ᵍʳᵒᵘᵖⁱᵉ

˚₊‧꒰ა 🎤 ‧₊˚

[ i want you ]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚. But the boys had been true to their word, calling you every night, just like they did during their Japan tour. 

Speaking of, the two of you were snuggled up on her couch whilst you held her phone up to one another's opposite ear, the device practically squished against your cheeks. "And are the crowds big?" Mary asked. 

"Well, we're selling out every night," Freddie answered. He had informed you of his whereabouts; a telephone booth outside of a large club near their hotel. "I just wish you two were here to see it. They really love us."

"Who wouldn't, bubs?" you chuckled. "Oh, have you been claiming your love for each state?"

"But of course, my darling. Quite a good idea, dear. The crowds love it," he answered with a laugh. "But how are my two favorite girls?"

"We're good," Mary said. 

"Just missing you and the boys," you added. 

"Ah, that reminds me, Y/N/N. Roger said he was going to call you later," Freddie suddenly remembered. 

You felt heat rising to your cheeks, and by the sound of Mary's giggles and her pinching at your arms, it was clear that were was a pink hue blossoming on your face. "Thanks, bubs. Tell him I'll be waiting."

"Oh, I know you'll be," he said, and you rolled your eyes, sensing the devious smirk through the phone. "Anyhow, what are you girls doing? You can't possibly be having any fun without me?"

"Nothing as exciting as America," Mary replied. There was a lull in Freddie's response, and we shared a look of confusion.

Little did we know, Freddie was too busy watching a man hop out of his truck with a lustful grin and a once-over aimed at the singer. 

"Say hi to the boys for us," you said, hoping to gain his attention again. 

After a moment, he finally spoke, "I will. Love you, bubs."

"Bye, bubs. I love you."

"And I love you, Mary."

"I love you too," she smiled, before placing the phone back in its stand. "Is the popcorn ready?"

"Yes! Buttered and salted to perfection," you grinned. With a happy hop to her step, Mary plopped down on the seat beside me as you turned on the television, The Aristocats playing not a second later, due to your perpetual love for Disney. 

You were sitting in my apartment, reading Lord of the Rings to pass the time. You were quite bored and was inclined to call someone from the band to hang out with, but you knew that they were all exhausted from only just returning from America a few days ago. 

A sudden ringing of the doorbell, which was quickly followed by a knock caused you to look up from the wondrous formulated sentences of J.R.R Tolkien to look at the front door. "Who is it?" you boredly questioned. 

"You're favorite drummer, love."

Your eyes widened softly hearing Roger's muffled voice through the wood. You placed the book down on the coffee table in front of you before making your way to the door. With a sigh, you opened it, discovering Roger, in all his blonde and suave glory staring back at you. "Well, you're not Mick Fleetwood."

Roger let out a dry laugh as he rolled his eyes, "I don't recall you having a sense of humor," he sneered, following you inside as you wandered towards the kitchen, grabbing two cans of Coke from the fridge and tossing him one. He caught it with ease, staring down at the red and white can with way too much interest. 

"Roger?" you called, and the man looked up at you. "What are you doing here?" The drummer didn't seem to be ready to answer that, instead deciding to make himself comfortable on the couch and throw his feet up on the table. You scoffed, walking over and making a show of grabbing your book away from his leather boot clad feet. "This is a piece of history in the making."

"It's a book."

"Exactly. Try reading one sometime. It'll be much more thrilling than you're... other pleasurable activities." 

Roger shook his head with a smile, before softening his gaze as he watched you placing the book back on the study desk. You were busy slotting the book and the loving memory of the gorgeous Aragorn back into the slot beside the other novels you deemed were necessary to read in the forthcoming months when you heard Roger speak, "Go out with me."

You paused your movements, furrowing your brows in confusion before turning around and facing the blonde. "What?"

"Go out with me," he repeated. 

"Why?"

"Because."

"...Because what?"

"Oh, my God. You're impossible."

"What is wrong with asking for a motive?"

"Jesus, Y/N," he sighed, before straightening up his posture and leaning forward. "I just want to take you out."

You looked at him, trying to find any signs of insincerity, but you cursed internally when you didn't find any. "You could've just said so," you muttered, turning around and waltzing into your bedroom. You heard Roger groan loudly in annoyance, causing a triumphant smirk to fall on your lips. 

After a few minutes, you finally decided on an outfit; a dark blue velvet tie-top paired with high waisted flared jeans and brown platform boots. To accessorize, you wore a lover's necklace, silver drip earrings and a shoulder bag.

Leaving your room, you stopped as Roger stood, watching as his eyes raked over your form. He barely bit back a smile, nodding at your, before you wordlessly followed him outside with your keys and wallet in your purse, shutting and locking the door behind you. 

Making your way onto the street, it was silent. Roger had one of his hands stuffed in his pocket whilst the other nursed a cigarette, and you found yourself consciously picking at your nails. The drummer continuously glanced over at you, before looking away, and then back to you. He then tried to make conversation. 

"So... the weather."

He shouldn't have even tried. 

You nodded, pursing your lips. "Another gloomy day in London." Roger nodded, a strained smile on his lips as he blew out some smoke. You looked over at him, and his nervousness was as clear as day which caused a grin to form. Roger Taylor was never nervous with girls. "You know, I saw a poster for a festival market. Its along Regent Street. Would you want to go, seeing as we are just aimlessly wandering around?" you suggested with a chuckle. 

"Sounds good," Roger smiled, letting out a breath of relief.

You and Roger had finally arrived at the market and were surprised to find it packed full of people, and it was barely 6pm. There were hundreds of stalls, all varying from cooked meals and drink stands, to jewelry stores and homewares. You had convinced the blonde to buy you a Queen vinyl, though he was quite against it, stating that the band could easily give you one for free. And signed! 

As you walked around, trying different foods and purchasing small, minuscule things that you really had no need for, you began watching the drummer beside you. The awkwardness had worn off, instead being replaced with playful jabs and relaxed ambience. 

After buying two corndogs for one another, Roger led you into a small alleyway. It was connected to a restaurant, and from what you could see from the soft lighting of the strung-up lights, there was a small two-seater table, formed with intricate designs. Taking a seat, you continued laughing from another story he had been telling you. "And they just lifted him? Just like that?" I questioned. 

"Just like that," he nodded, chuckling. 

"Gosh, Freddie sure does have a way with the crowd. I've never seen anything like it," you sighed, looking down at the corndog. You raised your eyes again to Roger, finding him snacking on the deep-fried sausage. "Roger?" He hummed in response. "Why did you take me out?" His chews came to a pause, before he swallowed lowly, grabbing a napkin and wiping his fingers. He glanced up at you, and you softly inclined your head, a silent beg for him to speak. He didn't, so you continued, "I mean, you've never done this before, and the times we have hung out, it's been with the boys. So, what's made you suddenly like me?"

"I've always liked you." Your eyes widened, and a dry chuckle escaped him. "I don't know how I can make it any more obvious."

"I just thought you wanted to shag."

"Of course, I wanted to shag!" he exclaimed. "But after a while, it... it fucking changed. I got to know you. And I liked you. I like you."

"For once, don't be cryptic with me, or spit out a slew of insults. Just tell me what you want," you said. 

"I want you," he answered simply. 

"Roger," you sighed. "I don't want a fuck buddy. I've had them before, and they're not all they're cracked up to be."

"So, we won't be fuck buddies! We'll be... a couple."

"A couple?" you repeated. 

"A couple," he echoed.

You looked at the drummer in front of you, shaking your head and allowing your doubts to run around in your head. "Rog, can you...can you really commit to someone? To me?"

"I have wanted you since the moment I started playing in that pub six years ago."

Your heart raced at those words, and once again, you found you and your untrusting ass looking into his eyes, searching for a single speck of falsehood. You were looking for anything to make you say no and protect your fragile heart, but there was nothing. Here he was, an asshole with a cute face and sense of humor wanting you. Yes, he was a jerk. But he was gonna be your jerk in 3, 2, 1-

"Fine, Rog. I'll be your girlfriend," you sighed. Roger's eyes widened, a certain gleam suddenly appearing in the blue. He suddenly lifted from his seat and threw his fists into the air, shouting into the air. Your jaw dropped in embarrassment, hand going to your mouth as strangers looked into the short alleyway, watching the man in confusion... and slight terror. "Rog. Rog...Rog! Stop it!"

Immediately, the shouts came to a stop, but that same smile was still there. Aimed right at you. The fluttering of your heart didn't cease as he came closer. He kneeled down in front of you, and you found your head inching forward. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he gently stated. 

"Thanks for the warning," you joked. 

He leaned back with a roll of his eyes. "Jesus, Y/N. You can see why it took me so long-."

You began chuckling as you placed your hand at his neck and pulled him to you, lips grazing over his before kissing him.

It was then that you realized that this is what your relationship would be like; constantly spitting insults and muttering under your breaths about how annoying one another was. But then, there would be soft moments that you would share with this man who never failed to bring a smile to your lips, whether it be in terms of him losing an argument or competition or to him winking at you in a crowd full of a thousand people and offering you a bite of his sandwich on a long road trip. Either way, you knew you would be complicated. But you would be the good kind of complicated. The happy kind of complicated.