Being Best Friends With Roger Would Include:

Being Best Friends with Roger Would Include:

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Best Friend Female!Reader

Word count: 956

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!!! THANK YOU TO THE ANON WHO SENT THIS REQUEST (your messages really made me smile too!). I hope this fulfills your request! I’m probs going to write a part 2 to this since I have so many ideas. Also also: I’m still working through some of the other requests, so if you don’t see yours, dw, I’m writing it!  

You guys became friends in high school.

He was the outgoing, popular boy, and you were more of the “I hate everyone and everything in this school” kind of girl.

“I don’t get this,” he drawls with a smirk, flashing a wink to the girl sitting in the desk next to him. That was the fifth time he said that during the class period.

“Maybe a) you should stop flirting with Cindy over there b) pay attention for once and c) get your head out of your ass, and stop distracting the entire class. Then maybe you’ll start to understand the lesson,” you snap from your seat across the room. 

The whole room goes silent, and the teacher scolds you slightly (she was secretly relieved someone said something).

He whips his head towards you––and smiles. A real genuine smile. You roll your eyes and go back to doodling in your notebook.

After class, he catches up to you as you walk down the locker hallway.

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve talked that much––or even at all––but I’m Roger. Roger Taylor,” he introduces with an outstretched hand.  

Ever since that afternoon, you’ve been best friends (and inseparable) as you guys meshed surprisingly well together. 

You guys went to the same university together (where he met and introduced you to Brian).

SO MANY PRANKS ON THE OTHER BAND MEMBERS

Mostly jump scares 

Brian threw his hairbrush at you two once. (It hit Roger in the eye, and then he accidentally smacked you in the face while he reached up to clutch at his own face) 

You scared Deacy once, and you both swore to never do it again (you guys just felt so bad afterwards). 

Freddie never gets scared (it’s a bit unnerving to be honest). 

Him protecting you from the douchebags after shows.

“Hey if she said to leave her alone, leave her the fuck alone, mate.” 

“Oh––uh––I’m so sorry,” the guy stutters, not knowing you were friends with the band members. 

“Thanks, dude,” you say with a relieved grin and hug as the guy slumps away. 

You do the same for him when he gets stuck talking to someone he doesn't want to, but he doesn’t want to seem rude.

(He stares at you with pleading eyes from across the pub).

“Hey Rog, Brian told me he needed help…with something,” you say once you walk up to him, grimacing at how horrible of a liar you are. 

Roger says a quick goodbye to the now pouting girl who is now also sending you death glares as you guys walk away. 

“For someone as smart as you, you are a god-awful liar,” he snickers once you’re both out of earshot. 

“Hey! At least I got you out of there,” you say though a laugh, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

If a girl that he’s interested in/dating doesn’t like you, she’s out. 

Late night movie marathons

During Freddie’s parties, you two would hang out on the grass in the backyard and smoke. 

“Do you think penguins feel sad that they can’t fly?” 

“No….No, since they’ve never really experienced flying, yeah? So it’s not like they’ve already known the feeling of flying and suddenly lost it, right, which would make them sad…but then again, they always look like they’re trying to flap their wings…so do they want to fly???”

He doesn’t answer, already moving on to another high/drunken ramble-question, “If you were to date any type of car…which would it be?”

“What the fuck Roger.”

Always getting McDonald’s fries and chicken nuggets after every party. 

Being each other’s wing people !!! 

Always sleeping over at his house after every party.

Unless him or you brings someone home for the night. 

You guys give each other a thumbs up while the other one gets into the cab with said someone. (You roll your eyes when you see him with two big thumbs up and a goofy grin while wavering a little on the grass he’s standing on). 

Then, the morning after, you two would meet up for breakfast and talk about it. 

“She took all my briefs from my drawers before leaving!” 

You howl with laughter in the small café, causing the other patrons to glare at you over their coffee mugs. 

You visiting him on tour, shrieking when you see him and jumping into his arms at the airport. 

You guys gossiping catching up on all the new things going on in your lives while you eat room service in his hotel room. 

You guys ALWAYS having brunch the day after he comes back home from a tour, going to your guys’ favorite coffee shop near your house. 

You always get the waffles (with extra whipped cream and a side of berries), and he always gets the full breakfast fry up. 

You always having to give him advice with girls.

“For someone who has such a reputation with girls, you really are clueless,” you say with a scoff. 

After a particularly nasty breakup, you call him immediately, and he comes rushing over with sweets and snacks before cutting your now ex completely out of his life (he knew them, too).

Him sleeping over because you don’t want to be alone. 

The tabloids always mistaking you two as a couple.

Queen’s Roger Taylor Eats Lunch with a MYSTERY WOMAN: WHO COULD IT BE???

Both of you loving all sorts of board games, you two get especially heated when playing Monopoly. 

But then you help each other cheat when you play Scrabble with the other band members.  

Him buying you all sorts of knick-knacks/souvenirs from all the different countries he’s traveled to. 

Lots of “Roger, don’t do that”’s.

Permanent taglist: @thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash

This really makes me feel some sort of way.  

Gwilym Lee as Brian May in Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)

When Things Fall Apart: PART ONE [Roger Taylor x Reader]

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: You and Roger fall out of love, but could you guys fall back into love? 

Word count: 1269

Contains: Oh, the ANGST 

A/N: This is chapter one in my FIRST EVER multi-chapter fic on this blog! Whoaaaaa! I’m really excited to keep updating it, and I really hope you enjoy! Also, if you want to be on my permanent taglist or this series’s taglist, send me an ask or a message!

“What is this,” you ask your boyfriend as soon as he walks through the front door. You’re holding up a tabloid, on the cover: him with a wide smile and an arm slung across the shoulders of another woman. Underneath, big words flash: Queen’s Roger Taylor Leaves After Party with Mystery Woman! You’ve dealt with this kind of news throughout your whole eight year relationship with Roger, the tabloids always wanting to spin something out of nothing. 

But this time––this time is different. Perhaps it’s different because it’s the final straw to your already strained relationship’s back. Perhaps it’s different because it made you realize something that should have been done a long time ago but didn’t because you were too afraid to admit it. 

It’s two o’clock in the morning. You’ve been up the whole night, sitting on the living room couch while a random show played on the TV in the background. You didn’t pay attention to it. Instead, you waited for your boyfriend to come back from a dinner, letting your anger slowly simmer and build within you.

He makes a confused sound from the doorway. He didn’t hear you as he struggles to pull off his shoes. You stand up, marching over to him. He reeks of booze, making you scrunch up your nose.

“I said, What. Is. This,” you hiss, punctuating each word with a hit to his chest using the tabloid. His brows furrow as he grabs the paper from your hand. He sighs. 

“She was just a fan. I was walking her to her cab,” he says, arms crossed. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Are you actually being serious, Roger? Do you really think I’m that stupid?” 

“That’s the truth Y/N!” 

“Why do I find that hard to believe? Hell, it doesn’t even seem like you believe the bullshit you’re spewing right now,” you snap as you turn around and walk towards your kitchen. You hear him follow you.

“Nothing happened! What do you want me to say? What––”

“I want you to be fucking honest with me!” You scream at him across the island in the middle of your kitchen. Tears begin to pool in your eyes. A beat. He looks down at the ground. You let out a mirthless laugh. 

“I trusted you.” Your voice breaks.

“Y/N––”

“You know what––no––this is actually my mistake. This is my fault. I knew your reputation with girls. I don’t know why––I don’t know why I thought that I would be an exception,” you stumble through tears, and you hate yourself for it. You wanted to be strong. Wanted your voice to snap and sting and hurt. Instead, you sound broken. Tired. 

“What are you trying to say, Y/N?” he asks quietly, gripping the edge of the countertop. You can see his eyes beginning to glisten, most likely knowing what’s about to come next. 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. You look away, biting your lip hard, focusing your gaze on that little stain on the wall right next to the stove (it was from the time you and Roger were trying––and failing––to make spaghetti for dinner. You guys ended up ordering takeaway).

“Y/N. What are you trying to say?” he repeats. You don’t answer. The only sound is the too-loud ticking of the clock above the pantry. 

“Please look at me,” he whispers. You turn your head slowly, the memory still stuck in your mind. Stuck in your mind because it reminds you of a different time. A time that is definitely not your guys’ relationship anymore. 

“I’m just…I’m just tired, Rog,” you respond, voice cracking. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, weakly waving your arms around you. 

“So you’re just giving up on us then?” he asks. 

“You gave up on this relationship too––we both did. It doesn’t feel the same, and I know you feel that way too.” 

You’re just tired. Tired of his late nights. Tired of barely talking to him. Tired that you feel like you’re living with a stranger. Tired of sleeping in the same bed as someone who has fallen out of love with you. Tired of sleeping in the same bed as someone who you have fallen out of love with. 

“We fell out of love, Rog.” He winces at the familiar way you say his name. By now, he’s stone-cold sober. 

“We can––we can make this work, Y/N,” he pleads. 

“I’m leaving to stay with my friend,” you say, your voice hollow. “I’ll pick up the rest of my things in the next couple of days.”

“Y/N. Please.” You walk back to your shared bedroom, a small suitcase already packed and ready to go at the foot of the bed. Roger tails close behind.  

“Y/N, please, sweetheart, please don’t go,” he says, his eyes almost frantic. But you know that this panic won’t last this long. That this panic is derived from his fear of change. You were his comfort blanket. And you know the reason you haven’t broken up sooner was because you guys have been together for such a long time. You were safe to him. You were familiar. 

You’re at the door of your house, turning the handle.

“Y/N, please I love you,” he says, desperate. Your lower lip wobbles violently, and you reach up with a shaky hand to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, holding your wrist to his face.

“I know you do. And––and I love you too. But this isn’t working anymore. It isn’t and hasn’t since a long time ago,” you say, and by his face, you know for certain that he’s going to let you walk out of that door. And so you do. 

You force yourself to not look over your shoulder, your back––rod straight, your jaw––clenched so tight, your right temple begins to throb. Once you get down to the street and walk down a couple of blocks, you let yourself break down. You already called your friend to pick you up, so while you’re waiting, you fold over yourself––squatting down, putting your face into your hands. Your sobs are muffled by your fist. 

–––––––

In the house, Roger stands in the doorway in a daze––still staring out the door where he watched you walk out of his life. He doesn’t know how long he stands there for, but eventually, the cold from the outside becomes unbearable, and he stumbles back inside, collapsing onto the couch. But then he spots that little rip on the cushion from the time you and he agreed to babysit one of Freddie’s cats (the cat did not like you two whatsoever), so he moves to the bedroom, tumbling into the bed. But the sheets smell like you, and so he rips off the sheets, the comforter, the pillows. 

The truth is that he truly did nothing with that woman, but it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter because even though he didn’t, he did seriously consider it. Considered it because he knew his relationship with you wasn’t the same. It changed. He knew––he knows.

He doesn’t know how much time had passed, but he finds himself staring at the ceiling in the middle of the bare mattress. He eventually calls the first person he can think of. Picking up the phone on the bedside table, he dials Brian’s number. His friend picks up at the sixth ring. 

“Roger?” Brian says, his voice groggy from sleep.

“I lost her,” he whispers into the receiver. 

PART TWO

Permanent taglist: @thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash

Freddie: Hey!

Brian: *starts to play*

Freddie: Wait a minute

*bass strums*

Freddie: One minute!

Brian: *Doesn’t know what the fuck Freddie is doing and impatiently waits*

Roger: Uhh

Freddie: ineedmyfuckingwateridontcare LETS GO

You know what this calls for, my friends. 

I. LOVE. THIS. BLOG. !!!

AHHHH. THANK. YOU. SO. MUCH. !!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️