Rogers On Tour, And You Miss Him Terribly [ROGER TAYLOR X READER]

Roger’s on Tour, and You Miss Him Terribly [ROGER TAYLOR X READER]

A/N: I hope this does your request some justice and hope you see your BF soon <3

–––––

You blink awake. This is the third time you’ve woken up tonight. You sigh. Sitting up, you glance at the clock. It reads three in the morning, and you groan, flopping back down onto the mattress. You’ve been having the worst sleeps ever since Roger left for tour a couple months ago. It’s been hard having to sleeping in an empty bed. You’re not used to not having Roger snoring next to you. Not used to his side of the bed being cold. 

You miss him terribly. 

Fluffing your pillow and rearranging the blanket, you try to fall back asleep. But after several minutes of looking at that one brown dot on the ceiling, you huff and get out of bed. You wrap the throw blanket around your body before making your way to the kitchen. In the mood for something comforting, you grab the carton of milk from the fridge and some cocoa powder. Growing up, you would always sneak into the kitchen and make hot chocolate whenever you couldn’t go to sleep––a habit you kept throughout your years at uni as well. After mixing and heating the ingredients in a pot on the stove, you pour the drink into a mug and take a big sip. You sigh when you feel the chocolate warm your belly and head back to the room, drink still in hand. 

Pulling off your sleep shirt, you rummage through Roger’s clothing drawers. Finding your favorite shirt of his––an old, ratty, way too big Rolling Stones shirt––you throw it over your head. It smells like cigarettes and cologne and something distinctly Roger, and you smile. The book you began reading a week ago sits on the desk, and so you grab it. Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep. 

 –––––

Roger slowly opens the door to your shared flat, placing his bags off to the side––he’ll deal with those in the morning. After all the traveling, right now, he just wants to see his beautiful girlfriend and go to sleep. Passing through the kitchen, he sees the pot growing cold on the stove and a spattering of cocoa powder on the counter, and smiles to himself. When he reaches the threshold to your bedroom, he stops and leans against the doorframe, drinking in the scene before him. You’re in one of his shirts, sleeping on his side of the bed and hugging his pillow tightly to your chest, a book forgotten on the sheets. He can hear your soft breathing. 

His heart absolutely melts at the sight, and he’s struck with a wave of pure adoration and warmth. Smiling to himself, he pads into the room while shedding his jacket and pants. Left in his briefs, he turns off the lamp, and carefully lifts up the comforter to crawl into bed with you (he now has to lie on your side, but he doesn’t mind one bit). 

You roll over in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent and reaching out your arms. But you feel something solid and warm, and you shoot awake, slapping your hands wildly in front of you. His hands catch your wrists. 

“Shhh, sorry, it’s just me love, just me,” he says, trying to hold in a laugh. You stop, blinking rapidly to adjust for the darkness of the room. Your eyes widen when you see Roger lying in front of you, holding your hands in his. 

“Rog?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. You’re not sure if you’re actually awake or not. 

“Hi darling,” he whispers. 

You throw yourself in his arms and pepper his face with kisses. He laughs, voice raspy and rough. 

“I thought you were coming back on Friday!” 

“Was dying to see my best girl,” he says. He looks at you still lying on his side of the bed. 

“Missed me that much?” He asks, tilting his chin down to your––his––shirt and the discarded pillow, and you can hear the smirk on his face. 

“Well, you did leave your poor, poor girlfriend all alone in this ridiculously big flat for two months,” you retort. He chuckles at that. 

“What a terrible boyfriend I am,” he begins, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you closer, “How can I ever make it up to you?” he whispers into your hair. Your chest warms, and your mouth pulls into a smile. You tilt your chin up, puckering your lips, and he laughs softly. 

Gently grasping your jaw, he gives you a kiss, long and sweet, something that makes your toes curl. 

“I love you, and I missed you so much,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. You kiss him again. 

“I love you too Rog.”

And you close your eyes, wrapped in Roger’s arms, legs tangled with his, listening to his heartbeat. 

Best sleep you’ve gotten in months. 

Permanent Tag List:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love @blondecarfucker @scarsout @radioblah-blah @hold-your-invisible-horses @lordofthunderthr @iwasnothingbutacityboy @jennyggggrrr @ixchel-9275

Do you know when make believe part 5 is coming out?

most likely this Sunday night or Monday :) 

me too ;))

Make Believe: Part 4 [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: ~3.1k 

Contains: language and slut-shaming (not from Roger though!) 

A/N: I AM BACK. Here is part 4, I don’t how many people still want to read it, so if you’re on the taglist, and no longer want to be on it, please message me (I will not be offended). And vice versa, if you want to be on the taglist but you aren’t on it, just shoot me a message! I hope you guys enjoy this part and thank you for sticking with me! Love you guys. 

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE 

Previously…

“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, a weird feeling warming his chest. 

 –––––

After that night, you and Roger have been trying slowly to create a somewhat functional friendship. 

“Can I get an iced latte with vanilla and two packets of sweetener please?” you ask the waiter taking your order. Roger pulls a face, and you cross your arms. 

“What? I like sweets Mister Plain Black Coffee.” He rolls his eyes and flicks your nose. You swat his hand out of the way but laugh nonetheless. 

Maybe that smile in that picture the paparazzi caught of you and him wasn’t entirely faked.

And maybe after you guys pay for the check and are walking towards the car, Roger leaves his hand wrapped around yours a moment longer than he has to even after you both get are out of the camera’s spotlight. 

 –––––

You sigh as you look around the room. Another night, another party, another evening spending time around drunken fools. 

You stiffen when you hear a voice that makes your skin crawl. Oh no. Looking over, you spot your ex standing by the bar with his arm around another girl’s waist. Roger notices the way your shoulders tense, and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to say anything because before he can turn around, you grab his hand and drag him into the nearest bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind you, you look at a very confused Roger. 

“Give me a love bite.” You’re not thinking this through. Jealousy and pride clouding your logic, but you don’t care. 

He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Give me a love bite.” 

You almost giggle at how clueless and flustered Roger looks right now, so unlike his usual cocky self. He opens his mouth. 

“Please? I think it’ll really sell our relationship!” He narrows his eyes at you. An inner conflict seems to be resolved when he exhales. 

“Okay…” He walks over carefully, almost as if he’s worried that he’s walking into a trap. 

Thus explains the reason why you’re currently straddling Roger’s lap in the first available bedroom you guys could find in the house. He carefully pushes the front of your dress to the side, the silk easily gliding away with his touch. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin when you feel his rough, calloused fingers graze your collarbones. 

“You sure about this?” he asks you, and you nod. 

Keep reading

Could you do hc or whatever you want where the reader has separation anxiety and Roger is on tour and he comes back and sees her cuddling her pillow or something like that? it’s like super fluffy. I have separation anxiety and I’m struggling a lil bit cause my boyfriend is away🥺

Just wrote this HERE! :)) hope you like it! 

Make Believe: Part Two [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: ~2.9k

A/N: I’m so happy about all the positive response from the first part/to this story! I’m glad you guys are liking it. Please give me some feedback on this part (what do you think of the story so far?), and I hope you enjoy! Also, let me know if I missed you for the tag list. I’m pretty sure I got all of you who wanted to be on it, but just in case! 

PART ONE

––––––

DOES ROGER TAYLOR HAVE A NEW GIRL? the headline reads followed by a picture of Roger and you holding hands in front of the studio a couple days ago underneath it. 

You roll your eyes, tossing the tabloid onto the table in front of you and exchanging it with a glass of sparkling water. 

Your younger sister called you this morning, screaming at you for not telling her about your new “rockstar, sex-god boyfriend” (she’s a little bit obsessed with Roger Taylor and Queen). So you spent most of your morning catching her up on and spewing some bullshit about your newfound love. You felt bad for lying to her, but you couldn’t risk it: she had the biggest mouth and as much as you love her, you can’t trust her with this secret, especially since she’ll tell your mom who has an even bigger mouth. No––this situation requires the utmost secrecy.

“The tabloids can make a story out of literally nothing,” you grouse to Anne who’s sitting across the table. She doesn’t look up from her notes. 

“Well, that’s kind of their job. Besides, that,” she points to the magazine, “is a good thing.” 

“Yeah, I love being Roger Taylor’s New Girl,” you say, picking at the half-eaten turkey sandwich, leftovers from your lunch your producers brought for the meeting that ended not even ten minutes ago. Anne ignores the sarcasm in your voice.  

“You are Roger Taylor’s New Girl.” 

You can’t argue with that. If it was anyone else, you would have been fine. Why did everyone else have to have girlfriends? you lament. But you can’t even be mad at the situation. You did agree to it in the first place. And you know deep in your heart that if you were to be asked again, you would have said yes no matter what. You’re finally catching a break in the industry, making a name for yourself, and if dating an obnoxious asshole will keep you at the top, well, hell, you’ll date the obnoxious asshole. 

“So where did Roger choose the date for tonight?” you ask Anne. Roger and you both exchanged numbers (Jim and Anne both forced you to exchange numbers), but you hadn’t bothered to call him nor did he, both preferring to use one’s managerial team to do all the communicating between the two of you.

She looks through her planner. “Freddie’s throwing a party tonight at his house,” she says when she finds the date written in today’s box. You groan. Of course he would choose a party for your first “date.” You had flipped a coin to see who got to choose the first place you’d be seen out together. You chose heads. He chose tails. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for tails,” he said with a wink when the quarter finally stopped spinning. 

“The car will be at your house at eight to drive you guys there.” 

––––––

If you weren’t already used to it, you would be blinded by the flashing lights and the shouting and the general chaos currently being hurled your way. But years in the business, you walk with sure, even steps to Freddie’s house, pressed up against Roger’s side. Walking up the same steps from a couple of years ago, you can’t help but think of the first time Roger and you met. 

2 Years Ago

You trudge up the stairs to the house, your manager by your side. You could hear the deep thumping of the music coming from inside and leaking into the outside streets. Your manager forced you to go to one of Queen’s afterparties despite your protests of wanting a more relaxing night in with a bottle of wine––maybe a hot bath as well. It was on the heels of your UK tour, and you were dead tired. You had a pounding headache. The bags under your eyes refused to be concealed. Your period came a little early, and your cramps were ripping through your body, hellbent on trying to put you in the most pain possible. 

Needless to say, you aren’t in the best mood. And you certainly do not want to go around having to socialize with drunk and/or high entertainment people in a too loud, too crowded, too sweaty room. 

You personally don’t even know the members of Queen––have only heard their music and the stories. Specifically the stories of their drummer––how could you not when he’s on the front page of a trashy magazine every month for breaking some poor girl’s heart (he always cheats on them). Heard the stories from the people you meet at parties, girls bragging about how they’ve slept with the Roger Taylor, and when asked if he’s as good in bed as the stories say he is, they always, always say “better.” Heard about his infamous temper––you actually saw that in real life when he decided to trash and hurl his own drum set across the stage during one of their concerts. Heard about how he goes home with a groupie after every concert. And from that, you had already possessed a disliking for the man even before you actually met him in real life. 

You hope that you won’t run into him tonight. 

When you walk into the house, you’re instantly bombarded with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Looking to your right, you see a man and woman in nothing but their underwear doing lines of cocaine off of a drum set. To your left, you see someone riding an exercise bike in a bunny costume. 

People who you don’t know nor do you particularly like come up to you, congratulating you on your tour and what-not. You nod your head politely and smile before making a beeline to the bar because if you had to stay here all night dealing with these people, you might as well be drunk when doing so. 

“An old fashioned please,” you say to the bartender as you settle yourself onto one of the tall stools. 

“Hi gorgeous,” a voice drawls from the couch behind you, and you turn your head in search of the owner. It takes you a second to recognize him. The two girls perched on his lap slightly obscures the view of Queen’s very own, very intoxicated drummer. 

Glazed, hooded eyes. A light sheen of sweat. His arms draped loosely around their waists. A tumblr of whiskey that’s held by dangerously loose fingers. He shamelessly rakes his eyes up your body, pausing at the liberal amount of skin exposed by your tiny mini dress. 

“Not interested,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. He must have seen the way you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“Helpful tip, you might have more fun at these parties if you take that stick out of your ass,” he says before taking his attention off of you to take a sip from his glass and whisper something into one of the girl’s ears that makes her giggle. The blood pounds in your ears. 

The bartender slides your drink to you, and you thank him before getting up and walking over to Roger. He looks at you with a lazy grin, and you smile prettily at him. 

“Hmm, maybe I should. Could you help?” you ask. He raises his brows with a self satisfied smirk and asks the other girls to get up. After they leave, grumbling to themselves, you sit carefully onto his lap. One hand playing with his shirt collar, the other one holding your drink. His hands come to rest at your hips, and you lean in close. His eyes flick to the way your dress’s low neckline falls lower as you settle yourself onto his lap before making their way to your lips. You brush your lips next to his ear, and his hands tighten around your hips. 

“You’re a dick,” you say softly, and then, standing up quickly so you won’t get any of the splash onto you, you promptly pour the contents of your glass onto his head. Not even caring to see his reaction, you walk off in search for your manager to let her know that you’ll be leaving. She actually finds you first. 

“Ah, finally found you! The members of Queen want to meet you,” she says before you can open your mouth and leads you across the room where you’re met with the sight of Queen (minus their drummer) sitting and laughing in some plush chairs in front of the TV.

“Y/N, this is Brian May, Freddie Mercury, and John Deacon,” she says, pointing to the three men in front of you. 

“It’s so great to meet you, congratulations on your tour!” Brian says, shaking your hand. 

“We’re huge fans,” Freddie continues, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You can’t help but smile, their friendly demeanors contagious as you talk to them more and more. You figure that Brian studied Astrophysics in university too, and you both talk about that for a bit, discussing the most recent scientific theory in stellar dynamics. 

“I wonder where Roger is,” Freddie muses, looking around.

“Oh…he’s probably in the bathroom cleaning himself up.” They look at you with puzzled expressions. “Would you believe me if I said that I accidentally spilled my drink on his head…” They look at you wide-eyed, and then Freddie begins to laugh. 

“I like you already.” 

Brian shrugs with an amused smile playing at his lips.“He probably deserved it.” 

“Doing alright gorgeous?” Roger murmurs into your hair as you push through the crowd, and you jerk back into the present.

“You know I hate when you call me that.” 

“That’s why I say it.” 

You nestle into his side a little more, and your hand around his waist grips him a tad harder. Your sharp, manicured nails digging into his flesh through his floral silk shirt. You smile when you hear him grunt in pain. 

––––––

You’re annoyed. Annoyed for two reasons: one, because you would much rather be in bed right now than at a stupid party Roger wanted to go to. And two, because Roger’s been at the bar, talking to a girl who you’re pretty sure is a model for the past twenty minutes and you think he bought her a drink but you’re not one hundred percent sure and he laughs at something she just said and you don’t even know why that’s making you mad in the first place. 

She giggles and touches his chest. That’s it. You throw back another shot, hissing at the burn as it makes its way down your throat and stomp over to him. You not-so-discreetly push the drink that’s sitting on the counter (you’re pretty sure it’s the drink he bought the girl), which spills all over Roger’s lap. 

“What the––” 

“Oops, sorry babe. Let’s go the bathroom, and I’ll help you clean up,” you say looking not-one-bit-apologetic. He looks at you with narrowed eyes before remembering that he has to play his part, and he breaks out into a charming smile. 

“It’s all good, love,” he says and calls out a quick goodbye to the girl as you drag him into a dark hallway on the outskirts of the main party area. 

“Look, I’m all for having gorgeous women dragging me into dark hallways, but I didn’t appreciate––” 

You push him into the wall. “What the fuck Roger!” 

“What?” he asks. 

You narrows your eyes at him. “You’re going to fucking blow the whole fake dating thing in the first week.”

“I was just talking to her!” 

“Oh please. You both were getting awfully cozy with each other,” you retort, huffing out an exhale as you adamantly look everywhere but his face. A pause. He’s silent, so you look back up, and you’re met with a smirking Roger Taylor. He pushes himself off the wall and takes a couple steps towards to you. You take the same amount of steps back, and your back hits the opposite wall. 

He leans in closer to you, his lips mere inches away from yours. Those hooded, bedroom eyes boring into your own, a certain kind of triumph dancing around in the blue. 

“What?” you snap.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, a smile spreading across his face. 

“Oh my god, Roger, it’s simply amazing that you believe that everything is about you.” 

“Maybe,” he breathes. You hold your breath.  “Or maybe you’re getting a little jealous that that girl was getting a little too cozy with me?” he murmurs, his hand falling to grasp gently onto the exposed skin at your waist. The rough callouses on his hands jolt you back into reality, and you push him away with a hand placed firmly onto his chest. 

“Don’t try getting fresh with me Roger,” you say, hating the way your heart is beating a little too fast. He steps back, raising his hands up with open palms. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” he says, walking away. “Old fashioned, right?” he calls back. You’re taken aback by the fact that he remembers your drink order. You nod, forgetting that his back is facing towards you. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t seem to be looking for a confirmation. 

Once he’s out of sight, you slump a little against the wall, letting out a slow exhale. Your skin still tingling from where Roger touched you––it’s probably the alcohol making you warm and tingly. Shaking your head, you go to the bathroom, splash some cool water onto your face, and walk out even more annoyed than before. He didn’t even apologize––didn’t even care that he was blatantly flirting with another girl. You’re not going to let him off the hook so easily. 

You spot him spread out on a couch, lounging and laughing with the rest of the boys and several others. Your old fashioned sits untouched on the table next to him. 

He’s mid-conversation when you plop down a little too harshly onto his lap, relishing in his startled “oof” and the way his eyes widen in surprise. You smirk as you slowly wrap your arms around his neck, and his hands automatically goes to grip your hips to steady yourself onto him. You hear a couple of whistles from the people around you, maybe a flash of a camera, but ignore them. 

“Hey baby,” you say. And he’s looking up at you. His thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. He’s smiling. You lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear. 

“If you ever pull something like that again with that girl or any other girl, I will make your life being my fake boyfriend a living hell. Now grow the fuck up and try not to fuck this up for the sake of both of our careers,” you hiss into his ear. 

Before he has a chance to respond, you get up from his lap. Adjusting your skirt, you give him a peck on the cheek. 

“I think I’m gonna go home now, Rog. I’m feeling a little ill,” you say with a pout, not wanting to spend another second at this party. “You boys have fun,” you say to the rest of the guys before looking at Roger, “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner!” 

And not caring about how Anne will have your head for leaving so early (the tabloids probably already got their pictures for their next issue anyway), you toss him a little wave and walk out of the house. 

––––––

“I can’t work with her,” Roger declares to his living room ceiling (he’s stretched out on the couch) after recounting the story and what you said to him last night. Brian looks up from the notebook he’s been writing song lyrics in. 

“You know, I’ve never seen you this worked up about a girl before.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never met a girl who’s this much of a pain in the ass.” 

Brian scoffs and goes back to his writing. “The reason you think she’s a pain in the ass is because she didn’t throw herself at you when you first met.” Roger sputters, but Brian continues, “Your ego’s just hurt.” 

“What the––no!”

“You could’ve easily resolved this petty feud, easily stopped returning her snarky comments, easily tried being friendly. But no, you continued to push back and fight and bicker every step of the way. And now look at where it has gotten you.” 

Roger turns his head from the ceiling and to his best friend. “Are you finished?” 

“And––you better take this seriously, Rog. This is for the band, and whether you like it or not, she––this whole plan––is good for us,” Brian concludes. 

Roger huffs but keeps silent because he knows that Brian’s right––knows that letting his feud with you damage the band isn’t worth it. With a reluctant sigh, he makes a mental promise to himself that he’ll try his best. Brian seems to see this change––Brian could always read him so easily (it annoyed Roger to no end)––and smiles.

“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. 

NEXT CHAPTER: PART THREE

Permanent Tag List

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love @blondecarfucker @scarsout @radioblah-blah @hold-your-invisible-horses @lordofthunderthr @iwasnothingbutacityboy

Make Believe Tag List

@royalblueviper @brianandthemays @kurt-nightcrawler @rogertaylorgirl-1977 @toger-raylor @queen-turtle-boiii @rogahloveshiscar @theprettyfandom @geek-and-proud @weakling-grace @loveandbeloved29 @benhardymazzello @radiob-l-a-hblah @ultrablackwidower @havvana-nights @tbird20165 @caborhapch @tichtaylor @queen-bunnyears @luvborhap @tiredsinceforever @kiwithekiwi @prettygiiiiirl @jfrank1048 @coolcxt @a19103 @galileofigarog @rogershoe @borhapbxtch @bwunnii @justmyfiveangels @kellypenac @70srogah @amy-brooklyn99 @countryday

Make Believe: Part One [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: ~1.6k

Contains: language, that’s pretty much it 

A/N: this is a shameless way I can write an enemies-to-lovers trope and fake dating au because I’m trash for both of those (It’s the best of both worldssss). So this was really fun to write! I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to this series’s taglist or my permanent taglist!

“Y/N Y/L/N’s Newest Album Hits #1 in the U.K, taking the coveted spot right from under Queen’s noses!” 

––––––

“Absolutely not. Not going to happen,” Roger says, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he leans against the desk in Jim’s office. 

Jim sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Roger. You have an image problem. You’re pictured with a new girl almost every night. An article about you breaking some girl’s heart is in the papers every other day. This behavior,” he waves his hand around, “is hurting sales. You’re not going to get out of this,” Jim says, still annoyed that you had taken the top spot for most album sales when he––and everyone else––confidently thought it would be Queen sitting at the top this year. 

Roger scoffs in disbelief. “I’m in a fucking rock and roll band. Our audience isn’t the sort to be swayed away from that.”

“Statistics have shown that each time one of you have gotten into a relationship, your sales have soared. Think about Brian last year. And then consider having the number one artist in the UK dating a member of Queen. This is going to be a huge success.” Roger stays quiet at that. 

“Look Rog––I’m not the biggest fan of this plan either, but you’ve got to be honest, it’s going to work. And she’s a great girl. I really like her,” Brian says, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Freddie nods. 

“Well, that’s easy for you to say! You don’t have to fake date your nemesis!” Roger says, throwing up his arms. 

Brian rolls his eyes. “I think “nemesis” is a little bit of an overstatement, Rog,” he says. 

“Why does it have to be me?” he groans. 

Jim looks pointedly at him. “Maybe because everyone else is already in a relationship with other people?” Roger just groans again.

“I really don’t understand your hatred towards her! I think she’s lovely,” Freddie says. Rogers eyes are wide with betrayal.

“Ask her! She hated me the second she laid eyes on me!” he says, indignation prevalent in his voice. Brian and Freddie both raise their arms up in mock surrender at his outburst, stifling their laughter. To be honest, they all think Roger and your feud is quite amusing. 

“Ten bucks says that they’ll sleep with each other by the end of the night,” Freddie once said as he watched you and Roger bump into each other at a party your record label was throwing. 

“Twenty bucks says that she’ll throw her drink straight in the face,” Brian retorted. Brian got twenty dollars richer that night. But still, the band members––everybody––cannot deny nor escape the tension, sexual or not, between the two of you. 

John is currently trying to suppress a smile, eyes crinkled at the edges. Roger narrows his eyes. 

“What are you snickering about over there?” 

“I’m really excited to see you both interact with each other.”

“You’ve got to admit it, darling, this is gonna be so fucking entertaining,” Freddie chimes in. 

“Oh fuck me,” Roger says in a huff, plopping himself down in a plush chair while dragging his hand roughly down his face.

“Twenty bucks says he’ll be saying that to Y/N when this is over,” Freddie whispers to Brian. Before Brian can respond, Roger punches Freddie in the arm. 

––––––

“WHAT?” you screech, the water you’re holding sloshing out of the cup. 

“I’m sorry Y/N, but we already planned this whole thing, and I think this opportunity will be amazing for the both of you. We’re going over to the boys’ recording studio this Friday to finalize all of the details,” your manager, Anne, says almost gently. You sigh.

“I just hit number one on the UK charts. Why would I have to use his help?” 

“Yes, and you know that everyone is so proud of you. But this will keep you at the top and open up more opportunities. It’s a win-win situation. Just think about this purely as a business deal, which it is, and just ignore your hatred towards him.” You open your mouth, but she raises her hand. 

“And…you’ve got to admit, he’s not hard on the eyes,” she says with a grin. You pause for a moment before lightly smacking her arm with the magazine you grabbed off her desk, both of you erupting into laughter. 

––––––

Friday came too soon. Your laughter is gone as you stand in front of their recording studio. Taking a deep breath, you walk through the doors, and you’re met with the sight of Queen, lounging on a couch in the middle of the room. 

“Hi boys! Hi Jim, nice to see you again,” Anne says before walking over to Jim and giving him a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.  

“Hey Y/N!” Brian says, standing up from the couch and bounding over to you with open arms. You smile, returning his embrace. 

“Hey Bri! How are you?” you ask, voice muffled in his chest. John and Freddie both stand up as well, coming over to give you hugs. 

“You look stunning darling,” Freddie compliments, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You’ve been friends with them for quite a long time, having met at a music awards after party many years ago. They had all taken a liking to you and you to them. All of them except one. And that one is still sitting––more like sprawled out––on the couch, his arms stretched lazily across the back of it and his legs spread too wide. He smiles at you and wiggles his fingers mockingly. 

“Hi gorgeous,” he says with a smirk that makes you roll your eyes. Annoyance already beginning to bubble fast underneath your skin. 

“Close your legs,” you snap. 

“I know it’s difficult, but eyes up here love,” he says with a tsk. Your mouth drops open, and you feel a flush of anger creep up your face in the shade of a bright red. Before you can retort, Anne and Jim cut you off. 

“Behave you guys.”

“Sometimes I feel as if they’re children,” Anne mutters to Jim to which he vehemently nods in agreement. 

“Please sit,” Jim says, gesturing to the couch. You take the seat next to Brian, farthest away from the blonde headed drummer who’s still looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. Once everyone settles in, the meeting begins. 

“Let’s go over what you both will be required to do before you guys rip each other’s throats out,” Jim says quite seriously. 

“Question,” Roger interrupts as he raises a hand in the air. Jim sighs, exasperation evident in his face. 

“Yes, Roger?” 

“How long is this going to be a thing?” 

“For at least several months––just until both your albums drop.” 

“That’s in nine months!” Roger exclaim. 

You roll your eyes before flashing him a mocking grin. “Wow, you can do basic math!” 

“Bitch!”

“Dick!”

“Guys!” Anne yells. You grimace apologetically, not before sending Roger one final glare.

“We have an interview already set up for Roger next week where the interviewer will ask about your new relationship.”

“You will also be accompanying the band during their stay at Ridge Farm while they record their album. As you already know, Y/N will be a feature artist on one of your tracks.”

“We have dates where you’ll be seen and pictured out in public, but you can choose the location. And obviously, you guys will have to be seen at parties together.”

“You’ll also have to stay at each other’s flats some nights, so the paparazzi can get photos of you both coming out of each other’s apartments.”

Even though Anne had already briefed you on what this whole fake dating situation would entail, you’re still taken aback at the conditions and what you’re going to be expected to do. 

After everything’s explained and the contracts are signed (an excruciating three hours later), you get up to grab a bottle of water from the counter.  Anne and Jim discuss whatever it is they’re talking about in the corner of the room. Freddie, John, and Brian joke around in the corner next to the soundboard. 

Roger saunters over to you.

“I have one condition about this whole fake dating thing,” he says quietly in your ear. You rest your weight on one leg and raise your brows for him to continue. 

“You can’t fall in love with me,” he says with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes. You scoff, pushing past him with a hard shove to his shoulder. 

“In your dreams, Taylor,” you call back before joining the other’s conversation. 

––––––

As you walk out of the studio, pressed up against Roger’s side, you’re met with a barrage of paparazzi and cameras flashing in your faces, specifically focused on your joined hands. 

ARE YOU GUYS RECORDING A SINGLE TOGETHER?

ARE YOU TWO DATING?

WHEN DID YOU MEET?

You ignore the interrogation and simply offer them a strained smile, trying your best not to snatch your hand out of his grasp. He seems to be the doing the same. 

This is going to be a long nine months.

NEXT CHAPTER: PART TWO 

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