Make Believe: Part Three [Roger Taylor X Reader]

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

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.

Solo albums?

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

THIS IS MAKING ME LOL SO HARD

no one:

roger taylor’s nose when he talks: 🕺🏼⛹🏽‍♂️🤺🤸‍♂️💃🚶‍♂️🏃‍♀️👯‍♀️💃🕺🏼🚶🏻‍♀️🚶‍♂️🏃‍♀️👯‍♀️🤸🏻‍♀️⛹🏼‍♀️⛷🤾🏻‍♀️

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