while his other hand buries in her hair, crushing her tightly against him. Her hair smells amazing, something sweet he can't quite place.

He sniffles, kissing the crown of her head as tears stream down his cheeks. His voice is weak and pitiful when he speaks, “It's so nice to finally hold you.”

Y/N gives a watery laugh, lips pressed against the warm skin of his neck. “You're home.”

Roger moves his hand down to the nape of her neck, making her pull back to look at him as he moves his hands to cradled her cheeks. Never had he seen such beautiful eyes, so expressive and full of love. Roger's thumb grazes her cheek, soothingly. His voice’s barely a whisper. “Knew I was right. You're the prettiest girl I have ever laid eyes on.”

Y/N laughs, head thrown back. She kisses his cheek, making him grin like a child on Christmas morning. “You're so beautiful, Rog.” She admires him, tucking some hair behind his ears. “Don't even need muscles.”

He tickles her sides, and she giggles, nose scrunching as he pulls her close again. Her laughter trails off as he smiles down at her, forehead resting against hers. He feels her hand rest on his chest, right above his heart as she clutches his shirt.

His eyes linger on her lips before locking with hers again. Her breath stalls. Roger is slow in cradling her face, indulging in her as he runs his thumb over her skin. His hand drops to hold the back of her head, tilting her into him as her nose nudges against his. Their lips graze.

A bell rings.

They jump apart, heads turning to the door to find his three friends staring at them. Brian and Deacy’s eyes are wide with shock and confusion: they turn their backs on Roger for five minutes and here he is, nearly making out with a store clerk after bitching about not being able to meet the girl he loves. Freddie just looks amused.

Roger groans, failing to hide the smile on his face. “God damnit Brian! Why do you always have to ruin everything?!”

Y/N burst out laughing, her head lulling back as Roger's hands holds her hips. Once she cracks, he can't hold back his laughter any longer, her smile infectious. His grin widens at Brian's confused expression. Freddie gives them a knowing smile, waiting to see if Brian could figure it out.

The singer knew who she was the moment he'd seen the two: Roger's protective stance, the starry-eyed look he has in his eyes, the way they are so comfortable with each other. It’s more than enough to hint at the girl's identity. Not to mention that he'd seen Roger fall asleep on the tour bus couch multiple times, still clutching her photo in his hand.

Freddie glances at Brian, chuckling as he decides Brian wasn't getting any smarter about the situation. The singer takes a step forward, lifting his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose. He gives Roger a wink, “So this is the girl you love?”

Roger goes red as Brian's eyes light up with realization, a grin on his face as Freddie smiles knowingly. “What did I tell you, darling? Trust the universe.”

Roger rolls his eyes, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from tugging up in a smile.

Brian finally pipes up, “Wait a second, so you're –”

“The actress trying to get in to your best friend's wallet.” She gives an amused smirk, extending her hand to shake his. “It's a pleasure.”

Brian blushes. Honestly, he had hoped that when they finally met, she wouldn't bring up the horrible things he had said to her. Without making eye contact, he timidly shakes her hand, “It's nice to meet you. Again, I want to apologize fo –”.

Brian feels two slender hands rest on his cheeks. He slowly lifts his eyes, meeting hers.

Y/N wears a kind smile on her lips as she speaks, “I'm just teasing. It's all good, Brian. You were just trying to be a good friend.”

The guitarist nods, unsure in his smile as Roger wraps his arm around her waist once again, pulling her towards his body. Brian observes how connected the two seemed to be: their movements are almost synchronized, and although they had just met in person, they somehow work perfectly together, like a couple who had grown up together.

John smiles at the group, “As much as I would love to get to know you, I think it's best to leave you and Roger alone for a bit. You deserve some time to get acquainted.”

Roger grins, kissing Y/N's temple. The girl smiles, her hands resting on the drummer's. “I like that idea. Rog, want to grab that coffee?”

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

“Sorry for the mess Rog! I didn't think I'd be having any visitors today.” Y/N bites her lips as she moves around the messy living room, trying to clean up a bit but Roger wraps his arms around her from behind, making her stand straight. He gently moves her hair to the side, placing a gentle kiss where her neck meets her shoulder.

“I don't care about the mess,” his voice is as soft as his touch, “All I care about is being here, with you.” Y/N hums, relaxing in his arms with her eyes closed as she enjoys the warmth emanating from his body. “It's all I've cared about for a while.”

Roger chuckles, content to stay like this forever. He can’t get enough of her. Her smile, her hands on his, her smell filling his nostrils. If this is a dream, he never wants to wake.

“Did you really keep all the post cards I sent you?” Roger isn't sure why he asked, but he needs to know if those pieces of cardboard were just as important to her as they are to him.

Y/N nods, gently taking one of his hands in hers and silently makes her way through the flat. The drummer lets his eyes wander, taking in as much as he can. She leads him to her bedroom and it feels oddly reassuring to be here. He had imagined this room so many times; he had pictured her laying on that same bed so many times, playing with her hair as she talked to him.

It's surreal. It’s almost exactly like he imagined it to be in his head: soft and warm and homey. He loves it. Every inch of it screams her name. It’s cozy. A big patterned rug covered the wooden floor, and her bed’s made up with a pretty knitted blanket. And there, right above the bed, hangs a little bulletin board, holding every post card he'd ever sent her.

She smiles as she watches him wander around her room, a grin on his face. She stops herself from apologizing for the mess once again, as she moves to her bed to remove some papers and books from it.

Roger runs his index finger over the leather-bound spines of the books lining the few shelves on her walls. She must have hundreds. Her walls are lined with them and still, she doesn't have enough room for them all.

Roger pulls a small red one from the bedside table. The Velveteen Rabbit. He smiles a little to himself, flipping through the brightly illustrated pages. Y/N walks over to him, arms wrapping around his middle from behind as she kisses his shoulder before resting her head against it.

“My mum used to read this to me all the time, especially when I was sad.” He mumbles quietly, stopping on a drawing of the little boy holding the plush rabbit. “It was my favorite.”

Y/N's heart grows a few sizes at the image of a young Roger seated in his mother's lap as she read to him.

Roger's heart stutters as he flips through the pages, recounting the story of the little plush bunny, turned real by love. A knot forms in his throat as he admires the book's last illustration: the rabbit, sitting by a raspberry bush in the little boy's garden, visiting the one who had brought him to life.

Y/N feels Roger stiffen a little, and she meets his glossy eyes as he turns in her arms, “What's wrong, rockstar?”

Roger laughs breathlessly, her gentle touch calming him immensely. “Nothing. It's just...” He shakes his head a little, refusing to let his voice go watery. “It's just that I never really got it until now.”

Confusion knits her brow, “Got what?”

Roger smiles a little, looking back down at the book and then at the girl holding him. “I guess...well...Sometimes it takes being loved by someone to finally make you feel alive.”

Y/N's heart feels full of so much love she doesn’t know what to do with it. She stands there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She does the only thing she feels she can do: she tightens her arms around his waist, giving him the biggest, warmest hug, he'd ever received. His arms wrap around her, stroking up and down her back.

“I love you.” Roger whispers against her ear. It feels amazing to be able to tell her as he holds her in his arms.

“I love you too.”

Their foreheads meet as Roger's nose nudges hers, heat building slowly between them. Y/N takes a little step backwards, knowing if she inches any closer, she'd want to jump his bones more than she already does.

Roger smirks, taking a step forward. She goes a bit breathless, smiling playfully as she takes another step back, only for her back to be pressed flush against her bookcase.

He chuckles, toying with a loose strand of her hair. “Caught you.”

Y/N tries to steady her breathing as his hand cradle her face. He runs his thumb over her lower lip. “What're you going to do now?”

Her eyes trail to his lips subconsciously, “I'm going to wait for you to kiss me, rockstar.”

He grins, pressing into her. He thinks back to that night he first called her. He thinks over every moment he had been so desperate to hold her in his arms.

The moment he kisses her, Roger is brought to life.

Her lips are softer than anyone's he'd ever kissed before. The kiss is gentle, her hand moving to cradle Roger's face as they melt into one another. He tastes of sweets.

Her skin smells of cinnamon and it reminds him of the tea Freddie would drink in the morning.

Roger inhales the sweet, spicy scent as he deepens the kiss. Her fingers laced in his hair, soft and fine between her fingers, and he hums a moan against a sensitive spot below her ear, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

Y/N feels overwhelmed in the best way. This is what she had craved for over two years and now that it’s finally happening, she’s afraid she won't be able to commit to memory all the feelings. Roger's lips moving against her own, the rapid beating of their hears. The feeling of his breath on her neck as he lays gentle kisses on it. It’s enough to make her mind spin.

She lets his hands grip her thigh tightly as she gives in to the urge to grind against him. He refuses to let his hands leave her body: some small part of him still afraid she'll disappear at any moment.

Roger pulls her closer, keeping an arm against the wall as he grabs at her ass, rutting against her clothed heat. She lets out a whine, thoroughly enjoying the friction as wetness pools between her legs.

Y/N wants more. Craves it. Needs his hands all over her. Needs his red-stained tongue against every inch of her body. She pulls away from his lips, panting as he drags his eyes over the curve of her hips and breasts. He takes one step back, eyes locking with hers as he pulls his shirt off. Her eyes roam his chest, mouth still ajar as she tries to catch her breath. He holds her loosely in his arms, pecking her lips. He will never get enough of her sweet taste. Roger will never get enough of her.

“Rog, I...” Y/N fumbles over her words. “I...” She needs him to know. She needs him to know how much she loves him. She needs him to know how uncomfortably wet her panties are becoming. He chuckles, meeting her eyes, as she tries to remember English. Roger feels a thread of concern build in his chest. Has he made her nervous? Has he gone to far?

He presses a sweet kiss on her forehead, “What's wrong, love?”

Timidly, she takes a step away from the bookshelf, moving so that Roger is now the one with his back to it. His brow quirks with confusion. Her eyes are locked with his, cheeks flushed and hair messy. Roger swallows thickly, heart racing in his chest as he watches her slowly drop to her knees in front of him.

Her hands tremble as she unbuttons his jeans, tugging down the zipper and pulling them down off his hips. Roger has to force himself to grab her wrists, pausing her movements. “You sure?”

Y/N doesn't say a word. Instead, her eyes stay locked with his as she leans forward, mouthing at his cock through his boxers. Roger gives a whimper, his hand lacing in her hair as his head tips back against the wall. He curses under his breath at the feeling of her hot mouth on his cock.

Roger has been sucked off before. In fact, Roger has been sucked off a lot, but never once has it ever felt as good as it does right now and he isn't sure if it’s because he’s in love with her, and he's been dreaming of seeing her pretty lips around his cock for months now, or if it’s the way she’s taking him into the back of her throat, dragging her tongue over his shaft, but he can barely remember his own name. He knows e should be embarrassed by the sounds passing his lips, but he can't find it in himself to care.

Roger hadn't even realized how long it'd been since he'd had physical sex with someone. He'd forgotten how good it could feel.

He whines her name hoarsely, his fingers itching to be against her skin. “Y/N, you've got to stop, love. I won't last.”

He watches as she pulls off of him, kissing the head of his cock one last time before Roger pulls her up to meet his lips again. He has her on the bed in seconds, nearly tripping as he finishes shedding his jeans and boxers. He mounts her, wasting no time in grabbing the waist band of her pants and pulling them down over her ass, taking her panties with them. He wants to tease her. He really does but the moment he sees her cunt, all soaked and ready for him, he loses all coherent thoughts.

Her jaw drops open, seeing stars as he flattens his tongue, dragging up slowly over her sensitive folds. His mouth is hot and wet against her as he circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking it expertly as her back arches off the mattress.

Roger has never been more grateful that he’s experienced. It’s as if every girl he's ever been with, had been a practice run for Y/N. He knows where to suck, where to prod and lick and devour to make her squirm and buck into his mouth. He watches her face intently as she moans and ruts against his face, the arousal from her inner thighs smearing across his cheeks. He loops his arms around her thighs, her hands clutching the bed sheet like a vice. She gasps loudly as he shoves his tongue inside her, fucking her with it as he explores the inside of her hole. She cries out, head pressing into her pillow as her legs start trembling. He can feel her clit throbbing as he returns his mouth to it, pushing two fingers inside her to replace his tongue. She screams hoarsely, and Roger smirks against her heat as he fucks her harder, crooking his fingers inside her.

“Roger, I'm cumming. Don't stop, Rog, please don't stop!” She gasps, hips rolling as she rides his face, a numbing, warm pleasure washing over her. She gives a breathy sob as Roger works her through her high with his fingers, face still buried in her cunt.

She squirms beneath him as she grows sensitive, overstimulation setting in. She whines as he presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing circles over it as he sucks at her folds. “R-Rog you can stop –”. She whimpers as he hums in response, continuing his tongue's assault on her pussy.

“Rog...” She groans again, her hips settling as the discomfort begins to melt into pleasure. God, she’s so sensitive. It’s so much. So much at once. How is she already this close? Roger chuckles against her, watching her face as his lips finds her clit again. She lets out a high-pitched moan as the pleasure begins to build again, warmth tingling till the tips of her toes. The fire in her belly increases and she grips his hair tightly as she comes on his tongue again with a silent scream. He brings her back to earth, resting his chin against her stomach as she finds her bearings, cheeks pink and chest heaving.

“Want to go again?” Smug bastard.

Y/N fights to catch her breath, “Jesus, Rog, if you go again, you'll bloody kill me.”

Roger laughs, crawling up to meet her lips. She groans, tasting herself against his tongue. “Taste like fucking candy, don't you?” His voice is thick with lust.

Y/N peels off her shirt, leaving her wearing nothing but a thin bra. Roger hooks his finger under one of the straps, pulling it down so that he can roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making her moan and arch into his touch.

Y/N wraps her hand around his cock, pumping him slowly and Roger curses, eyes rolling back as he grinds against her hand. His name slips from his lips breathlessly. Heat bubbles in Roger's veins and without a second thought, he rips her bra down the center, exposing her tits. Y/N gasps at the sudden movement, breasts heaving as Roger kneads one in his palm, mouthing at the other. She barely notices his other hand sinking lower until he has two fingers pressed up inside of her.

Y/N whines, sobbing breathlessly as he fingers her. She’s wet and tight around his fingers, clenching as he hits her g-spot with ever movement of his talented fingers. Roger groans, the idea of his cock buried inside her nearly bringing him over the edge.

“I love you.” She moans, his name like a prayer falling from her kiss-bruised lips.

Roger curses, cock twitching in her hand at the wet sounds her cunt makes against his knuckles. He nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, sucking dark bruises into her skin.

“I need to be inside you.” His voice is desperate and hoarse. “Please, I need to fuck you.” He’s desperate with the need to be buried inside of her, to be connected totally and completely.

Y/N pulls his face up to hers so she crashes her lips to his, cradling his face as he kissed her desperately.

“Ruin me.” She whispers, hands tangled in his hair.

Roger has to grip his cock roughly to stop himself from cumming. He whimpers, lining himself up with her entrance. Y/N cries out as he sinks into her.

“Tight fucking cunt. Shit.” Roger groans into her neck. “Love you so fucking much.”

Tears of emotion well in her eyes. “I love you too.”

Y/N’s breath comes up in short pants, back arching as pleasure flows through her body. “I love you, Rog. You feel so good inside me, baby.”

Y/N bucks into him as he fucks her, the head of his cock hitting her sweet spot with every smack of his hipbones against hers. His left hand finds hers, fingers lacing between her own. He squeezes her hand lovingly, thrusting harder against her. His eyes stay locked with hers as he kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips. “My gorgeous girl.”

He moans as her free hand finds his hair. “You fuck me so good, Rog. Oh god.”

She can feel him throbbing inside her as he watches himself disappear inside of her again and again. Tears stream down Y/N's face, “I'm close Rog.” Her eyes screw shut with pleasure.

“No, look at me, baby. Look at me while you cum. I want to watch you cum on my cock,” He kisses her jaw, releasing her hand so that he can rub her swollen clit, “I've got you, sweetheart. Cum. Cum for me.”

Y/N's eyes lock with his as her body trembles, her stomach pulsing with heat and pleasure as wave after wave of bliss overwhelm her. She sobs hoarsely, clenching around him again and again.

Roger buries his face in the crook of her neck as she tightens around him, letting her pull him over the edge with her. He whimpers into her neck, biting at it to muffle his moans as he spills inside her. Her legs wrap around his hips, heels pressing into his lower back as he relaxes against her, trembling. He kisses her long and hard, emotions pouring through the simple contact.

Y/N's leg go lax, releasing Roger from her grasp but as he tries to get out of bed, she latches onto his arm, forcing him to lay on his back so she can rest her head against his chest, legs tangling with his.

Roger smiles fondly down at her, an arm behind his head as the other wraps around her shoulders, pulling her as close as he possibly can. “I was going to grab a wash cloth to clean you up, but I think you may have other ideas.”

YN nods, placing a gently kiss over his heart. She turns her face upwards, eyes drinking him in. “I just got you, I don't want you going anywhere so soon. Sheets can be washed and we can shower later. I need this moment with you.”

Roger has never felt so happy or content his whole life. He places the hand under his head on her cheek, urging her to move her face closer to his. He closes his eyes as he gently places a kiss to her swollen lips, feeling completely at peace.

Roger never believed in fate or in soulmates. Not until he met Y/N. It had been Fate that had given him her number, it had been their destiny to meet and fall in love. She completes him, understands him and his crazy lifestyle like no one ever could. He wants this moment to last forever.

Roger wants to wake up everyday beside Y/N, kiss her whenever he wants. He wants to see her in the crowd of every single one of his shows. He wants to be the one she calls when she needs help moving around books or shelves in her store.

Roger wants a life with Y/N.

“Marry me.” He wants to spend the rest of his life getting to know every single facet of her body and soul.

“What?” her heart had just returned to normal and now it’s beating erratically again, eyes wide as saucers as she looks at his angelic face.

“Marry me.” There’s no doubt in his mind that this is what he needs to bet truly happy for the rest of his days. “It doesn't have to happen right away. You're it for me. There will never be anyone else. You're the love of my life, Y/N. I want to spend every waking and sleeping moment with you.”

“Ok.”

Nothing about their relationship has been normal. Not the way they met or how they fell in love. She never wants to spend another moment away from him.

Distance really did make the heart grow fonder.

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