#brianmayxreader

[briyourmotherdown]

Give It All For You, Part 1 (Brian May x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 10.45k 

Warnings: Strong language (I’m British, it’s to be expected), slight innuendos???, possible historical inaccuracy, ANGST. 

Description: You have loved Brian May since the first time you met him. Trouble is, he’s nearly impossible to tie down, and you’ve become cemented in the role of the best friend. 

A/N: Okay so I’ve been working on this little mini-series for months. Literally too long. It’s still not even done, BUT I wanted to get the first part out at leAST. Uni and life have made finding creative inspiration a major struggle as of late. I think there will probably be around 3 parts to this?? I’m not quite sure yet, it could be a couple more if I find the motivation. BUT ANYWAY I really hope you enjoy it even though it’s angsty and I can’t write ajdgsdbskjbkdhgs. 

Spring, 1977

 “C’mon,” you slur,  your red dress shimmering in the dim lights of the local pub, “dance with me.”

  The bass is heavy in your chest and you feel alcohol coursing through your veins, but you’re only intoxicated by the man in front of you. His eyes glimmer like stars, hooded, sizing you up before shaking his head with a laugh.

  “You’re drunk.”

 “So are you.” you push yourself further into him in an attempt to push him onto the dancefloor, but more of a reason for you to get closer to him, to feel him.

  “But you’re plastered.”

 You roll your eyes, “Isn’t that the whole point?”

 He rolls his eyes right back, wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you, “Fine, one dance.”

  His hazel eyes are hooded, focussed solely on you, and you bask in his gaze. His hands on your body send electric shocks over your skin, and you tell yourself over and over that he doesn’t feel the same; he is only your good friend. That’s all you will ever be to him.

 “Is that how you ask a lady to dance?” you tease, cocking a brow.

 “You asked me!” Brian laughs, amused, “Alright, m’lady, may I have this dance?”

 He holds his hand out to you, dipping his head like a gentleman, and you take a moment to take a mental snapshot before accepting his hand, tugging him into the centre of the pub to dance.

  So you both danced, and for that night, just for that night with his hands on your hips, you could almost pretend that he was yours. And as he stared into your eyes, you let yourself fall into that false sense of security of imagined love.

   But let’s start from the beginning, from the moment you met on a cold winter’s night in 1972...

  “Christ, it’s cold as a witch’s tit in here,”

  Your best friend, Freddie, shivers as he hops up and down to warm himself up, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and jaw,

  “Why did you want to open up the stall today, of all days? Even that old git Brutus has closed up shop.”

  You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shuffling the secondhand clothes on their hangers, “I need the money, that’s why. I’m about to be homeless if I can’t pay my rent.”

  Freddie hums, kicking a stray pebble on the floor, “You know, my friend has a spare room in his flat he’s trying to fill. He needs some extra money too. I’m sure he’d offer you the room for cheap.”

  “Which friend?”

  “His name is Brian, Brian May.”

  “Ah,” you wave your hand in recognition, remembering his name being brought up a few times, “the guitarist one, yeah?”

  “That’d be the one! I think you’d like him, actually-”

  “Like who?” your other friend and coworker, this one much more blonde, chimes in as he strides into the small stall, very much late. Roger.

  “Brian.” Freddie answers.

 “Oh yeah, she’d definitely like him.”

  You shoot them both a look, “And what makes you say that?”

  Roger holds up a fringed kimono up to himself in the mirror, “He’s quiet, reads a lot, likes the stars; basically a total nerd. You’d love him.”

  “And he always wears matching socks. It’s bizarre, he literally has a thing about matching socks.” Freddie adds.

  You chuckle, “And when will I get to meet this nerd?”

 “Well, tonight. We have a gig.”

 “Hm,” you pretend to think, “I’ll have to clear a few things from my schedule…”

  Roger nudges you with his shoulder, knocking you slightly off balance,

 “Alright, alright! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Later that evening you meet your friends at the pub where they're playing for the night. It’s a dingy dive that you never would usually go, but you’d do anything to support your friends on their journey to success.

  You’re dressed up all pretty in your flares and platforms, leaning up against the bar as you wait for Queen’s set to begin. Though the weather outside is freezing, the inside of a pub is always hot, air thick with the scent of ale and sweat, but the moment Queen steps on stage, it’s easy to forget your surroundings. You’d heard Freddie sing, and you’d certainly heard Roger crash about on his drums, but you’d never seen them like this.

  They were magnetic. You were all absorbed. Freddie’s outfit caught the light each time he flounced across the stage, but his voice was what captured everyones attention. He was full of passion and power; he owned the audience, he could control everyone with one simple snap of his fingers.

  Roger was his usual self, exuding sex-appeal and confidence. Girls fawned over his long blonde locks and plushy lips. The thing about Roger was that he was the total package of beauty and intelligence, that is if you could tie him down.

  You’d never met the bassist, John, you think his name was, but he managed to capture your attention in the most unsuspecting way. He was all shyness and modesty, but not radiating an ounce of hesitancy. You can tell, even at first glance, that he would be the perfect fit for Queen. He would bring balance.

 That leaves one final member, the oh-so nerdy space loving boy who Freddie and Roger believe you would adore. But he doesn’t look so nerdy when you see him. He’s pure mystery, almost as though he’s surrounded by a navy blue mist, an aura- or something ethereal. He’s breathtaking, is all you can think. Long legs adorned in velvet, dark curls fall in front of his eyes as he looks down at his guitar. He’s focussed, bottom lip jutting out in concentration, but he takes a moment to glance up. That’s when you know you’re done for. He scans the pub, small enough to make out everyone’s face, and his eyes land on yours. It’s fleeting, but you can swear they linger. Maybe that’s just what you want to tell yourself. Suddenly you want to feel his eyes on you all the time. You want to be in his daydreams, in his thoughts, you want to be his muse.

  You float through the rest of their set, eyes glued to Brian as he plays expertly. You sway to each song, ignoring your surroundings and focussing solely on the music, and when it’s over, you cheer as loudly as you can.

  “I want to have your children, Roger!” you scream, bursting into a fit of giggles as the blonde scans over the room to see the source of the scream, and upon seeing you, chucks up his middle finger with a laugh.

  You make your way to the small stage, well, it’s more of a two feet high platform, and open your arms up widely to Freddie.

  “You,” you tackle him into a hug, “were fucking incredible! You’ve been hiding this side of yourself from me for how long?”

  He blushes, returning to the Freddie you know, “You must have brought it out of me, love,” he turns to the rest of the band, “Y/N, this is John Deacon, isn’t he lovely?”

 Freddie gestures to the bassist as he smiles shyly, offering you a wave and a small, “Hello.”

  “You were amazing out there, seriously!” you compliment him, and he blushes, though his smile widens.

  “Now, darling, this is Brian May!”

  Upon hearing his name, Brian looks up from where he is putting away his guitar, standing up straight and brushing his hands off against his trousers.

  “Brian, this is Y/N, she hangs around Roger and I sometimes.” Freddie shoots you a playful wink as you roll your eyes.

  “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” you reach a hand out to shake, which you so usually wouldn’t do, and it sends embarrassment right through you. But to your luck, he takes his hand in yours with no hesitation.

  “Likewise,” he smiles, still shaking your hand, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Oh God.

  “All good things I hope?” you realise you’re still holding his hand and let go, letting your hand sit awkwardly at your side.

  Jesus, you’re so nervous.

  “Mostly.” He winks, and it sends you reeling. His eyes are dangerous, and they travel up and down your figure in a way that sets you alight.

  It goes quiet as you stare at each other, Freddie glancing between you two with his eyebrows raised. Though he says nothing about it. Instead, he claps his hands,

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I need a drink!”

  1977

  The next morning, you suffer through your pounding headache, wanting to just wallow in your loneliness.  

  Of course, Brian went home with someone else last night, sneaking away through the back door to avoid flashing cameras and prying eyes, leaving you to call yourself a taxi back home, where you cried for an hour before passing out.

  It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it still makes you feel pathetic every time.

  There’s a knock on your door, and you heave yourself out of bed despite the spinning in your head and the nausea churning in your stomach. Whoever is at the door will just have to deal with your dishevelled appearance.

  “Y/N? Jesus, you look like hell.”

  Alas, the infamous Roger Taylor stands on your doorstep, mouth agape at your messy hair and leftover smudged makeup.

  “I’ll slam this fucking door in your face, Taylor.”

  “Hostile,” he laughs, hands up in mock surrender, “I’ve just come to pick you up for lunch, or have you forgotten?”

  Feeling like a total ass, you smack your hand to your forehead, “Shit, Rog, I’m so sorry. Come in.”

  He follows you into your flat, eyes scanning over the slight mess. He turns to you, concerned; you’re not usually one to let your flat get so messy.

 “We don’t have to go, Y/N, we can reschedule, it’s not a problem.”

 You scrunch up your face, searching the kitchen for a glass of water and ibuprofen,

 “No, no, I want to go, you’ll just have to bear with me.”

 “Long night?” He teases, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter to stare at you.

  Shooting him a glare, you slide passed him and into your bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. Roger follows you,  leaning against the doorframe.

  “You know, I think you owe me an explanation as to why you forgot about our lunch date, and threatened me.”

  Clicking your tongue, you turn to him, “I went to a pub with Brian last night, got plastered, now I’m hungover. Simple as that.”

  He raises his eyebrows, almost knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.

“No need to be so sassy with me, I'm only asking.”

You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry,” he smiles, “now get out, I have to piss.”

You slam the door and hear him laugh from the other side, “What a lady!”

 “Bugger off!”

  Finally feeling human again after cleaning up and getting dressed, you slide a massive pair of dark sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and head out to where Roger parked his car.

  “Ready, princess?”

 You shoot him a sickly sweet smile, “You act as if being called princess bothers me.”

  Roger laughs, starting the engine and getting into gear, “You got me there.”

  The drive to your local favourite cafe is short, a totally walkable distance if you didn’t feel like death warmed up. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence until pulling into a parking space, when Roger turns to look at you once again. Your head is pressed against the window, eyes closed beneath your sunglasses, lips slightly parted as you take careful breaths to avoid nausea.

  “Christ, love, you really do look like shit,” he chuckles softly, a hint of concern laced in his insult, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  With one look at him, tears well up in your eyes against your will, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. Roger’s eyes widen, and in an instant, you’re pulled into his arms over the console as you begin to cry. He shushes you softly, one hand running up and down your back,

  “Shh, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” you’re thankful for having such a good friend like Roger, especially when he puts up with your hungover mood swings. However, you must look like an absolute trainwreck with your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, “Let’s go inside and get some food and a cup of tea down you, yeah? Then if you like, you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

  You nod, sniffling and wiping away your tears on the back of your hand. Roger jumps out of the car and rushes to the passenger side, where like an angel, he walks you into the cafe with a hand on your back.

  You attract a few disparaging stares when you both sit down at a table, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. Roger, now across from you, looks puzzled, “What’re you laughing about, hey?”

  “Everyone’s staring.”

  He scans the room indiscreetly, a smile taking over his features, “God, they are, aren’t they? Haven’t they ever seen a hungover girl crying before?”

  You scoff, “Bugger off, they’re obviously staring at your trainers.”

  He gasps, looking underneath the table to examine his sparkly pink converse, “What have you got against my trainers?”

  “Me? Nothing. But a bunch of elederly ladies out for lunch might. I’m sure they think your hair is a disgrace too. You should cut your hair like McCartney had it at the start of The Beatles.”

  Roger scoffs, pulling out a cigarette, “Yeah right. Been there, done that.”

  As Roger lights up a smoke, you look at the menu set out in front of you, deciding on something that won’t aggravate your fragile stomach. Then you proceed to give Roger puppy dog eyes until you persuade him to be the one to go up and order it.

  When he’s gone, you take a moment to think over what you and Roger must really look like to some people. Roger, all bleach blonde hair, brightly coloured clothing and a smirk that could make even a nun go mad. And you, puffy eyed, sunglasses indoors, in an oversized button-up shirt that you’d definitely stolen from one of the boys at some point. You both probably were the most exciting things that some of these people had seen in awhile. Something new to gossip about.

  A glass of water is set in front of you by the one and only roger, while he sips tenderly at a cup of sweet coffee, “Drink.” he commands.

  “But I ordered coffee,” you pout like a child, “You’re kicking me when I’m down here, Rog.”

  He rolls his eyes, “Coffee doesn’t help hangovers, love. Drink up.”

  You frown but nonetheless begin sipping in silence, tapping your nails against the table as Roger stares at you, “What?”

  “Just wondering if you’re going to tell me what got you so upset earlier?”

  You let out a sigh, long and weary, fiddling with an opened sugar packet, “Would you believe me if I said that it was just hormones?”

 “Not in the slightest.”

 You let out a short laugh through your nose, “I just let myself get heartbroken again, that’s all.”

  Roger pretends to choke on his coffee, spluttering dramatically and ignoring all the stares that he attracted, “Someone managed to break Y/N’s cold, dead, heart?”

  “If you were quiet for a moment you’d notice I’m not laughing.” You roll your eyes at him.

  Noticing your demeanour, he quiets down and leans in close to you, “I’m sorry, it’s just that you never let yourself get to the point of being able to be heartbroken,” he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, “you know, you told me about a year ago that love doesn’t exist, and dating is just a trial period until you decide that maybe you can put up with that person for the rest of your life.”

   “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did, word for word.”

  You stay silent, but your top lip twitches into a smile- it does sound like something you’d say.

  “Anyway,” Roger continues, “who broke your heart? I’ll rough 'em up a bit.”

  “Surely you couldn’t rough up a member of your own band.” You speak under your breath, arms crossed, but Roger hears you.

  “I knew it!” He shouts, and you kick him underneath the table, “sorry,” he blushes, “I just knew it. I had a feeling you were in love with Brian.”

  Your eyes widen, “I’m not in love with him!”

 Roger smirks, “So it is Brian, then?”

 Your jaw drops at his trick, “You bloody asshole.”

  He sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face, coffee cup in hand, “So, tell me about it.”

  You scoff, “You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that?”

  “You love me all the same.”

  You roll your eyes for the thousandth time, as you always seem to do around Roger. You stare at him, arms crossed in silent defiance and attempt to communicate with your eyes ‘I’m not going to tell you because you were a dick.’

  He sighs, uncrossing his arms to place his elbows on the table, “Come on, I’m sorry! Please tell me what happened?”

  A server comes over with your breakfast, allowing you to torture Roger for a few moments more as you chew a bite slowly. After you swallow, you finally sigh, “Fine. Ask me what you want to know.”

  Roger’s eyes light up, “How long have you loved-” he stops when you gives him the eye, “liked, him?”

  “Almost five years.”

  “Bloody hell, Y/N.”

  “I know! I know. It’s not good. Trust me I’ve tried to get over it.”

  “And you’ve never told him how you feel?”

  You scoff, “Of course not, that’s suicide.”

  “Why?”

  You put down your fork, finishing your mouthful of food, “You act like you haven’t seen the way Brian is,”

  Roger stays silent, waiting for you to continue, “He’s so…elusive. His shyness and sensitivity make him a real fucking magnet if you haven’t noticed. And he has this thing where he needs to constantly be pining after someone, and it’s just never been me.”

  You take a deep breath as your eyes focus on the rim of your glass, “He’s just not interested in me as more than his best friend, and I think that’s okay.”

  “Why do you think that’s okay?” Roger asks softly.

  “Because if I don’t accept that, then I won’t have Brian in my life at all. And that’s worse than the heartache.”

  Roger is silent, looking at you with sad eyes, but they don’t hold an ounce of pity. That’s something you love about him, he never pities you for feeling any sort of way, he’s just there to listen.

  “Well fuck, I can see why you got plastered last night.”

  You laugh, thankful for him shifting the mood to something more lighthearted.

  After lunch, Roger drops you off back at your flat, but not without a comforting pat on the top of your head and a promise to go for a drink soon.

  You smile to yourself as you fish your key out from your bag, twisting the lock and stepping inside.

  “Y/N.”

  You squeal, whipping around to see a lean figure standing up from your sofa, “Bloody fuck- Brian, what are you doing here?”

  Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, partly from being scared half to death, partly because Brian looks so good in a hoodie. He doesn’t often wear cosy clothes anymore since Queen gained more fame. Seeing him looking all soft in a navy blue hoodie makes your heart flutter. It reminds you of the times when you had first met. The both of you snuggled up underneath layers of blankets in his dingy flat when the heating broke (which was often), drinking copious amounts of tea and emptying his kitchen of all his food.

  “You gave me a key.” He scratches the back of his neck. Yeah, he knows he’s guilty.

 “I would have appreciated it if you’d rung me first.”

 Annoyance settles in as you remember last night, when he ditched you at the pub and left you to get a taxi home. If anything, he owes you the fare.

  “I did, you didn’t pick up and I got worried.”

  “I was out.”

  “I can see that now.”

   The room falls silent, Brian rocking back and forth on his heels. You cross your arms, waiting for him to speak. To explain himself.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that last night. I was drunk-”

  “So was I.”

  “I’m-” he stops, sighing, “I’m really, really sorry. I’m a total prick…” he fades off as if he’s lost in thought, bottom lip pulled between his teeth and eyes worried. He looks genuinely troubled, as if he is really upset that he ended up ditching you.

  Against your better judgment, you sigh and uncross your arms, voice softening up, “Look, just don’t do it again, okay? It puts me in a really bad spot.”

  His eyes brighten at your acceptance, rushing over to give you a hug. You stand stiff as a board when his arms wrap around you, head nestled against your neck. Your pulse races, but you know better than to view this in any other way than just a friendly hug. You wrap your arms around him anyway, closing your eyes and just for a moment, pretending it is otherwise.

  “I want to make it up to you,” his voice is muffled against your shoulder, but he doesn’t dare let go, “I packed us a picnic, let’s go to the park. You can feed the ducks.”

  You pause, eyes opening and closing as you take breaths. You battle against yourself. Could you manage doing such an activity with Brian? One that feels like a date? Of course you can. Don’t be silly. He’s your best friend, how could you be casting his feelings to the side because of your own?

  “Can I feed the pigeons too?”

  He laughs, gripping your frame tighter, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Then you’re back in his car, a newer one, different from the cheap beat up one he had when you had first met. But still, it’s familiar, the scent of him mixed with leather. A basket and a blanket sits in his backseat, bringing a small smile to your face. This is the side of Brian you cherish the most. The side of him that cares so deeply for his friends. You’re not even sure if you could call it a ‘side’ of him. It’s just the way he is. He doesn’t ever intend to hurt or upset you. Suddenly, you feel guilty for being upset with him. He doesn’t owe you anything, he has every right to go home with other women.

  “So, where did you go earlier?” Brian asks, one hand on the wheel as he glances over at you and then back at the road.

  “I went out for lunch with Roger,” you smile at his side profile, the way his hair moves against the breeze through his open window, the way his nose hooks ever so slightly, “he nursed my hangover.”

  Brian’s lips seem to flick into a frown, but shift back into a smile before you could really register it, “Seems as though I’ve been replaced.”

 You roll your eyes, “No one nurses my hangovers as well as you do, Bri, don’t worry.”

 You giggle fondly at the memories of the both of you nursing each other through your hangovers, Brian always better at dealing with them than you were. He’d be up bright and early, pop two ibuprofen, down a cup of coffee and be well on his way to recovery. Whereas you’d sleep until noon and be unbelievably moody until eventually someone forced you to do something with your day.

  Brain somehow always knew how to pull you out of those moods, though, whether it be bringing you a plate of pancakes and cracking stupid jokes until eventually you had no choice but to laugh, or by sitting with you in silence and pushing a glass of water and painkillers in your direction. He just always seemed to know exactly what you needed in the moment.

  “I’d hope not,” he tuts, “otherwise I’d have to find another hobby, and I quite like taking care of you.”

  Your breath catches, skin burning, but you play it off with a scoff, “You make me sound like a child.”

  He laughs, a bellowing laugh that you always love to hear, “A child? Certainly not. Children swear a hell of a lot less.”

  “Fuck off!” you swat his shoulder lightly but can’t help your grin. It feels good to fall back into the rhythm of normalcy with Brian.

  The sun is high when you reach the park, the sky a bright blue except for a few sparse clouds. The two of you walk silently to the pond, laying out the blanket on a soft patch of grass.

  “I know you already ate,” Brian says as he sits down on the blanket, “but I bought a packet of custard creams because I know you like them.”

  The small gesture makes you embarrassingly happy, grinning at him as he passes you the packet, “You can never be too full for biscuits, you know that.”

  “Very true,” he smiles at you almost in adoration, you think, “I also got a bag of bird seed because people still feed the ducks bloody bread.”

  You hum as you bite into a custard cream, staring into space as you get lost in thought. Spring weather in London is one of your favourites, when the sun shines just enough to warm your skin, but you still have to cosy up a bit. And today,  it’s the perfect temperature for a picnic.

  “Hey, so I was thinking,” Brian begins, opening up a sandwich for himself and taking a bite, “Since the band doesn’t have to start recording again for a bit, we should all go on a road trip somewhere.”

  You look over at him, eyebrows raised, “Where were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Wales maybe? I just thought a change of scenery might help us all write new songs.”

  Nodding your head slowly, your lips twitch up into a smile, “I’d love that. Have you mentioned it to the boys yet?”

  “Briefly, and they seemed to like the idea, but no plans have been made.”

  You hum, “Well, let’s set the date and they’ll just have to clear their schedules.”

  Brian laughs, “Alright, next thursday. We can stay until Monday.”

  “Perfect.”

  The two of you chat for a while longer, before packing up the basket and walking alongside the pond, throwing bird seed for the ducks and laughing as they all fight for the same pieces.

  It feels so idyllic, walking through the park with Brian. It seems to be all couples here today, holding hands or staring at each other with looks of adoration on their faces. It almost makes you feel queasy. Perhaps it’s just eating those custard creams right after eating lunch with Roger. Either way, your stomach twists and leaps with too many indescribable feelings. You wish it would stop.

  Brian tips the last bits of bird food out of it’s bag, before scrunching it up and putting it in his pocket. You both watch as the birds eat the remaining seed, before looking up at you for more. Once they realise there’s nothing else for them, they drift gracefully away, to the opposite side of the pond where someone else may feed them some more.

  Then you continue your stroll, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your faces and the crisp air in your lungs.

  But then Brian looks down at his watch, swearing underneath his breath and turning to face you, “Y/N, I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to cut this short.”

  Your eyebrows furrow into a frown, “Is everything alright?”

  You both begin to walk in the direction of his car, “Everything’s fine, I just forgot I have to meet someone in an hour.”

  Your stomach drops. Brian never usually says ‘someone’. His friends are your friends and you’d always refer to them by name. ‘Someone’ means someone you’ve never met, and almost always it means a girl.

  “Oh, okay,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, “that’s totally fine!” you force a wide smile.

  He grins back at you as you both get into his car, “I’ll make it up to you, love.”

  You return his smile, but deep down you know. He said that earlier, too.

  Soon you’re back at your flat, waving goodbye to Brian from your doorstep and letting your smile drop into a frown as he drives away.

  The clock reads 4 o’clock when you reach your bedroom, sighing deeply as you get changed into comfier clothes and slump down on your sofa with a cup of tea.

  God, it’s so tiring.

  The sun is still high outside, your favourite aspect of spring and summertime, the longer days, but tonight you almost wish it was late so that you could fall asleep and not have to think about Brian.

  But alas, he swirls around your brain as you stir your tea, looking down into the cup as it whirlpools. You wonder if Brian could be seeing the girl he went home with last night, or someone else. You don’t want to wonder, you’re not even sure if you actually want to know who it is. It would push you into the deep darkness of insecurity, and you’d compare every aspect of yourself to whomever it is.

  So instead, you flick the telly on and melt mindlessly into the arms of whatever is on, not even really focussing on it.

  Monday morning, you’re at work again, typing up documents all day as you’d usually be doing. The monotony could kill you, and your fingers hurt from the stiff keys of the typewriter. It’s times like these where you feel envious of your best friends’ profession- for the boys of Queen, monotony is never an issue. They can complain about recording studios all they want, but they would never dare to wish for your job, and they know that.

  You asked your boss early if you could get Thursday to Monday off, and by some sheer miracle he had agreed, but not without massaging your shoulders in a way that made your skin crawl. It was one of the biggest downsides about working in an office amongst mostly men. While they spent their days barely working, and instead drinking the day away together while playing mini golf in their offices, you worked until your fingers went numb and the back of your neck felt like it was being jabbed with fifty needles. Yet they still believed they were entitled to touching you whenever they liked.

  Either way, you had managed to get a few days off to go on a road trip with all of your best friends, and that’s what keeps you going throughout the week. You daydream about exploring castle ruins and walking along the beach with Brian, allowing yourself to dip your toes into the idea of a relationship. While you were confined within four blank office walls, the thought of Brian kept you sane.

  He phoned you two days after your picnic, confirming that the boys had all agreed to a road trip and booked a hotel for Thursday afternoon. Things were all going smoothly, even as you packed your bag on Wednesday evening in preparation to set off early the next morning. You float happily around your flat, humming along to your records and planning out outfits for the trip. When you fall into bed that night, you can barely wait for dawn to break.

  But as they always say, be careful what you wish for. Because when you step out onto your front steps on Thursday morning, bags in hand and a grin like the sun, you notice not one, but two cars. Brian’s and John’s. Your smile falters, you thought you were all squeezing into Brian’s car?

  “Y/N!” Freddie exclaims when he sees you, rushing to help with your bags and put them in the boot of Brian’s car, “God, I’ve missed you, darling!”

  You pull him into a tight embrace, “I’ve missed you too. You don’t have time for me anymore with all your wild parties.”

  He scoffs, “If only you’d attend them, lovie, then we’d see each other more!”

 You roll your eyes playfully and look around at the two cars. The driver’s seat of Brian’s car opens, a small but almost seemingly nervous smile on his face.

  “Hey, Y/N,” he scratches the back of his neck, “how are you?”

  You narrow your eyes, and you feel Freddie’s body language stiffen beside you as if he knows something you don’t.

  “I’m alright?” You reply as a question, curious to why everyone seems so nervous.

  “Good, good,” he nods, inhaling before saying, “You wouldn’t mind sitting in the back seat, would you? Natasha already took the passenger side.”

  Your lips part slightly, realisation setting in. He brought a girl.

  You turn to Freddie in silent shock, asking with your eyes what the hell is happening? He leans over to whisper quietly, “I offered to take your place and you sit with Rog and John, but Brian was adamant.”

 You gulp, turning back to where Brian stands, “Sure, that’s fine.”

 He grins, sitting back in the driver’s seat. You turn to Freddie, eyes like a deer in headlights. A five hour drive. With Brian and his possibly girlfriend. He pats your shoulder, giving you another hug before getting into John’s car.

  You have no choice but to slip into the backseat, sighing into the leather. The radio is already on, all the windows down to let in the cool early morning air. You glance to the front of the car where a woman sits in the passenger side. You can see her face in the wing mirror, insecurity eating away at you already as you examine her. She’s gorgeous, with thick auburn curls that frame a sharply defined face. You can even see that her eyes are a taunting shade of emerald green.

  Clearing your throat. You lean forward and hold your hand out, forcing a smile on your face, “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

  She turns to glance at you, but not before giving you a once over, sharp lips not so much as twitching into a smile. She takes your hand into a weak handshake, shaking once before letting go and letting her hand rest back into her lap.

  “Natasha.” She says bluntly. You glance over to Brian as he drives, waiting for him to react in some sort of way at the way you’ve been greeted, but instead you’re met with his usual kind smile and eyes that gleam with blissful ignorance.

  You sniff awkwardly, leaning back into your seat and getting comfortable against the window. You can see Natasha staring at you in the wing mirror, but you try your best to ignore it. It practically sears your skin, making you squirm in your seat. You hated feeling intimidated by people, absolutely despised it, but Natasha was everything you weren’t. She had Brian. And the passenger seat.

  The radio fades into one of your favourite songs, one of Brian’s too, The Air That I Breathe by The Hollies. You’d often drive with the windows down, belting out the lyrics and laughing at who could sing the loudest. The memory brings a smile to your face.

  “I love this song, can you turn it up-”

  “God, I hate this song,” Natasha interrupts, “I didn’t even like it when it came out three years ago.”

  Brian looks torn, eyes flickering to you in the rearview mirror. You challenge his gaze, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly to gauge his next move. Your stomach sinks as he drops your gaze in guilt, flicking to the next station.

 The smug look on Natasha’s face just adds salt to your wound, her eyes like a snake’s, sly and dangerous. In that moment you decide that your best friend must be an absolute idiot. You also decide that you really, really don’t like Natasha.

  Five hours does not go by in a flash, much to your dismay, and you’ve had to listen to Brian gush over Natasha for the majority of the ride. Even when you all stopped halfway to get snacks, Brian came to your side when Natasha went to the bathroom, nudging your shoulder with a dopey smile on his face.

  “Isn’t she something?” He asks as you pull a few bags of crisps off of a shelf. You try your best to bite your tongue. After all, as long as Brian is happy, you’re happy.

  “She’s definitely something.” You reciprocate his smile, albeit forced.

  “I think you and her will be great friends.”

  You refrain from rolling your eyes. Even if you wanted that, Natasha made it very clear that she did not want anything of the sort. How could Brian be so unaware of the dynamic that took place between you and her? Are men really that thick? You can barely believe it. For someone as intelligent as Brian, he’s being incredibly dense.

  But regardless, you nod, “Totally.”

  Natasha steps out of the bathroom and makes her way over to where the two of you stand, completely ignoring your presence, “Let’s go to the car.”

  She grabs Brian’s arm, and before you can so much as complain, the food Brian had grabbed is dropped in your arms, leaving you alone to pay. Your eyes follow them as they leave, hand in hand as they laugh. They look good together, you can admit that. Two perfect people.

  You sigh, turning to glance around the small petrol station shop, shaking your head to yourself and going to pay for yours and Brian’s snacks.

  And then the remaining two hours or so blur by as you lean yourself against the window, blocking out the sound of Brian and Natasha’s conversations and simply watching the world pass you by. You try to think of the green grass, the blue morning sky, the yellow sunflower fields that you pass.

  Brian’s hand rests on her thigh and he looks at her with something like a sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly you wish you stayed home. Maybe if you’d caught a cold or your boss didn’t give you time off this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like your heart is being torn out of your chest. Maybe then you could have ignored the fact that Brian has got a new woman in his life.

  Once you pull into the hotel car park behind the rest of Queen, you nearly jump out of the car, immediately taking your bags out of Brian’s car, “What’s the room situation?” you ask Roger when he steps out of John’s car.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Roger winks playfully, “Nah, we have our own rooms, apart from them.” he nods towards Brian.

  You lean in to give him a pathetic hug, leaning heavily on his shoulder as you quietly groan, “I don’t even have the energy to tell you to fuck off right now.”

  He laughs, gripping your shoulders tightly, “You look like you need a drink. Or a nap.”

  “Or both.” you retort.

  Brian and Natasha walk up to where you stand, Natasha plastering a fake smile on her face as she greets Roger, “Roger, I didn’t realise that Y/N was your latest fling, how sweet.”

  Roger tenses, as do you. Now she’s insulted both of you in one. But just as you’re about to speak your mind, Roger tightly wraps his arms around your shoulder, “Actually, Y/N’s my girl.”

  You glance up at him in shock, lips parted and eyes wide. You turn back to Natasha, noticing that Brian is staring at you with a look of shock on his face, maybe betrayal? You’re not sure, but he looks angry. His fist clenches at his side absentmindedly.

  And that makes you angry. Even if you were actually dating Roger, what does that have to do with him? So you decide to put a wide smile on your face, lifting your arms to hold Roger’s around your shoulders. You don’t speak, but your actions say it all. You giggle, melting into his embrace. It feels strange, but Roger and you are close enough to know that this is fine.

  Freddie and John walk over, looks of confusion on their faces, but decide to stay out of it when they see the looks on Natasha and Brian’s faces.

  “You’re seeing each other?” Brian asks incredulously, ignoring Natasha’s presence beside him.

  “That’s right,” Roger replies before you can, “Is that so hard to believe?”

 “Yes,” Natasha laughs, “It is.”

  Roger’s grip tightens around you. You recognise this side of him, the fierce protectiveness he feels over his friends. Roger has been known to get into fights if someone speaks badly about his friends. He simply won’t tolerate it.

  His actions are strictly platonic, but he’s not going to let someone speak badly of you. Especially not Natasha, now that he knows about the way you feel about Brian.

   “And why is that?” He grits his teeth, and you squeeze his arm gently to communicate that it’s okay. You don’t need his protection, you can manage.

  “Well,” Natasha begins, and you glance at Brian’s expression. He stares directly at you, gaze unfaltering. He isn’t even hearing what is being said, “You usually tend to go for much more...visually appealing women.”

  Ouch.

 You’re not gonna lie, that hit you right in the ego. It’s not as if you had much confidence before anyway.

  That’s when Brian breaks his stare to look at Natasha, a dumbfounded look on his face, “What-”

  But Roger interrupts, anger prevalent in his tone, “I don’t think you’re one to gauge who’s visually appealing and who isn’t, Natalie.”

 You hold back a giggle, albeit a hurt one, trying to hide your pain behind an unbothered smile. But you fear that your body betrays you as you tilt your head down, hands dropping from Roger’s arm to cross over your stomach.

  Natasha opens her mouth to speak, but Freddie intercepts, “Alright! Okay, we should go find what rooms we are in and freshen up. I need a beauty nap.”

  You’re thankful for Fred, giving him a discreet nod to which he responds with a wink. You take one last look at your supposed best friend, Brian, not a trace of sympathy for him on your face. How could he not defend his best friend of years from his girlfriend he’s probably only known for a couple weeks at most?

  Baffled and dejected, your feet move mindlessly along with Roger as he steers the both of you into the hotel, muttering underneath his breath, “Dick.”

  “Who?” you whisper.

  “Brian.”

  You say nothing. You know it’s true, but it hurts a hell of a lot when your own best friend doesn’t stick up for you.

  Roger follows you into your hotel room when you reach it, watching as you flop into the soft white sheets with a long, weary sigh.

   Roger sits at the end of your bed, “Natasha’s a right pain in the arse.”

  You sit up, hair mussed and eyes tired, “I meant to ask, have you met her before?”

  He nods with a wince, “Unfortunately. She’s like that all the time. It’s baffling that Brian hasn’t noticed it yet. The lad’s usually quite level-headed.”

  You nod with a hum, staring out of the window behind him. You get most in thought momentarily, thinking about the way Brian was so truly oblivious to the way Natasha acted. He’s almost gotten into bust ups with men at bars who have disrespected you, but it seems to be okay when Natasha does it. Maybe love really is blind. The idea of them in love makes your guts churn.

  “Anyway,” Roger starts, standing up, “You should take a nap. I’ll come to wake you up in a couple hours for dinner, alright?”

  You smile, “Thanks, Rog. For everything.”

  He shoots you a cheeky wink, “Anytime, love.”

  So you gladly lay down in the cool white sheets once Roger is out the door, staring up at the ceiling until eventually you let your eyelids flutter closed.

 Two hours later, you’re up, bathed, and dressed, fiddling with the hem of your midnight blue dress in the mirror.

  Insecurity eats away at you each time your eyes scrutinise yet another perceived flaw. As much as you hate to admit it, Natasha’s words echo around in your mind. She’s right, you're not visually appealing. How could you be, when Brian won’t even look twice at you as more than a friend.

 A knock sounds at your door, Roger’s voice coming soon after, “Are you ready, love?”

 You snap out of your trance, pushing all the self-hatred aside to open the door. Plastering a wide smile on your face, you take his arm in yours.

  He raises a brow.

  “I’m not the one who told everyone we were dating,” you lightly pat his arm, “so hold tight, loverboy.”

  You meet the group outside by the cars once again, John leaning up against the side of his car and Freddie perched gracefully on the bonnet. Brian and Natasha however, are nowhere to be seen. You frown and ask Freddie where they are.

  “Not a clue, my dear. If they aren’t down in five minutes I’m leaving without them.”

  As if on queue, the couple in question walk out of the revolving doors. Brian’s face is flushed, Natasha’s smug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they’re late.

  You catch eyes with Brian and watch, hurt, as he looks away bashfully. Your chest pangs, just a bit, as you glance down at your dress for distraction.

  Roger squeezes your arm comfortingly, “Do you want to ride with us?”

  You shake your head, “Would it be bad if I said I wanted to keep an eye on them?”

  He smiles, “Cheeky.”

 You force a tight smile.

 In all honesty, you aren’t quite sure if you’ll be fine, but when you take another look at Natasha’s smirk, you let your anger be the driving force that pushes you into the back seat of Brian’s car.

  Luckily, they seem to behave themselves while you’re in the car. Well, Brian does. Natasha often tries to place her hand on his thigh, but he always pushes it off. You notice that something has changed since the drive earlier, a shift in Brian’s mood. He’s more bashful than ever, staying practically silent with his cheeks seemingly tinged pink permanently.

  Eventually, Natasha gives up with a huff, crossing her arms and looking out the window as the radio hums a tune none of you are paying attention to. Brian is looking straight at the road, and you’re watching him as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. The sun is just beginning to set beside him, silhouetting his face like an eclipse. He’s so beautiful, even when you’re annoyed with him, and even when he looks annoyed himself.

  He pulls into the car park, killing the engine and turning around to face you in his seat. You furrow your eyebrows as he stares, “What-”

  “Nat, could you give us a minute?”

  “But-”

  “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

  She stares at him baffled, looking at you and back to him, before rolling her eyes and getting out of the car. She slams the door and beelines to the entrance, leaving the rest of the boys no choice but to follow her. Roger shoots you a concerned look through the window, to which you return a reassuring smile. It does nothing to reassure yourself, though, as Brian’s fiery gaze is pointed directly at you.

  The car remains silent as both of you challenge each other to see who will speak first. You stand your ground and hold his glare, crossing your arms in defiance. He speaks up,

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Rog were together?”

  Your eyebrows shoot up, so that’s what this is about?

  “Why do you care?”

  He scoffs, turning away from you to look out of the window, “I don’t know, maybe because you’re my best friend and he’s my bandmate?”

  “Why does that matter?” You challenge.

  He just shakes his head with a spiteful chuckle, dodging the question, “Roger doesn’t date.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s just going to leave you for another woman, or worse, he’ll just do it behind your back.”

  “And I suppose you’re any better?”

  Your words are harsh, and you regret them the minute they came out. Especially when he turns to look at you with a flash of hurt in his eyes. Brian’s had his own share of infidelity, but he’s always felt guilty over it, as if it haunts him. You suddenly feel sick. He confided in you and you’ve just thrown it back at him.

  Without another word, he opens his door and steps out, slamming the door behind him. You watch as his figure retreats into the restaurant, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Shit.

  You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes momentarily. You stand on trembling legs and make your own way into the venue, fingernails digging into your palms.

  Everyone is already sitting at the table when you join them, so you take your place in between Roger and John. Both of them look equally concerned, Roger’s eyes flickering to Brian across the table. You dare to glance up to where he’s glaring, fiddling with the tablecloth. His upper lip twitches like it always does when he’s angry, a tick that only you’ve ever noticed about him. His warm hazel eyes seem cold, but you can almost see the flames behind them. He’s pissed. More than pissed.

  Roger unwittingly adds fire to the flame when he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Everything alright, love?”

  You look at Brian once more, his napkin now clenched in his fist, you turn to Roger to whisper, “I think he’s mad.”

  Roger chuckles, “You think? The bloke looks like he wants to castrate me.”

  “I think he probably does.” You sigh.

  Thankfully, always the life-saver, Freddie begins reenacting a run in he had with a fan in a public toilet the other day, and everyone begins loosening up. Well, except for Brian. He’s pretty much silent throughout dinner. Even when Natasha tries to pat his arm or whisper something in his ear, he keeps the same disgruntled look upon his face. You find yourself becoming angrier with every passing moment.

  Who does Brian think he is? How can he let his girlfriend walk all over you, then he insults you, and then he somehow has the right to be angry with you?

  It’s bullshit, and you shoot daggers at him over your dessert. You don’t even want it. It’s your favourite and everything.

  You turn to John, ever the organised one, “Hey, do you know what we’re doing tomorrow?”

  He tilts his chin up and chews on one side of his mouth as he thinks, “I think we planned to visit Conwy Castle.”

  You nod, humming, “Cool.”

  It’s only the first night, and the trip still has five more days, but you find yourself anxious to return home. Especially in the dim lights of a small Italian restaurant as Brian stares at you with that unforgiving gaze, you wish to be anywhere but.

  Brian and Natasha left before everyone else, skipping their coffee and choosing to head back to the hotel. They didn’t so much as question how you’d be getting back. Instead, they left you with the remaining three Queen boys, all of their curious eyes on you.

  They want answers, you can see it on their faces. It’s the first moment all of you have had together without Brian and Natasha there and they want to know what the bloody hell is going on.

  You shake your head at their silence, taking one final bite of your dessert, “Don’t ask me anything, because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  You huff as you flop back onto the bed. It’s far past sunset, and your hotel room is dim except for the orange glow of the street lights outside your window. Roger, John and Freddie decided to go find some sort of bar to finish the evening, but you asked them to drop you off at the hotel so that you could sleep. Except you couldn’t, your mind wired with so many thoughts of Brian that you couldn’t so much as close your eyes. You decided that staring up at the ceiling wasn’t helping, instead it was making the thoughts worse, so you got out of bed and walked to the balcony and stared out over the sea, letting the cold air of the night nip at your bare skin.

  Just as you close your eyes, there’s a knock at the door, echoing through the sound of the waves in the distance. The tiny clock at the side of your bed reads just past midnight as you pad through the dark to get to the door.

  You open it a crack, “Who is it?” you ask gently.

  “Brian.”

  Your pulse jumps slightly as you open the door the rest of the way and take in his appearance. His eyes are tired and sunken, his hair mussed as if he’d been tugging on it. You wonder if it was him who tugged on it, or someone else, but based on the way his head is bowed, you don’t think anything of the sort happened.

  “Hi,” you gulp, treading lightly, ashamed of the words you threw at him earlier this evening, yet anger still fizzles within you softly.

 “Hi,” he breathes, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “did I wake you?”

 “No,” you shake your head, “couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither.”

  “Is Natasha awake?”

  He pauses, looking at the floor and then back at you, “She’s asleep.”

  You nod, quiet after his response. What now?

  “Do you...want to come in?”

 You step aside after he nods, quietly walking through the doorway and into the dimness of your room, and then out onto the balcony. You follow, mind racing a million miles a minute, watching his back as he leans against the railing.

  You join him, staring out at the starry reflection of the moon against the sea, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He turns to look at you, though you don’t return his glance. Instead you bask in his gaze upon your face as the wind flutters through your hair and the moon glitters against your skin.

  “It is,” he whispers, his own hair rustled by the wind as he continues to stare at you.

  Neither of you speak for a while, just watching the water as it shimmers like diamonds, though you’re both aware of the words unsaid and the words that were. But for a few moments the two of you decided to ignore the rift between you, and instead let the soft silver gleam of the moon heal your aching hearts.

 But things must not go unsaid for too long or they will fester, and you’re the first to speak, “Why’d you come see me, Bri?”

  He sighs, looking down at his hands, “I came to say sorry. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about Rog, he’s a good guy.”

  You stare at him for awhile, “He is a good guy,”

 Brian’s eyebrows seem to fall, which causes your own to furrow. You continue, “but did you mean what you said?”

  He looks into your eyes and you know instantly that he did. The only reason he’s come to apologise is because he upset you.

  “I did.”

 Though it angers you, you admire his honesty. You can’t be so frank with him, you’d end up spilling your feelings.

 “Is it so unbelievable that someone like Roger would like someone like me?”

 It feels odd talking about Rog as if he’s actually your boyfriend, but you’re hurt. Natasha’s earlier words cut like a knife, and hearing Brian think the same would cut like no other.

  “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re just…” he trails off and looks back at the sea, shaking his head.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re...perfect. You’re too good for someone who will hurt you”

  The sound of the wind fills your silence, a sense of confusion and joy fluttering in your stomach. You wish you could tell him that you appreciate his concern, but he’s been the one hurting you all this time. However it’s not his fault, and you remain quiet. He called you perfect.

  You search his face for any sign of anything, any twitch of his brow that might give anything away, but he’s stoic as always.

  “But you can’t be the one to make that decision for me.” you breathe, choosing to ignore what he said. Perhaps you’re scared of him taking it back, or claiming it was nothing. You want to hold onto the very feelings you feel now, after Brian has called you perfect underneath the moonlight.

  “I know.” he sighs, looking down at his hands. You’ve always loved his hands, his long slender fingers that are often adorned with a couple silver rings, usually on his pinky finger. You’d often imagined the way they might feel against your bare skin, but each time you dared to delve into that idea, you quickly shut it down.

  The fact that you’ve been lying to Brian about Roger makes you feel wretched, eating away at your insides as you chew on your bottom lip. It feels as though you’re seeing a bit more of Brian’s private thoughts, and he’s only shared them with you because he thinks you’re dating Roger.

  The confession is right there on the tip of your tongue, a loud exclamation of truth ready to erupt from inside of you, “Brian-”

  “-Y/N” he begins at the same time, and immediately all courage is lost. The boiling truth returns to a simmer, and your racing heart begins to still.

  You both chuckle, a sense of normalcy returning for the first time tonight as he scratches the back of his neck, “You first.”

  Shaking your head, you give him a small smile, “Not important, you go.”

  He nods, taking a breath as if to build his courage back up, turning his body to face you entirely. You do the same, concerned at the sudden seriousness that’s returned to his face. You watch in silence as he takes yet another deep breath, the dread inside of you intensifying.

  “I…” he begins, and you want to grab him by the shoulder and shake, tell him to spit it out already because you feel nauseated.

  “It’s terrible of me to say this, and I know I have no right whatsoever to do so, but...I don’t want you to date Roger.”

  You’re taken aback by his blatant request, baffled at why he is so against the idea of you and Roger being together, “Why not?”

  He looks just as irritated as you, all civility that you’d built up just moments before knocked down like a house of cards. It’s as if the idea of you not listening to his request infuriates him, and in return that makes you equally angry.

  “I told you before.”

  “But we agreed that this isn’t your decision.”

  At this point, you aren’t sure why you’re continuing to act as if Roger is your boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve let it go too far and to confess now would damage your dignity. Or maybe you want to see how far Brian is willing to go with his request. Surely he won’t force the two of you apart.

  “It’s not my decision, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?!” you raise your voice. This conversation is going in the complete wrong direction, but you can’t seem to stop it, or stop yourself. The two of you are both passionate people always speaking for what they believe in, and in this case you are on opposing sides. Like fire and ice, or darkness and light, the two of you battle against each other.

  “Yes! Uncomfortable!”

  “Go on then, explain to me why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

  “He’s my bandmate-”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “You’ll be a distraction!”

  “I’ve known you all for years, and suddenly now that I’m dating one of you, I’m a distraction? Nice, Brian.”

  He goes to speak, but you interrupt, “And what about Natasha, huh? Is she not a distraction? Or is it just me then?”

  “She doesn’t come to the studio with us like you do.”

  “You were the one who told me that you love when I come to the studio.”

  He looks flustered, “I do, but-”

  “You’re not making any sense,” you say, exasperated, “what is the big deal about me dating Roger?”

  He doesn’t answer, instead staring at you with a burning intensity behind his caramel irises. A siren blares in the distance and a cloud sheathes the moon in a grey cast. It’s as if his answer is in his eyes, but you just can’t catch it. You’re both speaking two different languages.

  “I should go,” he says finally.

 Muddled thoughts race through your head. You want to say so many things but nothing comes out, your mind a jumbled mess of intertwined wires. Goddamnit,  Y/N, say something.

  He turns to walk through the hotel room, and you have no choice but to watch his back as he retreats. But then he stops in his tracks, turning to look at you once more. He has hurt written across his face, you can see it even in the darkness.

  “Where is Roger, by the way?”

  He tilts his head to the side, challenging you to answer him. You stare in silence, no answer on your tongue.

 He nods, his own point proven to himself as he goes to turn back around, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

[bless-the-queen]

→ Professor Dr. Brian May | Modern AU

[goingsllightlymad]

Baby It’s You - Part 2.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader, Brian May x reader

Summary: The year is 1981 and Roger Taylor is pretty sure he has made it. With the Game Tour stretching out before him and the band more successful than ever, he doesn’t think that anything can mess up the perfect picture that is his life. That is, until he receives a letter from an astrophysics PhD student studying abroad, and finds himself sucked into her world of secrets and mistaken identities. Roger Taylor is about to find out that his life is a lot more complicated than he ever thought.

Wordcount: 2392 (getting longer!). 

Warnings: I just love Roger Taylor a lot, okay? 

________________________________________________________________

An hour after Brian had left, Roger was still finishing up. Bags all around him on the bottom step of the never-ending flight of stairs that lead down from their apartment, he was making sure he took as much time as he could. He was late already, so he might as well be later. It annoyed Brian and he knew it - all those threats and empty promises of kicking Roger out of the band if he wasn't get to the tour bus on time weren't entirely lost on him, just had the wrong effect.

With that last thought of Brian's agitated face in mind, and the wonderful mental image of him pacing to and fro in front of the bus the way he probably was right now, Roger dropped off the last of his bags by the door, and made his way over to the little metal letter-boxes with the apartment numbers on the front. He had never really done this kind of dull domestic thing before, truth be told, and it took him a moment to pick out their box from the rows and rows stacked on top of each other. Brian was much more domestic than he had ever been, and on a nicer day he might have admitted that he could not live without him. But this was not that kind of day, and Roger Taylor was not in that kind of mood.

There were the usual parcels and notices - a wedding invitation from one of Brian's friends, a just-saying-hi letter from Tim Staffell like there was every week (Roger never read them but he knew that Brian did), a couple of bills and an advertisement for a recording studio nearby. He kept that one, put it in his pocket to show the others if he ever decided to show up at the bus as he knew he had to soon. And then at the bottom another envelope, small and neat. He picked it up, looked a little closer at the name written on the front in neat cursive script. The right house number, absolutely not the right name. Some guy called Ben, probably someone who lived somewhere downstairs. Probably the new guy, but Roger had no idea which number he was. He cast a momentary glance at all the letter-boxes in front of him, wondered whether he had the time or the patience to go through each one and look for names. True to his character and to the extraordinary number he saw, he did not.

There was a moment or two when he had to stand and think things through. The letter had been sent to the wrong address. But what to do when you had nowhere to send it to? Leave it on the side and hope for the best? Probably not a good idea - he had had a suspicion people were stealing Queen's mail for a while now, best not to put the idea to the test when this wasn't even his letter. Find Ben? God knows how many Ben's there must be in this building, and Roger was finally coming around to the idea that sooner or later he really had to get to the bus or else they might send Brian back to drag him there by brute force. What a comically horrifying thought.

So it was without much internal conflict that Roger slipped the letter into the pocket of his coat, with the advert for the studio, and locked up the letter-box once again. He could always open it and find out who had written it, maybe write back to the address it was sent from, just to explain. He figured they ought to know, at least. And it didn't seem like there were a lot of better options opening themselves up before him. Yes, he would read it as soon as they set off, get something back quickly and have no more to do about it. Or at least, so he resolved as he found his bags again, the thought already fading into the chaos of his mind, the prospect of the tour bleeding through in its place until he had almost forgotten about the letter entirely, standing by the worn front door.

With a final sigh and a grunt as he hoisted his bags onto his back once more, Roger left the building through the front door and made his way finally to the tour bus. It had to leave soon, and he was very very late.

________________________________________________________________________________

It was only that night, with the sun long since set and the others recently gone to bed, that Roger remembered the letter. He cursed quietly in the silence of the bed at the back of the tour bus, muttering something about the scrabble they had been playing all afternoon while the bus drove on to god knows where, and tried once more to close his eyes and fall asleep. Once more he was unsuccessful. Eyes closed and breathing slowed, the thought of the address came flooding back into his mind, insidious and unshakeable as a curse. He really had to read it now, because he was getting the idea that he could not sleep if he didn't.

He sat up, pressing his shaking hands against his thighs to steady them as he shivered in the cool night air. For the life of him he could not remember when July had got so cold. Groping around in the moonlight for his coat, he took out the letter from the pocket, straightened it out. Such pretty handwriting for someone who didn't know how a fucking address worked.

Dear Ben...

The silence in the tour bus lasted an eternity while he read, his lips moving gently as he murmured the words back to himself. From time to time he looked up from the page, lips quirking up into a soft half-smile as the words pulled him into their funny little world that he knew nothing about. And yet he had never felt as though he knew someone so well. It was almost too intimate, for a moment he had to stop and wonder if he was really doing the right thing. This was a moment when the curtain was ripped aside momentarily, and through the gap he caught a glimpse of someone else living a life that was so different to his own. He felt as though he were walking into a cinema halfway through a film, picking up a character from all the scraps of words they let him see. He could not look away if he tried.

When at last the words ran out at the bottom of the page, he blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness that seemed to have wrapped itself around him while he was unaware. How to tell this girl, (Y/N), that he wanted to, needed to, know more. There was something so addictive about this boring little life she lead, where the pigeons outside her window got more action than her. Roger could never understand what that was like.

Making sure not to wake the others as they sprawled out on the beds along the bus, Roger found the little scrabble table, the pencils and paper they used to score. He took a clean sheet and tried to write.

Dear (Y/N) (Y/L/N),

I must preface this letter with the sincere apology that I am not, in fact, Ben. Not through some lack of effort of yours, I am sure, this letter was addressed to entirely the wrong person, and has reached myself instead of whoever it was intended to go to. Which is fine - I certainly enjoyed reading your letter, and in fact I should hate to leave this here. You seem to lead such a more exciting life than I do!

I wish I could understand your PhD woes, really, but it is my primary flaw that I was never the most academic of all my friends. If I could do what you are doing, I would, but the problem is I just can't. I fear I would die of boredom and stress from the very get-go, and that would be a rather unfortunate situation for everyone involved, I fear. Still, I have no doubt that, whatever it is you are studying, you are coping brilliantly (albeit complainingly!). It seems I must rely upon you to live out vicariously my dreams of doing anything vaguely intellectual successfully; I hope you do not mind!

You've made me quite frantic just reading about your late night habits, my love! He's probably right, you know - you really ought to get some sleep. One of my mates keeps going on about something like that ("self care" apparently, which sounds a lot like bullshit but it seems I'll be preaching it now like the utter hypocrite that I am) to me, which of course I have never listened to because I have a horrible habit of never actually listening to my mates, but I think you need some of that. Not that you're going to listen to me. Not that you should listen to me. My advice is terrible. Just ignore me, I'm having an internal crisis here.

New York is indeed very... different to what we are used to. I used to hate it there because all I could associate it with was travelling and being away from home, but now I suppose I don't mind as much. I'm more used to travelling now. Not that that's an especially bad thing. New York does have nicer diners, and the accent makes me laugh more than I really ought to. I lose my shit every time someone orders a coffee like that. Good on your pigeons though - maybe not so good on you but good on them all the same. At least they're having a nice time. Well, at least the male pigeon is. And they say romance is dead.

How must you live without a radio? I think I would keel over and die immediately without my music. I wouldn't tell it to my friends (they'd call me a right wuss and I fear I haven't the stability of ego to withstand such a low blow) but I sometimes think my soul is made of music. That band thing sounds interesting! Maybe you should go along just in case - see if you like them. I hear they're fantastic.

Roger didn't comment on the last half of that paragraph. Something in it made him feel like he was standing in someone else's place, reading something he was never meant to see. Something he would never share, because no one had ever said those kind of things to him before. He wondered if that was love, and hoped it wasn't. He'd like to think that he had been loved before, and he knew that he had never been loved quite like this.

You know I have to ask - who on earth are Lennon and McCartney? Please god don't tell me you have half of the Beatles living in your apartment or else I really must find out who you might possibly be. Princess Bride with the Beatles... what a thought. I've never seen it - I think I should have but I haven't. Nothing personal, not really, I've just never been the sort for sappy romance films. All that nonsense about "true love" and "happily ever after", I'd feel like a 9-year-old girl with a crush. It's all just a scam, really. No way that kind of thing isn't all made up. No way at all.

A wedding? Wow, sounds nice. Sorry, I'm just not used to that kind of thing. What do you even say to it? Congratulations on not having broken up by now? Good luck doing the same things you were doing before you got married but with extra legal bindings? I can't wait until you have kids and our friendship becomes second to them? Not for me, no sir. Not for anyone like me either. Just not ideal exactly in this line of work. Think I'll have to stick with being forever alone, eh? But congratulations (or something like that) to your brother and his... spouse.

Thank you again for brightening up my boring little day, and I hope you write again "as you wish",

Anon.

He didn't sign his name at the bottom - he thought perhaps it might be better to let her form her own opinions of him in her own time, instead of telling her straight away. It wouldn't let out his address, he promised himself as he slumped forwards against the table, head in his hands. Now that that was done, he suddenly felt so dreadfully tired, and he knew his sleep would only be plagued by thoughts of this mystery girl. For there was that smaller part of him, deep down in the pit of his chest where he thought his heart must be, that whispered to him that he did not want her to know who he was because for the first time in his life he had found someone who might like him for something other than that name. He found something that might stick around.

There were no envelopes in the van, and he made a quick promise to find one at the hotel the next morning, and send it out straight away, so she got the letter as quickly as possible. To send something to her boyfriend, he thought. And then, to send something to me. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he tucked the letter away in the pocket of his jeans, sleeping in his clothes as he had taken to doing on tour, and picked his way silently back to his bed. 

________________________________________________________________

It was not hard to see that Roger Taylor had something to hide. Not when he broke away from the rest of the band the minute they had arrived at the hotel, not when he begged for half an hour in his room before they went out to check out the venue, and definitely not when out of the window John caught a glimpse of their drummer rushing off to the letter-box on the corner of the street, in his hand an envelope and in the envelope god knows what. 

Taglist:

@rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

[brianmayswifey]

BRIAN MAY as a boyfriend

1. he’d love your imperfections. Proof:

his idea of beauty is the smallest imperfection in a perfect face uwu IF THIS ISN’T THE SWEETEST THING IDK WHAT IS

2. the smart ass but in a humble way

3. having the most attractive boyfriend in the world

4. he’ll probably never shout at you- i mean he has the most soothing voice (idk if this makes sense but it doesn’t matter)

5. UwU omg singing and playing guitar for you :))

6. also, having the softest boyfriend in the world

7. *least important* great sex

[rrrobinmay]

Any writers want some ideas for some Brian May x Reader One-shots? I have a TON right now

[yourgamel]

Brian May x reader xfem: a question an a request.

Hi everyone, I'm yourgamel. Sorry for my horrible English, I can read it, but I have difficulty writing in English. Your works are really beautiful, and some should be published. Question: Is there any rule that prevents us from writing about anal relationships between a man and a woman? Or am I the one doing the research wrong? I am grateful to anyone who will give me a suggestion. I love Brian May and I have many fantasies about this kind of relationship (obviously with the others). After all, the first sex toys appeared in the late 1960s. It would be a way of updating the stories. Thanks to all those who have had the patience to read, obviously to those who will answer me, yourgamel

[briyourmotherdown]

alright so here’s what i’m thinking. a cute little study date with bri while he’s still in uni!! the space is a mess with papers but y’all and giggling like fools and just enjoying each other’s company. the literal dream ugh

i’m- okay, all i can say is yes. that’s the actual dream??? i’m so soft??? oh my god. okay. here it is. 

  You somehow ended up best friends with the smartest man you’ve ever met.

  It’s frustrating sometimes, how intelligent and how gifted Brian is, but how monumentally unaware he is of his own capabilities. God, you could just grab him and shake him by his shoulders just to make him realise even slightly how talented he is at everything he does.

  You’d always thought that it came easy to him, and to an extent it does come naturally, but when you first witnessed Brian during the run-up to exams you realised that he becomes an even bigger wreck than you do. You still remember him during first year exams vividly. You had only been friends for a few months when you knocked on the door of his flat with coffee to help him through, just to be met with a moodier, sleepier, distressed version of Brian that you hadn’t met until that very moment. It was nearly frightening, to be quite frank, to see the tall and lanky boy with the softest eyes you’d ever seen become so stressed during exams.

  Since that day, you decided that you won’t let him suffer like that again, you would study together so that you could keep an eye on him, getting him snacks since he’d always forget to eat, and make him drink enough water.

  It may have been partially a selfish act however, since studying with Brian meant that you could spend more time with him. He was a sight to behold when he was focussed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth and his eyebrows furrowed in a perpetual frown that for some reason made him look so adorable.

  Your little crush on Brian had only grown into something bigger as you finished your first year and made your way into the second, and suddenly you couldn’t control the butterflies in your stomach every time you thought of him. It was ridiculous really, how anyone could mention his name, or he could simply smile at you and you’d be in a puddle on the floor.    

  Which is why when the first exams of the year roll around, you’re the first to propose a study date.

  Brian’s flat is cosy when you show up, a candle lit in the corner and a few small decorative pumpkins littered about. You can’t help but grin when you notice them. Brian never decorated for Autumn before he met you, but after learning about how much you love the Fall, he went out and bought a few pumpkins immediately. The thought fills your heart with so much joy, warmth spreading through you as the two of you sit on the floor of his living room, two cups of hot chocolate set on the coffee table.

  “You mustn't distract me this time,” you begin, pulling your books and notes out of your bag, “or Professor Kurt will hunt you down.”

  “Distract you!” Brian chuckles, “If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one who couldn’t choose a record to play and went through my entire collection giving your own review of each one.”

  “Yeah, well, excuse me for not loving Bob Dylan.”

  Brian laughs, shaking his head at you with a wide grin on his face. His curls are mussed today, and you assume it’s from tugging on it out of stress as he’s been studying, but it suits him. The flame of the candle glows against the sharp hook of his nose and against his slightly stubbly jaw, casting an orange halo over him. It’s breathtaking, to say the least, so you clear your throat and open one of your textbooks.

  “It’s alright, I don’t care for Marvin Gaye.”

 You gasp, staring at him with wide eyes, “I simply cannot believe, let alone accept what I am hearing right now,” he laughs and rolls his eyes, but you’re still in shock, “This actually feels quite blasphemous.”

  “Oh don’t be dramatic,” he says, scooting over on the floor to sit closer to you, “It’s why we’re good together, we balance each other.”

 You feel your skin grow hot as you gulp. His body heat is radiating against you, the scratchy wool of his jumper rubbing against your wrist as he moves his arm to grab his pen. You wonder how the hell he’s comfortable in something so itchy, but he seems content, the thick collar exposing a bit of his pale collar bone.

  You scoff, trying your best to hide your fluster, “We balance each other out with our taste in music?”

  “Among other things.” He smiles, a genuine smile that has your insides feeling warm.

  Then you both begin to study, though nothing gets done. The two of you practically make it your mission to distract the other as much as they can. Brian would shoulder you gently so that your pen would scratch an obvious black line through your paper, and you’d throw bits of crumpled up paper at him, and pretend to lose pencils in his hair.

  Nothing, absolutely nothing, gets done. But neither of you care, enjoying each other’s company as the sun sets early outside and rain begins to patter against his window pane.

   “Hey! Where’d you even get those paper clips from?” Brian laughs, covering his face with his arms as you shower him with the small bits of metal.

  You’d ended up across from him over the coffee table, books and bits of paper scattered everywhere, making a total mess. Your revision was abandoned long ago, and instead a battle takes place in the living room.

  You cease fire momentarily to protect yourself from the eraser he’d thrown, laughing all the while, “I’ll never tell!”

  “Alright, you’ve left me no choice!” He laughs, a wicked grin on his face.

  Before you can figure out what’s happening, Brian lunges towards you, but he doesn’t slow down. Instead, all you see are his long limbs coming towards you, and a shriek escapes from your lips as you’re pushed to the rug.

  He lets his body weight rest on you, pinning your wrists gently down. You both laugh, but as you stare up at him from the floor. You become silent, and his smile slowly fades. Blood rushes through your ears, and you gulp when he begins to lean down, pretty eyes fluttering closed.

  He brushes his nose against yours, testing the water, his breath fanning over your lips as your eyes also fall closed. You tilt your chin and bring it back down, nervously anticipating his next move. Then he brings his lips to brush against yours, just barely, before filling the gap.

  The kiss is gentle, and sweet, but it has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering yet again, when he pulls away to look into your eyes. And then he smiles, and so do you, and he kisses you again as the rain pours outside.

[goingsllightlymad]

Baby It’s You - Part 4.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader, Brian May x reader

Summary: The year is 1981 and Roger Taylor is pretty sure he has made it. With the Game Tour stretching out before him and the band more successful than ever, he doesn’t think that anything can mess up the perfect picture that is his life. That is, until he receives a letter from an astrophysics PhD student studying abroad, and finds himself sucked into her world of secrets and mistaken identities. Roger Taylor is about to find out that his life is a lot more complicated than he ever thought.

Wordcount: 2920. 

Warnings: It’s basically just a filler chapter because NEXT CHAPTER things really start Going On. Yeah, this one’s just me trying to stay on track of writing when I can, but we kinda need this weird-time-skip-explanatory-bullshit to fill in the blanks. Hope you understand, sue me if you don’t. See what happens. 

________________________________________________________________

And so the hurricane began.

If anyone had asked you what had been going through your head when the second letter returned the next day, you could not have said at all. All the world was going through your head in a single moment, and all that you could catch and hold was the thought that the address on the front was different now. Vancouver, a little motel with a funny little name that could almost have been a pun except that you did not get the joke.

And then the letter, and he asked you about your day, the way he would every day forever if only you knew that then. Told you you wouldn't like him if you knew who he was, and you whispered into the evening light that you would, you always would. There was nothing about him that could push you away now, from this most mysterious of boys and the stories that he told.

Day after day after day, and every other day his letters came. Regular as clockwork, like the banks of the Thames you missed so much, and soon you would be there in time. The addresses on the letters changing time after time as every night you dreamed of where he might be now. If he was thinking about you, ever. Seattle, then Memphis, then Dallas, Houston, Atlanta. Indianapolis, so close you thought that you could feel him as you read him back again and again, sitting on your windowsill as the world fell away behind you.

He was loud, he was annoying, he was the one that people noticed - after they had noticed everybody else. He was the one that they forgot the morning after, he was the lonely one. You didn't think that you had ever met anyone quite so lonely in your life. With every letter you thought this time you knew him, and with the next you knew that you had never known him at all. He was an enigma, and his answer would change the world.

An enigma who wrote to you everyday, the way your boyfriend never did.

Sure, you had called Ben. One morning when it had rained overnight, and you had sat in the hallway for over an hour, waiting for the phone line to be free. Waiting for the girl with the phone to stop telling her boyfriend that he was the best thing in the world to her. Wondering why you had never said those things to Ben. Knowing that the best thing in the world to you was some boy you had never met before, and the words he wrote like starlight. Like the magic that he wrote into the work you had never loved so much in all your life before. The universe you knew, the universe you loved again and again in every letter he wrote, for suddenly he was close enough to touch.

When the girl had left the phone behind at last, the only thing that you could tell your Ben was that you loved him, and even that was never true.

Summer passed you, every minute, and before you knew it summer was over, and the park was golden with the leaves that fell around your ankles when you knelt by the river to write your letters every day. Writing, writing more and more every day like you were drunk on the ecstasy of the love you could pretend was his. Like you were his with every breath you took. And with every day it was getting more difficult to pretend that you were not.

________________________________________________________________________________

Roger had never been very good at keeping secrets. Not when he had kissed the teacher's daughter when they were twelve, and he had run home to tell his mum. Nor when he was fifteen, and had failed one of his GCSE's and tried to keep it from his parents for fear of being kicked out. He wasn't kicked out, as fate would have it, but perhaps that would have been kinder than the row he came home to that afternoon. Nor even when he had kissed the girl that Tim had liked, aged nineteen and rich off the fame of a world that knew his name, even when it didn't really. That had been the worst of it, the fight that might have torn apart Smile if Brian hadn't been there to break it up. Brian, who was never part of any drama. Only the peace-maker in every fight that Roger had to start. He didn't know entirely why he got into fights so much. Perhaps it was that people never liked him very much.

Even now he wasn't stupid enough to think that he was the favourite member of Queen by any means, nor the prettiest, nor the most intelligent. He was just... Roger. He slept with people more than the others did. Was that really all that came to mind? He used to think that made him the closest to them all, all those people who came to their shows to watch Freddie, or Brian, or sometimes even John, but now he knew it more than ever: that he was the furthest from them of them all. He was floating around in his little universe, and he was a million miles from home.

Only you to find him now, and you had never let him down. His little yellow lifeboat, his spaceman. Spacewoman? His confidant, and sometimes he wondered how you knew him better than any of these boys that he had known all his life. You were just a little special that way.

But Roger had never been very good at keeping secrets, and you were just that. The little secrets that the others could not know. Of course they knew - how could they not. They had known since the first day, they had known since the letter had gone and John had apprehended him at the doorway to his hotel room. Who were you, who were you to him. Of course he could not answer. It was not long before the whole band knew, until Roger was running off the bus to get to his hotel room, paper and pen in his hand, until Roger was waiting by the hotel letter-boxes every morning for the morning post, until Roger was writing every day, twice a day, whenever he thought of you, sitting at the back of the bus or on the floor or leaning against the walls of the dingy pubs and service stations when they stopped. Roger Taylor was bad at being in love, but he was very good at you.

And suddenly touring wasn't about the music. Suddenly the music was not about the muses. Suddenly everything was all about you. Every note and every night, the venues with their backrooms where he could hide away from all the people asking about him when he could not care less. The bedrooms and bathrooms and dining-rooms and ballrooms where he could have had the girls and boys from the parties, the groupies from the shows, and all he had were the letters in his pockets and the thought of you as he locked the door and stood by the windows, trying to pick out the shape of you in all the darkness he could see outside. Suddenly everything was about trying to make you his.

But you didn't even know who he was yet.

There was a moment in Indianapolis where he was so close to telling you. Sending you a ticket. Begging you to see him again where he didn't have to hide. And he was sitting at the back of the bus, where the bodies were sprawled, sleeping, on the sofas like the ghosts of the evening left behind, and he had had the pencil in his hands and the words inside his head. He knew what to say, and for a moment he might have said it. But then Brian had woken, stirred in the darkness as he lay against Roger's legs and muttered something about the show. Fallen back asleep again as Roger shushed him softly, but by then the moment had passed. Roger would not tell you now - he thought he never would. He loved you, and in all his wildest daydreams while he was on the stage, half-drunk and reeling from the music and the eternal thought of you, he almost could pretend to himself that you could love him to.

And how could you love the drummer boy who never slept alone. You had had a thing for drummers. Not a thing for prostitutes, men with loose morals and open arms. The loud ones and the lonely ones. You had a thing for Roger Taylor Of Queen. But no one had a thing for Just Roger.

________________________________________________________________________________

It was only in November that you called Ben again. A cold morning, and the sun was just now rising over the city that loomed around you, the graveyard of a world you would soon leave behind. Not that you would miss it here, still there was something about it all, the park around the corner where you still loved to write, the apartment where each Friday night the parties raged, that made you think that somewhere since now and then, since you had arrived here a year ago, life had found a way to creep in and fill the gaps your love had left behind.

You didn't blame Ben for not being here. You did not blame him for not calling. He had that way of pulling you in, a million miles away and through the phone for seconds at a time, that had you knowing you could not blame him for a thing.

You dialed the phone and waited, standing in the hallway where the cold and light were flooding in, through the windows from the street. Waited for him to pick up. And nothing came. You called again, your fingers shaking as you messed up his number once, twice, only half from the cold that was biting at your skin. All of a sudden you were wishing you had stayed in bed.

But then the line was crackling, and on the other end the phone was picked up from the hook you could see in your mind. The phone hook in his kitchen, next to the fridge and next to the countertop. That tiny little apartment. You could still be there, if you closed your eyes. And so you did.

And on the other end of the line there came a voice from far away, the calling of a name you could not quite make out. His laugh, soft and distorted from the distance. And then, clear as day and more dreadful than all these icy winter mornings as one by one they froze your heart to bleak, grey stone, the sound of her laughter. A woman's laughter, ringing down the line like venom slipping through your blood. In that moment you were not sure that the latter would not hurt you less, for there were no words in you left to say. All the words had dried up on your tongue - in your throat there was a lump that choked you, kept you from breathing at all.

"Baby, someone's here?" her voice was smooth and soft and pretty, and you hated it. You had never hated anyone more in your laugh. "Benny?"

You heard him walking, down the hall where you wondered if your pictures still hung. You wondered if he had taken down every photo of you the minute you went away. You wondered if he had waited a day before he brought her in to him, to the life that was never yours to have and to lose. And then, crueller still, you wondered if he had ever really loved you at all. And in that moment you really could not say.

It was only when you heard him kiss her, the sound of his lips against her skin as she hummed against him, that the phone slipped from your hands. Fell, jerked harshly up as the cord snapped back into place. With shaking hands that moved without you noticing, you hung up.

________________________________________________________________________________

Your heart had broken before. Your heart had been broken many times, by the boy who had asked you out as a joke, the boys who had been bored of you, the boys who had been cruel to you. But never by a boy who had not loved you even enough to tell you that he loved another more. Never by the boy who had promised you the world and never told you that he had given it a thousand times before, to girls who were not you. Your heart had broken before, but never like this. Never as agonisingly slow as you know this would be.

You made a cup of tea. Sitting by the window in the pyjamas that reminded you of that last Christmas and the way he used to sleep when he was by your side, you sat on the windowsill. Stood and changed, into the jumper he had never seen on you. New, one he did not know you owned yet. There was so much he had yet to know about you. There was a second of excitement, where you forgot that now he never would. Would he even want to know you at all? Had he ever?

Bunching up your hands in the thick grey cotton, tugging it up to your eyes as you pushed away the tears that were spilling out around your eyes, a folded piece of paper fell out, fluttered down to the floor. You reached out for it, pulling it open and reading through. Another letter, the one you had read a thousand times and learned all but by heart, for you had learned every word he wrote. You had his soul committed to memory, his poetry written on your heart. Him. That boy that you had loved so well when you had not loved enough this boy who was your boyfriend. Perhaps it was all your fault after all. Or perhaps it was not. Perhaps you owed your secret lover a secret explanation. That the boy between you was not a boy anymore. Now he was nothing at all. There was only you and him, your unknown confidant, your mystery boy. Couldn't you know who he was now?

You took up the paper you now kept by your bed. Early morning; maybe you could still catch the morning post. With a deep and shaky breath, you began the day again.

Dear Anon.,

I fear I finally have some news that you might like to know. That is, I believe I must be returning home, and sooner rather than later. You see, the worst has really come to the worst for me, and this may really be the only thing I can do. Come home and figure it out from there.

I am sure you must be desperate for an explanation, so I shall give you one. My dear beloved Ben has now resigned himself from my life entirely, in the worst way possible. Although I am sure the same is not thought by the pretty girl who picked up the phone instead of him. Don't ask me how I know she's pretty - she must be, for she has stolen his heart. And he has broken mine.

I hope you do not pity me, because quite honestly that would not be of any help to me at all. No, don't pity me but listen to me and learn from what an utter idiot I have been. I really think I might have, should have, seen this coming. But the unfortunate truth is that I did not, and now I have been made the fool. There is nothing but deception and pain in New York now for me.

I shall resume my course in Cambridge promptly, and carry on like I am meant to do. It is no use letting this man stand in the way of my career, though every word I read makes me sick to my stomach because the awful truth is that once he was my universe, and every galaxy and moon and star therein, and I fear somehow he always will be. I have not loved him like I should, perhaps, but I will love him forever.

I want to write to you, and I will write to you always and forever 'as you wish',

your (Y/N) x.

On the front you wrote the new addresses, his in Surrey like it had been for some months now. And underneath it yours, the street and house and postcode of the little apartment you had left behind. The world you would return to soon, when all of this madness had run its course and the world had turned again. Outside the building the day was dawning, and the light was cold and peachy-pink, the day beginning as you relearned how to breath. The postman was not due for quite some time, and so with legs that barely held you up you stumbled down the flights and flights of stairs that led to nowhere, down to the letterboxes outside the building. Sitting on the top step, waiting for the day to come creeping in like all those thoughts you were trying to leave behind, you were already thinking of the plane that would take you away.

Taglist: 

@rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

[brianmayswifey]

Worship- Dom!Brian May x Reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, swearing, angst, fluff in the end

A/N: this was actually inspired from another oneshot I’ve read about Fat Bottomed Girls, I just can’t remember who wrote it :(( so credits to you

“Brian May, spotted with a sexy woman! Did he choose her over his girlfriend, Y/N L/N?”

Just the thought of that newspaper your friend had shown you breaks your heart. Really? A man flirting with another woman that is not his girlfriend? His words replay inside your head, “I’ll never leave you.” And you think to yourself, “I hate my body.” You laid flat on your stomach and buried your face into a pillow, wet from all the tears you’ve shed. The newspaper was still crumpled inside your fist. The anxiety hits you so hard that you just can’t breathe from all the hurt you’ve been going through since you’ve read that headline. Though you don’t know if it’s true— you trust him more than anyone in your life but you just can’t stop thinking about how he can just suddenly leave you. There are many women out there that he can choose over you and leaving you isn’t impossible.

You looked down at your stomach, which was filled with rolls of fat. You touched your face, full of marks you didn’t like.

It was a beautiful night, with all the bright stars shining but it seems like a cold and sad rainy night and the darkness eats you up, sucking up all your happiness and leaving you with nothing but fear, anxiety, and insecurity.

You hear his heavy footsteps enter your shared bedroom. “I’m home, sweets! How’s my queen?” You didn’t respond, still silently crying. He walked towards you and sat on the edge of the bed. “Honey, you alright?”, you can sense concern by the tone of his voice. He fixes your hair that was covering your face to see your eyes closed, face filled with tears, cheeks red, and the scent of alcohol was filling his nose up. He looks around and sees two bottles of beer lying on the floor, one of them still half full, leaking on the carpet.

“What happened?”, he asked, caressing your face. You clenched your fist tighter out of anger and sadness and he noticed a crumpled paper under your fingers. He takes it, reads it and his face turned into a huge frown. “Garbage— shit! Full of lies!”, he sees you breaking down once again. “Baby, please, don’t believe this— and besides, Deaky was eyeing her! He’s dating this woman. He just asked me to take care of her for a minute while he prepares for a surprise and— those bastards now write shit about me.”, he rubbed your shoulder. “Sit up, love.”, you do as he demands. You wiped your tears, and he frowns as he sees your sad red eyes.

“Look- when a person becomes famous, they usually becomes a prey and the predators are lies. You’ve heard me right? That woman is Veronica, she’s dating Deacon- and I’ve got no plans of hurting you or any of the bandmates.” You looked at him and spoke, “Even if Deaky’s dating her, there are millions- billions of women out there that you could choose over me! What am I even? I’m shit compared to them! Look at my fats, my butt, my face! You wouldn’t love it, would you?”, you said in a calm manner to avoid saying undesired words. He reached for your neck to caress it.

“I love ‘em. I’d choose that over skinny girls. You’re perfect to my eyes.”, he held your hand. “Come with me.” He pulled you up gently, inviting you to the bedroom mirror. He let you face the mirror, he’s standing behind you with his hands resting on your shoulders. You looked at the floor, avoiding the sight of your ‘ugly’ self. “Look at your body, baby.”, he said. He slowly ran his fingers through your hair. “This hair, I love it when I wake up and it covers my face. The scent of candy in every strand is the best scent to wake up to.” He smelled your hair before moving his hand next to your breasts. “These— the perfect size, I love seeing this especially when you ride me.”, he gave it a small squeeze. He held your hands tight. “These hands hold my heart. I wouldn’t let it hold anyone’s heart except mine.”

“And these cute rolls? Ugh, my soft pillow.” He humped your behind and moaned into your ears. “This butt, you don’t know what it does to me. It makes me SO crazy. You feel my cock?”, you nod. “It’s this hard just because of your butt.” You just felt a lump in your throat as you swallowed your saliva. You know where this is going.

He slid his hand inside your panties, teasing your wet folds. “This drive me so wild. I love it— and I don’t want other girls giving me theirs because your pussy is the only perfect match for me.”, he rubbed circles on your clit, making you moan. He turns your body, making you face him. “Those lips— I love how soft they are when pressed against me. And also, your mouth can do lots of great thing to me.”, he chuckled. “There’s still two things I love but let me tell you later. Tonight, I just wanna show you how I love you.”

He pushed you onto the bed and took your panties off. He stopped just to stare at your body. “You don’t know how enthralling your body is, love. I can worship you all year!”, he smiled, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He settles his head between your legs and pressed his lips on your slit. The way he licked you was like pleasure from a paradise. You arched your back in pleasure. You reached for your clit but he stopped you. “No! I’ll do it all by myself so you’ll feel how obsessed I really am at your body.”, he continued eating you out, not leaving any mark of wetness.

“I’m gonna-!”, you moaned as he licked you faster, letting you reach your high. After you’ve recovered from your orgasm, you knelt in front of him and yanked his pants down to his feet. You were always amazed by his length. His cock was about 7 inches or more and his girth was so wide that you almost can’t reach your own fingertips when you clench his penis.

As you took his length into your mouth, he started unbuttoning his shirt and threw them at the side. Half of his dick didn’t fit in your mouth so you had to give him a handjob too. “Ugh— Y/N, you feel so good.”, he groaned as he ran his fingers through your hair and gently pulls it. You bobbed your head faster. “I’m not gonna last long, love.”, he pulled his cock out and you released it with a pop and swallowed his pre-cum.

“Go to the bed, ass up.”, he demanded and you followed. He squeezed your butt so hard and spanked it, making you gasp and moan. “UGH- FUCK, YES!”, you whined. He was turned on by that and slapped your ass again, making you whine once more. He took a grip at your hips and spread your ass gently to make way for his penis to your cunt.

You both groaned as his thrusts were too fast without even getting warned. His cock was buried deep inside you, hitting that special spot every now and then. “You’re so fucking tight and wet around me.”, he moaned, reaching for your shoulders to grip on them while making his thrust deeper. “So fucking lovely— I’m not gonna last too long.”, he continued.

“Brian you’re so big inside me.”, your voice was muffled due to your face being pressed on the mattress. “I know, baby and it’s all yours.”, he groaned in a raspy, out of breath voice. He continued fucking you hard like you desire. “Fuck, Brian!”, you moaned. He grabbed your hair and spoke, “What? ‘fuck me hard, Brian’?”. “Not what I said but if-.”, he pushed deeper and moaned. “As you wish— I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t open your eyes and read those fucking shit-contained newspapers so that you’ll know that you’re the only one I love.”, he said in a deep, raspy voice.

With that, you were so turned on that you felt tightening around your lower abdomen, a familiar feeling of pleasure. “I’m gonna cum, Brian!”, you took a handful of sheets tighter. “Cum with me, love.”, he said. He was obviously running out of breath but also you felt his cock slightly throbbing, a signal that he’s about to cum.

His grip on your butt got tighter, leaving red marks. He was moving fast until hot white ropes filled your cunt. He pulled out and immediately rolled beside you out of tiredness. He was breathing heavily like you did. He faced you and cupped your cheeks weakly. He pulled you gently closer to him and pressed a kiss on your lips. He smiled as he pulled away.

“What were those two things you loved about me again?”, you asked as he probably forgot it already. His smile grew wider. His index finger touched your temple. “This mind; so wise, so thoughtful; thinks of my own welfare; thinks of my own happiness more than your own. And I hope this mind could be thoughtful of yourself too, take care of yourself. Let this mind know that you’re beautiful and perfect.”

“And this?” He rested his palm on your chest. “This heart beats for only me. This heart is mine only. This heart makes me feel loved and worthy. This heart is so soft and it makes my heart beat; it makes me alive. I will never break that.”, he kissed your lips once again. “I love you, Y/N L/N.”, he wiped a drop of tear rolling down your cheeks. “I love you too, Brian.”, you smiled.

[bless-the-queen]

↦ Trying to study with Brian May at his place | College!Brian May x reader.

[brianmayswifey]

Quick- Brian May x Reader

Summary: It’s been weeks since Brian and you had fun together due to being busy. This is how he spends time with you while shooting a music video.

Warnings: SMUT, small amounts of fluffy fluff, cursing, bad writing skills probably

Word count: 2292

A/N: This is my first fic here so please bear with me lmao. If you want to get tagged, message me. If you have requests, please do hit me up! English isn’t my first language so I hope you understand if I have some mistakes in grammar. Again, this is a work of fiction only and I don’t mean disrespect to those who are in the story. I hope you’ll like this! I’m new at writing stories and those who had inspired me are @gwilymz and @justasupersonicwoman 💖

-Kathryn💜

“Come on, love! It’s just for fun! I love the idea. Stop being a little bitch!”, you were trying to make your boyfriend, Brian laugh after he complained about that girly music video Roger has thought of. He didn’t want to get dressed like an aunt who would always gossip or an aunt you’d always see sweeping the front yard or watering the plants. You just can’t see why Brian wasn’t a fan of the idea when the other three got weird roles.

He frowned. “Look, babe. Roger and Freddie get to wear short skirts and Deaky would be ugly in his role.” You chuckle as you picture and predict what John would look like as an angry-looking grandma. “You get to wear a long dress, what are you so pissed about?” Brian didn’t respond. He stayed right on the corner of your neck while his arms were wrapped around your waist.

“Is it the time of the month, Mister May?”, you joked, which made him laugh softly. Brian lifted his chin up and cupped your cheeks in his warm hands. You placed your arms on his shoulders as you were facing each other while you were seated on his lap. “I love you, Y/N.”, he whispered and quickly planted soft kisses on your collar bone. “I love you more, Bri.”

You’ve been together for two years and a few months but you don’t know what’s with him but you were thinking maybe it was not because of the concept of the music video but because you two haven’t bonded in weeks due to him being busy in recording sessions. He’s been acting like this for days but you never give up trying to make him smile. He really misses you. You miss him so much more.

You got his extra clothes, hygiene kit, and everything else he needs ready and we went to the car. The whole ride was silent until you spoke. “Love, everything’s gonna be alright, okay?” You rubbed your hands on his thighs to try to comfort him. His body kind of jerked as you did, which startled you and made you stop. You kissed his temple instead.

As you got there, he helped you bring the things he needs and held your hand with his left one and kissed you on the forehead. He was really tall that you were just on the same level as his chest. You both came into the set seeing Deaky and Freddie getting their makeup and hair fixed, still not in their costumes, Roger still not preparing, the crew, and a lot of people wearing cow-printed clothes. Roger waved at you and Brian and smirked.

“Are you ready, Brian?”, Brian nodded, which surprised you. “Go change now, I’ll change into my costume too.”, Roger continued. You looked up at Bri and gave him a sweet smile. You accompanied him to his dressing room. You locked the door behind you and placed your hands on your hips. “I’m shocked that you’re ready.”

“Love, you don’t understand. It’s not what I was upset about.”, you squinted your eyes, gesturing that you don’t know what he meant. “Then what is it?”, you walked towards him.

“I’m just tired of doing these! I need time with you. I miss you. I miss everything we do. I’ve got no time to spend with you because of— of these stupid—“, you spoke before he was even finished. “I know, my love. I feel that too. But just finish this and then we can spend time together, okay?” He nodded and wrapped you in his warm and tight hug. “Just stop teasing me.”

You freed yourself from his embrace out of shock. “I never teased you the whole time you were busy! I- I mean I wanted to but I don’t want to cause distractions.” Brian crossed his arms. “Then what was that when you bumped your ass on my dick while you were cooking dinner and— and..FUCK I’m getting hard just by thinking about it.” You chuckled. “Plus you were touching me in the car on our way here!”, you crossed your arms as he said that. “I DIDN’T! I touched you on the thigh to comfort you because you seem so mad!”

He laughed. “Well I wasn’t comforted! You almost touched me on the crotch, Ms. L/N!”, he hugged you before you can even speak. You felt his hard cock pressing against your stomach. “Let’s get you dressed, Brian.” He let go of your hug and kissed you on the forehead.

You unbuttoned his shirt which was already unbuttoned on the top half. Brian was staring at you as he slid his arms between yours and your waist. You looked up to him and suddenly your faces were just centimeters apart. Brian closed his eyes as he brought physical connection between him and you by pressing his lips against yours. He began rubbing his left hand on your ass and squeezing it gently while his right hand was cupping your neck. You opened your mouth slightly, inviting his tongue in. He responded quickly, making his cock harder. You felt a pool of wetness between your thighs as your kiss brought heat to your bodies. You buried your left hand through his curls and you were about to touch his huge and hard manhood when you heard a knock, which broke the kiss. It was that annoying “watcher” of your boyfriend’s band, Queen, named Paul Prenter. “Hurry up! Set that aside, whatever you’re doing!”

Brian rolled his eyes. “That fucki— annoying bitch.” You cracked up by his words. “Wear your costume now, babe so that I can apply your makeup.”, you hugged him once more while he ran his fingers through your soft hair. He gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much, Y/N. I couldn’t ask for more.” You smiled and whispered as your face was pressed on his chest, “I love you too, Bri.”

You were fixing his used clothes in his bag when he called your name. “Love, I’m done.”, he said like a child calling his mum’s name after taking a poo. You turned around to see him in a pink coloured silk dress with white laces on each end of the holes. It was long and below the knee. He gave you an uncomfortable smile as your lips started to form a huge smile and making you laugh. Your laughter was so loud that the boys heard it outside and giggled as they were excited to see Brian. Though he was embarrassed, he can’t help but smile and turn his face as red as a tomato for he fell more in love with your smile and laughter. He loved it when you’re happy, he didn’t care if he looked funny as long as it makes you happy. As your stomach started to hurt and as you began to shed tears, Brian rubbed your back and your head, helping you to stop.

Your laughter ended and you said weakly, “sorry, babe. It- it’s just that you’re too cute!” Brian pouted. “Go wear your socks and I’ll put your makeup on.”

After applying makeup on him, you went out of the room and the five of you immediately laughed at each other. It was funny seeing Roger in short skirts, Deaky in a grandma look, and Fred in a sexy woman costume, with his mustache still there. They all laughed at Brian and they made fun of each other until the hairstylist called Brian to get his hair fixed.

They shot the other parts and the director told everyone to take their lunch. Some of the people in cow printed clothes went out to buy food while Deaky, Freddie, and Roger took their lunch together. “We’ll just take a look at what’s upstairs.” Brian told the guys with your hand in his. “Oh yeah sure.”, Roger smiled at us. Brian immediately pulled you by the hand and we went upstairs.

You were astonished by the design of the rooms upstairs. “Brian, looked out how beau—“, you stopped as Brian pulled you into a room— not that clean but it had complete furnitures, the bed, cabinets, and everything. Brian pushed the door behind him and pinned you against the wall. “We gotta do this fast or they’ll notice we’re gone for too long.”, he said with a breathy voice. You were so confused. But before you could even speak, he kissed you passionately. You quickly responded to his kiss and he lifted your shirt above your head. He undid the hooks of your bra and massaged your tits.

“Brian...”

He didn’t respond but he took one of your nipples into his mouth while he used the other one to pinch on the other nipple gently. Brian wanted to finish it quickly so that they won’t doubt you so he asked, “Love, do you want me inside of you know?” You moaned into his neck. “Yes please!”

He dropped you on the bed gently before taking off the long dress he was wearing. His cock was so hard that it has reached its full size. It was already out of his underwear. He pulled your skirt and panties down, revealing your wet pussy. Brian pulled his underwear down and threw it on his right side of the bedroom. His huge cock hit his stomach. He ran his hands on your lower legs up to your thighs before spreading them to make more space for his cock to enter. He pulled you to the edge of the bed for easier access. Gently, he rubbed circles on your already aching pussy especially on your clit, which made soft moans escape from your mouth. “So fucking wet for me already...”. “Fuck Brian... I love it”. He smirked as he heard your moans of satisfaction. He held you by your hips and asked, “You ready beautiful angel?” You smiled and nodded. “I wanna hear it, babe.” “Yes, my love!”

He held his shaft to guide his dick on it’s way to your slit. He went all the way inside already, making him groan and you wanted to scream from how good it feels but Brian covered your mouth. “Babe, it feels good— ugh..fuck!”, you moaned. “I know, my star. But you have to control your volume, baby.” You nodded,

Brian continued but now his thrusts were done in a fast pace, making you grip on the sheets. You reached your clit and rubbed it as he was fucking you hard. “You’re so tight, babe. I love it...” he doesn’t know if he can last any longer but he wants you to reach your climax before he can cum. “Cum inside me, love!” You moaned. “Are you on birth control right now?” He asked as he deepened his cock inside you, causing you to whimper. “Yes, love.”

“You’re so hot— you’re perfect.”, he groaned. His face was pink and covered in a sheen of sweat, some strands of his hair were sticking on his forehead. His mouth was slightly agape, trying to catch some breath. You were looking at him, feeling flustered for he looks so hot in your eyes but you were trying to hold back your loud moans by screaming silent moans. Suddenly, you felt tightening in your core. He felt your pussy gripping on his cock, making him moan loud and causing him to move in and out of you faster. “I’m cumming, Brian!”, you moaned.

“Say my name, baby and we’ll cum together!”, Brian groaned. “Cum inside me Brian!”, you can’t hold more moans now that you’re near to reaching your climax. Brian held your neck, choking you a bit as he was trying to cum inside you. More moans filled the small room until both of you came at the same time. Hot white ropes filled you and while his cock was still inside you, Brian gave you a long passionate kiss.

“How about the design of this roo— Oh my gosh I’m sorry!”, Deaky opened the door while Brian’s dick was still inside you while you were kissing. Freddie and Roger were behind him. “Oh fucking— you decided to get horny while shooting?”, Roger asked as Brian pulled out and tried to cover you with the pillows on the bed and he was struggling to cover his body. “I understand that we’ve been busy for lots of weeks, darling but you should have told us or just locked the door so that we won’t blast in! But, it’s okay, Y/N looks so happy! Go clean up, lovies!”, Freddie laughed.

“I’m sorry, guys!”, you apologized. “No darling, it’s totally fine!”, Freddie and Deaky giggled. They closed the door and left. “I can’t believe I fucked you while you’re looking like a woman, Brian.”, you laughed. He reacted as if he forgot that he was still wearing makeup and curlers were still on his hair. He kissed you once more and said, “I couldn’t ask for more. I don’t need anybody else in my life, except after marriage, we’ll make a family, yeah?”, you smiled and nodded. He picked up your clothes and got his handkerchief to wipe off extra cum still coming out of your hole and the sweat covering your bodies because he forgot to get tissues from his bag. He kissed your temple and whispered, “Thanks for this, love. You’re amazing...as always. I love you more than everything else in this world.” You smiled and replied “I love you too, Brian.”

He helped you fix your hair and clothed you before he clothed himself and both of you returned downstairs to have the second part of shooting the music video.

[bless-the-queen]

. : I M A G I N E : .

90s!Brian May x reader.

Warning: bad english, grammar and lack of vocabulary i'm so sorry:(

A saturday night going to a bar near your flat. People having a good time, drinking an enjoying the gig. As you sipped your first drink, a mesmerizing guitar solo filled your ears. You turn your gaze towards the guitarist and locked eyes with a tall male figure. Dressed almost all in black, he played a red guitar. You're hypnotized by the skilled fingers against the fretboard and the metal strings. Once he look up to the crowd, you feel like he'd look right into your eyes, making you feel shivers down your spine. You can see that he's handsome. Long dark curls falling on his forehead as a smirk forms in his face. You smiled back to him and felt a slightly blush across your cheeks. The show comes to an end and clapping fills the bar. You return to finish your drink, remembering how that attractive man stared at you. Suddenly you felt someone approaching next to you at the bar. It's him. So much handsome now he is right in front of you, older than you but you don't mind. Impossibly tall, a mass of curls falling to his shoulders, all of him filled in a fragrance that you wanted to smell forever. He gives you a kind smile and invites you a drink and you eagerly accepted. You two pass the next hour chatting and flirting. A huge rush of boldness came to you and you invited him to come over to your place. He accepts, now looking at you with lust-filled eyes. Just takes a short walk in the cold streets and you got in your flat, trying to feel each other everywhere, in every way possible. The night just has begun.

[bless-the-queen]

After teasing Brian in public, he looks at you and lets you know he's going to punish you

[brianmayswifey]

I’m thinking about starting Brian May x Reader smut/fluff writings. I’m bad at making concepts or plots tho. If you have requests or suggestions, hit me up! Also I’m new to Tumblr soooo I haven’t fully learned this app yet but I’ve been spending days in this, forgetting to sleep. I love it.

Don’t expect much though, I’m bad at imagining. But I’ll try my best.

Lots of Love,

Kathryn💜

Ps. Kathryn is not my real name, I just chose this as my Tumblr name because I want to keep my identity safe (??) or maybe because I’m going to write smut fics and I don’t want my name on sinful stories hahahaha!! I just think this is a beautiful name.

*don’t judge me I’m a slut for Brian Harold May. The young version of course.

[bless-the-queen]

. : Sub!Brian | MoodBoard : .

Dedicated to @gwilymz and her high-quality content I stan

[rrrobinmay]

So I bought this sweater and it gave me college Brian vibes and uhhh-Now I need a fic where he gives the reader his sweater and whenever she feels bad or misses him she wears it.

QwQ It's cute!! I don't know why I got Brian vibes from this

I'm sorry for bothering ya'll but if you want to, here's a prompt!

@tenderbri

@gwilymz

@laedymoon

Sorry if these tags annoyed you, ya'll are talented ;;