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Make Believe: Part Three [Roger Taylor x Reader]
Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader [FAKE DATING AU]
Summary: You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.
Word count: 4.6k (I got kinda carried away)
Contains: TW: PANIC ATTACK/ANXIETY. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY THIS. DISCLAIMER: I just want to say that panic attacks are different for every person. I wrote this out of personal experience/how my panic attacks feel to me, but this is not necessarily the exact, universal experience for everyone who suffers from them.
A/N: Thanks for all the support so far! Would love to receive some feedback / let me know how you’re liking the story so far! Hope you enjoy! :)
PART ONE || PART TWO
–––––
Previously…
“Think about it,” Brian says, tapping his pointer finger against his temple before standing up from his chair, patting Roger on the shoulder, and going into to the kitchen to grab a cup of water.
I can take this seriously,” Roger grumbles to himself, and out of spite and the childish competition that always seems to come out of him when you’re involved, he vows to be the best, most convincing fake boyfriend ever.
–––––
A Couple Days Ago
Just as Roger drops your hand and opens your car door for you, Freddie comes running up to you.
“Y/N, I’m having dinner and drinks and my house with all the boys and their girls next Friday. You’re welcome to join. I mean, you are apart of the family now,” he says with a wink.
You don’t miss the way Roger’s mouth open in protest next to him. And just to spite him, you accept Freddie’s invitation with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm.
Worth it you think when you see the pure annoyance on Roger’s face when Freddie gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Amazing! I’ll tell Jim to send my address,” he exclaims.
–––––
You’re standing in front of Freddie’s house with a bottle of wine nestled in the crook of your arm. You ring the bell. A few seconds later, Freddie opens the door, a big smile on his face.
“Y/N!” he says, welcoming you with a warm hug before leading you inside.
When you walk into the kitchen, you’re greeted with the smell of roast chicken and the sound of laughter and clattering dishes. Someone––a woman with long blonde hair––pulls a pan out of the oven while the rest bring a variety of dishes to the table in the dining room.
“It smells delicious,” you compliment to no one in particular.
Brian sets down some plates and silverware, wipes his hands on his slacks, and pulls you into a hug.
“Y/N! So glad that you can make it!”
“You must be Roger’s new girlfriend,” the woman who was in charge of the oven says––you’re guessing she’s Chrissie (Brian’s girlfriend) as she gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze before hugging you tight. You furrow your brows, looking at Brian. He subtly shakes his head––she doesn’t know.
“Yep, that’s me!”
You greet John with a kiss on the cheek and introduce yourself to his wife, Veronica, and Mary. Roger is nowhere in sight. And just as Brian grumbles about how he’s always late (“No sense of time”), you hear the door open and footsteps coming into the dining room.
“Sorry, I’m late everyone, I had––” he stops when he sees you, and you wiggle your fingers at him. You figure that he had forgotten you were coming.
He quickly recovers. “Hi gorgeous,” he says as he walks over and gives you a kiss on the forehead before sitting down to your right. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head.
“Hey handsome. Good of you to finally join us,” you tease, pressing your lips to his cheek. Your lipstick leaves a mark on his skin, and you wipe it away with what you hope is a look of fondness.
“This one is always late,” Chrissie says to you. “Brian complains about it all the time.”
Brian shrugs. “Punctuality is important!”
“I know right. I always have to tell him to come thirty minutes before the actual time, but he still manages to be late,” you add.
“Oi! I can hear you,” Roger complains.
You flick his nose. “Good.”
Throughout the dinner, Roger has been oddly…touchy. You assume that he has taken your words from last night to heart, but even with that knowledge, you’re getting pretty damned flustered.
“Can you pass me the green beans, love?” After you hand him the bowl, he squeezes your upper thigh in thanks. You freeze, and you know that smug little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. He smirks when he sees your cheeks flush.
Keep reading
So my school is canceled so now I’m really TRULY gonna write!!! Send in some requests or just say hi!
ALSO I’M POSTING CHAPTER 4 OF MAKE BELIEVE IN AN HOUR (I bet you guys forgot about that series but I haven’t hehehe)
THIS!!!👏🏼👏🏼
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but don’t be racist during the COVID-19 scare.
My mom’s friend was out shopping when a (very not asian) woman came up and started berating her for not wearing a mask. Asian businesses in my area are suffering. Some people are refusing to interact with anyone who looks Asian.
Asian-Americans have been through racism already. We’re fucking sick of it. We’re not flea-infested rats; we are actual people who most likely have never been to China.
And if you’re not Asian and see someone being racist and giving a poor schmuck a hard time for having squinty eyes and dark hair, tell them to knock it off and they’re being a butt.
NON ASIANS PLEASE REBLOG
So like...
I am back. Would u guys find it weird if I continued “Make Believe” even though I haven’t updated it in literal months...like would people even read it?
Could I please be added to the Make Believe tag list? It is honestly so good and I love it so far☺️❤️
aw thank you!! and yes!
Hey there! I absolutely looooove Make Believe wouod you mind adding me to the tag list please? Thank you so much for writing this fic, I'm already making headcanons about this fic
yes of course!! thank you so much for the support, and I’m glad you’re enjoying the story! and omg please send ur head cannons my way!!! would love to read them––literally made my day. :)))))
Hello💕it's gonna be more chapters of Make Belive? because.. it's so fucking good💕💕💕
Yes!! Sorry I didn’t update u guys! I’m on vacation rn (hence the reason I didn’t post), but I’ll post the next part later this week and it’ll be extra long! ❤️❤️
Woah woah woah I am absolutely HONORED to be on this list among all of these other amazing writers. Thank you so much @sweetheartben for the mention❤️😍🥰 also everyone check out all of the other blogs on this list!
Hi do you have any roger/Ben writers you’d recommend?? I’m looking for some more rly good writers thank you so much!!!
IM SO GLAD SOMEBODY ASKED ME THIS!! okay be prepared for an abundance of amazing writers whose work i love very much!
@supersonicfreddie (one of my faves is “unspoken rules” and catherine’s writing in general is just spectacular skdjdhsksdj)
@sweet-ladyy (her new miniseries “good girl” is so so good)
@mrbenhardys (im pretty sure kyra’s vocabulary is even bigger than rami’s and that’s saying a lot lol what im trying to say is her works are bloody masterpieces)
@brianprobablywill (“liar” is so well written and she writes ben so well it blows my mind uwu)
@sevenseasofri (riley has so many good pieces i can’t even name them all asdfghj just check them all out)
@devil-in-those-eyes (i actually found her works pretty recently but they’re all absolutely amazing!)
@oohlovergirl (also a recent favorite!!)
@veriloquently (“booty call” is one of my all time favourites and i’ m pretty sure i’ve reread it multiple times lol)
@killer-queen-xo (s writes so beautifully and i just love all of her work!!)
@brian-maybe-not (the sweet series has given me a severe dentist kink its all good though asdfghj)
@m0etenchandon (always guaranteed to satisfy my ben thirst)
@stormtrprinstilettos (another recent find and im in love with her work!!)
@bensboynton (rachel is always really good at doing requests and everything she writes is guaranteed to make me smile uwu)
@bennyblueberry (so! much! good! writing!)
@ogrogerbattle (can you believe it even more good writing!!)
@benhardyisdaddy (gosh faith has so much amazing writing i love it all)
alright i have to stop i literally spent half an hour on this. there are so many amazing writers i probably forgot to mention sorry :(
with that being said everyone on this list is absolutely amazing and truly doing god’s work💖
Pretty
Queen in Japan, 1975
I’m cackling
when the fic writer specifies the outfit the reader character is wearing and it’s ugly
The boys as those responses to texting your S/O “I want a baby”
Gwilym:
Rami:
Ben:
Joe:
THIS IS MAKING ME LOL SO HARD
no one:
roger taylor’s nose when he talks: 🕺🏼⛹🏽♂️🤺🤸♂️💃🚶♂️🏃♀️👯♀️💃🕺🏼🚶🏻♀️🚶♂️🏃♀️👯♀️🤸🏻♀️⛹🏼♀️⛷🤾🏻♀️
Queen are British babe, they would say cheese toastie not grilled cheese.
Whoops my bad
Also! the technique that you will see being used here to calm someone down from a panic attack is actually very useful and has been suggested to me/done to me by my therapist as its purpose is to regulate your breathing.
If you know someone who suffers from attacks, draw the eight on their back. If you suffer from attacks, you can do it on yourself. Just draw a figure eight on the inside of arm, your palm, thigh, wherever.
Upper part of the eight: breathe in
When you reach the middle of the eight: hold it in
Lower part of the eight: breathe out
Make Believe: Part Three [Roger Taylor x Reader]
Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader [FAKE DATING AU]
Summary: You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.
Word count: 4.6k (I got kinda carried away)
Contains: TW: PANIC ATTACK/ANXIETY. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY THIS. DISCLAIMER: I just want to say that panic attacks are different for every person. I wrote this out of personal experience/how my panic attacks feel to me, but this is not necessarily the exact, universal experience for everyone who suffers from them.
A/N: Thanks for all the support so far! Would love to receive some feedback / let me know how you’re liking the story so far! Hope you enjoy! :)
–––––
Previously…
“Think about it,” Brian says, tapping his pointer finger against his temple before standing up from his chair, patting Roger on the shoulder, and going into to the kitchen to grab a cup of water.
I can take this seriously,” Roger grumbles to himself, and out of spite and the childish competition that always seems to come out of him when you’re involved, he vows to be the best, most convincing fake boyfriend ever.
–––––
A Couple Days Ago
Just as Roger drops your hand and opens your car door for you, Freddie comes running up to you.
“Y/N, I’m having dinner and drinks and my house with all the boys and their girls next Friday. You’re welcome to join. I mean, you are apart of the family now,” he says with a wink.
You don’t miss the way Roger’s mouth open in protest next to him. And just to spite him, you accept Freddie’s invitation with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm.
Worth it you think when you see the pure annoyance on Roger’s face when Freddie gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Amazing! I’ll tell Jim to send my address,” he exclaims.
–––––
You’re standing in front of Freddie’s house with a bottle of wine nestled in the crook of your arm. You ring the bell. A few seconds later, Freddie opens the door, a big smile on his face.
“Y/N!” he says, welcoming you with a warm hug before leading you inside.
When you walk into the kitchen, you’re greeted with the smell of roast chicken and the sound of laughter and clattering dishes. Someone––a woman with long blonde hair––pulls a pan out of the oven while the rest bring a variety of dishes to the table in the dining room.
“It smells delicious,” you compliment to no one in particular.
Brian sets down some plates and silverware, wipes his hands on his slacks, and pulls you into a hug.
“Y/N! So glad that you can make it!”
“You must be Roger’s new girlfriend,” the woman who was in charge of the oven says––you’re guessing she’s Chrissie (Brian’s girlfriend) as she gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze before hugging you tight. You furrow your brows, looking at Brian. He subtly shakes his head––she doesn’t know.
“Yep, that’s me!”
You greet John with a kiss on the cheek and introduce yourself to his wife, Veronica, and Mary. Roger is nowhere in sight. And just as Brian grumbles about how he’s always late (“No sense of time”), you hear the door open and footsteps coming into the dining room.
“Sorry, I’m late everyone, I had––” he stops when he sees you, and you wiggle your fingers at him. You figure that he had forgotten you were coming.
He quickly recovers. “Hi gorgeous,” he says as he walks over and gives you a kiss on the forehead before sitting down to your right. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head.
“Hey handsome. Good of you to finally join us,” you tease, pressing your lips to his cheek. Your lipstick leaves a mark on his skin, and you wipe it away with what you hope is a look of fondness.
“This one is always late,” Chrissie says to you. “Brian complains about it all the time.”
Brian shrugs. “Punctuality is important!”
“I know right. I always have to tell him to come thirty minutes before the actual time, but he still manages to be late,” you add.
“Oi! I can hear you,” Roger complains.
You flick his nose. “Good.”
Throughout the dinner, Roger has been oddly…touchy. You assume that he has taken your words from last night to heart, but even with that knowledge, you’re getting pretty damned flustered.
“Can you pass me the green beans, love?” After you hand him the bowl, he squeezes your upper thigh in thanks. You freeze, and you know that smug little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. He smirks when he sees your cheeks flush.
Keep reading
Make Believe: Part Three [Roger Taylor x Reader]
Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader [FAKE DATING AU]
Summary: You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.
Word count: 4.6k (I got kinda carried away)
Contains: TW: PANIC ATTACK/ANXIETY. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY THIS. DISCLAIMER: I just want to say that panic attacks are different for every person. I wrote this out of personal experience/how my panic attacks feel to me, but this is not necessarily the exact, universal experience for everyone who suffers from them.
A/N: Thanks for all the support so far! Would love to receive some feedback / let me know how you’re liking the story so far! Hope you enjoy! :)
PART ONE || PART TWO
–––––
Previously…
“Think about it,” Brian says, tapping his pointer finger against his temple before standing up from his chair, patting Roger on the shoulder, and going into to the kitchen to grab a cup of water.
I can take this seriously,” Roger grumbles to himself, and out of spite and the childish competition that always seems to come out of him when you’re involved, he vows to be the best, most convincing fake boyfriend ever.
–––––
A Couple Days Ago
Just as Roger drops your hand and opens your car door for you, Freddie comes running up to you.
“Y/N, I’m having dinner and drinks and my house with all the boys and their girls next Friday. You’re welcome to join. I mean, you are apart of the family now,” he says with a wink.
You don’t miss the way Roger’s mouth open in protest next to him. And just to spite him, you accept Freddie’s invitation with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm.
Worth it you think when you see the pure annoyance on Roger’s face when Freddie gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Amazing! I’ll tell Jim to send my address,” he exclaims.
–––––
You’re standing in front of Freddie’s house with a bottle of wine nestled in the crook of your arm. You ring the bell. A few seconds later, Freddie opens the door, a big smile on his face.
“Y/N!” he says, welcoming you with a warm hug before leading you inside.
When you walk into the kitchen, you’re greeted with the smell of roast chicken and the sound of laughter and clattering dishes. Someone––a woman with long blonde hair––pulls a pan out of the oven while the rest bring a variety of dishes to the table in the dining room.
“It smells delicious,” you compliment to no one in particular.
Brian sets down some plates and silverware, wipes his hands on his slacks, and pulls you into a hug.
“Y/N! So glad that you can make it!”
“You must be Roger’s new girlfriend,” the woman who was in charge of the oven says––you’re guessing she’s Chrissie (Brian’s girlfriend) as she gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze before hugging you tight. You furrow your brows, looking at Brian. He subtly shakes his head––she doesn’t know.
“Yep, that’s me!”
You greet John with a kiss on the cheek and introduce yourself to his wife, Veronica, and Mary. Roger is nowhere in sight. And just as Brian grumbles about how he’s always late (“No sense of time”), you hear the door open and footsteps coming into the dining room.
“Sorry, I’m late everyone, I had––” he stops when he sees you, and you wiggle your fingers at him. You figure that he had forgotten you were coming.
He quickly recovers. “Hi gorgeous,” he says as he walks over and gives you a kiss on the forehead before sitting down to your right. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head.
“Hey handsome. Good of you to finally join us,” you tease, pressing your lips to his cheek. Your lipstick leaves a mark on his skin, and you wipe it away with what you hope is a look of fondness.
“This one is always late,” Chrissie says to you. “Brian complains about it all the time.”
Brian shrugs. “Punctuality is important!”
“I know right. I always have to tell him to come thirty minutes before the actual time, but he still manages to be late,” you add.
“Oi! I can hear you,” Roger complains.
You flick his nose. “Good.”
Throughout the dinner, Roger has been oddly…touchy. You assume that he has taken your words from last night to heart, but even with that knowledge, you’re getting pretty damned flustered.
“Can you pass me the green beans, love?” After you hand him the bowl, he squeezes your upper thigh in thanks. You freeze, and you know that smug little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. He smirks when he sees your cheeks flush.
“You doing okay, gorgeous?” he asks lowly. You suppress a shiver when you feel his hot breath brushing against your ear. Your response is a tightlipped smile, and you see amusement dancing in his eyes.
Ok. Two can play at that game.
You continue with dinner, chatting with everyone about your last tour, music, and your personal life. The conversation eventually lands on the topic of best grilled cheese places in Europe. And you find yourself in the midst of a friendly debate with John, the two of you arguing about who has the best grilled cheese in Ireland. You firmly believe it’s Shaw’s Grill, but he insists it’s Bluestone Pub.
While you lay out all of the qualities that Shaw’s grilled cheese has that Bluestone’s lacks (one of which is quality of bread), without breaking eye contact nor faltering in your speech, you slowly begin to trail your foot up against Roger’s calf. He chokes on his wine. And Brian, who’s on his left, has to hit him a few times in his back.
“You okay, love?” you ask, brows raised with mock concern. He looks at you with wide eyes, but you can see a delighted surprise on his face. You flash him a smirk before launching back into your debate.
Roger’s arm ends up stretched out onto the back of your chair, and he begins playing with the tips of your hair as he talks to Freddie about an idea for a new song. It’s an innocuous act, and you don’t know why, but it makes your heart pound a few beats faster. His fingers brush against the side of your neck. Worried that he’ll soon be able to feel the rapid beating of your heart, you grab his hand and place a kiss to it, bringing it down to your lap.
“Cheeky,” he mumbles into your ear.
“Shut up.”
“Hey Y/N, could you pass the salt please?” Brian asks a few seats down.
“Of course,” you say, and you suppress a wicked smile pulling at your mouth. You grab the salt. And instead of handing it to Roger so he can give it to Brian, you stretch your body over Roger’s lap, firmly placing your other hand directly onto his crotch. You smirk when you hear him let out a surprised groan that he tries (unsuccessfully) to cover up with a cough.
“You two better not be doing anything weird under the table,” Brian calls out, narrowing his eyes at the both of you. You guys don’t answer, both of your faces flushing.
“Ew, you guys are gross.”
“Prude,” Roger says. You stifle your laughter into the palm of your hand, and he flashes you a grin.
–––––
Roger quietly watches you talk with Chrissie and John, slightly smiling to himself as he sees you gesturing wildly with your hands before Brian sidles up to him. John throws back his head and laughs.
“I can see why everyone loves her so much,” Brian says to him quietly. Roger stays silent. Instead, taking a long pull from his cigarette.
“You know, if you get past your differences and whatever petty feud you have going on, there might be something that could happen…between the two of you…It might be good for you, especially after Alice––”
Roger lets out a dry laugh. “Okay, I think you’ve had enough to drink.”
“Don’t fight it! You know I’m right.”
“Uh huh,” Roger says, unconvinced before standing up and putting on his jacket. He walks over to you, interrupting your avid storytelling.
“Hey, I’m going to go home, love, had a long day.” You furrow your brows in mock worry, placing your hand in his.
“Okay, you want me to go back with you?”
“No, it’s okay, stay, stay. I’ll see you tomorrow for the interview.” And with a kiss to your nose, he leaves.
“Aw you guys are so cute together!” Chrissie gushes. “This is going to be really good for him.” You and John make eye contact, and you both have to hold in your laughter.
–––––
You’re in the green room of the talk show studio, your leg jiggling as you wait for the interview to start. Roger and the rest of the band are here too, listening to Jim tell them the kinds of questions that they’ll have to answer, what not say, and what to focus on.
You already know your part, having gone over everything the day before with Anne. But even so, you’re nervous, and not being able to sit down any longer, you get up and grab an apple from the counter.
“Y/N, I know you went over it, but got any last minute concerns?” Jim asks.
“I hope you’re as good of an actor as you say you are,” you say to Roger with a sweet smile.
–––––
“So, today we have very special guests, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Queen!” the interviewer announces. The crowd goes wild as they walk onto the stage. They shake hands with her before settling down on the couch.
“I love you Roger!” a girl shrieks from the crowd when the clapping dies down.
“It’s so nice to have you here today boys, let’s start off by talking about your previous album, shall we?” And so, they talk about music, recording, and touring for the next twenty minutes or so.
Roger’s talking about their process with coming up with lyrics when, with a red blur, something lands onto his lap from the audience. He looks down, face contorting from confusion to surprise to alarm in a matter of seconds. He gingerly picks up a red lace bra, delicately pinching the strap with his pointer and thumb.
“Uhh, thank you for this…I don’t think my girlfriend would love it, though,” he jokes, placing it carefully onto the table next to him. There’s a mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd at the mention of a girlfriend. A backstage assistant quickly jogs onto the stage and takes it away.
“I hear a lot of hearts breaking in the crowd,” the interviewer jokes. Roger shrugs, a smile on his lips.
“Speaking of girlfriend…” she says with a wiggle of her brows. You have a new one, yes? And not just anyone, but rockstar, Y/N Y/L/N!”
“Is there any competition between the two of you––I mean she did take the number one spot for UK sales this year,” she asks. He laughs.
“There’s no competition––she’s––she’s amazing––everything about her,” he says good-naturedly. The audience “awws”
“Who knew Roger Taylor is such a romantic! Well, we have a surprise guest on the show today!” she announces.
And you walk onto stage, waving at the cheering fans. Roger pops up from the couch, shock overtaking his features for a split second before morphing into an excited grin. He’s a good actor, you think. He walks over and embraces you. And liftting you up, he spins you around. You yelp out, a surprised giggle escaping your mouth as you grip onto his neck tighter. He lets you down and presses a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose, hands still gripping onto your waist. Your hands, still wrapped around the back of his neck.
“Hi gorgeous. Funny seeing you here,” he jokes quietly but knowing that the mic that’s taped onto his chest is picking up everything he says. As you sit down on the couch, Roger presses you up tightly against his side. You grab his hand and place it on your lap, playing with his fingers.
“Aw, look at the lovebirds!” the interviewer coos. She turns to the rest of the band. “Does it ever get too much?” she asks in a stage whisper.
“These guys––cannot keep their hands off of each other. Sometimes I can’t even eat my lunch,” Freddie says with a wild gesture of his hands. The crowd laughs, and Roger shrugs with a smug look while you burrow your face into his shoulder. He lifts up your hand and presses a kiss to your palm.
“Kiss!” someone yells. And soon, the whole audience is chanting for you to kiss on live television.
You freeze. During your so far week-long fake relationship, you’ve pretty much avoided kissing him on the lips, thinking that that’s an act way too intimate for someone you’re simply fake dating. Roger didn’t seem to mind as you’ve also noticed that he has usually stuck with kissing you on the cheek, nose, forehead.
He can sense your discomfort, and so he brings you closer.
“Uh, as much as I love kissing her, I dont think the missus is very on board with snogging on live television,” he says lightheartedly. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief, silently thanking Roger for his quick thinking.
–––––
“So you can be nice,” he says with a smirk, arms crossed after you walk off the stage.
“I’m just a very, very good actress,” you say with a light pat to his chest.
“Oh man,” he says, staggering back and clutching his chest. “You really know how to break a man’s heart.” You roll your eyes and duck your head, trying to hide the small smile threatening to pull at your lips.
–––––
Stepping out from the doors of the talk show studio, you’re instantly mobbed by awaiting fans. Way more than you’ve ever seen––the mixture of both Queen and your own fans have created what appears to be pure chaos. The security next to you try their best pushing the screaming people out of the way, but the crowd seems to get wilder by the second.
Someone grabs onto Deacy’s jacket, ripping him back into the crowd, and you think someone just tried grabbing your hair, feeling their fingertips graze the top of your head.
You want to get out of this situation and you want to get out now. But the crowd is so thick, you can’t walk two steps in front of you. And so you’re now trapped in a sea of bodies. The only constant, Roger’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The security who’s supposed to be watching your right side has disappeared, probably trying to deal with the girl who had just launched herself at Brian.
You and Roger are alone. And then you feel him being pulled away from you, fingers desperately trying to keep hold of your shoulder, but you feel them being dragged away with a stinging scratch.
And now, you are alone. Alone in this crowd of people screaming. Screaming your name. Screaming Roger’s name. Screaming obscenities. Hurling insults at you. Next thing you know, you’re face-to-face with a girl, her face contorted with anger. And you don’t even see her cocking her arm back until you feel the force of the punch hit the side of your jaw. Your head whips around, and you stagger back, almost falling onto the ground in your thin heels. But someone grabs your elbow from behind, stabilizing you.
“HEY,” Roger roars, enraged. And you never thought you would get this much relief from that voice.
But the relief is short-lived. The ground seems to be tilting at your feet. Your vision becomes blurry.
“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Roger?” you whimper, not really sure why you call out for him.
“Yeah right here love,” he says, a surprising amount of concern in his voice.
“I need to go. I need to go right now.” The cold wash of panic slides through your body/ Your body becomes numb. Everything is muffled. You can’t hear. You can’t see. Why is my heart going so fast. You stumble back into Roger. You don’t what you look like exactly, but it must be bad because Roger’s eyes widen.
“GREG!” he yells to the security guard.
Seconds-–maybe minutes past. By now, you’re not in a state of mind where you can decipher what’s happening around you.
You all manage to dive into a small bakery on the street (Roger basically had to drag you in), and someone shuts and locks the door. The shop owner––an old, nice-looking lady looks at all of you with wide eyes.
“Could we please stay here for a bit? It’s a bit crazy out there,” Brian asks, panting. And just to prove to his point, a body slams into the door from the outside. She doesn’t even hear him, instead, more focused on you as you’re currently dry heaving in the corner by the fresh loaves of bread.
You can’t breathe and you think that you’re crying but you’re not sure. Everything is too hot and your heart is going way too fast and you can’t see. Gasping for air, you look around frantically.
“Y/N?” someone to your right asks––you think it’s John.
“Um––” you can’t even get the words out, wet gasps escaping your mouth instead.
“Oh my god, her lip.”
You reach up with a shaking hand, pressing your fingers into your bottom lip. It stings, and you bring your fingers down to see them covered in blood. Oh my god. You start hyperventilating.
“I think she’s having a panic attack!”
“Y/N, calm down.” And then someone grabs your shoulders.
“DON’T TOUCH ME,” you shriek, ripping out of his grasp. Your panic spiking. You can’t breathe. I cannot breathe. Oh my god, I’m going to die. I am going to die. And everyone around you is looking at you with frantic, lost expressions. No one knows what to do. You’re standing alone, heaving, hunched over with your hands on your knees.
“Y/N. Look at me,” Roger says, standing a foot away from you, and you look up. Look up into his blue eyes.
“Okay, breathe. Breathe in, yeah? Breathe out.” You listen to his soothing voice, that voice that’s breaking through the haze of panic.
“Can we get some water?” you hear Anne ask the old woman at the counter.
You feel him carefully come up behind you, drawing slow figure eight circles on your back. “Breathe in when you feel the upper half of the eight. Hold it in the middle. Breathe out when you feel me drawing the lower half of the eight,” he says softly.
Breathe in, hold, breathe out. And your breaths start evening out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. You stop hyperventilating. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.
The lady comes back with a tall glass of water and an oversized, knit sweater.
“Here you go lovie, I brought a sweater too, just in case and some of these chocolate buns. My granddaughter goes through the same thing, and these always help her feel better after.” Her voice is so kind and understanding, you almost start crying again.
“Do we need to get you to a hospital?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m fine. It was just––it was just a panic attack,” you mumble. “I just need to go home.”
“Ok, there’s a back entrance from here, and the drivers are already there. You ready to go?”
–––––
“Wait Y/N!” Roger calls, jogging up to your car right as you’re about to get in.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes cautious, hesitant almost, treating you as if you’re made of glass. And for some reason, that annoyed you.
“I’m fine Roger,” you snap, embarrassed that you lost control like that––embarrassed that he saw you like that. You see hurt flash in his eyes.
“I’m just trying to help––”
“I don’t need your help! We’re not friends, we’re alone now, you don’t have to pretend you care, alright?” He stiffens.
“I’ll be at your door at eight tonight for dinner,” he says curtly before leaving to get into his own car. When you finally settle into your seat, you let out a sigh, tears pricking at your eyes again.
You shouldn’t have snapped at him. But you were angry and scared and vulnerable and fragile and you hated the fact that Roger of all people had to see you like this. That he, of all people, was the one who eventually helped you calm down.
And you feel even worse and even more like shit because the person who actually helped you and seemed like he cared for you was Roger, and you just yelled at him for no other reason than that you were embarrassed.
“Shit,” you mumble under your breath.
–––––
Roger came at exactly eight o’clock, dressed sharply in an all black suit, his staple black Ray-Bans sitting on his nose.
The drive to the party was…awkward. You both exchanged polite niceties, saying stilted hello’s and how are you’s before lapsing into silence. You thank the gods for Anne’s chatty nature. When you pull up to the restaurant, you breathe a sigh of relief.
He opens the car door for you, slipping his hand into yours, the rough callouses scratching against the smooth skin of your palm. He still doesn’t talk nor do you. And with your hand in his, you walk into the swanky restaurant your record label rented out in celebration for your album hitting number one.
“Y/N!” someone calls as soon as you walk in. You whip your head towards the sound and spot Leila––your best friend in the entire world.
You squeal, untangling yourself from Roger’s arm and launching yourself into her arms.
“Leila! When did you get back?”
“Yesterday, but I wanted to surprise you! Did you really think I would miss your celebration party?” You laugh, giving her another hug.
“I’m so happy you’re here. I have so much to fill you in on.”
“Yes, one of which…” she trails off, looking pointedly at the man standing a few feet away as he chats with some music producer. He looks over, catching you staring at him and gives you a dazzling smile, slipping back into his role for the night. You smile back, slipping back into your role for the night as well.
“Why did I have to find out about this new relationship from the magazine cart outside my hotel?” she asks, shoving you with her shoulder.
“Sorry! Sorry! It all happened so fast…” you say with a blush.
You feel hands wrap around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. “Hi gorgeous, who’s this?”
“Uhh––this is––” You get distracted by the way his hands warm you through your silk dress. You clear your throat. “This is my best friend, Leila.”
“So very nice to meet you, Leila,” he says, extending the hand that was previously resting on your waist.
“Hey Rog, come over here!” someone calls from behind––you think it’s Brian.
“I’ll be right back,” he says with a kiss to your cheek, “I’ll get you a drink, do you want anything?” he asks Leila. She’s staring at him with wide eyes. You shake her arm, and she blinks back into reality.
“Uh no, I’m good thanks,” she says with an apologetic smile. He returns that smile before jogging off. You watch him as he rejoins a group of friends.
“Oh my god, he’s so hot,” Leila whispers. You whip your head around and burst out into laughter, swatting her arm.
–––––
You find yourself sitting alone at the bar. You’ve made all the rounds of the night––saying the necessary hellos to record producers, catching up with old friends, allowing people to hug and congratulate you on your success. People made speeches, you cut into a cake that said “congrats!” with a frosted #1 and a picture of your album cover, and now everyone is wandering around the restaurant, drinking and chatting. You’re exhausted––the panic attack had drained all the remaining energy you had within you that day––probably will keep you drained for the next few days even.
And as you look around, seeing everyone happy and drunk and having a good time, you sigh and stand up. You don’t want be here anymore, and you don’t feel like talking to anyone anymore. The bartender––Michael––allows you take a bottle of scotch on your way to the backdoor that you know leads to the roof.
–––––
“Hiding from your own celebration party?” you hear a voice behind you ask. It’s Roger. You don’t turn around, still staring at the night sky and city lights.
“I’m not really into all of the partying,” you say with a shrug while bringing the bottle to your lips.
“Yeah, me too,” he says as he walks over. He sits down next to you, groaning when he bends his knees.
“I find that hard to believe,” you say with a small smile. He pulls out a cigarette, taking one out for himself and then offering you one from the pack. You shake your head, holding up the bottle of scotch. He lets out a laugh before digging up a lighter from his jacket pocket.
The only sounds breaking through the silence are the flick of his lighter and the wind and the cars below.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. It’s just that––I don’t know––I was embarrassed? And I really hate when those happen. But I wanna say thank you for earlier––you really helped.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay, I understand. I used to get them when I was younger, and someone told me to do that. I’m sorry that that happened. I’m sorry that that girl punched you–-should have been there next to you.”
“It’s not your fault…it’s just that all of this…” you wave your hands around. “fame…it’s sometimes too much for me to handle. I mean––I love making music, and I’m so grateful and happy that there are people who love it, but…” you shrug. He nods.
You skyrocketed to fame in a matter of months after releasing your first album a couple years ago. You see your face on billboards at every corner. You have screaming fans who follow you on the streets when you go out to get groceries. This year, your album hit number one. You spend most of the year touring and the rest of it making music. You have interview after interview. Paparazzi follow you home every night. You’re now dating fucking Roger Taylor from Queen.
And even though it’s been a couple of years, sometimes you feel as if you’re still not used to it. Still that young girl who dropped out of university and out of the path of getting a PhD in Astrophysics to pursue her dream in music. It’s sometimes a little too much.
His eyes flit to your mouth, to where he knows that underneath the dark red lipstick, your lip is busted from the punch. He takes a long pull from his cigarette.
“I’m really tired of fighting. Can we call a truce until this whole thing is over?” he says after he blows out the smoke. You let out a laugh that sounds more like an exhale.
“Truce,” you say, handing him the bottle of scotch.
“Okay, well, now that we’re not enemies anymore, we should get to know each other better,” he says after he takes a swig.
“Okay, shoot,” you ask.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Really?”
“That’s basic question!”
“Fine, pink. You?”
“Yellow.”
“Ok. I wanna ask a question, why are you always wearing those sunglasses? It’s night and we’re––we were––indoors.”
“These sunglasses are sexy, and you know it,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder to yours.
And so, you two spend most of the night there––forgetting about the party raging below. Passing the bottle back and forth to one another, you both share stories of childhood memories, being on tour, and everything in between. You talk about your crazy university stories and the time you not so accidentally threw up on a douchebag at a bar.
Roger talks about the time he got into a bar fight over a pack of peanuts.
“Did you win?”
“Oh god no, I was absolutely shit-faced, and I think he was a former boxer.”
You tilt your head back and laugh, and he looks at you with a small smile playing at his lips, an unfamiliar feeling warming his chest.
NEXT CHAPTER: PART FOUR
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Heellooo, when will be next part of make belive posted? i lovee it!! ❤️🧡💚💛
Hi, thank u so much! I’m posting the next part tonight at 7 pm PST :))
Do u have a master list? And if so can u show me😅
Hey! I’ve linked it here
And also, you can find it in my description!
Shit guys I think I’m gonna have to post part three tomorrow. Everything is basixallt ready and written, but it won’t let me post it on mobile. I’m currently out right now and not going to get home/ get to my computer until really late. So most likely, I’m going to have to post it tomorrow. So sorry guys.