#don’t ask me how long I spent on Brian’s shoe I will cry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ineloqueent · 4 years ago

Note

dialogue prompt? “don’t kiss me ‘cause if you do, i’ll kiss you back.”

this is long, and quite dramatic. oops.

gif by @imladrs , which i had to include because it’s absolutely beautiful.

⭒

1977

The room was full of strangers.

They called him a friend, when in reality they knew nothing about him.

They knew of his fame, sure, how he’d built his guitar from scratch and was in a band with three others, three others whom he had named equals in family to anyone who shared his blood.

But they knew nothing of him.

Not how his heart ached in its loneliness, not how he dreamt of belonging to another, because he could not imagine a purer form of love than that of sharing your entire world with another person, enthralled by them, indebted to their kindness though they never expected a repayment, someone to share one’s happiness with in its entirety, someone to promise him that he would make it through the darker hours of his life.

Somebody to love.

Oh, he loved, there was no doubt about that.

He loved so much that it hurt, and though he wasn’t always good at showing it, he would have died of grief had he lost any of his friends, or his mother or father. He had so much love to give, and no one to give it to. He longed to hold someone’s hand for the sake of holding their hand, to dedicate his touch to their skin and prove to them that they were loved, to show them how much brighter the world looked when they looked upon it with a fondness for life, a fondness for being alive, like gazing up at the moon and being in awe of its beauty, thinking of how lucky one was to see such a glow, even from so far away.

Brian had never in his life felt special. And he knew that it was a ridiculously self-deprecating thought, but he supposed he was simply never meant to feel special, because if everyone was special, then no one was special. He knew in his heart that no one would ever love him as much as he loved them. He knew he would never be special. But damn it all, he wanted to make someone feel special. If he could make someone happier, then he would be happier too; he would die happily in his accomplishment.

But there was no one to give his love. With each passing day he felt lonelier than ever before.

Until she walked into the room.

⭒

Much to your dismay, there was not a quiet corner to sneak off to at this party.

Every corner was occupied by lovers or friends, and though you had come here with a friend, you suddenly found yourself entirely friendless, surrounded by strangers and people you vaguely recognised but did not know well enough to strike up a conversation with.

You had never been a talent in the realm of small-talk, and you weren’t willing to start a career now.

The room was full of people, and yet you had never felt more alone in your life.

Deserted by the one person you knew, you sighed and fought the urge to sink to the floor in despair. She hadn’t meant to leave you, but she’d always been like that— self-assured and well-adapted— and was easily swept away by a tide of companions that might have repulsed you, if you had not known how kind she was, and how that kindness ebbed and flowed, and attracted every human in sight.

You had always been bluntly honest, and few people, very few people indeed, valued honesty to the degree where they did not mind a slight offense to their character if it was the truth. Even you understood, because you were honest, but struggled to deal with the honesty of others. Particularly when it involved romantic involvement.

In the past year alone, four people had confessed attraction to you, and you had broken down each time, crushed by the horror of having to hurt them and say that you did not feel the same way, as well as the sinking feeling of how perhaps you were incapable of loving anyone, for but the idealised versions of people that lived within your head.

But many years ago, there had been a person you had loved, though perhaps you had been too young at the time to understand what it was you were feeling.

Since you’d left the place where he existed, you’d turned bitter and cynical.

You chose your friends carefully, not out of haughtiness, but out of a fear of being hurt, of trusting the wrong people with the terrible fears of your heart— ones that would certainly make them love you less, if they loved you at all.

And yet. You idealised the memories of people to an extraordinary degree. Far too often.

The ones you trusted you hefted upon a shrine of goodwill, embracing them longer and more fiercely when they departed your company, never ceasing to speak of them to anyone who would listen, thinking of them every day. It wasn’t an obsessive habit, you told yourself. It was just like everything else.

It was a desperation to be loved.

To be loved despite your faults, despite your vices and your numerous, unyielding virtues, to be loved even in the face of everything that made you unlovable.

And so you idealised those who made you feel loved, even when they ignored your letters or shunned your sentimentalism, because you knew that deep down, they wanted to be loved as much as you, but simply deigned to have more shame than you.

But you’d been ashamed for too long.

Now, you would be ashamed no longer, and would live in the dreams of your head if that would make you happy, because you were tired of being unhappy. And you were as good as addicted to the version of life that you’d created inside of your mind.

More often than not, however, the idealism caused you no end to grief, when years later, you would reunite with someone and they would turn out to be so very unlike the person you had dreamed them to be.

But there was one person. One person who, every time you ran across him, unbidden but never unwelcome, renewed your faith in humanity, and in being loved. Because he always made you feel loved, important, special. It was like there was no end to the love he could give to you, through his smiles, and the way he held your hand, even though the two of you had never been anything more than friends, through his quiet laughter at the silliest of your musings.

You were never quiet around him, as you were with most people. In fact, when you were in his company you had absolutely no filter at all, because he was the least intimidating person you had ever met. He wasn’t intimidating, because he was honest. Like you.

But he was also endlessly kind and endlessly romantic— he lived his life by the light of the stars and the music that hummed beneath his words, as though he found everything beautiful in some way or another.

You were angry at the world. He was in love with it.

Better still, you had never idealised him to become that person. He just simply was.

And you would never see him again.

He’d always been in and out of your life, but this time, it was over. You were sure of it.

You’d known him since the two of you had been no more than five years old, and you’d been in the playground with your all-girl friend group.

Even from a young age, you’d spent much time occupied by your thoughts, and standing in the middle of the playground on that summer’s day, counting to a hundred in this game of hide and seek, you’d thought it odd that you’d ended up with only girls for friends, when your very first friend, at age one, had been a boy.

You had wondered then, opening your eyes to find that your giggling friends had all hidden away, whatever had happened to him. When you’d started a new school, you’d lost contact with him…. Jacob. Yes, that had been his name.

And at five, insecure in the onslaught of new culture that surrounded you, you’d been overwhelmed by the terrible thought of your name fading from someone’s memory.

You’d started to cry.

You hadn’t meant to close your eyes a second time, having finished counting and intending to go and find your friends, but it was an easier way to hide your tears from any teacher who might have wandered past and asked you what was wrong. But in closing your eyes, you had dimmed your senses, and were thus startled by a hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

“What’s the matter?”

You’d opened your eyes to find a boy staring at you.

“I— I can’t find my friends,” you lied.

His smile was quick. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll help you. If you want..?”

Feeling strangely at ease in his presence, you’d nodded, unsure of yourself, but sure of the kindness he embodied. He took your hand into his own, and without a thought, kissed your cheek.

Baffled, you blinked.

He seemed to sense your startled reaction.

“It’s what my mum does whenever I’m sad,” he said. “She says it means she loves me, and that she’ll be there for me, no matter how lost I feel.” He shrugged. “You looked lost.”

And with that, he’d pulled you along at a jog, smiling a gap-toothed grin and going around the playground with you until you’d found each one of your friends.

Everyone had teased you from that day on, about how he was your boyfriend. They’d said it in such a sing-song way, though, and you couldn’t help but giggle at their remarks, to smile when he smiled at you and witness the oohs that chorused from the kindergartners around you.

So you’d let them tease you, and begun to call him your boyfriend.

He became one of your closest friends, taking you to the cinema on ‘dates’, paying for the tickets and the concessions with his own pocket money, the money he’d earned from whatever little chores he could pick up from his neighbours— weeding out the garden, walking dogs, polishing shoes.

He taught you how to play chess, how to swim faster than anyone else, and how to stand up for yourself, even when the people you had to stand up to were adults, ones who had proclaimed themselves older and wiser than your young, knobbly-kneed self.

You’d grown older, and when six years had passed, the remarks about him being your boyfriend had turned earnest. Your friends asked constantly whether you would ever kiss him, whether he’d asked to kiss you, and your parents joked about the two of you marrying one another when your ages eventually passed into the twenties.

But at the time, you were only eleven, still naïve and innocent of mind, and when you’d moved away, you’d thought next to nothing of your last day of seeing him, thought nothing when he hadn’t hugged you goodbye, because you were eleven, and hugging people was an intimacy reserved for family.

Over the years— once in every five, to be precise— you’d returned to your old home town to visit, and you and he had gotten on as well as you always had, though now he would hug you properly and tell you how tall and beautiful you’d grown in the time you’d been away. If he hadn’t always been so honest, you would have scorned him for lying to you, because you knew you were not beautiful, and he had always been taller than you.

So perhaps it was a fantasy to think that you should see him at this party tonight, in the city where it had all begun.

But still you hoped, because despite how your other friends had told you about his various new girlfriends over the years— real girlfriends, because you had been too young to ever be that to him— a part of you still dared to think that he could love you, as no one had ever loved you before.

⭒

She was here.

He walked with her in memories, had savoured her touch even when they’d been only eighteen, shivering, terrified beneath her fingers when they skimmed his arm, because he was afraid of acting upon his feelings, lest she rebuke him for crossing an unforgivable boundary— the boundary between friends and lovers.

It was a cliche, he knew, but his terror was real.

And seeing her now made him think he was dreaming, because she was standing alone, in precisely the manner that had characterised her solitude when they had been five.

Only this time she was not weeping. She had learned to stem her tears, as all children eventually must, and in her resolve, she was more beautiful than ever.

Anyone else might have found her eyes cruel, surveying the room as though the world was hers, and hers to judge, but he knew what she was doing.

She was doing what she had always done, compartmentalising and rationalising her fears until they withered beneath her incessant will to be stronger than that which scared her, and looking for a place to escape to, beneath the dim lighting and close-crowded bodies of the party.

If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have said she was looking for him.

But Brian was nothing if not honest, and so he quelled that train of thought before it was even fully formed.

Still.

It couldn’t hurt to say hello, could it? By some quick head-maths, he reckoned they were due for a reunion. It had, after all, been a good deal more than five years since he’d seen her last.

He downed the last of his drink, flexed his shaking hands, and began to carve a path through the crowd toward her.

⭒

“Y/N?”

Your heart had already been in your throat, but by god, surely it had ceased to beat at the sound of your name breathed from his mouth.

You turned around and your stopped heart nearly broke at the sight of him, standing there short of breath, tall as ever, those hazel eyes liquifying you completely with the earnesty of their gaze.

“Brian, hi.” You were as breathless as he, and when you stepped closer to him, you found that you were dizzy too, because you nearly toppled in your low-heels when he smiled.

“H-ey, watch yourself, love,” he gripped your hands before you fell, and you flashed him a grateful smile.

“Sorry,” you said, and, to your dismay, blushed.

He shook his head, gentle laughter bubbling up over his lips. “It’s okay,” he assured you.

You stared at him for a moment before the words fluttered from him like a net-full of butterflies, newly freed, only to choose their new home to be your stomach. “It’s so good to see you,” he gushed, and wrapped his arms around you.

Caught by surprise, your arms found residence around his neck, and when he leaned his head against yours, you breathed in the fresh-linen smell of his curls, the slight musk of his skin that was between vanilla and sage, impossibly both rain and perpetual sunshine.

“Why do we wait five years every time?” you wondered softly against the shell of his ear, like the honest person you were.

This was the most honest you’d been in years.

Because your honesty seemed to hurt others, and so you forewent honesty for honeyed lies, to spare them of the pain your words might otherwise have caused.

It was draining to lie all the time.

But you never had to lie with Brian, because where your honesty seemed to hurt others, it enamoured him. He told you so, as often as he had the chance.

“I honestly don’t know,” he whispered back, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

He pulled back at the sound and smiled again.

You suddenly couldn’t bear to spend another minute in this room full of strangers.

“Outside?” you said, and he nodded, taking you by the hand just as he had done all those years ago.

Outside, it was quiet and cold, and without a second thought, Brian had his arm around your shoulders, his warmth a welcome replacement to the coat you hadn’t thought to bring.

“So what brings you back home?” he asked as you sat down with him, by what appeared to be a garden pond. The water babbled with the presence of a small, adjourning stream, and the surface of the pool brimmed with blush-pink water lilies. The moon’s friendly light showed you as much.

And it showed you the marble-carved contours of Brian’s face, the bow of his pretty lips.

You licked your own, willing yourself to glance away, but finding the action utterly inviable.

“Oh, you know,” you began half-heartedly, “old friends to meet, new memories to be made.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Old friends?” he said. “And here I thought you were here to see me.”

He was joking, but his closeness abruptly dampened your skin with a nervous sweat. You wrinkled your nose and pushed his arm off of your shoulder before he noticed.

“Shut up, Brian. You know I mean you.”

Brian chuckled, carding long, elegant fingers through his tousled hair. “No, don’t worry. You don’t have to lie to me.”

You looked at him.

“When have I ever lied to you?”

The air was pulled taut as a string when his eyes met yours.

“Never,” he responded quietly. He made no movement for but that of speaking. He did not blink, and you did not breathe.

“I always come back to you,” you said, and now that the words were flowing, you could not stop them. “Because no matter how many years pass, no matter how much other people change—” you had to take a breath before it physically killed you. But it was a sharp breath, and Brian hung on your every word, so when you inhaled, he gravitated toward you.

“You,” you whispered. “You never change.”

He let out a little sound, something like oh, like a realisation.

And you couldn’t keep yourself from your honesty any longer, because you leaned in to kiss him.

His thumb curved over your lower lip, depriving you of that final touch, the one which held you suspended before him, with no modesty left, no secrets, no shame, no nothing.

No end to the love which you carried in your heart for him, like a candle you had held shielded for years, cupping your hands around the flame, even if your fingers burned, because keeping that candle alight mattered more to you than the suffering of pain, more than anything in this world.

“Don’t kiss me.”

How easily three words could shatter a soul.

“Wh—”

“‘Cause if you do, I’ll kiss you back.”

You dared exhale, and his eyes fluttered shut when you kissed the pad of his thumb.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Brian’s eyes opened, as his thumb tugged softly on your lip again. It was difficult to keep quiet when he touched you like that.

“Then despite our proclaimed honesty,” he said, “you’ve lied to me every day of your life.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Brian. You just haven’t let yourself hear what I’ve been telling you.”

His eyes widened, and you were staring into a hazel-ringed abyss, a black hole super-positioned over dying nebulae.

Brian’s thumb slipped from your lip, and he replaced its pressure with his mouth.

Exhilaration surged through you and wound itself around your heart, turned your brain to nothingness as his kiss turned you to treacle, thoughts abandoned in favour of returning the tenderness of his touch.

It felt like he’d waited forever to kiss you, from the way he cradled you in his arms. And you felt suddenly desperate that he should never let you go, that he should stay this way forever, with the curve of his hips melded against yours, the press of his chest and the fold of his hands keeping you closer to him than you could ever have hoped to be, a breathless whine escaping his perfect mouth as he kissed you deeper, more desperately, as desperate as you felt. You were his equal in your want, in your need, and the understanding between the two of you set you free, because never had you felt such an easy, mutual understanding as this. It was the simplicity of his kiss that killed you a little— how plain he was in his emotions, how willing he was to show them to you. He had the same honesty as you, even if it manifested in a different way— a better, more loving way— because he understood how truth grounded you, and in revealing to you his affections, without the intent to play games or string you along, he understood you as well.

He was quick to love and slow to judge, and though his movements were languid, his kiss was not, dissolving you like sugar beneath his lips, wet from your tongue or his— it was difficult to tell. His senses were yours, his desire a divinity when you needed his touch as hopelessly as he needed yours, and you craved for the world to always hold him this close to you.

When he brought your lower lip between his teeth, you allowed yourself to shudder, and he smiled, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth.

“Why did we wait so long with being honest?” he murmured.

You laughed in response, winding your arms around his slim waist and kissing his shoulder. You felt him kiss your hair, and you nestled further into his hold.

“Never again,” you said.

He repeated the words in his lilting voice, and combed his fingers through your hair— lingeringly, lovingly.

And in the cold and the dark, you knew he would continue to be honest with you forever, because Brian was unlike anyone you’d ever met before.

Brian was special.

#tina’s writing #brian may x reader #fic

93 notes · View notes

whynotwinnie · 4 years ago

Text

Timida part 3: Roger Taylor x OC

sorry it took so long college is kicking my ass rn but thank you for all the support y’all have given me i’m going to start writing the next part rn thank y’all - bennie <3

T/w: body dysmorphia, talks of anxiety and depression, cussing

MICKEY

Throughout the night you woke up a total of 4 times getting frustrated you sat up and stared at the clock 4:13 in the afternoon. You flopped back on the bed, you should’ve gone to bed earlier.

You swung your legs to the edge of your bed and hopped down popping your back as you made your way to your shower. You turned on the hot water and let it run while you stripped yourself of your clothes. You turned yourself toward the mirror staring at your body, oh it was going to be one of those days. You turned from side to side checking your figure and felt the tears start to form in your eyes.

You stepped into your shower and started to cry while the hot water hit your back. You always got these weird mood swings where you felt like shit and wanted to hide from the world, you would say these mood swings happened at least once a week. You know you probably needed some type of help for it but as of right now you didn’t have the time or the funds to deal with that.

You spent a little extra time in the shower resulting in the hot water running out and turning freezing cold. You groaned and turned it off grabbing a towel to dry your body, when you were leaving the restroom you made sure to avoid looking in the mirror.

You grabbed a different big t-shirt to use as pajamas and threw on a random pair of house shorts and headed to your work area to finish whatever orders you didn’t start on last night.

Making quick work with the simple alterations you sat bored after folding the last article of clothing nicely. You got up from your desk and walked around your small apartment trying to find something to keep you occupied until it was time to call Roger.

Deciding you should make an early dinner you went to your kitchen area in your flat. The flat itself was small and the only way you could describe it was tolerable. It was one bed, one bathroom flat the only reason why you ended up signing your lease was that it was cheap and had an open living room area so you can set up all your work stuff there. But that also meant that your living room was always a mess with scrap fabric on the floor, 2 working mannequins plus the broken one being propped up by the wall, your huge old sewing machine that was way too loud, and a wardrobe that you found on the street that you cleaned and kept some spare fabric and clothes in.

You decided that you were going to make chicken and rice, you would’ve had beans but you ran out a week ago and never got the time to go get groceries. As you seasoned your chicken you made a promise to yourself that you would go get groceries tomorrow.

Then your phone rang.

“Shit,” you said while you left your chicken on the stove, quickly checking the time before you answered 6:05 it seemed too early for it to be Roger.

“Hello?” you said to the phone wondering who it could be.

“Mickey?”

“Oh hey Roger, I wasn’t expecting you to call this early,”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” he signed into the receiver “Remember when I told you yesterday how we had a really good practice, well today was shit.”

“I’m sorry about that Roger, what happened?”

“Well, Brian and I couldn’t get on the same page to save our lives he kept insisting that there needed to be a guitar solo in every fucking song when there really shouldn’t.”

He kept his rant going for a few minutes talking about solos and songs you just tried to keep up with the names and strange vocabulary he was using. It wasn’t until you started to smell burning when you remembered your chicken on the stove.

“Fucking shit hold on Roger.” you dropped the phone and ran to the chicken taking the pan off the burner. The chicken was black on the bottom and stuck to the pan.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you did your best to scrape the chicken in the trash but some stayed stuck you would have to deal with that later. You turned your rice off before that could burn too, you guess rice for dinner would do.

You threw the pan in the sink and turned on the water and watched the steam come off the pan, you never had this happen before you were a pretty good cook it came naturally after your mother made you help her cook for your whole family. But burning something if she could see you now she would be so disappointed, well she’s always disappointed in you nothing you could do to change that.

You turned off the water and went back to the phone.

“Hey sorry about that.” you sighed into the phone

“Is everything okay Mickey? You really had me worried.”

“Everything is fine now I had started making chicken right before you called and I didn’t keep an eye on it but now it’s burnt.”

“This is all my fault, I bored you with all my stupid problems.”

“No, you didn’t! I should’ve known better.”

“You have to let me make it up to you.”

You paused for a second. “Don’t be silly it’s just chicken.”

“Let me take you for dinner.”

“I- When?” you said softly

“Right now.”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t ready or anything like that.

“Unless you don’t want to go that’s okay too.”

You panicked “No, I would love to it’s just that I look like a mess right now.”

“I bet you’re lying, I want to see you Mickey please let me take you for dinner. If not for me then for the poor chicken you just burned.”

You laughed. “Okay then.”

“Great, what’s your address I’ll pick you up.”

You stopped, was it smart to give him your address? No.

“Or we can meet there Mickey. I’m fine with either.”

You didn’t have a car, you knew how to drive and all that but after one time where your mom yelled at you for making too sharp of a turn you always got nervous when you got behind the wheel. So you walked or biked everywhere now.

You decided to give him your address and in the worst-case scenario maybe Dayla would tell the police it was Roger who murdered you. But you doubt that would happen. He said he’ll be there in fifteen and that you didn’t live far from each other.

You rushed to get ready putting on black jeans and another t-shirt much like the same outfit you first saw him in except this time you decided to put on a little mascara and to fill in your eyebrows.

While you were tying your shoes you heard the buzzer “Hey Mick it’s Roger can you buzz me in?”

Your heart fluttered at the new nickname he had for you “Yeah Roger, I’ll meet you down there.” as you buzzed him in.

You practically ran to the elevator cursing it for taking so long and once it opened at the lobby you saw him there looking extremely good and with flowers in hand.

“Roger!” You called him over.

“Hey Mick, these are for you,” he said as he handed you a bouquet of carnation flowers.

“Thank you so much!” you said as you grabbed them he looked down at you and you leaned into him for a short embrace.

“Would you like to come up for a bit so I can put these in water,” you asked hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

“Yeah of course.”

You both took the elevator back to your floor in comfortable silence and then you walked him to your door.

“It’s a bit of mess right now and it still smells burnt.” You said as you opened the door.

He took a look around as he walked in “I like it.”

“You don’t have to lie Roger.” you laughed as you filled a vase with water.

“I’m not I like it, it’s cozy even with the burnt smell,” he said as he grinned at you.

“Please don’t remind me.” You groaned as you set the flower vase on the small dining table you had.

He laughed and walked toward your living room “Oh wow.”

“Yeah, that was the mess I was talking about.” you cringed at how it must look.

“This is where you work?”

You shook your head yes.

He walked to the dress you made last night hanging on the mannequin.

“Did you do this?” he asked eyes wide.

“Yeah.”

“Like you made it made it, not like hemmed it or anything,” he said not believing you.

“Yeah, look.” you flipped the back of the dress to show the custom made tags your aunt had made for you when you lived with her. The tag said “Luci’s Attire” it was the best idea you had at the time.

“Wow, this is really good Mickey like for real.”

You grinned at him it felt good being seen.

“Thank you, Roger.” You smiled at him.

“Hey, before we go is it okay if I use your bathroom before we go?”

“Yeah of course.” You led him to the bathroom and told him you would be in the living room.

You decided to crack open a window to help get rid of the burnt smell feeling less nervous about hanging out with Roger.

You both left your apartment building shoulders touching feeling the cool September air blow through your hair. He opened the door to his car with a huge smile on his face. You gave a soft thanks and sat in his car.

The car itself was really nice probably the nicest car you have ever been in. The outside was painted in a sleek black and the inside leather was all red. You were honestly scared to touch anything so you kept your hands on your lap. Roger got in the driver’s seat and turned to you.

“Is it okay if we go to this place I know they serve the best Italian food.”

“The best?” you said with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, the best I had, actually maybe we should go somewhere else.” He said while reversing.

“No, I would like to go actually.” You said laughing

“I don’t think it’s a good idea now Mick-”

“Please Roger.” You said with a pleading voice.

He did a quick double-take at you and gave a small smile.

He turned the dial of his radio to change the channel.

“What kind of music do you like listening to?” he asked

“Can I be honest?” you said low

“Yes please.”

“I like American music.” You said laughing.

“AMERICAN MUSIC! Mickey you have got to be kidding me!”

“I’m sorry Roger I don’t know why I’m just obsessed with America for some reason.”

“Mickey we are probably living in the best era of music in Great Britain and you choose America. It’s simply not patriotic of you.”

“Well, I’m not from the UK Roger! Also, I could’ve sworn you put on more of an accent than you really have on ” you said laughing

“I did not! Don’t change the subject either!”

“Yes, you did you said ‘Amerikah’ like you were the Queen herself.”

“Ok maybe but come on Mickey!”

“I like music from here too, the first song I heard that was in English was the Beatles.”

“And you think American music is better?!”

“Just purely because I have this fascination with America. And I do like music from here and Spain and Italy it has nothing to do with-”

“Alright alright alright, but I’ll show you some real music.”

He pulled into the Italian restaurant and of course, it was named “Giovanni’s Italian Restaurant” You almost rolled your eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said with a smile as he opened your door for you.

Taglist <3: @johnricharddeacy

#Queen #queen band #queen smut #queen fluff #queen imagine #rogertaylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #roger taylor fluff #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy smut

25 notes · View notes

roseskiesandbutterflies · 5 years ago

Text

Pain Is So Close To Pleasure (Platonic!Reader x Modern!Queen)

Summary: As a recently promoted Soloist for the Royal Ballet, you move closer to Covent Garden with your four-year-old daughter, Rose. But your new neighbour turns out to be the last person you'd expect to pop up on your doorstep.

A/N: Fun fact, there is a woman called Elizabeth Harrod who is a soloist for the Royal Ballet, has a 4-year-old child and once played the character mentioned. All by coincidence. And she is married to Steven McRae who was the inspiration for the fic I was hugely inspired by. Fun times guys. I used to dance ballet once or twice a week for about 5 years but stopped 4 years ago. And I may or may not be regretting my decision to quit. Oh well. I really hope you liked this, do leave feedback if you don't mind and perhaps a like or even a reblog? I have at least 3 more ideas for this but if you think of anything then please please please let me know! Stay hydrated kiddos!

Warning(s): swearing, mentioned arguments, crying, mentioned nightmares, reader is female btw

Inspiration: Brian May’s instagram, Incandescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Modern Times Rock N Roll by @rhapso-kei on Tumblr and AO3, Outed by @platawnic on Tumblr

Word Count: 7.2k+ (it’s a big boi lads)

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26 @bijoukitty

Ask to be on my taglist if you want!

Never in a million years had you ever expected moving to a new house to be this fun. For it was only carrying boxes into the house repeatedly for hours at a time. Right?

Wrong!

It turned out that the opportunities for games increased tenfold when you have a child. The child in question had barely even stepped out of the van when she suggested that you compete against each other to see who could carry the most boxes into your new house. Given that you had actual professionals lifting the heavy stuff – chairs, tables and so forth – racing would actually speed things up with getting the smaller boxes in the house.

Small footsteps increased in volume before a similarly small voice asked, “What next, Mummy?”

You looked up at you daughter from where you were awkwardly crouched inside the delivery van, shockingly ungraceful for a ballerina, just for one moment amidst all of the chaos that came with moving to a new house. All wrapped up in her khaki green coat, her nose and cheeks were tinted with the pink of harsh January mornings. Her eyes were the same colour as yours, the most beautiful shade of (Y/E/C), and were always alive with excitement; today was no exception. She was almost the perfect likeness to you: the same skin, the same nose, the same lips. Her hair was more like that of her father’s, but she was beautiful all the same, and more importantly your precious girl.

You dragged yourself out of your daydream and passed a relatively small stack of books to Rose, “You got it?” you asked uncertainly, images of newly-ruined books spilt over the floor flashing through your mind for a second.

“Yup!” she was already running into the house and up the stairs by then and you chuckled despite yourself. You dragged a transparent plastic box from the back of the van to where you had now positioned yourself. This one was full to the brim of dead pointe shoes, each pair decorated with paints and lace and beads and whatever you had in the house at the time; one even had uncooked pasta stuck to it. You were sure that you were going to find more boxes like these considering how many pairs you had worn over the years.

It had become a sort of tradition for you, to decorate each pair of pointe shoes once they died, never quite being able to let go of them. You wrote their date of ‘birth’ – when you wore them for the first time - and their date of ‘death’ – the day they finally broke – on the sole of each shoe in gold paint and a fine brush. Often, they were the same date, which was evidence of how hard you worked. You liked to decorate the wings and the vamp using a random theme, usually shows you had performed. The ones you had oh-so-carefully picked up however was Tangled-themed, chosen by Rose when you had had a lack of inspiration. You placed it back down and swapped it for another, this time a Swan Lake pair. You smiled to yourself at the memories attached to that particular pair; it had been your first ever professional show, when you were still in the Royal Ballet School and the company had merged with the school for the first time since your arrival. You looked at the dates on the soles and almost gasped despite yourself.

16.12.2012 ~ 23.12.2012

Just over 5 years ago.

Those shoes were almost an entire year older than Rose. You couldn’t quite believe that you had been involved with the Royal for so long. It felt like mere days, weeks at the most. The only thing convincing you otherwise was the sheer number of shoes in the box and the combined weight of them all, seen as you went through upwards of 100 pairs every season. Fortunately, ballet wasn’t just turns, leaps, plies and wearing gorgeous costumes, it required a great deal of strength so carrying the box into the house was hardly a problem.

From a stranger’s glance, your new home appeared to be a house, Georgian with bricks the colour of coffee, immaculately painted and symmetrical to every other house in the immediate vicinity. But this was London, more importantly this was central London, and that meant you’d have to be a multi-millionaire in order to afford an actual house. It also meant that the whole block was once something that could only be described as a miniature mansion, and had been split up into houses and now, several flats. One of which you were now the proud owner.

You had spent a long time saving up for this flat; you had needed more space for you and your daughter for a while now and you had been long overdue a change from that studio flat in Camden. So, when this flat came up for sale, you felt as if all of your prayers had been answered. Compared to your previous home, this one had buckets of space, you had a bedroom each for a start. It was a mere twenty-minute walk to the Royal Opera House, making it so much easier when you had late performances or overrunning rehearsals. Or when you accidentally forgot your leg warmers or spare pointe shoes, incidents that happened more often than you would like.

You climbed the staircase to your first-floor flat; you supposed that that would take some getting used to, especially after long days of back-to-back classes, rehearsals and shows. You pretty much dumped the box of pointe shoes on the floor of the living room and turned around to leave only to have Rose collide straight into you.

“Sorry, Mummy!” she giggled, as sweet as ever, and blew you a kiss as a form of apology.

“That’s alright, darling, it was only an accident,” you blew her a kiss back, “Now, where did you put your books?”

She grabbed your hand and tugged you incessantly to your bedroom, “Look!” she pointed proudly to the stack of books on your bed, which looked as if it could collapse at a moment’s notice, but a stack, nonetheless.

Your heart broke slightly when you realised: she still thought you had to share a room. You crouched down to be eye-level with her, “Rose, why don’t you put them in your room, instead? They’re your books, sweetie, not mine.”

“But they are in my room,” she frowned, head cocked to the side in confusion.

“No, this is Mummy’s room. Your room is next door,” it was your turn to lead her into her own bedroom, a tad more gently than how she’d done it, and her eyes opened wide with wonder.

“I can have my own room?” her voice filled with disbelief and your heart ached terribly.

“Of course, princess. This flat is much, much bigger than our old one.”

She squealed with excitement and threw her arms around you, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, before running off to grab her picture books. You stood up, shaking your head with a chuckle before returning to the van. You grabbed another box, this one stuffed with Rose’s toys, “Rose! Can you come and bring this one in?”

She catapulted down the stairs, forever a tiny hurricane, and snatched the box out of your hands. You made your way to the front door with another box in your arms for about the hundredth time that day but stopped dead in your tracks in the middle of the pavement.

Rose was wandering down the street, box of toys long forgotten and left on the stairs, heading straight for the busy road perpendicular to your own. You dropped your own box on the pavement and broke out into a full-on sprint to stop her, heart pounding with fear. She was reaching the end of the pavement, completely oblivious to the cars speeding along to her right, and to the car that was indicating to turn left. For a fleeting second you thought the reckless driver was going to hit her, when a man suddenly ran out f the pharmacy at the end of the road and swept her up into his arms. You scowled, endlessly grateful that she hadn’t been hurt, but more than slightly annoyed that a complete stranger had the audacity to pick up your precious girl. Your maternal instincts went into overdrive and, once you reached them, you snatched Rose back from the man.

“Get your hands off my child,” you glared at him. Now you could get a far better look at him, you could tell he definitely wasn’t young, his white hair and beard gave that away instantly. His eyes were masked by sunglasses, confusing you slightly; it may have been sunny that day, but it was only January. Something about him was strangely familiar to you, it was hard to describe but you were sure you recognised the overall aura he had about him. You shook off the thought for now, you could ponder over it long after Rose had gone to bed and you finally had some time to yourself. Speaking of Rose, you shifted your focus to her; she seemed unharmed, if a little shaken up. You placed her on your hip and she instinctively tucked her head into the crook of your neck and looked at the man curiously.

“Well, I did just save her life, you could at least say thank you,” the stranger muttered, his voice gruff but somehow light.

Your gut dropped; you recognised that voice. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, but that voice was way too unique to be anyone else’s. He must have seen the cogs turn in your head for he smirked slightly.

Internally, you were freaking the fuck out because holy shit you think you just met Roger fucking Taylor, but externally, you attempted to keep your composure because it didn’t matter who he was, he still grabbed your daughter and he was crazy if he thought you were going to let that slide.

You were frantically trying to think of something, anything, to you say when Rose felt the need to come to your rescue, “Are you Santa?”. When no one said anything because you were both, quite frankly, too stunned to reply, her excitement just grew, “Mummy, look, it’s Santa! Santa saved me!” she turned to look at him and put on her sweetest voice, “Thank you, Santa!”

He sighed, knowing full well he was about to break this poor girl’s heart, and said, “No, I’m not Santa, he lives a long way away.”

She pouted before finding something else that entertained her, “Why are you wearing sunglasses?” she giggled, holding out a hand to try and rip them off of his face and nearly falling out of your arms in the process. You placed her back on the pavement, just to be on the safe side.

He reluctantly took them off and gave them to her, and she grasped them excitedly. She tried to put the sunglasses on, but they were far too big for her, so they just kept sliding off, amusing her to no end.

You forced yourself to look at the man, now you were definitely sure it was Roger and fucking hell you hadn’t expected your day to go anything like the way it had. He raised an eyebrow and you only just clocked that he was still waiting for a reply. “Thank you for stopping her,” you said somewhat sheepishly; now you’d had the chance to think over what he’d actually done, you felt a little guilty for berating him like that. You’d naturally assumed he meant to cause harm somehow, but if he had had such intentions then surely, he wouldn’t have waited for you. He could have run off with Rose, but he didn’t. Naturally, you were still a little wary but while Rose had been interrogating the man over whether or not he was in fact Father Christmas, you had come to the conclusion that he was probably harmless.

*********************

By around lunchtime you had actually carried in everything that you could, so you’d decided that the rest of the day could be a well-earned lazy day. As you expected, Rose had had no objection to that whatsoever, seen as lazy days more often than not meant Disney marathons. You were making a light lunch, knowing that you’d need to save room for sheer amount of popcorn you’d bought from the corner shop, while Rose was picking out a film to start with.

“Mummy, I got one!” she called as you brought your sandwiches into the living room. She was sat by the TV, surrounded by DVDs with one in her hand. She squinted hard at the blurb of the DVD she was holding, as if she was trying to read it, which made you chuckle to yourself. “What are you laughing at?” she looked at you quizzically.

You shook your head slightly, not wanting to burst her little bubble, “Nothing, sweetheart. Which one did you choose?”

She stood up wobbly, coming incredibly close to falling right back down again but only just regaining her balance, “Zootropolis!” she had to say the word very slowly; the word was very hard to say for a four-year-old, even you struggled with it sometimes.

Zootropolis was one of her favourites at the moment, second only to Tangled, so you weren’t all that surprised by her choice. This would have been the fourth or fifth time watching it so far that month alone, and you were only about halfway through January. The joys of having a child, you thought wryly to yourself. Not that you’d ever complain to Rose. Besides, you’d much rather Zootropolis to Frozen, which you didn’t think you could ever watch again after being subjected to hearing Let It Go every day for weeks and then much longer in your head.

“Ah, good choice,” you said as she thrust the DVD in front of your face. You put the sandwiches down on the coffee table and took the DVD from her, “Why don’t you go and get a couple of your toys to watch the film with us while I set it up? Maybe you could get Nick and Judy.”

Her eyes positively lit up at the idea and she raced off to find them. You’d gone to Oxford Street just before Christmas to see all the lights and Christmas decorations, which then turned into going to the Disney store, which led into incessant begging from Rose to get one of the Zootropolis plushies. You’d ended up compromising, meaning she could get two of her choice, but she couldn’t play with them until Christmas. So now, any excuse to play with them was a good excuse and was guaranteed to keep her entertained for hours on end.

You had just put the disc in the TV when you heard the buzz signalling that someone was at the door. You were a little puzzled; you’d only just moved into this flat, how on earth did someone already have your address? You made your way to the door and held the button on the receiver, allowing you to talk to whoever was there, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this (Y/N)?” an unfamiliar female voice asked, only adding to your confusion.

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

“Well, my name’s Sarina, I think you met my husband this morning?”

A few minutes later, Sarina and Roger were sitting on your sofa with a cup of tea each, with you on the one-seater in front of the window, rhythmically pointing and relaxing your toes, a habit from dancing ballet pretty much every day for about fifteen years. It was around then when you started thinking about how weird this day was turning out to be. First, Roger Taylor saves your daughter’s life, then you give him your address even though you were sure you had no memory of that, and then him and his wife turn up to your flat for no apparent reason other than to have a chat.

You heard Rose’s obnoxiously loud footsteps run down the corridor and once she got to the living room, she stopped dead in her tracks. She had her arms full with soft toys but dropped them all when she noticed your visitors, “Mummy, look it’s not-really-Santa!” she pointed, face lit up with glee at meeting her saviour once again. Then she noticed Sarina and pouted with confusion, “Who are you? Are you not-really-Mrs-Claus?”

“Darling, we told you he’s not actually Santa,” you lightly chastised her.

Rose just looked at you as if she was trying to be patronising, “I know, that’s why I said, ‘not really’!”

Sarina only laughed and said, “My name’s Sarina, I’m Roger’s wife.”

Rose just looked even more baffled than before, “Roger? Who’s Roger?”

Roger waved awkwardly, having not said anything the whole time he’d been there.

A quiet ‘ohhhh’ came from Rose, but her attention quickly returned to her dropped toys, which she promptly rescued from the floor and popped onto your lap. You raised an eyebrow at the pile and looked back at your daughter, “That’s quite a few toys, darling.”

Rose grinned cheekily, “Well, I got Judy and Nick because they’re in the movie but then I thought that my other animals would be sad that I left them out so I got Dumbo, Minnie and Mushu and then I got Rapunzel because she’s my favourite and she loves Pascal and he’s a chame-,” she stopped, understandably struggling with the word.

“Chameleon,” you whispered to try and help her out.

“Yeah, that,” she giggled, not even trying to say it. You put it down to having new people over who she wanted to impress so you made a mental note to help her with it later on.

You turned back to your guests, forgetting momentarily that they were even there, something which you often did while talking to Rose, “Sorry, we were just about to watch Zootropolis as a sort of ‘well done’ for moving all of our stuff inside in one morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt or anything, we just wanted to, well, welcome you to the neighbourhood, I guess. We live just down the road from here,” Sarina justified, and suddenly their surprise visit made so much more sense. You were infinitely grateful as even though it wasn’t like you had no friends at all who lived in London, it couldn’t hurt to have some close by.

“No, don’t apologise, it’s really sweet of you both, thank you so much,” you smiled at them both.

Roger then decided to speak up for the first time since he got there, and you were still wondering why he was being so shy, “Listen, is there anything we can do to help you out at all? I know moving house can be a pretty big deal so if we can help you with anything then do say.”

Your instant thought was to say that you were fine, that you’d be able to manage. You weren’t one to ask for help unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, it was difficult for you. But once you considered it for a moment, you remembered that you had a full day of classes and rehearsals tomorrow, Rose didn’t start at her new pre-school until next week and you hadn’t booked a childminder or a babysitter. You looked at the couple on your sofa, kind and eager to help, and finally opened your mouth to speak, “I have work tomorrow. Is there any chance you could look after Rose for the day?”

******************

“I promise I’ve almost got it; I just need to get the footing right after the grand jete,” you reached for your water bottle, “I’m not sure why I can’t land properly.”

“I think it’s because you’re making the chaines more aggressive than they need to be. If you take a gentler approach, then you can put more energy into how you jump and then how you land,” Samantha, the ballet mistress of the company, suggested.

You pulled your fuchsia leg warmers right up to the tops of your legs and tried again, this time taking Samantha’s advice. You landed perfectly flat on your right foot, unfolding straight away and placing your arms in fourth on impulse. You pointed your index fingers as part of your character’s variation which, as it differed from the traditional ballet hand, still took some getting used to.

The Sleeping Beauty would be your first performance since being promoted to a Soloist, and you had received the role of the Fairy of The Golden Vine, meaning you had your own solo in the prologue. You obviously wanted to do really well, you wanted to prove to both the audience and to the other dancers that you deserved the role and the position in the company, despite the little gremlin back at home who was also known as your daughter.

You absolutely adored the name you had chosen for your angel. Rose. The flower thrown onto the stage at the end of a performance which more often than not ended up in a vase on the kitchen windowsill. The colour of the leotard you rehearsed in. The rose-coloured glasses that all children wore at some point in their young lives when they were oblivious and innocent. The colour of optimism, love, joy. The word rose, in and of itself, had so many positive connotations for you, which was exactly what you had needed when you had been expecting her.

Samantha broke you free from your daydream, “Well, we have about half an hour left, is there anything else you wanted to look at before the show tomorrow night?”

It still had yet to sink in for you that the first of eight performances was tomorrow. You hadn’t given it much thought because you didn’t want it to stress you out. Especially when you had other things to worry about, like polishing your part in Act III. Which reminded you, “Could we go over the wedding scene?” you asked sheepishly.

********************

You lightly knocked on the door, looking at your phone yet again to check the address. You rubbed your hands together to fight the bitter cold of winter evenings, suddenly regretting not wearing gloves. A forget-me-not blue sky hung overhead, already getting dark even though it wasn’t even five o’clock yet. The pristine door in front of you opened after a few seconds of waiting, but what you were not expecting, however, was for Dr Brian May, guitarist for Queen, arguably the best in the world, astrophysicist and animal rights activist, to answer the door with pen all over his face, “Ah, hello, you must be (Y/N).”

“Err, yeah, hi,” you nervously chuckled, a little starstruck at the man in front of you.

“Mummy?” a small, uncertain called out, soon accompanied by an awfully familiar face peeking out through the doorway to the living room.

“Hello, sweetheart,” you crouched down to be eye level with Rose, holding out your arms as an invitation for a hug.

“Mummy!” she quite literally took it with open arms and the brightest smile you had ever seen plastered on her face.

“Did you have a nice time, princess?” you asked between soft kisses pressed to her head.

This launched her into a fit of giggles and she only just managed to gasp out, “I’m not the princess, Roger’s the princess!”

You stood up with Rose sitting comfortably on your hip, “Is he now? Then who are you?” you bopped her nose with each of the last three words.

Of course, more light-hearted laughter ensued, “I’m the queen! And Brian’s the royal ad-” she stumbled on the last word and pouted, only for the man in question to whisper something in her ear and for her to shout, “Advisor! And Brian’s the royal advisor! Can I show you the kingdom?”

You set her down on the floor carefully and curtseyed like you would at the end of a show, “Lead the way, your most royal highness!” You exchanged a curious glance with Brian and followed your now running daughter into the living room.

To the ordinary person, the living room would appear to be in a state of total and utter chaos. Dining room chairs held up bedsheets, forming a makeshift tent in the centre of the room. Pillows were scattered around the fort, along with seemingly ancient colouring books, with pages the colour of buttermilk, washable pens and sweet wrappers that had yet to be picked up.

Rose dived in, luckily into Roger’s arms rather than the wooden floor. He swept her up into the air, the girl squealing with excitement, before returning her safely to the ground. “Roggie, you’re silly!” she smiled sweetly at him, making his face flood with the red of embarrassment.

“Roggie?” you laughed at his expression and sat down on the other side of Rose, sandwiching her between you and Roger. You were secretly loving how much humiliation could be brought on by a four-year-old child.

Roger looked desperate to salvage whatever was left of his dignity, “Well at least it’s not as bad as ‘Bri Bri’!”

Brian just scratched his head awkwardly and took a seat opposite you all, “I thought it was cute.”

You just chuckled at the state of them both; usually it was you who felt like that, more often than not it was when you brought Rose to work with you, so you found it rather amusing to have someone else on the receiving end of your daughter’s jokes.

Brian cleared his throat, clearly wanting to change the subject as soon as possible, “Mind if I take a picture? You guys look pretty cute in there.”

“By all means,” you agreed, knowing that you had to get a picture too. You were almost guaranteed to tell your friends about this later and they wouldn’t believe you without some kind of proof.

He pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and quickly snapped a photo of you all in your rather adorable tent. He put his glasses on to examine the image and, with a satisfied nod, leaned over to show it to you, “I’d put it on Instagram but with Rose’s age…”

“Well, I don’t have a problem with it,” you said. It was such a sweet photo, you thought it would be a shame to not share it with people, though you figured that might be the performer in you speaking. It was the nature of the job; the performing arts were, at their core, just complex forms of storytelling. You turned to Rose, deciding that she should have a say on the matter, “Darling, would you be alright if Brian put that picture of us on Instagram? A lot of people would see it,” you warned.

She just beamed up at you, “Yeah because then lots of people can see the kingdom I made with Roggie and Bri Bri!”

You just laughed at her and pulled her into a hug while Brian posted the photo onto his account. You froze when your phone vibrated mere seconds later. It’s fine. You could just play it off. Maybe a friend texted you or-

“Mummy, look, your phone lit up!” a girl with sweet and innocent intentions somehow managed to flood you with embarrassment and suddenly you felt bad for laughing at Roger and Brian earlier.

Fuck.

You looked at her with the fakest possible smile and said, “Thank you, darling.”

“Is somebody a fan, then?” Roger taunted, not helping the situation whatsoever and instead making you want to throw your phone out of the nearest window and then you along with it.

Of course you were a bloody fan, why else would you get a notification when Brian posted on Instagram? “You see, it’s a long story, I err, just got, um, a text from one of my friends about the show tomorrow?” It came out as more of a question than an answer.

Brian and Roger exchanged a knowing look before muttering to themselves that you were ‘definitely a fan’ and ‘who do you think you’re kidding’.

To hide yourself as much as humanly possible, you decided to open the app and check the post. It turned out that you weren’t the only one who had the post-notifications turned on. Other fans were already beginning to shower it with likes and comments, and you were intrigued as to what people were saying.

Who is the little girl?? She’s so cute 💖💖

Yes we stan Bri and Rog being grandads

Is it me or does she look like that dancer from the Royal?

How someone had worked out that last one, you would never know.

Brian, being the saint that he was, decided to save you from your shame, “Rose mentioned that you’re a ballet dancer,” he smiled, finally starting to clear up the mess of wrappers and pens.

“Did she now?” you asked playfully, bopping her nose much to her delight before helping Brian out.

“You any good?” Roger asked.

“Well, I’d hope so seen as it’s my job,” you joked.

Roger’s brows furrowed instantly, “Wait, it’s your job?”

You nodded, giggling slightly, “Yeah, I’ve danced professionally for about 5 years-”

“Mummy, that’s older than me!” Rose interrupted, mouth open in bewilderment.

“Yes, sweetheart, that is older than you, but remember to wait for your turn to speak, OK?” you reminded her. You’d been working on that for a little while and she was mostly getting the hang of it, although she slipped up every now and then as you’d expect from a four-year-old.

“Sorry, Mummy,” she apologised in a singsong voice.

“Thank you, my darling,” you kissed her head and pulled her in for a hug, “Anyway, I dance with the Royal Ballet down in Covent Garden. I just got promoted to a Soloist so I’m starting to get better roles than I was before.”

“So, what have you been doing today?” Brian asked, eyes bright with the same curiosity you saw in Rose from time to time.

“Well, I had my warm-up class at nine, then my technical one at eleven. I’d usually have another class or physio but we’re opening The Sleeping Beauty tonight, so I was in rehearsals for that all afternoon. Oh, and we had a final costume fitting just after lunch,” you counted them on your fingers, smiling bashfully when you were met with looks of bewilderment and awe.

“And you’ve got to do a whole performance too?” Roger asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I mean technically I should still be at the Opera House to eat my dinner but I had to come and get this little munchkin first,” you tickled Rose, her adorable giggles filling the room.

When you finally showed her mercy and ceased the tickles, she said, “I get to watch Mummy dance from the side!”

You quickly filled Roger and Brian in when they shot you looks of confusion, “She means the wings. I can’t afford to hire a babysitter for every performance I do so she gets to watch for free. Besides, she loves it, sometimes we dance together backstage when I’m not needed seen as the music’s loud enough.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Brian began warily, and you were already dreading the question that was sure to follow, “But why isn’t there anyone else to babysit her for the evening?”

Ah, the wonderful question that was asked of you nearly every time you met someone. You quickly shot him a look of not in front of Rose, and thank God he understood, for he nodded and sent you a smile as an apology. You turned Rose around so she was facing you instead of leaning against your front and said, “Darling, we have to go in a minute so why don’t you run and grab your toys, OK?”

She jumped up and ran off, hopefully to find her belongings, always oblivious and you hoped she’d stay that way for quite some time.

You took a deep breath and finally answered Brian’s question, “Rose’s father and I split up when she was two, and none of my family live in London,” you shrugged; Rose’s dad was still a bit of a touchy subject. Understanding washed over the both of them immediately, and suddenly you remembered they had both gone through the same thing.

Brian quickly changed the subject yet again, somehow sensing that you weren’t feeling all too comfortable, “Do you think we could come and watch one of your shows? We could bring Rose with us and that way you won’t have to worry about her being backstage.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you. I don’t think I can get you tickets for tonight but I probably can for tomorrow if that’s alright?” you smiled at his enthusiasm, especially considering you had only known him for about twenty minutes at the most. Roger didn’t seem as excited, though you were expecting that because, if you remembered correctly, he wasn’t a huge fan of musical theatre and ballet wasn’t far from that.

*********************

It was around one o’clock in the morning and even though you were yawning what felt like every ten seconds, you somehow found yourself sitting on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You knew that you should be settling down, Rose had gone to bed about an hour ago and you normally followed not long after, but you weren’t quite ready yet. With every passing minute, you would be feeling even more regret tomorrow, but it felt as though something was physically stopping you from sleeping.

“Mama?” a small, tired voice called from the doorway. You never closed your bedroom door all the way for this exact reason. Rose shyly tottered into the room, dragging her blanket on the floor behind her and hugging her stuffed dragon toy with her other arm, “Mama?”

You placed your phone on a cardboard box full of things you had yet to unpack and gestured for her to climb into your bed, “What’s up, sweetness?” she clambered into your arms and you shuffled back to lean on the wall behind you. Her cheeks were damp against your shoulder and your heart leapt into your mouth, “Hey bubba, it’s OK, you’re OK, I’ve got you.”

Tiny sobs escaped her mouth and you rocked her gently, patiently waiting for her to calm down. Fortunately, it was only a matter of minutes before her crying ceased. You took this opportunity to gently approach the subject of what had caused all of this, “Did you have a nightmare, darling?”

She nodded, keeping her movements and voice as small as she could, as if someone was confining every part of her, “Daddy.”

You took a breath to ground yourself because fuck you didn’t want her to have to deal with your mistakes and said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, “What happened with Daddy?”

She rubbed her eye with a tiny hand and murmured, “You. Daddy. Loud.”

You tried to put the pieces together, assuming that you’d been arguing with him. This happened when she was scared, or sad, she would act like she was two instead of four, which restricted her language especially. You supposed acting younger was a comfort to her. When you’d split up with her father, you’d hoped to God that she was too young to remember any of the arguments she’d overheard. You and him had been a classic case of ‘settling down far too quickly’. Rose had been an accident and simultaneously the one to show that the both of you weren’t thinking any of it through at all. He’d walked out after the biggest fight that you’d had, and you were quite grateful for it, if you were honest.

“Me and Daddy didn’t get on very well, darling,” you explained, “You won’t ever see him again, I promise. And I won’t be loud like that, OK?” You felt her nod against your chest, and you could feel her settling down already, “Did you want to sleep in Mummy’s bed tonight?”

She perked up at your suggestion; sleeping in your bed was always a treat reserved for special occasions, and you despised the thought of making her go back to bed by herself. “Please, please, please, Mama? I like your bed, it’s soft and warm and snuggly.”

You responded by turning off your phone and the lamp on your bedside table, and tucking you both in, still cradling her against your chest like a baby. You wondered as she already began to drift off, if it had really been procrastination that had been stopping you from going to sleep earlier, or if it was just a mother’s instinct. Or if you were just thinking that to try and make yourself feel better about yourself.

**********************

Backstage was even more alive with excitement that evening. Someone had seen Brian and Roger in the foyer and word had quickly spread, though you hadn’t said a word on the subject to avoid the rush of inevitable questions. It would make the tabloid headlines by tomorrow morning; you could guarantee that.

The whirlwind rush of backstage never changed, and secretly you hoped it would always stay that way. It was absolute chaos, someone’s pointe shoes had gone soft, or someone’s lost a bit of their costume, or someone’s tights had ripped. It was strange compared to the scene of calm and serenity seen on stage; it was as if each dancer was put under a spell of some sort the moment they stepped out of the wings. While most would find the constant change of environments unnerving, you quite liked it, it kept you on your toes better than the pointe shoes on your feet.

It was a tad strange not having to chase after Rose every five seconds, tonight she was out in the audience for the first time ever. You’d never thought to take her to watch a ballet, she’d seen basically every show in the Royal’s repertoire from the wings, sometimes more enthralled by what went on behind the scenes than the dancing itself. She was forever trying to help anyone who needed it, usually it was looking over a costume or a hairstyle and pointing out anything that was out of place. It was one of the only times people were grateful for the brutal honesty that came with her youth. When she wasn’t doing that, she’d sit somewhere where she could watch the performance through the wings with a sticker book to keep her occupied during the ‘boring bits’, or she’d sleep on the sofa you’d asked Heather to put in place for exactly that reason.

You always felt guilty about making her stay awake so late, considering evening performances didn’t end until around eleven o’clock at night, meaning she wasn’t in bed until just before midnight. Luckily, it wasn’t most nights as you didn’t perform every night, and you had asked to not do as many evening performances as possible, making up for it by doing almost every matinees available. However, that didn’t stop your heart from breaking slightly every time you saw Rose yawn as a result of the lack of sleep. You just didn’t have any other options, until tonight that was. And in secret you were hoping that Brian and Roger would be able to help out again, though you’d never bring it up with them.

You shook yourself back to reality when Meaghan, the dancer in front of you, made her entrance, meaning you had to step forwards, ready for your own. The fairies had to line up in the wings and you were the last one to go on and dance your solo before the Lilac Fairy. You watched Meaghan dance, adrenaline coursing through your veins as it always would just before an entrance, and her beautifully danced solo was done in what felt like thirty seconds rather than two minutes. You took a deep breath and ran on when you heard your cue, plastering a smile on your face that was real for the most part.

You felt the music flood every corner of your mind. You didn’t even have to think about the steps you were dancing, letting muscle memory take control. You lost yourself in the beauty of the music, and in the beauty of yourself. You knew you looked like a real fairy, you sure felt like one, and you hoped that at least one child out there in the audience was watching you and thinking wow I want to be able to do that. You ran over in your head literally everything you knew about ballet, every little piece of advice you’d ever been given, something you probably should have done backstage but that didn’t matter because there you were. You were dancing on your own, all eyes on you, and you relished in the attention that you’d usually shy away from. If that is what it felt like every time you performed on your own, then fuck you were hungry for more. It was over in what felt like a heartbeat but also an eternity, and you ran over to your place further downstage.

Now you had the opportunity to pause for a moment, you took it to scan over the audience, though it was in pure vain as they were obscured by darkness. You supposed it helped dancers with stage fright, though you couldn’t help but wonder why you’d become a dancer if your stage fright was that bad. It was no longer a problem for you, but it had been helpful when you danced on that stage for the first time, especially considering you had only been a teenager when you first started performing with the Royal. You had to admit that you were trying to find Rose, Brian and Roger, knowing they were out there somewhere, watching with wonder in their eyes. You forced yourself to give up with that particular challenge; it was a rookie mistake to try to find loved ones in an audience. You just hoped they recognised you from wherever they were seated.

Elation just ran wild through your veins and you couldn’t stop the blush of pride filling your cheeks, not that you wanted to. This was the reason you danced, for the childlike joy that it brought you, the kind of glee that was the cause of each and every one of Rose’s giggles. It was pointe-shoe pink, it was ice cream on a hot day, it was a butterfly flying past you. It was ephemeral, blink and you’d miss it, but the hangover feeling of sheer bliss, that was the reason you danced.

You were hardly conventional, you knew that. A young single mother, a ballet dancer who had been promoted to a Soloist in her early twenties and living in London of all places. You were a ballet dancer, dancing to the melody of her own piano and to hell with anyone who said that you couldn’t.

#Brian May #brian may x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #ballet #ballet au #modern queen #queen #queen x reader #royal ballet #the sleeping beauty #child character #brian may imagine #roger taylor imagine #queen imagine #london

96 notes · View notes

kpop---scenarios · 5 years ago

Text

Don't Break Me Again

Commissioned by: @skittlez-area512

Pairing: Younghyun x Reader

Wanrning: Just Pure Angst

Word Count: 2.4k

"Who was that?" You ask Younghyun, trying to force a smile as you approach him, watching another girl try to slyly slip away.

"The girl I'm going home with after the show, likely my future wife." He says, his face straight, his eyes lacking any humor. He places his guitar strap over his head as he gets ready to step on stage.

"W-what?" You ask, the tears building in your eyes.

"I'm just kidding babe, christ." He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Before you can respond, he runs on stage, ready to melt hundreds more of girls' hearts.

It took you a few days to be able to fully let go of his comment.

He was joking, at least that's what he told you later that night. You were being dramatic and overly sensitive again, you didn't trust him and he didn't know if he could be with someone as insecure as you, so you told him fine. You packed a week's worth of clothes and headed to a friend's house.

5 days later he called, begging for you to come home. He apologized profusely, promising he was going to change.

You needed to ask him a question that night that you returned, but you were scared. More so scared of his reaction but also his answer. With Younghyun it really could be anything.

"You.. you weren't with anyone while I was gone, were you?" You asked nervously. You and Younghyun sat on the couch, cuddling.

"God no. Why would you even ask that? I spent the entire time missing you baby. I'm so sorry for everything. You deserve more, I'll be the man you need." He whispers, pulling you in closely.

And you believed him. You believed all of it. Until you found a pair of dark purple panties shoved in between the mattress and box spring a few days later.

And they definitely weren't yours.

"What the fuck is this, Younghyun?" You scream, throwing the panties you had found at him.

"Why are you throwing your underwear at me and screaming like a mad woman?" He snaps, placing his guitar case on the floor. "I just fucking got home and you start this shit already."

"I'm starting this shit? You said you weren't with anyone while I was gone!" You cried. Your heart felt like it was going to shatter.

"So fucking what if I was! You weren't here. What else was I supposed to do?" He spits. "I let you have your little tantrums, you run off and do god knows what, with who knows who while you're gone."

"I sit inside and I cry! Because I love you! And I want us to work! And you're out fucking whatever?" You scoff, unamused.

Younghyun scoffs. " I'm just trying to play catch up, whenever I get the chance baby. We all have a past, some more than others." He smirks, looking you up and down, and not in a lovingly way, no. This was a judgemental, disgusted look.

A look that you were no stranger too when it came to Younghyun.

"Wow." You sniffled, rolling your eyes. "Not even surprised you'd end up going there with a line like that." You laugh, no humor to be found anywhere. "I'm done." You whisper.

That night you end up at your best friend, Jaein's house. She's always had a particular distaste for Younghyun, or as she calls him, Brian.

"He's a piece of mother fucking shit babydoll, and you deserve someone who is not a giant man baby piece of shit. That's all I'm saying." She says, shrugging her shoulders before taking a large sip of wine.

If there was anyone you could truly count on, it was Jaein. She never failed to make you laugh, brightening your spirits after Younghyun so viciously tore them down, even though it wasn't her job to fix it.

She always told you how much you were worth and how much you should see it, but she knew you loved him.

Fuck did you love him.

She always took your side when you came to her about your fights, she shit talked him like there was no tomorrow, but she also never tried to convince you to leave him. She knew you weren't ready, she also knew that you would leave him when you were ready. She always gave you a hug when you said it was time for you to go back to him, never pressuring you to stay.

She knew no one could leave him for you.

Early that next morning, you left Jaein's and headed back to your shared apartment with Younghyun. You opened the front door, slipped off your shoes, jacket and hat while making your way to the bedroom.

You unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your body before stepping out. You stood at the edge of your bed where Younghyun slept so peacefully.

You knew you needed to end it but you were unbelievably, unequivocally in love with him. You would do anything for him, be anything for him and he knew it.

You just wished he felt the same about you.

You constantly asked yourself why you stoll stayed, why you put yourself through the torture of knowing theres almost a 100 percent chance he will never love you as hard and as much as you love him. You needed to be done. But how can you quit something you need so badly?

You knew he was able to love, you've seen it. He loved his guitar. He loved his music, and he loved his groupies that followed him from small dive bars to even bigger dive bars. He loved the attention that he received from those women, any woman really that wasn't you. In his mind because you couldn't make it to every show, you weren't as dedicated as them. You didn't love him more than them. You didn't support his music enough. Telling him you were working was never a valid reason to not be there to support his dreams even though you were pretty sure he didn't even know what your dreams were.

You were done.

You just wished he wouldn't break you again. And again. And again.

But that seemed to be the thing he was best at.

This time you were actually going to be done. You needed to be done. You couldn't keep chasing him around, waiting and praying that one day he might decide to settle down. One day he might decide you're finally worthy of his unconditional love since he's put you through so much.

One day you might be good enough.

You crawled into bed with him, his arms slipping over your body before pulling you in tightly against him. He nuzzles his face into your head, deeply inhaling the scent of your hair.

"I've missed you." He sighs.

A tear slips down your cheek as you wiggle yourself closer to him.

"Really hope you didn't go fuck some dude last night like a whore." He huffs.

You can't do this anymore.

Now Y/N. Do it now.

"I'm done, Younghyun." You whisper.

"Stop." He groans. "Don't ruin a perfectly good morning."

"I'm not. I just can't anymore." You sigh, wiggling out of his hold.

"Where the fuck is this coming from?" He snaps, sitting up in bed before rubbing his face. "Fucking Jaein is getting in your head again isnt she?"

"No, I'm finally realizing it myself. You tear me down, and build me back up only to tear me down harder next time. You don't care about me. You constantly throw it in my face that I have a past and think I'm always cheating, but that's all you. You think I don't care about your music because I don't attend every show, you crave the attention from random women, not to mention who knows how many times you actually cheated." You snap. "I'm done being treated like I'm the lowest scum when I've done absolutely nothing to deserve it. I've done nothing but love you and support you but it's never good enough for you Younghyun. I will never be good enough so I'm done." You sigh.

"Please don't baby. You're my world. I love you so much, let me prove it to you baby." He cries. Boy was he an excellent manipulator.

"You've had an abundant amount of chances and you've fucked them all up. Save it." Younghyun begged and pleaded for you to stay while he followed you around the apartment as you gathered up the belongings you could think of at that moment, the most important things. You knew you could come back in a few weeks or so to grab whatever you forgot. Because this time was it, this time you were done.

Looking over your shoulder, you see Younghyun's pained face as your hand reaches for the door knob. "If you walk out that door Y/N, I swear to god, I'm done. I won't ask for you back, you'll have lost me forever." He snaps.

"You've already lost me." You whisper, gently closing the door behind you.

A few weeks later, it still felt like your chest was going to cave in. Like your heart was going to glue itself back together before shattering into a million pieces, over and over.

You cried into Jaein's pillow everyday, all day. You missed him so much. Maybe it wasn't time, maybe things could be better this time.

Younghyun had texted, called and showed up to Jaein's apartment everyday. His messages came multiple times a day, his calls even more. Your heart slowly mended itself with every loving message you read, with every soft word you heard him speak through your voicemail. He sounded sincere this time. He sounded like he was going to try, this time would be different. Maybe the 11th time's the charm.

You took a few days to think it over, making sure it was truly what you wanted, and it was. Not to necessarily get back together with him at the moment, but just to see him. See him perform, listen to his voice. You missed everything about him.

This was a good idea.

Or so you thought.

Jaein kept her mouth shut as you made sure your outfit was perfect. Younghyun had told you he had a gig tonight at one of the first bars you met at. You didn't tell him you were going to come, you wanted to surprise him.

"I wish you all the luck with Brian, babydoll." He forces a smile.

"Thank you. For everything." You smile. "I'll see you in a bit."

For the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Younghyun promised to spend more time with you, go to anger management, and couples counseling. All things he had never promised before.

He was trying. He was finally trying.

You smiled widely as you pulled the door open to the bar.

Your eyes looked hopeful as you tried to find Younghyun. They widen as you spot him laughing. You can hear the sound of his laugh in your head.

Making your way over to him, you rehearse in your head about what you're going to say to him, wondering if he'll hug you, swing you around, plant a kiss on your lips?

You're distracted as you approach him, the possibility of so much happiness blinding you. When you finally came too, you stopped dead in your tracks. Younghyun laughed as he wrapped an arm around a girl, leaning in closely to whisper something in her ear, making her giggle. Their eyes met, he slightly grips her chin to tilt her head up before leaning down to place his lips on hers.

After a few seconds, they break apart, smiling at eachother. He feels like they're being watched so he raises his eyes,scanning the room. He lands on you. You with the shocked face, hurt eyes and heavy breathing.

You were so fucking stupid. You should have known better. You did know better. Younghyun had never changed, he had always said he would but never did. What made this time any different? Nothing except you had hoped so fucking hard that this time it was it. This time he would love you properly.

You let out loud laughs/ scoff before turning around to run out the doors you had just so excitedly came in.

"Y/N wait!" Younghyun yells, leaving the girl behind to chase you.

You run through the door to the outside, where it's now pouring rain.

Of course.

"Y/N, please!" He yells, catching up to you. He grabs onto your arm, yanking you back. "Just wait!." He yells.

"What!?" You scream, pulling your arm away from him. "What the fuck do you want?"

"You weren't supposed to show up tonight. You weren't supposed to see that." He sighs.

"Oh." You laugh. "So its my fault for showing up, hoping to fix us, and not your fault for being a piece of shit who just can't keep it in his pants."

The rain pours harder, you and Younghyun stand face to face, water dripping down your bodies.

"You didn't return any of my calls or texts. What was I supposed to do?" He asks. "It's been like a month."

"Wow." You scoff. That's all you can say.

"How long after I left did you start seeing her?" You ask.

"Four days." He admits.

"F-four.. four days? You only waited four fucking days? I'm so fucking stupid. You will never not be a self centered piece of shit will you?" You laugh.

"Excuse me? What the fuck gives you the right to insult me? How's a used up whore like you any better." He laughs.

"Yeah, okay. This just sealed it. I'm done." You say, turning to walk away again.

"You're done because I'm saying you can be done. Got it? Because I'm tired of manipulating you. I'm ready for someone new." He smiles.

"What are you talking about?" You ask.

"I've never loved you, frankly never really liked you. You were just too easy. Too easy to manipulate, to easy string along like a little puppet. I could completely tear you down until you were nothing and say all the right things to build you back up. You're easy to read, easy to fuck, just all around easy. I need a bit of a challenge now." He smirks, patting your shoulder before walking away, leaving you standing in the rain, thinking about the words you'd never recover from.

76 notes · View notes

andormeddows · 4 years ago

Text

Why are you calling? ::: Roger Taylor

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summary: The reader is incapable of making alright decisions when she’s in love with Roger. Angst (if you squint) and fluff!

Word count: 2988

Warnings: Swearing only. Also, shitty plot! You’ve been warned.

Notes: I’m not sure how this writing turned out. I admit it’s not my best work, but I just needed to get something out! Honestly, it’s a mess… But, here we are! I’ll maybe write a second part, but who knows? Or I’ll end up deleting this and pretend it never happened. Inspired by Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High by Arctic Monkeys!

Masterlist is here!

The dimly lit stage emanated quite a saddening vibe now that the band had disappeared through the wooden back door as people still asked for an encore whistling and clapping vigorously. The instruments blazed under the yellowish lights, silently waiting to be removed from the stage.

The soft buzz of laughter and conversation reached your ears as people slowly reached the bar to ask for beer bottles. Your lips bore a satisfied smile as you chugged the last drops of beer in the bottle held tight between your sweaty fingers. Abandoning the glass bottle on the nearest table your arms were able to reach, you carefully pushed past the mass of sweaty bodies surrounding you. Feet aching with every step, as soon as you reached the grayish corridors of the Chemistry building, you gladly got rid of your black platform shoes.

“Oh…” you whispered as your feet touched the cold floor, sighing in relief.

Holding the shoe straps between your fingers, you proceeded towards the back of the building, where the band usually gathered after gigs, to meet Freddie. People gathered in front of classrooms and lockers, happily chatting. There were some old Smile posters on the walls, most of them read “Don’t forget to Smile!”. A couple of weeks prior, Tim had left the band, but, up to that moment, no one had actually bothered to get the posters removed. Nevertheless, some of them had been scribbled and strangely read “Don’t forget to Queen!”.

Your feet touched the asphalt, which quickly caused you to avert your eyes down to see the wet ground blazing under the tall yellowish campus lamps.

“I thought you had gotten lost, love,” Freddie’s voice reached your ears.

“Freddie Bulsara, look at this!” you exclaimed, a smile plastered to your lips as your hands pointed to the wet ground beneath your feet. “The stars are crying tonight because of your marvelous voice! God, what a gig!”

“Don’t be silly,” he shyly answered as your arms tightly embraced him, pressing his body against yours. His sweaty lips pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for coming, dear.”

“I would never miss seeing you on that stage, you know that, Freddie,” you returned his loving gesture and pressed your lips to his cheek as your fingers entangled with his. “Never.”

“Was it just Freddie, really, YN?” Brian’s voice spoke from behind your figure. A fake hurt tone extremely evident in his voice, it was almost comical.

“Brian!”

His open arms waited to embrace you in a tight hug as he pressed his lips together in a thin line and furrowed his eyebrows, clearly waiting for a compliment. You laughed slightly, pacing towards him and letting his arms engulf you in a tight hug.

Roger shut his angelic blue eyes, abandoning, at the back of the van, the empty beer bottle he had been idly holding for over an hour. His head rested heavily against the cold metal of the vehicle and his legs swung slightly by the open rear door. The tingling of the glass reached his ears as the bottle rolled over, causing him to wince at the loud noise that reached his ears. His blurred surroundings caused him to feel nauseous. He wished he hadn’t alcohol pumping through his veins. Not again.

But, honestly, he couldn’t help himself. Not when he had noticed you earlier at the gig. Not when your body moved to the beat of his drums, eyes closed in a daze in the middle of the crowd. Not when he was constantly on the cusp of trying to admit his feelings for you. Not when he pictured his lips pressed against yours as your hands softly pulled at his long strands of hair. God.

“Rog?”

Roger slowly opened his eyes, confusedly blinking. His surroundings spun rapidly and he moaned in annoyance. He wished he hadn’t alcohol pumping through his veins. The voice sounded distant, even muffled, as though someone screamed underwater for him. Wait. Was he underwater?

“Roger?”

He closed his eyes once again. He wasn’t underwater. His name repeatedly echoed inside of his mind while he opened his eyes once again. He observed his blurred surroundings. The whitish-grey smoke from people’s cigarettes lazily rose up in the night air.

“Earth to Roger!”

“Fucking shut up,” Roger mumbled, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes. The muffled noise of laughter and conversation reached his ears. Wait. Adrenaline caused him to freeze against the cold metal of the vehicle. He swore he distantly heard your soft laughter.

No. Why would you bother to reach the back of the building to meet the band? In fact, after every gig, you met the band at the back of the building. Being Freddie’s best friend had its privileges. Nevertheless, Roger convinced himself he would never be worthy of attention.

Brian furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh, come on.”

“This isn’t the appropriate moment for one of your lectures on how I should stop drinking that much, alright?” Roger angrily spat at Brian. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Cut the bullshit, yeah? We’re getting more beer. Are you coming?”

“No.”

“See? Why would I waste my time on lecturing you?” Brian uttered nonchalantly. Roger’s face became stonier with every word leaving Brian’s lips; his voice rang in the blond-haired boy’s ears, causing his head to sharply throb at the noise. “You know where to find us, Rog.”

Roger wearily sighed, silently observing his calloused and slightly dirty palms from holding the drum sticks in his sweaty hands for over an hour. He withheld his emotions for himself by nervously chewing on his lips as Brian eventually stepped backwards, brows furrowed at his friend’s behavior. You left with Freddie and Brian still carrying your shoes, its straps tightly held between your fingers.

Freddie’s arm rested over your shoulders, pulling you towards his body as you both, along with Brian, entered the building. People would occasionally congratulate the boys, gleeful smiles plastered to their lips. The quietness of the pub soothed your agitated body; the buzz of conversation reached your ears once again. Instead of sweaty bodies pressed against each other, most of the tables had been occupied, were students happily chatted.

“What are the plans for the band? I mean, people love you, yeah? And Queen? It suits you.” you spoke up as the three of you reached the bar stools, Brian asking one of the bartenders for three bottles of beer.

“We need a bassist,” Brian promptly answered, elbows digging into the wooden surface of the bar. “Do you know how difficult it is to find a bassist in London?”

“Come on, it mustn’t be that difficult.”

“Oh, Brian, don’t be so dramatic,” Freddie scoffed, chugging at the beer bottle in his hands, to what Brian rolled his eyes. “There are plenty of them out there. We just need the right one.”

Nodding at Freddie’s words, you quietly averted your eyes to the beer bottle propped on the bar surface. Brian happily chatted with a freshman student, who had to muster every ounce of boldness in his body to step towards the curly-haired boy, about guitar improvisations.

Your fingers absentmindedly drew patterns at the glass, the condensed water turning into big droplets under your skin. Roger had been awkwardly distant from the three of you. Well, at least, distant from you.

“W-What’s wrong with Roger, Fred?”

“What do you mean?” Freddie asked, averting his curious gaze at your features while he shifted on the bar stool in order to face you, his knees slightly bumping against yours. Your heartbeat increased tenfold. What an obvious way to admit you were in love with one of Freddie’s best friends. Shit.

A nervous laugh escaped from you lips. “Are you telling me he’s not at all looking distinctly careworn tonight? Well, not only tonight. I noticed he’s been acting rather distant. Make sure he’s alright, yeah?”

Freddie quickly nodded, before taking a long last sip from the bottle in his hand. His dark eyes bore into your soul, ripping every single layer you had built around your feelings for Roger in order to hide them from him. Actually, it had been a failed attempt to hide them from yourself, but you would never admit it.

Your surroundings were eerily quiet. Fewer people occupied the wooden tables, eventually reaching the bar to ask for any last drink before leaving. The freezing night air bounced off the walls every time the heavy wooden door was opened, causing your body to violently shiver.

The last hour had been spent listening to Freddie and Brian ramble about infinite subjects, ranging from their excitement about recording an album and the madness of feeling empowered to write a song to the stars shining above. Your head rested on the heel of one of hands and the other played with an empty beer bottle. The quiet atmosphere was so pleasing it made you feel drowsy.

“Sleeping Beauty’s sitting right in front of me,” Freddie mumbled against your skin, pressing a caring kiss to your jawline.

“I’m sorry, Fred,” you mumbled against the palm of your hand, slurred words falling from your lips. “Guess I’ve been awake for almost a day now. You know, I woke up in the middle of the night in order to finish this unfinishable essay. At least I spent an hour watching the sunrise from the dormitory roof.”

“Let’s get you to your room,”

Nodding vigorously, you carefully descended from the bar stool, reaching for Brian’s hands and he pulled you against his body while Freddie called it a night, politely thanking the bartenders. The pale moon seemed to be a sole diamond fluctuating in the deep blue night sky above your head as your feet touched the cold asphalt of the sidewalk.

Pulling at the heavy wooden door of your dormitory building, you waved Freddie and Brian a last goodbye. The warmth of the entrance hall engulfed your aching body and a shiver shot through your body.

Slowly ascending the stairs, you silently observed the dark wooden doors of each dormitory, whispering their numbers as you crossed the infinite corridor. Your shoes tangled against each other, dangling from your fingers. You reached into one of your overcoat pockets in order to grab your dormitory key, sighing in relief when you closed the door. Resting against it, you abandoned your shoes by the carpeted floor and staggered forward, deeper into the room.

“Are you alive?” your roommate’s voice echoed around the quiet room, the hint of sarcasm evident in her voice. She stepped into the small living room, resting her body against the doorframe, a book in her hands. “Honestly, I thought I had gotten rid of your annoying ass tonight, but here you are.”

“Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes at her as a drowsy smile reached your lips. “You wouldn’t last a day without me.”

“Are you sure?” she slightly squinted at you, letting a dry laugh escape from her lips while your body collapsed against the dark green sofa pillows. “Let’s see… I’ve just spent twenty-two hours and seventeen minutes without you. I guess it’s enough.”

You nodded before your mind could properly understand her words, eyes closed and body curled up against the pillows. “See you tomorrow, love.”

The moonlight invaded the now dark dormitory. You snored quietly, lips partly open and blanket draped over your tired body. A sudden ring dragged you back to reality as your eyes shot open, adrenaline exploding through your veins.

“Fuck!” your roommate exhaled from her bedroom, anger boiling inside her body from being woken up after merely sleeping for half an hour. “Fucking turn this shitty alarm clock off or I’m throwing it out of the bloody window! YN, are you dead?”

You blinked repeatedly before vigorously shaking your head only to notice the ringing came from your bedroom, its sound reverberating through the whole dormitory. The whole building must have been woken up. Your roommate threatened the entire galaxy while you lazily pulled your body towards the other side of the living room in order to reach your bedroom. The alarm clock stood by the edge of the bedside table, ringing louder.

Damn it, you had completely forgotten to turn it off before leaving early in the morning. Quickly pressing any button your sleepy fingers could reach, silence engulfed your body and you pressed your hands against your face. “I’m sorry!”

“I hope you are, YN!”

“It won’t happen again, I promise!”

Returning to the living room, you pulled the blanket from where it lay on the wooden floor. Exhaling, your tired gazed rested on the telephone table by the corner of the living room. Should you, though? No. What a ridiculous idea. The clock hanging by the wall showed half past four in the morning. Why would you call him, by the way?

Brushing off the sudden need to call him, you pulled the blanket over your body after lying down on the sofa on the same spot you had let your body collapse a few hours prior. Closing your eyes, the image of Roger sitting alone at the back of the van invaded your mind. His legs swayed slightly as he abandoned the bottle in his hands.

“He’s alright…” you whispered to yourself, trying to convince your stubborn mind of it.

But it was useless. Soon enough, your body was falling limp against the armchair by the telephone table. Your fingers quickly slid through the numbers, pressing the headset against your ear and pulling at the coil cord.

“Hello? W-Who’s is this?” Roger’s voice rang from the speaker end. Confusion and drowsiness clearly mixed together as he tried to work out the words in his mind, his messy blond locks framed his features in an angelical way.

The raspy tone of his voice caused shivers to slightly shake your body. You closed your eyes; a sharp intake of breath filled your lungs as your thoughts wandered to places you fought to forget. Images of Roger’s lips against yours, hands eagerly roaming through your body, flashed through your mind, followed by the image of a cigarette pressed in between his lips as his skilled hands pushed the drumsticks against the cymbals. Droplets of sweat slowly running down his neck as he pursed his lips and closed eyes, head throw back in pure ecstasy from the music surrounding him. Fuck.

Silence.

“I can hear you breathing.”

Breath caught in your throat, your anxious gaze averted to the clock again. You absentmindedly watched the second hand rapidly move over the surface of the clock nervously gripping the headset and breathing slightly uneven.

“Hello?”

Mad at yourself, you scoffed at the headset and pushed it against the hook mechanism. Why did you ever consider calling him? Exhaling in nervousness, you let your body sink into the soft pillows of the armchair. God, why? What a ridiculous idea.

The telephone silently begged for a call, which caused you to turn your back to it as though that would magically solve the issue. Squeezing the soft fabric of the blanket, you, irritated, pulled it against your body, shielding it from any invitations from the machine.

“God, YN!” you mumbled to yourself, anger boiling inside your veins.

You pulled the headset frim the hook mechanism, letting your fingers slide through the known number. Roger was quicker to answer, a hint of impatience noticeable in his tone. “I hope you do know what time it is.”

“H-Half past four, Rog,” you whispered to the microphone end, heart racing inexplicably. Why were you calling him?

“YN? Is that you?” Roger uttered confused. Was he suffering from the effects of the alcohol still pumping through his veins? No. He would never mistake your voice. Ever. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” you exhaled nervously. “I should ask you the same.”

“What do you mean?” Roger nervously gulped.

“You’ve been… Hm, distant lately. Is it because of something I’ve done? Honestly, I’ve searched my mind and there’s nothing, Rog.”

Silence.

A nervous laugh escaped from your lips at the lack of an answer. What a ridiculous idea. Why would Roger ever confide in you if he ever had any issue when he shared a flat with his best friend? Honestly, the situation couldn’t be worse.

“I-I’m sorry. This was a mistake. A huge one. God, I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Stay,” Roger promptly answered as he dragged his body from under the blanket covering his body. He partially sat over his pillow, heart racing at your words. There was something trapped in your throat and he silently begged for it.

You gulped at the single word, biting your lips. God, why was it so hard to admit? Why would you ever call him in the middle of night in order to solely ask if he was alright? “Okay.”

“Why are you calling, YN?” he hesitantly asked, anxiously gripping the headset.

Anticipation filled your body, which caused you to shallowly breathe into the microphone end and to press the headset against you ear until a burning sensation suddenly appeared. An uncomfortable sensation filled the pit of your stomach due to the nervousness. The only thing holding you back was the fact that you were afraid of how Roger would react.

Silence.

“I-I… I care about you, Rog,” you whispered, almost inaudible, the words cascaded out of lips. “A lot.”

“Fuck, YN…” Roger mumbled to himself in a failed attempt to deny the truth your words carried. Was it the alcohol? His surroundings spun rapidly as your words echoed in his mind louder at each passing second.

Your fingers anxiously rested over your lips as though preventing any more words from falling out of them. His breathing reached your ears. For a minute, your mind was focused on listening to the silence, desperately searching for any meaning in it.

“That’s why I called,” you quietly admitted.

11 notes · View notes

sareyen · 4 years ago

Text

A Machine Without Feelings: A Jane Eyre AU (Part 1/11)

Read on ao3

Chapter 1

Charles hid behind the heavy crimson curtains in the alcove by the eastern window. It was his favourite little nook; the sun rising in the east always made it the warmest part of the grand Westchester estate in the morning, and Charles always liked the way it overlooked the gardens that were always bright against the stony backdrop of the grey stone mansion. What he liked most about the nook, though, was that it was safe. His stepbrother, Cain Marko, had not found this little corner of peace yet, allowing Charles to tuck his knees up onto the plush cushion seat of the alcove and prop a heavy book across his lap.

"Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Pollens," Charles murmured quietly to himself, wanting to say the foreign words out loud, but struggling to wrap his young tongue around the tough words he was trying to learn. He had almost seen ten winters now, and in the confines of the Westchester mansion - a prison, he had sometimes thought – Charles wanted to drink in any form of knowledge he could. He had always been a genius, as his favourite nurse, Kitty, always told him. Charles soaked up knowledge like the Westchester grass did after a heavy rain, or how Cain’s stomach soaked up all of the sweet cakes he ate gluttonously.

This was one of Charles’s favourite books; even though he couldn’t understand all of the large words, he grasped enough from the words he did know and the pictures to decipher meaning. The sciences had always interested him, more so than Cain’s novels about pirates and sea monsters, and found a small kernel of happiness whenever he read about how plants grow and spread. He often looked at the twisting ivy climbing up the walls of Westchester, unruly and vibrant, alive amongst the dead stones. His mother, Sharon, called them weeds and asked their servants to cut it down when they could, but she often forgot about it all by the time the bottle had emptied.

Charles smiled to himself as he ran his fingers over the long German words, casting his eyes over the pictures of plants and pollen, of seeds and leaves. He didn’t know how much time passed, until he heard the bang of an ornate door, his eyes going wide as his entire body froze.

“Where is he?! Where in the dickens is that gibface little meater?!” Charles heard his stepbrother’s voice call out, the clack of his shoes deafening on the hard floor. Charles tried to breathe evenly and shallowly as to not make any noise, blue eyes trained on the miniscule slit between the curtains.

He saw Cain prowl past, eyes narrowed into slits in his puffy face. His thick lips were pulled back with a snarl, and his nose sniffed like he could smell Charles’s fear. Charles bit down a gasp when Cain’s eyes suddenly snapped to his alcove, his feet clunk, clunk, clunking on the wood.

Charles leapt out of the alcove before Cain could find him himself, as if offering himself up as some sort of sacrifice would make Cain go easier on him today.

“Ah, there’s our Charlie-boy,” Cain sneered, the taller, older boy sauntering over with a smirk. His eyes looked Charles up and down, before focusing on the book cradled against Charles’s chest. “What is that book?” Cain demanded, jerking a fat finger against Charles’s chest and the book, the smaller boy stumbling back with the force. “Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Pollens,” Charles responded meekly, cowering as Cain snorted.

“You have no business taking our books,” Cain said, as if this mansion belonged to him already. It did not. It had originally belonged to Charles’s father, Brian Xavier, but when he died it was left in the hands of his mother. If his mother had been any other woman, the estate would have been passed on to Charles. But Charles’s mother was a drunk, her mind lost in the drink more often than not; her new husband, Kurt Marko, easily coerced her into giving him everything she owned. Sometimes, Charles thought that included him.

Charles did not often incite violence nor conflict, but it had always irked him whenever Cain would claim everything that Charles’s father had carefully cultivated as his. Cain was just like his father, and even though still a child, Charles knew that they were wasting away the vast Xavier fortune on nothing but folly.

“These are not your books,” Charles replied, steeling himself as he clutched de Pollens closer to his chest. “They were my father’s books. They are Xavier books, not Marko books!”

“You little-” Cain spluttered, growing bright red with fury. “Your father is dead and buried in the ground, and everything in this house belongs to my father! And as his real son, it thus belongs to me! Everything here is mine; these curtains are mine, those windows are mine, and that book in your hands is also mine!”

As Cain yelled, he lunged forward to wrench the book from Charles’s hands. Charles knew that the moment he grabbed it, the larger boy would smash it over Charles’s head, like he always did. ‘No!’ Charles screamed in his mind, terrified at being hurt again. Charles’s body shook as it remembered in vivid detail how it felt to be pushed to the ground by his stepbrother, how the older boy’s hands tore at his brown hair and bruised his stomach and ribs.

“Give the book here, you rat!” Cain growled, and Charles yelped when Cain snatched the book from Charles’s weak hands and smashed it over his head. Charles felt dizzy as he staggered, something wet and sticky dribbling down over his forehead, making his hair stick to his skin.

Charles blinked, hand shakily moving to his hair. When he pulled it back, his fingertips were red with blood, matching the crimson curtains behind him. Charles felt anger, white and hot, course through him unlike anything he has felt before. Charles had always been a measured and calm child, but the blow to the head sparked something in him, driving him momentarily mad. There was a screaming inside his head, one of injustice mixed in with fear, which caused Charles to move.

Charles yelled out, closing his eyes and swinging the heavy book haphazardly in an arc through the air. There was a thump and a cry of pain, but for once, it did not come from Charles. “What is going on here?” a voice thundered, the male timbre carrying throughout the high ceilings and ornate walls of the room. Charles felt his heart fly into his mouth as he peeled open his shut eyes, Kurt Marko stalking over to the two boys with murder set on his face.

“Father!” Cain snivelled, jumping up as he held his throbbing head, pointing towards Charles rudely. “This little cretin assaulted me!”

“Assaulted you?” Charles repeated, feeling the blood on his crown ooze a little. Kurt Marko looked heeded his son’s words, eyes whirling to Charles as his devil spawn grinned in victory, like a cat that just caught the canary.

“After all I have done for you, but marrying your mother to save your family, this is how you repay me?” Kurt Marko drawled, grabbing onto the back of Charles’s coat, hauling his tiny frame into the air.

“I did not… I didn’t…” Charles stuttered, fear seizing him, the book in his hands cluttering to the ground.

“To the Red Room with you,” Kurt Marko said, and Charles’s eyes widened and blurred, tears streaming down his face.

No, no, no, not the Red Room. Not that room. Please, please, please, anything but the red room!

If the Westchester mansion was a prison, the Red Room was its torture chamber. Charles had been locked in there many times since he was a boy even younger than ten, even after he did his best to not anger the Markos. It seemed like, no matter how hard he tried, they still painted him as the problem. Kurt Marko turned a blind eye to Cain’s cruelty, to the way he would capture birds in the gardens and snap their necks on the edge of the fountain. He ignored the way Cain bullied tutors and the maids, and how he was, in every way, an unnatural, demon-like child.

Maybe it was because Kurt Marko, too, was a demon.

“Step-father, Mr. Marko, sir, please, please not the Red Room,” Charles pleaded, skinny legs shaking in his light-coloured trousers. His tunic felt soaked through with cold sweat, and Charles felt like he couldn’t breathe as Kurt pushed him roughly through the heavy doors. Charles’s legs gave in to the force, and the boy was flung forwards onto the carpet. His knees thudded heavily, and his palms hurt as they braced him on the floor.

“Unnatural children need to be punished, you know this, Charles,” Kurt said, voice eerily calm, though his mouth was curled up into an amused smile. “Children like you, that were born bad, need to be taught how to behave. This was the task God gave me, and you will be grateful that someone pitied you enough to try and save your soul.”

“No! Please! I won’t- I’ll do anything- Please! Don’t leave me in here!” Charles begged on his knees, tears sliding down his reddened cheeks and coating his tongue. Kurt just responded with a cold smile, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Charles screamed and battered his little fists against the door, but it did not yield.

The Red Room was one such room in the far, almost forgotten wing of the estate that had not been refurbished by the Markos. It had all of the old furnishings, the old, gloomy wallpaper, and smelled of grief and despair. It had been the room Charles’s dear father had spent his last breath, and the draft in the fireplace and flow of air through the slits in the mouldy windows made it seem like his spirit was still here.

Though the spirit of Brian Xavier had been gentle and just in life, Charles believed that his soul was now restless as he saw what has become of his precious Westchester, and now he haunted this room. In his fury, Brian Xavier did not recognise those still walking on the mortal plane, and as night descended, he would come into the room screaming with the voices of all of the past Xaviers, a chorus of anger and hate.

Charles was a child, and though he was level-headed and rational, he was still just a child. He was terrified, and each squeal of the wind at the window, each rattle and rasp of air pushing down the ashen and dusty chimney was like a scream of a haunted spirit in Charles’s mind.

It was as if he could hear the voices of all the dead Xaviers in his head, their phantom minds overwhelming him, until he could finally take no more and collapsed onto the floor, darkness claiming him.

*** Charles woke to the feeling of a cool cloth brushing against his forehead and the tune of a maid’s song. Charles whimpered, feeling feverish, and the cloth was replaced by a gentle hand. Charles’s eyes opened blearily, and he turned his head stiffly to match the soft touch to a face. He felt relieved when he saw Kitty’s face smiling down at him, brown hair tied back in a tight knot.

“Master Charles, you have awakened,” Kitty’s voice spoke gently in his ear, relieved and comforting. “Here, sit up, child. You have been sleeping for a day and an hour since we found you on the ground in the Red Room. You are weak and hungry, I’d bet. Have some water, and I have some soup and bread for you.”

“Thank you, Kitty,” Charles said, ever polite, even when in the grips of sickness. The kind words of her little master made Kitty smile, patting his head affectionately as before gently holding a glass of water against his chapped lips, which were a shade paler than their usual bright berry red.

Kitty, along with the other servants of the household, adored the young Xavier, though after his mother’s remarriage, was forced to take on the surname Marko. The servants never called him that, though, and in their hearts they addressed the cherubic-faced boy as ‘Master Xavier’. They knew their master did not like sharing the Marko name, and they shared that sentiment. They believed the Markos to be nasty and evil, and never wanted to lump their gentle Charles with the likes of them. They never openly showed this, though – they were fearful of their masters as much as they hated them.

Still, they did what they could for the young master that treated them with kindness, the only one in the family to do so. Even though he was still but a boy, he reminded the older servants of their now dearly departed Mr Brian Xavier.

Kitty nodded in encouragement as Charles nearly drained the entire glass, wiping the corner of his mouth with a towel before putting the glass onto a tray on his bedside table.

“Do you think you can eat, Master Charles?” Kitty asked, gesturing to a small bowl of vegetable soup and stiff bread. Charles did not really want to eat anything, his stomach feeling like it was knotting itself shut. Charles never had a hearty appetite on a normal day, and Kitty often chastised him in good nature, saying that his small appetite is why he is small for a boy of his age.

Charles did not want to waste Kitty’s efforts to bring him food to his rooms, though. It was always hard enough for the servants to scrounge up some extra things for Charles to eat, since the Markos forbade him to dine with them.

Charles just nodded in answer to Kitty’s question, the woman smiling happily and helping feed Charles, his body still weak with fever caused by immense fear. He ate as much as he could, finishing most of the soup but only eating a few morsels of the bread, too tough for him to stomach. Kitty was satisfied with his efforts, and after he ate she helped tuck him back into the bed, pulling the blankets over his shoulders.

“Rest now, Master Charles,” Kitty spoke softly, stroking the younger boy’s hair like she used to when he was younger. The touch helped send the boy off to sleep, though these days sleep was fitful and restless.

“Thank you, Kitty,” Charles murmured again, sleepy. “Good night.”

“Good night, Master Charles.”

***

Kurt Marko nodded to the man – Mr Shaw – as he grabbed his cloak and walking stick. The man had a menacing smile as he had peered down at Charles, inspecting him from head to toe. He had introduced himself as Mr Shaw, the master of Graymalkin School for Children. It was a school primarily aimed to help educate orphans or wayward children; neither of which Charles believed he was, but the prospect of going to school made his heart beat with excitement.

Charles tried to hide how elated he was when Kurt declared that he was going to be sent to school. Charles always wanted to learn, and now to be given the opportunity to be taught properly outside the confines of Westchester? Charles could only think that his nightly prayers had finally been answered; to be able to escape from the clutches of the Markos, his alcoholic mother, and the house that he hardly loved.

His step-father told him that he would leave by couch in two days, and Charles had to swallow back the plea to leave tomorrow. To just leave now. He would not miss many things in Westchester, and the things he would miss could be counted with the fingers of one hand; Kitty, his alcove, his father’s libraries, the gardens in the springtime and his bedroom. But those five things were not enough to tether him to Westchester, and he could not wait to go to school.

Two days had gone by relatively quickly; Kitty helped him pack his belongings, of which there was not much. Kurt never spent money on Charles, so he only had what he had been left before the Markos came, and only the bare minimum after that. It had not taken long for Kitty to neatly fold and press a single change of clothes into a worn and aging case, rolling up some spare socks and tucking in a small box of biscuits for the long carriage ride. She also gave him his father’s old pocket watch, securing it to Charles’s small hip.

The dawn of his leave had come, and no one but the servants came to bid him farewell. They all hugged him, some of them teary, but others happy for him, knowing that their intelligent little master was happy to be given an opportunity to learn. Kitty cried the most, though she tried to hide it; she was the last to hug Charles, holding him tightly outside the door of the carriage. “I will be praying for you always, Master Charles,” Kitty said through a sniffle, and Charles felt his eyes grow a little wet at the sound. “Please keep your health in mind, and if the chance is given, please write. I am sure we would all like to hear about how you have been enjoying school.”

“I will, Kitty. Farewell,” Charles promised, pressing a kiss to Kitty’s cheek, making the woman laugh, wiping at her eyes with a cloth. She helped Charles clamber into the coach, closing the door behind him. Charles waved his small hand out of the carriage all the way down the long gravel path, head poking out of the small window to watch Kitty and the staff get smaller and smaller, until the coach turned a corner and Westchester mansion disappeared from sight.

It was a long ride to Graymalkin School, one that Mr Shaw had been a little surprised at when he found out that Charles was going to make it alone. If Charles could read Kurt’s mind, he was sure he had been hoping for Charles to die on the road, whether by overturned coach or bandit attack.

Unfortunately for Kurt, but fortunately for Charles, he made it to the school in one piece, though weary from the journey. His bones were creaky with disuse, and his spine felt out of place, but he brightened when he saw the plaque outside of the school.

Graymalkin School for Children.

‘A fresh start’, Charles thought to himself giddily as he stepped out of the carriage, a man wearing a dark suit standing in wait. He had tanned skin and long, dark hair, and had a stoic expression on his face as he regarded Charles.

“Who are you?” he asked simply, and Charles opened his mouth with practised manners.

“Charles Marko,” the boy said, hoping that one day he could rid himself of the blighted Marko name. Even though he was out of the sight and touch of Kurt Marko, it was still too early for him to feel like he was free from his reach. Charles sincerely hoped that one day he could shed the name and fear of the Markos, but ‘I’m still only ten,’ Charles reminded himself. He could still grow.

“Ah, Mr Shaw informed us that you would be arriving around this time. Come, let us get you settled. I am Mr Quested, the arithmetic teacher here,” the man said, voice even but not harsh, though his face did not betray any flicker of emotion.

Charles followed the man obediently into the building; like Westchester, the school building was made of stone, but it was nowhere near as grand. The entire single-level building would have been the size of the Westchester stables, and looked decrepit. Charles had heard that Kurt had payed a small sum for his admittance into the school, and wondered where that money was going since the school looked like it had not been maintained at all.

The inside of the school was ice cold, the chill from the cold stones not mitigated by fires nor rugs. Charles shivered, the small boy prone to chilly temperatures, and pulled his coat around himself tighter.

Charles was led to an inner room where, finally, there was one fire going. Another man with a harsh face, who Mr Quested called Mr Azazel, prodded the fire roughly and ordered Charles to strip the moment he entered the room. Mr Quested told Charles, whose eyes were wide like a startled deer, that Mr Azazel was the languages teacher and that he was going to give Charles the school’s uniform.

Charles quickly changed into the scratchy, slightly too-small grey uniform, the high collar chafing under his chin. Mr Quested took Charles’s old clothes, which were simple and old, but far nicer in quality than that of the uniform, and discarded them to the side.

“Now, we will show you the class rooms. You have arrived in time for first classes,” Mr Quested said, and Charles felt the cold seep out from his body at the prospect of learning, brightening visibly. Mr Quested did not comment on the sudden spring to the boy’s step, just leading him into a large hall where many pairs of tired yet curious eyes peered back at him, all wearing a similar grey uniform. There were rows of girls sitting to Charles’s left, and boys in a similar configuration to his right.

Mr Quested introduced Charles to the other children – his classmates – and he was instructed to take a seat on the boy’s side. Charles did as he asked, plopping himself down for his first assembly.

This was where things would change, Charles believed.

He was right, but what he didn’t realise was that they didn’t necessarily change for the better.

***

School was not what Charles had pictured it to be. It was not that Charles did not learn things; he did gain knowledge in English, arithmetic, botany, languages (French and German, and Russian from Mr Azazel), geography and history, amongst other things. Charles just did not expect it to be so cold and harsh and strict. Mornings began in the dark, where Charles would wash his face with ice-cold water shared by others. Breakfast was unpalatable slop, cold and pasty in his mouth and borderline inedible. Lunch was a no better affair, the stew a sludge of fat and undercooked roots, but Charles tried his best to stomach it, because otherwise he would writhe around in his cold straw bed starving until morning broke, and he would live it all over again. Living at Graymalkin School was as hard as living in Westchester, but in a different way.

Charles had never felt so cold before, his pale skin always icy to the touch, his feet always numb. He wished that he was allowed to wear the woollen cloak Kitty packed him, but he had to wear the school’s grey uniform that was thin and short, not covering Charles’s cold wrists and ankles well at all.

The teachers were also horrible. Mr Quested was the most tolerable of them all, and taught his classes methodically but dryly. Mr Essex was very knowledgeable about the sciences, which Charles was interested in, but often took time out of his lessons to berate his students; he usually picked on students that were slow to grasp things, and though Charles was never slandered, he felt great pain for his fellow pupils that had to quietly hold in their tears as Mr Essex cursed at them. Mr Azazel was intimidating, and would snap the necks of students with hard reed when they mispronounced a word as they read foreign texts, or force them to stand with their arms up until they conjugated complex verbs incorrectly.

However, the worst of them all was Mr Shaw. Mr Shaw stepped in for classes on various occasions, and out of all of the teachers, he was the most fond of physical punishments and public ridicule. Charles had been a victim of his attentions once in the few weeks he had been at Graymalkin School. Charles had spoken up in one of his classes, offering an eloquent rebuttal to one of the points Mr Shaw had raised about a text they were studying; Mr Shaw had grown livid that someone like Charles had argued with him, but Charles had been adamant that he had not said anything that should cause offense. Mr Shaw called him a liar and unleashed the wrath of God upon him.

Charles had endured ten lashings on his wrists, his light skin easily marked with red. Mr Shaw had not finished there, and made him stand on a stool in the middle of the large hall with a chalk board with ‘Liar’ scribbled across it. Mr Shaw had denied Charles dinner that night, and Charles whimpered as he stood there with a near-empty stomach.

Students marched past him after they had their own meal, and a few cast pitying looks at him as they trudged past to the segregated bed chambers. The girls parted to the left, and the boys to the right, Charles merely watching them leave while swallowing his saliva down sadly, hands held behind his back.

Suddenly, something coarse and rough was pressed into Charles’s hands discretely, and he stroked his fingers over it. It was bread.

Charles’s eyes widened as he searched the sea of grey pupils that all brushed past him, and his heart thumped when one head turned back. It was a girl, head full of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She had a mischievous curve to her mouth that was so unlike any one else at this school, teacher or student alike.

When Charles was finally allowed to retire to his scratchy bed that night after having sneakily eaten the contraband bread, Charles found that he slept a little better at the thought of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl that he didn’t know the name of.

***

The girl, he would later find out, was called Raven. She was an orphan, and had been at the school for a year already. Raven was bright, daring, and so alive that Charles always felt lighter in her presence. He had not realised how lonely he had been until he began to spend time with Raven, though their interactions were limited since Raven was in the girl’s classes, and they only interacted during the afternoon yard time.

When they were allowed to play in the yard, Raven and Charles would always gravitate towards each other; Raven had said that the way he had argued – debated, Charles emphasised – with Shaw had been the best thing she had seen the entire time she had been here. No one ever told Shaw that he was wrong, not even Mr Quested or Mr Azazel, but Charles had.

“I got whipped for that, you know,” Charles said, though his mouth held the quirk of a smile at that, the lingering pain on his wrists not as harsh when Raven laughed at him, face so bright. Raven had asked Charles early on in their newfound friendship if he was an orphan or a wayward child. Charles said that he was neither, and Raven had smirked, and said ‘definitely wayward, then’. Raven then told Charles that she was both an orphan and a wayward child, though she was proud of the latter. Wayward and proud, she had declared, standing on top of a bench and waving a long stick from her hands.

“Then you can just be wayward,” Charles had said after that, smiling at the slightly younger girl. The girl looked at him in confusion, and Charles beamed wider. “I will be your family, so you do not have to be an orphan. You can just be wayward and proud.”

Raven had embraced him tightly and called him brother, and for the first time, Charles felt like he had a real family. Sharon, Kurt and Cain were distant memories; Raven would be his family from now on, and he would be Charles Xavier.

School had gotten a lot better after befriending Raven; Charles clearly excelled in his classes, which earned him the favour of the teachers there. Even Mr Shaw could not deny that Charles was the most advanced pupil, and found it hard to punish him as much when he did not do anything that warranted punishment.

Instead, Mr Shaw turned his sights onto Raven, whom he knew was close to Charles. Shaw punished Raven whenever Charles frustrated him, and despite Charles’s best efforts to protect his sister, he was still only a boy. Even after being at Graymalkin School for a few years had not changed the fact that he was powerless against people like Shaw. The only way he could protect Raven was to let himself be punished by Shaw – so Charles often dropped chalkboards, or wore one part of his uniform incorrectly, giving Shaw reason to vent his frustrations upon him.

Charles’s wrists became worn with marks and scars from lashings, and he was sure that the backs of his legs painted a similar picture. But, Raven was safe from Shaw, so Charles could brave it.

But while Charles could protect Raven from Shaw, he could not protect her from other things. It had been two years since Charles went to Graymalkin School when typhoid fever blitzed through the meagre campus. Teachers covered their faces with linen clothes while coughing and feverish children were sequestered in a cold room full of hard cots and left to die.

By chance, or by Kitty’s prayers, the fever had left Charles untouched. Raven had not been granted the same fortune, and in the deep winter of that year, she had fallen ill and passed soon after.

Charles had wailed for days – weeks – after that, and had refused to leave Raven’s lifeless and ashen body even as the teachers covered her with a sheet to be buried. Charles had begged and screamed at Raven’s still body to come back or to take him with her, and he only stopped crying when his despair had robbed him of all energy and he fell into a cold, dreamless slumber.

The yard that Charles and Raven used to play in, where they had become brother and sister, was soon dug up to bury the many dead children of Graymalkin school. The teachers organised a mass funeral for all of the lost students, and their grey uniforms were switched to black for one week. Charles cried as they sang a dark funeral song, rain pelting down. As the rain fell, he remembered Raven’s sunlight blonde hair and ocean blue eyes, how she smiled and laughed and was the very meaning of life.

Charles buried a little bit of himself with Raven that day; Charles did not laugh as much as before, even though Raven said that his smile was nice and made him seem like a different person. He did not act out against Shaw, nor did he complain about the slop they called porridge or the rancid fat in the stew. Charles simply did what he came to school to do; learn, learn and learn.

It was eight years after he came to Graymalkin School for Children that Charles left it behind. Mr Shaw had long since left the school; it had been discovered that he had been hoarding the money meant for the school for his own means and was subsequently cast out, a new committee at the school stepping in to oversee things. Life was not so bleak once Shaw was ousted, and that was what allowed Charles to stay and teach at Graymalkin for two years after graduating from pupil to tutor.

Charles was a popular teacher; he was kind, understanding, patient and gentle. He was also the best teacher in terms of actual instruction, knowledgeable in every aspect, but particularly in the sciences. He would make classes interesting by allowing students to go out into the yard rather than sit on rickety wooden chairs inside a stone classroom, and his lessons were the only times the pupils felt free to express their opinions. The students loved him, and when he told them that he was leaving, there were many wet eyes and sobs amongst the children.

They loved their Mr Xavier – because that was the name he had taken, once again – and Graymalkin wouldn’t be the same without him there.

Charles’s heart was warmed, and he believed that he had truly found his calling in teaching. But there was some niggling feeling inside of his soul that told him that there was more out there, outside of Westchester, and outside of Graymalkin. Graymalkin had shaped him to become the man of eighteen that he was today, but he knew there was something missing.

Charles said goodbye to Raven before he left Graymalkin, cleaning off the rock used as a headstone with a pail of water, and placing some freshly plucked flowers bundled in a string of lace beside it. Charles smiled as he nestled a little wooden board with etched letters in front of it, thumb brushing over its corners.

Raven Xavier Beloved friend and sister Forever wayward and proud

Next chapter (2/11) →

#cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #jane eyre #charlotte bronte #charles x erik #xmen #xmen fic #magneto #professor x #raven darkholme #mystique #mr rochester #i just love cherik and jane eyre ok

15 notes · View notes

sunshinejs · 5 years ago

Text

All My Love is Yours

if you see any spelling errors pls ignore it. I edited this on the flight and was sleepy af.

Songs I listened to while writing this (if you wanted a more emotional effect):

say you won’t let go - james arthur

marry me - train

be your everything - boys like girls

fallin all in you - shawn mendes

enchanted - taylor swift

lay me down - sam smith ft. john legend

a thousand years -christina perri

swear it again - westlife

can’t help falling in love - jess and gabriel (cover)

just the way you are - bruno mars

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Word count: 2.5k -ish

8 years, 5 months and 19 days. That was how long Connor has known you.

And how long have you two been together, you may ask?

6 years, 4 months and 23 days. Connor was definitely counting. He would tell that to anyone who asked and he wouldn’t be embarrassed by it. Connor is THAT in love with you and he wanted the whole world to know it.

Because to him, every minute he has spent with you counts. Every laughter, every smile, every tears, every arguments, every ups and downs; it counts. That’s what made the relationship last. That’s what made Connor and y/n what they are now; two teenagers who fell in love accidentally on purpose and still going strong years later.

Connor was certain you were the one he wanted to spend his life with even before you two celebrated your first anniversary. He remembers himself rambling to his mother over the phone about how amazing you were and how your laugh is so contageous that he would be laughing along every time you were giggling.

His mother thought it was cute; that her son finally found someone to love, someone to be head over heels over, but she didn’t think too much about it. It was when Connor introduced you to his family that his mother immediately knew what Connor was talking. After that, she was also convinced that you were the one for her boy and she prayed for it to be true; because she could see how perfect you two were for each other and Connor’s family absolutely adored you.

Being with someone for over 6 years was crazy to think. Connor thinks you deserve a trophy for sticking by his random and crazy antics for such a long time. But he also thinks that it’s finally time to pop the question.

xxx

You headed up to your study after dinner with Connor and your two best friends. Connor insisted they would do the dishes instead because he needed to talk to them without you around.

“Hmm” Brian hummed as he watched over Connor at the sink sceptically “You never offer to do the dishes for y/n, Brashier. So. what gives?

Connor shrugged in reply while rinsing off the soap from the plates “I just want to help my girlfriend out around the house. Is that so unbelievable?”

Shawn grins, shaking his head “Brian is right, Con and we all know it. So spit it out”

Damn these guys for knowing Connor too well.

He hangs the last plate at the drying rack and turned off the tap. He dries his hand with the kitchen towel before joining the other two at the island.

“I’m going to do it” Connor announced.

Shawn asks confusingly, “Do what?”

Connor breaks into a smile, saying “I’m going to ask her to marry me”

“Shut up!” Brian exclaimed loudly, voice full of excitement while he stares at his best friend “For real?!?”

He laughs in respond, nodding in confirmation “For real”

“Dude!” Shawn grinned, moving over to Connor’s side so he could give him a hug “I’m so happy for you!”

“Fuck yeah!” Brian cried, joining in the group hug “Our Baby Brash isn’t a baby anymore!”

“Stop calling me that!” Connor rolled his eyes annoyedly, pushing his two best friends off him.

“Do you think… She’ll say yes?” He then asks hesitantly.

“Are you really asking us that?” Shawn deadpanned “Of course she’s going to say yes! You two are Connor and y/n. You’re bound to spend the rest of your lives together!”

Brian nodded in agreement “There’s no one else more perfect for each other than you two”

Oh, he hopes for that to be true.

“Would you go with me to find the perfect ring for her?” Connor asks.

“Con, it would be our honour” Shawn smiles at his friend before looking over at Brian “Bri, are you crying….?”

“Shut up! I’m emotional okay!”

xxx

The three guys were set to go for ring shopping that weekend. You were having a lunch reunion with your high school friends so Connor didn’t have to worry about explaining to you what they were doing for the rest of the day.

2 shops in, Connor still hasn’t found the right one. He was starting to think that maybe it was a sign from the universe but Brian smacked the back of his head, saying “You’re going to find that ring and you’re going to find it today! So take that negativity somewhere else, dumbass”

And Brian was right.

Shawn got the name of this jewellery shop from his friend. He swears they do the prettiest engagement rings and Shawn just knew he had to take Connor here.

“Take a deep breath” Shawn instructed Connor as they stood in front of the store “You’re going to get it from here. Trust me on this”

“Yeah” Connor agreed “I’m going to find it”

And so, he did.

It was the first ring he laid his eyes on when he walks up to the counter displaying all the rings. He was scanning through the various shapes and sizes of rings, then he caught a glance of this one.

To him, it was basically screaming how perfect it would be our your ring finger. The details on the ring, the size of the diamond; it was all perfect. And Connor knew that this is the one.

It’s a little on the pricier side but he didn’t mind. He gets it engraved (because Connor loved being extra whenever it comes to you) on the inner side of the ring.

all my love is yours always.

It’s cheesy but he didn’t care. He would be the cheesiest man in the world when it comes to you.

He gets home before you do and he immediately keeps it hidden in his side of the closet. That day, Connor couldn't stop smiling and no matter how many times you asked him why was he so chirpy, his response is “I’ve got the best girl in the world with me right now. I think that’s a valid reason to be grinning like a mad man”

xxx

a month later

“Hey babe?” Connor looked up from his paperwork. You sat across from him with your own pile of work on a Saturday (early) morning, something you both did very often together.

You hummed in response, looking at him “Yeah, bubs?”

“Mom asked if you were down to spend the afternoon with her” Connor waved his phone as an indication “She’s in desperate need of a girl’s day”

That was the plan. He needed you out of the house for a few hours while he gets everything into place and his mom was more than happy to be a distraction for you.

“Today?” You ask immediately “I guess I could use one too. It’s been a rough couple of days at the office”

“Exactly!” Connor agreed “Take a break then? Spend the day with ma”

“Yeah, I’ll give her a call in a bit” You nodded, smiling “Are we stil on for date night?”

“Always” He reassured “Is pizza okay with you?”

“You know that’s my favourite kind of date night, Con”

So, a few hours later you left Connor alone at home to spend the day with his mother. That was when he got to work.

He has been compiling all the stuff he needs for tonight and shoved them all in his equipment room, knowing you wouldn’t step into the room unless Connor was calling for you from the room.

Connor starts with hanging up the fairy light around the living room. He knew how much you loved them; always telling him how magical they looked like. After that was set up, he took the bag filled with rose petals and spread them on the floor of your living room in the shape of a filled giant heart then set-up a table for two in the middle of the room.

He even cooked your favourite meal (the only one he was a master at) instead of having takeaway pizza for dinner because he wanted everything to be perfect for this moment; to show you how much he loves you and would do anything if it meant to see that smile on your face.

Connor has been working on the compilation of your relationship’s montage for about 3 weeks now. He sneaks off to his equipment room on most nights and you don’t bother him; assuming he was just busy with the workload he was getting. There were so many photos and videos of you two together and he wanted to put as much into the montage as possible.

His mother texts him, giving him the signal that they were done and you were probably 30 minutes away from home. He grabbed the projector and his laptop then made his way to the living room to do the final set-up.

When Connor heard the front door jiggle, his legs started to shake and there were butterflies in his stomach.

This is really happening. He thought to himself. There’s no turning back.

You walked through the front door, confused as to why there were lack of lights in the house. “Con?” You called out to him, slipping off your shoes and putting them neatly at the shoe rack by the door.

“Living room, babe!”

When you got to the destination, your jaws dropped at the set-up before you. There were fairy lights everywhere, flower petals on the floor, a table set-up for two. You were stunned.

“Con?” You gawked “What’s all this?”

“Surprise!” Connor cheers, making his way towards you. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “Do you like it?”

“Bubs, this is amazing” You gushed, looking around at all the decoration “But what’s the occasion? Did I miss something?” You asked confusingly.

He chuckles and took a hold of your wrist and led you towards the table, dropping off your bag at the couch in the process.

“No you didn’t, baby” He insisted, pulling the chair out for you “I just wanted to do something nice for date night. We’ve had a pretty rough week at work and I thought it’s what we deserve”

“You’re amazing, Connor David Brashier” You sighed happily as you waited for him to sit across from you. You eyed the spaghetti and meatballs set in front of you “You cooked dinner? What happened to pizza?”

“It was a part of the surprise, silly!” He smiles “Now stop talking and let’s eat. What did you and ma do today?”

xxx

“Why do you have the projector out?” You asked confusingly after you two were done with dinner, notcing the equipment out along with his laptop.

“Oh, right. I was working on a project for the past few weeks” He answered and you don’t miss how nervous he suddenly sounded, but didn’t think too much about it “I wanted to show it to you and get your opinion on it”

“Of course” You nodded “You know I love watching whatever you work on, bubs”

Connor stood up from his seat and walked over to turn on the projector. You took a sip of your wine as you watched him press a few buttons on his laptop before he joined you again at the table.

“Give me your honest opinion okay?” He said nervously “Good or bad, just let me know”

“Baby, you know I always do” You reassured.

He pressed the play button on the remote and a countdown starts from 3… 2… 1…

The video starts with a photo where you two first met. At the bottom, Connor labeled it as where it all began.

And then you just knew he was lying about showing you his work project. Then next photo comes up with a photo of the restaurant where Connor took you for your first date, accompanied by a selfie that you took after dinner was over. Where we had our first date. And truthfully, it was the best first date of my life.

The next one was one at a Brashiers’ family event. You got along well with Connor’s little cousin and she thinks of you like her older sister. While you were playing with her; giggling with one another, Connor snapped a beautiful picture of you both. He labelled it as the woman who my family loves so much.

You smiled as more photos and videos popped up one by one. Getting overwhelmed by all the nostalgic feeling, you could already feel the tears forming in your eyes. Connor put in so much of clips that you forgotten that you still had.

You were so into the video that you didn’t see Connor’s shift in movements. And when it got to the last part of the video, your breath hitched in your throat.

y/n, the love of my life, will you officially become Mrs. Connor Brashier?

That’s when you turned to Connor and already see him kneeling down on one knee with a velvet box in his hand.

“Connor” Your lips start to tremble as more tears were falling from your cheeks.

This was real, this was really happening.

Connor was no different that you. He had tears in his eyes, trying to find the right words to say. He prepared himself for this moment for weeks and he thought he had it in him to do it without breaking down, but he was wrong.

“y/n…” He choked out, smiling at you “You are the love of my life, my best friend, my rock, my everything. When I first laid my eyes on you, I just knew that I had to get to know you. And after we started dating, I knew you were the one for me. I knew you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with”

“I want to be there through everything” He continued as his voice started to crack a little “Through every laughter and tears, through ever fights, through every pregnancy. I want to do stupid things together with you in the late morning, have kids with you, grow old with you and I want us to be those kind of couple who gets buried side by side”

“I don’t want to be in love if it’s not with you” He confirmed, opening the box in his hand; displaying to you the most beautiful ring you’ve ever set your eyes on “So y/n y/ln, please make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, letting out a mixture of a choked sob and laughter “Yes I’ll marry you, Connor David Brashier!”

Connor sighs in relief as he took the ring out of the box. His fingers were shaking as he slid the ring on your finger perfectly. Just like he expected, the ring suited your finger beautifully.

You leaned forward and buried your face in the crook of his neck; a mixture of your sobs were echoing in the room.

“I love you so much” You said in between sobs “I don’t want to do this with anyone else, Connor. It’s only you”

“I love you more, baby” He answered “And all my love is for you always, future Mrs. Brashier”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

reblog, like and leave your feedbacks for this!

x rina

TAG LIST:

@hurts-like-hell-xx

#connor brashier #connor brashier imagines #connor brashier x reader

153 notes · View notes

wingsofkpop · 5 years ago

Text

Day6 Reaction to a Hard Day

Sungjin

Sungjin would immediately recognize the exhaustion of a bad day written all across your face when you walk through the door. He’s been there many times too, and would work to make you feel better through methods like cooking your favorite dinner or binging your favorite show for the remainder of the night. But first, he would greet you by taking you into his arms for a great big bear hug and just hold you for a few minutes. And if you start to cry, he would hold you for even longer, just wanting you to know that he was there for for.

“I know today must have been tough, but it’s over now. It’s okay to cry, (Y/N)-ah. I’m here for you, sweetheart, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Jae

Jae wouldn’t notice the signs at first. Most likely, you’d either have to let him know about your frustrating day, or he’d put two and two together after a while. Eventually, when he does figure it out, he would do his best to take your mind off of it. He’d crack the lamest jokes, pull the strangest faces and say the stupidest things just to see you smile. By the end, you’ll probably be roaring with laughter or groaning with disgust. All thoughts of your day long, long gone.

“Hey (Y/N)! What do you call the security outside of a Samsung store?... Guardians of the Galaxy! Get it? Because Samsung has the galaxy phones...”

Brian

Brian is another one who would notice you had a bad day without you speaking a single word. Similar to Sungjin, he would want to make you feel better and would do so by pampering you. You would barely have time to take off your shoes before this boy is dragging you toward the bathroom, where he had already began to run a warm bubble bath, complete with your favorite scents. When the tub is full, he would help you undress and slide into the water. Kneeling by your side, he would massage your shoulders and demand you tell him about the worst parts of your day.

“Just sit back and relax, baby. Let me take care of you, okay? Why don’t you tell me about your day? Start off with the most tiring part.”

Wonpil

Wonpil would already know about your tiring day, judging by the strange and unusual style of your texts. Wanting to see how you were, he would visit you at your own home. After finding you curled up on your bed, looking so weak and exhausted, his heart would break into a million pieces. He would pull back the covers, slide onto the mattress next to you and pull your body into his own. The rest of the evening would be spent cuddling, Wonpil pecking soft kisses over your face every now and then. Occasionally, a tear would cascade down your cheek, but he would quickly wipe and kiss its remnants away.

“Awww (Y/N)-ah, don’t cry! I hate it when you cry! It’s okay, don’t think about today and just lay here with me. I love you so much...”

Dowoon

Dowoon would be concerned about you, seeing as you hadn’t answered his phone calls or texts. Like Wonpil, he would decide to visit and talk to you in person. However, he would be surprised to find you laid across your sofa, sobbing into the nearest throw pillow. Not exactly knowing what to do, this cutie would give you your space. He would sit on the opposite end of the couch and place a gentle hand on your calf. Murmuring softly, he would tell you how sorry he was and ask if you want a hug, leaving the decision of skin-ship up to you.

“I’m so sorry you had a bad day, (Y/N)-ah. Do you want a hug? How about we spend the rest of the night together?”

#day6 #day6 x reader #day6 reactions #day6 fanfiction #day6 fluff #day6 angst #jae #sungjin #young k #wonpil #dowoon #kpop #kpop reactions #kpop fluff

162 notes · View notes

fluffyunicornofdanger · 5 years ago

Text

Charity Ball

A/N: I haven’t done a queen fic in what feels like ages! But that’s pretty much because I haven’t had the time and I’m trying to get through all my requests. But here one is! I really love this idea and I wasn’t too keen on doing anything more with it at the beginning, but I’m glad that changed. I hope you guys enjoy and if you have any ideas for how I could continue this let me know.

*~~*~~*

Masterlist

Brian May x Reader

Read Her Royal Highness first: 1 / 2

Summary: With their relationship and secrets out in the open, Y/n and Brian must go back to their daily lives. A part of that now is royal events that Y/n is eager to bring Brian to, but the guitarist isn’t as eager. He’s more nervous than anything even if Y/n assures him there is nothing to be worried about.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Language

(Disclaimer: Andorra is a real country in Europe, landlocked between France and Spain. It may be real, but it does not have an existing monarchy. So, please remember that this is a work of fiction. And I would appreciate it if you guys didn’t go around telling people that Andorra has a monarchy, it wouldn’t make you sound very smart.)

Brian fiddled with his tie, trying to make it straight. No matter how much he played with it, though, it still hung a little crooked on his chest. He couldn’t have that. On stage, his appearance didn’t really matter. A crooked tie, a ripped pair of jeans, an unbuttoned shirt didn’t matter when he had his guitar in hand. But he wouldn’t be on stage, he would be in a ballroom surrounded by people he only ever dreamed of meeting. The slightest hair out of place, broken nail, and crooked tie matter among the people he would be socializing with.

He hadn’t thought that he would ever get to attend an event hosted by a royal family, let alone meet members of all the royals Europe had to offer. But his thought process changed once he found out he was dating one of those royals. Being in the company of high ranking individuals was something he had become accustomed too when around Y/n’s family. He’d just never believed that he would get invited to one of their balls.

The man huffed, looking at his appearance in the mirror. It was hard to notice the tie wasn’t straight, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until it hung the way he wanted it to. He was just about to undo the material when a pair of arms wrapped around him.

“Are you alright, love?” Y/n asked, her head pressed against his back.

“I would be a whole lot better if this bloody tie would fucking cooperate,” he mumbled, fiddling with it once again.

Y/n sighed as she unwrapped her arms and came to stand in front of him, careful not to step on the skirt of her dress. “Let me help you.”

“Why can’t I just wear a bowtie?”

A smile crept onto her lips. “Because it would probably be just as crooked as this tie.” She held up the fabric in her hands. “And I think you look dashing in ties.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked, watching her go through the motions of tieing it.

She thought for a moment. “Not really. I’ve known almost all these people since childhood and have grown up with many of them. And to be honest, technically I’m related to all of them in some way, no matter how distant the relation is.”

Brian nodded in response, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

No matter if his tie was crooked, he wasn’t sure he would be enough for them. He didn’t think that a simple man like him, nothing more to his name than a talent that many possed, was good enough for people that had more riches than they knew what to do with. They would probably look down on him, wonder what he had to offer Y/n, her family, and Andorra. He wasn’t a duke or a lord, he hadn’t served in the military, and he wasn’t wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Some may believe that he was only with her for the money.

In their eyes, he was probably like dirt, useless and not worth their time.

“What are you thinking?” Y/n asked when she was finished with the tie.

“Just how beautiful you are,” he smiled, but it failed to meet his eyes.

She raised a brow, putting her hands on her hip. “Lying to me isn’t going to get you anywhere, Brian. Now, what are you really thinking?”

He huffed, running a hand down his face. “I just don’t think I’m enough. Not for them with all their money and fancy house and regal titles. It’s not like I can bring much to the table, I’m a fucking rock star for crying out loud. That’s about as classy as a bread maker.”

“Darling,” she cooed, caressing his cheek. “You are enough. You don’t have to have enough money to fill an ocean, a house that people can get lost in, or a title that makes you seem better than those around you. You bring more to the table than you think. You are a rock star, yes, one that writes and performs amazing songs and not only that, but you are probably going to be the smartest person in the room tonight.”

He gave her a sheepish smile, ashamed that he had brought it up.

“Now, I’m gonna put my shoes on and we’re gonna head downstairs. My mother would be furious if we were tarty.”

*~~*~~*

Y/n stood next to Brian in the decked out ballroom. The gold trimmings on the wall had been polished til they shone like the sun and red roses littered the tables that were placed in one of the corners of the large room. It was clear when they walked in that Brian was taken back by the beauty of the room, with the rich paintings of past and grand chandeliers. His eyes lite up like a child when he was the vivid colors and brush strokes.

“Is this going to be like in the movies where everyone gets formally introduced?” Brian whispered into her ear.

Y/n couldn’t help but smile at the question. “No, silly. This is a charity ball, not the type of ball Cinderella would be seen at.”

He chuckled, turning to see that people were starting to enter. Ladies in long gowns of a multitude of colors walked through the archway, men at their sides in black suits. All wearing jewels and ribbons to set them apart from each other.

“Who’s that?” Brian whispered, gesturing to a woman in a red gown, a crown atop her head.

“That’s Queen Margrethe II of Denmark and that-” She pointed to the man beside her. “-is her husband Prince Henrik.”

“Are they nice people?”

“Lovely, absolutely lovely, but try not to start up a conversation with Prince Henrik, it will last for hours.”

The next couple of minutes continued like that. Brian would inquire about the different monarchs that walked passed them and Y/n would explain to him who they were and if they were really worth his time. Most were, but there were a few lower level royals that he needed to stay away from. The ones that were out for the money they believed they deserved.

With everyone in the room, the ball was in full swing. The band played waltz after waltz and the staff brought around drinks, trying their best to not get bumped into. Somewhere in all the festivities, Y/n lost Brian. He had slipped between the cracks of people and was out of sight. She knew it was foolish to be worried about him, he was a grown man, but these people were like her family. Sure, their opinions didn’t weigh as much as her parents did, but she’d grown up with most of them, spent holidays together, celebrated and mourned with those people. They followed certain rules of etiquette of that Brian wasn’t accustomed too and they expected more from others than most. It would be devastating if they were uneasy about letting him into the family.

Y/n weaved between bodies, watching her feet so she didn’t step on someone's skirt or get tripped up on feet. She placed her empty wine glass on a passing tray as someone called her name. Turning around, her face lite up. “Anne!”

“Y/n,” the woman smiled, walking towards her.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you,” Anne said, embracing her friend. “Well, and the man in your life.”

Y/n’s cheeks heated up, at least someone was excited about her boyfriend. “Honestly, I live in London, I don’t know why I don’t come see you more.”

Anne shrugged. “Different schedules. Nothing we can do about it but plan in advance.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath as she surveyed the crowd. She’d thought that with his height and hair, picking Brian out of the crowd would be easy, but it was anything but that. “How’s Charles doing? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“He’s doing all right, moody, but alright.”

Y/n raised a brow, waiting for more information.

Anne picked up a glass of wine from a passing tray and took a sip. “Mother wants him to hurry up and find a wife. She's not going to live forever and England will not only need a king when she’d gone but an heir as well.”

“And he doesn’t want that right now?”

“No, he wants anything but that.”

Y/n nodded.

She understood that all too well. Certain things were expected of heirs and them straying away from those things wasn’t one of them. Y/n had watched her oldest brother go through that. It was painful to watch as he struggled to figure out who he wanted to be. Did he want to break his father’s heart and chase after his dreams or become the king he was born to be? It was a hard question to answer when his heart wanted both. At least, he had time, as did Charles, to figure out who he wanted to be.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Anne asked.

Y/n sighed, trying to see if she could spot him. “That is a good question.”

“You lost him in a room full of royals?” the British princess looked at her in disbelief.

She nodded. “I know.”

Anne shook her head. “Kiss that man goodbye if the Barrow sisters are here.”

The sisters were just two of the handful of royals that Y/n tried to stay away from, urging Brian to do the same. No one was quite sure what the Barrow sisters wanted more; money or sex. At royal events they attended, women generally hung tight to their men, not willing to lose them to the sisters. Obviously, Y/n hadn’t hung tight enough.

The pair of royals looked over their shoulders as a thunderous laugh hit their ears. Y/n was in shock as her eyes landed on Brian and King Olva of Norway laughing like old friends. It wouldn’t have been a strange scene if Olva had a sense of humor. But it took many failed attempts to get a laugh out of the monarch.

“Oh my god,” she let out, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“I assume that’s your man,” Anne pointed at the bushy-haired man.

All Y/n could do was stare at what played out in front of her. And to think she was worried. It was clear she had nothing to worry about. Her family would gladly accept him now seeing as how he had done something that no one had accomplished in years, maybe decades.

“It sure is,” she said with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Let me know if you wanted to be tagged on the permanent or HRH tag list)

Permanent taglist: @rexorangecouny @jennyggggrrr @zestygingergirl

HRH Taglist: @yourealegendroger @borhapqueen92 @toger-raylor @sleep-paralysis-demon @geek-and-proud @kasiarella @obsessedwithrogertaylor @readinghorn @myfandomchangesalot @reedusteinrambles @julessbrown @toomuchlove-willkillyou @rawyld @httpsavocados @youtakemybreathawayforever @badwolfandtimelords @merelthehuman

92 notes · View notes

adrenaline-roulette · 5 years ago

Text

He’ll save every one of us Chapter 7

Brian May x Reader Preview: “Oh, I bet it’s carollers!” “It’s you.” You frown, “Yes its me. Don’t look so thrilled.”

Chapter seven: How many keys do we have now?

A heavy dusting of snow clung to your hair as you trudge upstairs towards Brian’s flat, your arms filled with shopping bags and boxes of assorted weights. Had you gone overboard with Christmas shopping? Perhaps. But it wasn’t really your fault, not entirely. Mary had been with you all afternoon, and she kept pointing out little things in every store, and you just had to buy them! And of course then there were the Christmas decorations, five of the bags you now carried were filled to the brim with decorations alone! Mary had offered to help you carry everything home, though had quickly changed her mind the moment you both made it outside, and into the snow. You couldn’t blame her for wanting to rush home, it was freezing cold, and neither of you had dressed appropriately for snow, that and also if she had helped you get everything to Brian’s apartment, she would then have to go all away back across town to get to her own home.

Finally, you make it to the front door, shaking your head like a wet dog to throw the snow off. With your arms full, and straining, you kick the door with the toe of your boot, unable to use your hand to knock, or to retrieve your key from your bag. “Oh, I bet it’s carollers!” You hear Roger squeal from inside the apartment, before the sound of his running feet barrel towards the door. The door swings open and the grin on Roger’s face falls the instant his eyes fall on you. “It’s you.”

You frown at the blonde over the top of your purchases. “Yes its me. Don’t look so thrilled.” You tease, as he steps to the side of the doorway, allowing you entrance to the apartment. Navigating the clutter that lay on the floor, you find a clear space of floor near the sofa where you deposit the bags and boxes, standing up and stretching your arms out above your head. They had begun to cramp from staying in the same position for so long, and the relief you felt from no longer carrying such a heavy load was incredible. Making your way to the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of water, turning around to glare at Roger, who had begun snooping through the bags. “Oi, get away!”

Roger backs away slightly, hands falling to his sides in defeat. “I just wanted to see what you got for Brian is all.”

“Yeah right, you’re looking for something that screams ‘Roger Taylor’ not ‘Brian May’.”

“Well, I’ve gotta make sure you got me something nice! I do deserve it after all, I’ve been nothing but charming to you since the day we met!” Roger grins, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Who says I got you anything at all?”

Roger had crouched back down to search through the bags once again, but your comment however did catch his attention, and he looked up at you with a pout. “You did get me something didn’t you?”

Placing the now empty glass in the sink, you fold your arms across your chest, and lean back against the kitchen counter. “No, I didn’t.” Roger looks about ready to cry as he stands up from the bags, placing his hands into his front pockets. “I’ve still got more shopping to do though. Your present may still be on its way.”

“I hate you sometimes, you know that right?” Roger grumbles, though it’s obvious he’s teasing. You had spent long enough around him now to pick up on when he was messing around. There was the slight crease between his eyebrows, and the quirk at the corner of his lips, the tell-tale signs that his words held no merit.

You wave your hand dismissively. “Yes yes, I know, I’m the worst, you hate me, yadda yadda yadda… Now tell me, where’s Brian?”

Roger follows you into the kitchen, hoisting himself up onto the kitchen counter, swinging his legs so his heels kicked against the cabinets beneath the bench. “I’m not entirely sure, he went out an hour or so ago, said he’d be back before dinner though, so I doubt he’ll be too much longer.”

You nod your head softly, sucking your lower lip between your teeth. “Okay, well I’m gonna go hit the shower, and try and thaw my fingers. I’m pretty sure they turned blue at one stage walking home.” You chuckle, shuffling your way out of the kitchen, making a pit stop at the shoe rack by the front door and kicking your boots off there.

“If Brian comes home while you’re showering, do you want me to send him in to see you?” Roger calls, and you can hear the cheeky smirk coming through with his words.

“Shut up you kinky little shit.” You grumble, heading further into the apartment, and away from the drummer.

“So is that a yes or no? Shower sex is the best sex!”

“Roger I really need you to stop talking about and thinking about Brain and my sex life!” You practically shriek, a blush forming on your cheeks. It was hard to tell if Roger was suggesting sending Brian into the shower with you because he was a tease, or because he knew what you and Brian had done in that very shower only last week.

Opening the second bottom drawer of Brian’s chest of drawers, you pull out a pair of shorts, and a sweater, along with a bra and panties. Brian’s bedroom had gone from hosting only a few of your essential items a few months ago, to now housing practically everything you own. All your clothes were either in drawers, or hung up on one side of the closet, with Brian’s on the opposite side. Artwork that you used to have hung up on your bedroom walls in yours and Bree’s apartment, now lined the walls of Brian’s room, alongside his own posters and images. When you had first entered his bedroom, there was only the one, night stand which of coarse sat on his side of the bed, there was however now a second, which sat on your side, with a lamp, alarm clock, a few books, and a scented candle all resting on its surface. The bookshelf, that too was now an entirely different story. Your books from home now lined the shelves alongside Brian’s, and scattered among them were framed photos, some of the two of you, others of Queen, and a few of you and Bree. It was safe to say that you had made yourself at home here with Brian and Roger in their home, all the while still paying weekly rent for the apartment you once shared with Bree. The topic of where you lived was one that rarely came up in conversation, it was either ignored entirely, or tiptoed around.

Your friends and family all knew where to find you these days, and it wasn’t at your actual address, though no one could blame you for not wanting to stay there, especially not alone. It had become an unspoken rule, that you would spend your all your time here, everyone expected it these days. And you know for a fact, that the moment you walked in carrying decorative cushions for the bed, Brian and Roger knew that you wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. However your living arrangements weren’t exactly official, your name was only on one rental agreement, and it wasn’t for this apartment. Though you know, just as well as anyone, that this was your home now.

**********

The hot water removed the sting of ice which had settled deep within your bones, you hadn’t realised just how cold you were until you stepped under the spray of the shower head, the feeling of water droplets practically melting you. Rinsing off the last few remaining suds of conditioner from your hair, you step out of the shower wrapping a towel around your head like a turban, and a second towel around your torso. The steam from the shower had fogged up the mirror above the sink, and you wipe it away with your forearm, reaching for your moisturiser to apply over your face, completely unaware to the conversation that had taken place at the dining table.

**********

“Okay, so you need to sign here, I’ll sign here, and Y/N will sign on this line right here.” Brian explains to Roger, pointing to each line respectively while wielding a pen at Roger. The blonde nods, and carefully takes the pen from Brian’s hand, scribbling his signature on the dotted line.

“What took you so long anyways? You met up with the landlord for lunch, I expected you to be home hours ago!”

Brian smirked, as he took the pen back and signed his own name on the second line. “I had to find a gift box, and card. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find something that’s not Christmas themed this time of year? I went to probably ten different stores, just to find a card that didn’t have a Christmas tree on it! I also had to get another key cut for Y/N to put in the gift box.”

“She already has a key though, why get a second?”

Brian shrugged lightly, producing the new key from his coat pocket, and placing it carefully inside the pale yellow gift box, securing the lid with a purple ribbon. “I want this to all feel official, plus I can’t just let her open an empty box.”

“Couldn’t you have just left the box, and gotten the card instead?”

Brian glares across at Roger, quirking an eyebrow at him. “When you ask someone to move in with us, you can do it however you want to. But I’m doing this my way.”

Roger takes a step away from Brian and the table, swinging his arms by his sides. “Okay, but how will the landlord react when we eventually leave this place and we hand over six keys, as opposed to the original two we were issued with?”

“Well, he knows that there will now be a third key, it’s just the extra three that may cause an issue…”

The sound of the shower turning off causes both men to look toward the bathroom, Brian quickly turning back to the table, folding the documents into thirds, and slipping them inside the card, before sealing them in an envelope. “Hey Y/N, do you mind coming out here when you’re finished?” He calls, his voice echoing off the hallway walls.

His answer comes in the form of you creaking the bathroom door open, and shoving your hand out to perform a thumbs up. A waft of steam billowing out of the bathroom.

“Bloody hell, how much hot water did she use?” Roger gasps, eyes growing wide at the mist. “I swear to God, if there’s not hot water left when I go for my shower, I will take my name off those new rental agreements.” He grumbles.

“Don’t be so petty Rog, I’m sure there’s plenty of hot water left for you, princess.” Brian sighs, rolling his eyes at the cranky drummer.

**********

The knitted sweater you had selected from the drawer falls to your mid-thigh, the garish combination of pink and green wool was likely the most obnoxious article of clothing you owned, yet also the most comfortable. And seeing as it had been a gift from Roger after one of his and Freddie’s days working at Kensington, you felt obligated to wear it Infront of him at least once. Tossing your clothes into the laundry hamper in the bedroom, you head into the kitchen, finding Brian and Roger already there, sitting at the table, waiting for you. “Hey Bri.” You grin, wrapping your arms over his shoulders, and pressing a kiss to his temple.

Brian turned to look at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him. “Hello my love.” He smiles, tilting his chin up as you lean down to press a kiss to his lips. He always felt warm and safe, and the lingering taste of tea on his lips always caused you to grin, this right here, this was home. Roger clears his throat, making no effort to hide what he was doing when you and Brian pull away to look at him. Roger simply smirks, taking a long sip of tea from his chipped mug. Brian uses his hands on your waist to turn you, before pulling you down to sit on his lap, reaching into the middle of the table for the envelope and box. “This is for you.”

“Bri, it’s not Christmas, or my birthday for that matter… Is this an apology gift? What did you do that you need to buy me an apology gift for?” You gasp, turning on Brian’s lap to look at him, eyes wild.

Roger can’t help but laugh, shaking his head in mirth. “You’re such a drama queen Y/N, calm down!”

“I know it’s too early for Christmas, which is why this isn’t your Christmas present. Can’t I just give you a gift because I love you?” Brian grins, using the hand still resting on your hip to rub soothing circles through your sweater.

“Well, I suppose so…” You smile softly, taking the items from Brian, placing the box on the table, and working to open the envelope. You drag your nail under the fold, ripping the paper, until you can retrieve the card. the card is packed with stacks of paper, and you tilt your head to the side in curiosity. “What is this Brian?”

“Open it and find out.”

Finding Brian to be not so forthcoming with answers, you do as he suggests, and unfold the stack of papers, your eyes scanning through the tiny text on each page. It’s not until you reach the final page of the rental agreement that you understand what is happening. Right there, beneath Roger and Brian’s signatures is space for a third tenant’s signature, your signature. “Holy fuck… Holy fucking fuck… Is this real? Are you sure, both of you?”

“You practically already live here Y/N! It’s only fair that you start paying rent too!” Roger chuckles, swirling the last of his tea in the bottom of his mug.

“Well yeah, I know that. But, this is a big deal, I mean, I know I haven’t been to my apartment in forever, but if I sign this, I’ll have to end the other rental agreement. If you all get sick of me, I won’t have anywhere else to go, this will be my home…” You trail off, as you feel Brian’s grip on you tighten slightly. He leans forwards and rests his chin over your shoulder, his curls tickling your neck.

“Y/N, I want you to live here, I love waking up with you every morning, and knowing that when I come home at night, I get to end the day with you in my arms. Signing this won’t change anything between us. Roger will continue to bother us and interrupt our alone time as he already does, and I will continue to steal your shampoo, while both of us pretend that I don’t.” The rumble of his laughter emitting from his chest and against your back.

Your bottom lip is clenched between your teeth as you read, then reread the forms in front of you. It was one thing to live here the way you did now, with no official agreements, and no lease keeping you there. Signing this would change all of that, and the idea of more change scared the hell out of you. As if sensing your trepidation Brian rests his palm over the pages, taking special care to conceal the signatures. “You don’t have to sign right away if you don’t want to Y/N. Or you don’t have to sign at all if that’s what you want.” He begins, though stops as you rest your own hand over his, your fingers curling over to clutch at his own.

“Do you have a pen?” Your words a practically a whisper, though you’re close enough for Brian to hear, a smile playing on his lips.

“Course I do.” Reluctantly he moves his hand out from beneath yours, before searching through his pocket for the pen he had used earlier for his own signature. Holding it out for you, his chocolate eyes watch your every move like a hawk.

You’re not sure what you expect when you glide the biro across the dotted line, perhaps a Mariachi band to burst through the door, or a banner to drop for the ceiling, all to congratulate you on moving in with Brian and Roger. “I suppose this makes it a bit easier to explain all of my purchases today then…”

“What do you mean?” Brian smirks, taking the pen back and placing it once again in his pocket, where it will likely stay until he next washes the jeans he was wearing.

Turning slightly on his lap, you look over to the mountain of bags and boxes, all still sitting on the floor, and remarkably untouched by Roger. “I figured you were all lacking in the festive department, so I may or may not have bought as many Christmas decorations as possible.” You shrug, watching Roger grin from the corner of your eye. “It occurred to me on my way home, that it was one thing for me to move my things into your bedroom. But an entirely different thing to completely decorate an apartment which I didn’t actually live in. Now that I’ve signed this however, I can decorate as much as I want!” You declare triumphantly, pointing at the now signed documents on the table.

Brian just shakes his head, long hair moving to curtain his face as he looks at the floor. “How much did you buy? And where is it all going to go?”

Roger jumps in, pointing an accusing finger at Brian, a glare settling over his blue eyes. “Firstly, who cares how much Y/N bought, there is no such thing as too much Christmas! And secondly, if you don’t stop complaining, I will personally assist Y/N in decorating the Red Special in little Santa Claus stickers.”

Your eyes go wide and mouth dry as you take in what Roger had just said. “Bri, I promise you, I had nothing to do with that outburst. Up until just now, Rog didn’t know what was in those bags!”

Brian sighs, before the sound is overtaken by a low chuckle, lifting his head to look at you once again. “Thank you Rog, I’ll keep that in mind.” Roger seems to accept this, and pushes away from the table, taking his now empty mug into the kitchen. “Well, I suppose the right thing for me to do now, is to offer my assistance in helping you decorate.”

Your eyes sparkle as you grin at Brian, leaping off his lap in a hurry, dancing on the spot as you wait for him to stand. “Oh wait! Shouldn’t I open this first?” You gesture the small box still sat on the table, having gone untouched.

“If you would like to.” Brian smiles, handing the box to you, before standing beside you, resting one large palm over your shoulder.

The ribbon finds a home on your wrist, as the lid of the box is placed back on the table from where it had come. Gazing down at the box, you can’t help the burst of laughter which erupts from within you. “Oh Brian…” You chuckle, the silver key nestled amongst pink tissue paper. “I already have a key.”

“I know, but I thought this would be nice. But now that you have reacted the same way as Roger did when he saw it, I’m thinking I have made a mistake.”

Tilting your head to the side, you regard Brian with a warm smile. “I love it, this is all amazing Bri. And besides, this new key is nice and shiny, my current one looks like it’s been run over by a car a few times!” You place the key back in its box for safe keeping, making a mental note to swap it out for the old one before the night is over.

Making your way to the pile of bags with Brian hot on your heels, you hum quietly, crouching down as you begin to pull out packages upon packages of Christmas decorations. “So I found this darling wreath, which we simply have to put out on the door!” You hold the wreath up to show Brian, who had begun sorting through on of the other bags, pulling out tinsel and baubles. The wreath is no bigger than a dinner plate, covered entirely in fake pine tree fronds. Scattered throughout are tiny red Christmas berries, with little leaves attached. Gold glitter had been dusted over the entire wreath, allowing it to sparkle under the light. Finally, a large red tartan ribbon was tied intricately in a bow in the centre, tying the whole thing together. “What do you think?”

Brian pauses his unpacking and looks over the wreath, nodding his head in approval. “It’s a far cry better than the hand drawn wreath Roger stuck up on the door last year!” He smirks, before taking out a silver sparkly star, covered in multi coloured fake gemstones. “I see a tree topper, but no tree. Too lazy to buy a tree while you were out?” He teases, ducking out of the way as you throw a balled-up bag at his head.

“Don’t be an ass. I had plans for going tree shopping with you tomorrow, but maybe I’ll take Roger with me instead.” You stick your tongue out at him, a smile threatening to spoil your silly expression.

Carefully Brian replaces the star in the box he had taken it from, moving on to open more. “I know a little farm a bit of a ways out that sells really nice Christmas trees. It’s a bit of a drive to get there, but it’s a family run business, and they always have the most beautiful one’s to pick from.”

“That sounds lovely, let’s do it.”

Brian grins, standing up with a long garland, made of the same fake pine as the wreath, with baubles in a repeating pattern of red, blue, green, yellow, orange, pink, all tied with gold ribbon. “I suppose I should put my height to good use and hang this up somewhere?”

You gaze up to see what he was talking about, before nodding vigorously. “That would be great, I’ll get started on these lights.” You grin, holding up a bucket full of teardrop shaped colourful lights.

**********

An hour later, and the interior of your apartment looks as if a Christmas bomb had exploded, every inch of the small home had been covered in tinsel, baubles, lights, and garlands, and all of this was before the tree! As you hung the final strand of tinsel around the curtain railing, you step back to admire your and Brian’s handiwork, clasping your hands together before you. “This looks amazing! Damn we make a good team!”

Brian walks up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I must say, it does look rather spectacular.” He grins, taking your hand, and twirling you in his arms so you stand chest to chest. “Our first Christmas together and you’ve already decorated as if you’d been living here for years. What will happen next year?”

You tilt your chin up, locking eyes with your tree of a boyfriend. “Just you wait, I’ll have a live action nativity scene set up, we’ll have a Christmas tree in every room, and Santa will be set up in the bathroom”

At this very moment, Roger decides to poke his head around the corner from the hallway, looking at you with a great deal of curiosity. “I’m putting my hand up now for being bathroom Santa!”

“I would pay good money to see you dressed as Santa, Rog.” Brian smirks, wrapping his arms tighter around you, feeling you laugh against him.

“Oh, actually wait, quick question. Does Bathroom Santa have to behave appropriately? Or do I get to be naughty?” The blonde asks, a worried look crossing his features.

“Roger Taylor! Stop trying to destroy the joy that is Christmas with yoru sleezy Santa!” You cry out, face red from laughing.

For once, Brian jumps to Roger’s rescue. “To be fair Y/N, you’re the one who came up with the idea of bathroom Santa.”

You groan loudly, flopping your arms to your side in defeat. “Fine, everything else stays the same, but bathroom Santa will now be replaced by kitchen Santa.”

“Oh cool, that means I can be boozy kitchen Santa instead! That’s even better!”

You almost scream at Roger for that comment, but you don’t get the chance, your frustration being put on hold due to someone knocking on the front door, that was newly decorated with your wreath. “I’ll get it.”

Making your way over to the front, you can hear Brian and Roger trying hard to conceal their giggles, though they are doing a terrible job. You unbolt the front door, before swinging the door open, eyeing the person on the other side up and down. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not interested.” You deadpan, before swinging the door shut in their face.

Reread chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six

My Masterlist

#brian may x you #brian may x reader #brian may fanfiction #queen fanfiction #queen band #Roger and reader a friends #sass #christmas #Christmas chapter #we're free from the angst now #cute #fluff #love #sweet #soft #moving in #decorating #swearing

9 notes · View notes

bensboynton · 6 years ago

Text

the oscars|b.h

requested: no

word count: 2.7k

a/n: writing this because i miss awards season so much :/ also this includes a lot of brian, rog, and the borhap cast :)

warnings: fluffy, talks about alcohol, suggestive dialogue, unedited

"I don't know Lucy... it's kind of revealing, don't you think?" You furrowed your eyebrows in worry as you looked up at the platinum blonde haired girl, who was practically bubbling over with excitement.

"No, I think it's absolutely perfect! Come on now, try it on. I know you'll love it." she bit her bottom lip, shooing you into the dressing room. You locked the wooden for behind you, turning around and looking in the mirror and blowing a piece of your hair out of your eyes.

Lucy had been begging to take you out shopping for you two to buy a dress for the Oscars all week, and you finally caved. She promised she'd find you a perfect dress. And, you couldn't say no to her. After all, she was your best friend.

After a pleasant brunch and a bit of shopping around at some shops in town, you both had arrived at the dress shop. Otherwise known as Lucy's habitat.

You slipped off your clothes quickly, swiftly stepping into the dress, pulling it up and slipping your arms through the straps, turning around to look in the mirror. Woah. You hadn't believed Lucy when she told you the dress would look good on you, but now you were taking back what you said.

It looked simple on the hanger, but it came to life when you put it on. It was a floor length dress that was silver and completely sparkly, as it was covered in rhinestones and sequins. There was a long slit running all the way up your right leg, and the top dipped a few inches above your belly button, exposing plenty of cleavage. The straps were really thin, but you have to admit it was absolutely gorgeous.

Lucy knocked on the door and you cracked it open, hiding behind it so no one outside saw you. She walked in and turned around, dropping the few items she held in her hands.

"Y/N... this is it. This is the one. You're wearing this dress, end of discussion. I don't care." You laughed as she grabbed you by the hand, leading you over to the things she had just dropped.

"Put on these shoes, and I got you this clutch and this shawl to match." You slipped on the shoes, which perfectly matched the material of the dress, and grabbed the fur shawl that you wrapped around your body and let rest near your elbows.

"Wow," Lucy sighed, looking you up and down one last time, "you're absolutely perfect. Can’t believe you’re my best friend. "

"Good morning Princess," Ben grumbled as he rolled over, lazily throwing his arm over your tired body.

"Good morning Benjamin," you spoke through a yawn, turning around to face him, "we're going to the Oscars today." Ben smiled back at you, giddily wiggling his eyebrows.

His eyes still closed, he pulled you closer to his warm body. You sighed into his chest, smelling leftover cologne from the day before. You could’ve laid like this for hours. You laid there for a few moments until you heard an urgent knock at the door.

"Shit!" you both yelled in unison, practically shooting out of bed as you ran to the door. Seems you both remembered at precisely the same time that you had makeup and hair stylists coming to your hotel room before the ceremony.

Ben opened the door as you stood behind him timidly, using him like a shield. You had never had your hair and makeup professionally done before, and you were a bit nervous.

There were three people in total; one for makeup, and two for hair. One of the hair stylists went with Ben into the second bathroom to get situated, while the makeup artist and other hair stylist went with you to your unfortunately untidy bedroom.

You sat down on the lounge chair near the master bed, striking up a conversation with the stylists.

"Is this your first time at a big event like this?" the makeup artist had asked. You nodded shyly, explaining that big, public events that involved a lot of attention weren't your thing. She giggled, agreeing with you, as she went to apply some more lipstick to your upper lip.

When your makeup was finished, the man who was doing your hair came over, ruffling your messy locks and fluffing them slightly, sighing to himself.

"Okay, so I'm thinking we curl the entire thing and bring the front pieces of hair back for a half up, half down look." you nodded slightly, picturing the hair with your stunning dress.

The stylist got to work, finishing your hair in no time and putting what felt like half a can of hairspray in your hair. They both finished and packed up, leaving you alone in your room again. You quickly slipped on your dress, anxious to see Ben.

You both had agreed not to show the other what you were wearing, to keep it a surprise, and he had been teasing you all week about it. He would tell you how "out of the ordinary" his outfit is, and how "unusual" and "different" it was for him. You couldn't help but be curious. You checked in the mirror one last time to be sure you didn't smudge your makeup, and you spritzed a bit of your favorite perfume on your wrists and neck.

You made your way out into the main area of the hotel room, already seeing Ben on the couch, scrolling through his phone. You quietly admired the white suit and his slicked back hair. He wasn’t wrong, the outfit truly was out of the ordinary for him. You walked out a bit further, and he heard the sound of your heels hitting the floor, and he shifted his attention to you.

His face lit up as his jaw went slack, his pupils dilating.

"Holy shit," he whispered, standing up from the couch and meeting you in the foyer, "I feel like a dumbass for hyping up my outfit and then you show up in this." He breathed, his eyes practically undressing you right there.

"I really like the white. Suits you a lot." You winked at him as you straightened his bowtie, tapping his nose lightly with the pad of your index finger. He scrunched his face up as he looked at you again, still in shock.

"I don't know if we'll even make it to the Oscars with you looking like that, Christ."

"Benjamin! We are not missing another awards show." He chuckled, catching up to you and opening the door, lightly slapping your bum as you walked out. You gave him the finger as he laced his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You had been sitting in your limo for about twenty minutes when the driver announced you had, indeed, arrived at the event. You and Ben had been mostly silent, just trying to enjoy the calm before the storm of photographers and interviews started raining down on you.

You squeezed Ben's hand as he got out first, patiently waiting outside as you moved to the other side of the car, grabbing his hand to steady yourself as you stepped out of the car. The loud camera flashes and people yelling was like a slap in the face compared to your quiet car ride.

"Let's do this." Ben murmured in your ear as you walked towards the mass of photographers and flashing white lights. You posed for a few pictures with Ben when you heard a familiar voice calling your name. You turned around, grabbing at your dress to lift it up slightly and swiftly walked over to your best friend.

You wrapped Lucy into a tight hug, lightly swaying back and forth as people continued taking pictures. You pulled back, admiring the purple dress that hugged her slim body absolutely perfectly.

"Lucy... you're so fucking hot I'm literally about to cry," you said, fake crying as you brought your hand to your mouth, "I’m seriously jealous of Rami. I think we should just date." She threw her head back in laughter as Rami cocked an eyebrow at you.

"I'll fight you for her, Y/N. Don't doubt me." Rami said, giving you a playful but warning look.

You returned the favor, raising your voice so you were heard over the yelling on the red carpet, "Square up, Mr. Mercury." Rami's serious facade broke, a chuckle bubbling up at his lips as he shook his head at you.

You quickly greeted the rest of the “band”, as well as Brian and Roger and posed for a few photos together. You were beginning to sweat, having to drop the fur shawl a little lower down your back as you moved along the carpet.

The boys and Lucy went off to do a few interviews, so you stood back with Brian and Roger while the cast went and talked to some people. You talked to Roger a bit about his kids, and you listened to Anita talk about her new garden that she just planted that she was so excited about.

After 10 minutes, Lucy made her way back to you, abruptly grabbing your champagne glass right out of your hand and taking a sip. You laughed as she handed it back to you, rolling her eyes lightly.

"You'd think some of these interviewers are still in kindergarten. Such childish and rude questions." You hummed lightly in agreement, taking another sip of your champagne.

You spent a while talking to Lucy, planning when you two would hang out again and gossiping about boys(and by gossiping about boys, you mean discussing Joe's recent Instagram video and talking about your boyfriends).

Before you knew it, the cast was back and Ben had your hand, dragging you into the theater to find your seats for the show.

Not be a pessimist or anything, but the Oscars did not turn out how you anticipated.

You found out only after walking into the theater that you, in fact, did NOT have seats, and you'd have to wait in the lounge area and lobby or go straight to the afterparty. The only people that had seats were Lucy, Rami, Brian, Roger, and their wives.

Gwil, Ben, Joe, Allen, and you made your way to the lounging area where you all mindlessly scrolled through your phones, half paying attention to the ceremony on the TV. Joe and Gwil kept posting on Instagram, tagging all of you and having arguments in the comments even though you were sitting right next to each other.

All of you clapped, celebrated and hugged when Bohemian Rhapsody won each award until finally, they were announcing best actor.

All five of you stood up, holding your breath in anticipation. The stage went quiet as the people announcing the award opened the envelope. They smiled to each other after they read the name, and leaned into the microphone.

"Rami Malek!"

All five of you went absolutely insane. You were jumping around, hugging each other, and even cried a bit during Rami's incredible speech.

Getting in your shared car with your best friends, you couldn't help but get emotional. It was the end of a wild ride for these amazing people who so graciously took you in and accepted you as their family. You looked at them all in admiration until you felt a hand on your thigh.

You looked up at your boyfriend, only to see his eyes and face were absolutely glowing. This only made your smile bigger. You leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, resting your head on his shoulder.

You were so, unspeakably happy.

The Vanity Fair afterparty was a blur. After taking some more photos and doing more interviews, you all went inside and had a sentimental talk with Rami.

“It’s crazy to think that because of Brian and Roger,” Rami yelled over the music, nodding at the two men, “and Deaky, and Freddie that we all met. I think about you guys all the time, I worry about you like you’re my family. And to think we never would have crossed paths if it weren’t for these men.”

“It’s kind of insane,” you added, “I can’t even remember what my life was like before all of you. I’m crazy grateful for every single one of you humans and I hope you know that.”

“Alright, alright, this was fun but enough with the sappy shit. As Freddie would say, the time has come to get absolutely shitfaced.”

And that’s exactly what you all did.

There was lots of dancing, grinding, karaoke, body shots, pictures, laughing, screaming into Joe's phone as he tried to film for Instagram, and forcing Gwil to give you piggyback rides.

And you somewhat remember making out with Ben in a dark room. But you’ll have to unpack that memory later.

Somehow, you all made it back to the hotel and into Roger Taylor's room, and there was more alcohol involved, and now you were here. Still in your Oscars dress at 7 am, passed out on a barstool in Roger Meddows Taylor’s hotel room.

You were a mess, to say the least. Your hair was frizzy and sticking up in all different directions, your head was pounding and your throat was so dry you felt like your esophagus was going to crumble to dust inside your throat.

You slowly regained consciousness, looking around the room. It truly was a sight to see. Two members of arguably the best rock band of all time were passed out on the couch, and scattered all throughout the living room was the cast that played said rockstars in a movie about them.

You were the first one awake, so you stepped through the mountains of hungover bodies and started brewing as much coffee as the machine could handle, while also cracking a dozen eggs in a skillet on the stove.

"I smell caffeine juice and Y/N/s famous scrambled eggs."

You whipped your head around to see Joe, wobbling as he walked through the kitchen. You smiled, getting ready to hand him a mug full of black coffee when he suddenly hit the tile floor in the kitchen.

"Ay! Watch it mate." you heard a Gwil mumble from the floor. You about pissed your pants laughing at the sight of the two men struggling to get themselves off the floor.

"So glad you're enjoying this, Y/N. Really makes me happy" Joe said as he finally pushed himself off the cold floor and snatched the coffee from your hands.

“So glad my laughter could fuel your happiness Mr. Mazzello.” he gave you a dirty look, and you blew him an overdramatic kiss in response.

Slowly but surely, the entire room woke up and came to their senses. Most of the blinds were shut and the lights were off, and everyone was trying to recover from the absolutely insane night you all had.

And, standing there, watching your second family laugh and revel in each other's company for what could be the last time for a while, you couldn't help but tear up. They were your home away from home.

You almost started bawling before a familiar face popped in front of yours, frowning slightly at the visible tears in your eyes.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Ben whispered, trying to avoid grabbing the attention of the rest of the people in the room. He pulled you into his chest, lightly kissing the top of your head.

"Just gonna miss this. And all of us." you murmured, your voice slightly cracking as a few tears slid down your cheeks. Ben chuckled sadly, wiping the wetness away with his thumbs.

"Y/N, we're family. You've said it yourself. We'll always find our way back together, I promise. That's how family works." you smiled, wiping the rest of your tears out of your eyes as Ben went back to wrap you in his arms.

"Don't need you being all emotional now. Never got to take you back to the hotel and take this dress off myself," he mumbled in your ear, grabbing lightly at the shiny fabric.

Your eyes widened as you pulled away from Ben, slapping his chest and covering your flushed face with your hands. He chuckled, looking down at you as the sun started to peak through the blinds.

"You're ridiculous," you spoke, a wide smile overtaking your face.

"Shut up, you know you love me," Ben responded, grabbing a random apple off the counter and biting into it, his bright white teeth almost glimmering in the soft sunlight.

"Yes, I definitely do."

#ben hardy #ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy x you #bohemian rhapsody #queen #brian may #roger taylor #freddie mercury #borhap #borhap cast #bohemian rhapsody movie #rami malek #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #lucy boynton #queen band

260 notes · View notes

doubledeaky · 6 years ago

Text

No Sleep Tonight

Brian May x Female!Reader

A/N: Hey, babes! This is dedicated to all my fellow kids who grew up with strict parents, even though this is a little dramatic. This is my first Brian smut so I hope it’s halfway decent cuz I’m super proud of it. I have a Rami request coming down the pipeline soon, stay tuned! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Much love! -m:)

Summary: Brian is never one to encourage disobedience towards your parents, but when it comes to you, he’ll make an exception.

Word Count: 5,835 words

Warnings: cursing, smut (18+ please!), oral sex (female and male receiving)

To say your parents were strict would be an understatement. As far back as you can recall, your mother and father were what most would call “helicopter parents.” Both constantly swirling your perimeter, never keeping their watchful eyes away from you for long. It made more sense then, you were a child and required supervision. Now, at eighteen years of age and just two months away from your first semester of university, it seemed cruel. Their unyielding attitudes an ever-present reminder of the tight leash they could keep around your throat as long as they were paying your way. For the better part of your short existence, you’d accepted it, obeying their rules and never straying from the narrow path set for you since birth. However, this changed when you met Brian. He was like you, a people pleaser and respect for authority was something he was taught to cherish, a virtue that should never slip from his subconscious. You related to him and bonded over the restricting barriers the two of you faced every day.

Senior year of high school had certainly been a time of great change, you’d met Brian and became a legal adult, but little changed. Your parents were still insufferably authoritative, and your frustration was only made worse when you watched helplessly from the side lines as all of your friends were cut loose, even Brian. You were gob smacked when, seemingly overnight, Brian’s parents had forgone all previous guidelines once he’d turned eighteen. Everyone was moving on and you were stagnant, glued by your feet to the same space you’d been stuck for years.

Brian comforted you when your parents were unwilling to lift your curfew on your eighteenth birthday, and he let you cry into his shoulder when you weren’t allowed to go to your own graduation after party with the rest of your classmates. That night, which was meant to be special, he watched with sullen eyes and a frown as you wept softly into the material of his graduation gown. You remember the clinking of his numerous academic metals against his bony sternum and the breeze of early May cooling your angry, heated face.

“Don’t worry, love. Uni’s right there, freedom’s just around the corner.” He said, gesturing animatedly to the space before him in an attempt to comfort you.

You smiled half-heartedly, shifting uncomfortably on the concrete steps leading to the entrance of the gymnasium, where your classmates were celebrating; living lives you’d never gotten a taste of, but ones you so craved. You sniffled, sitting up and wiping your tears with the sleeve of your silky, black gown.

“I know, Bri.”

You looked up, your parents were impatiently stood in front of the family car, your mother tapping her foot against the pavement. You sighed in what felt like familiar defeat and turned to Brian.

“I should go.” You whispered, holding your arms open to invite him into your embrace. He grinned and hugged you tightly, his curls tickling the skin of your neck. He pulled away, grabbing your face in both hands.

“Three months.” He whispered, giving you a genuine smile, a glint of childlike mischief in his bright eyes.

“Three months.” You repeated, placing your hands over his and giving him a sweet giggle. You nodded quickly and stood; he followed, giving you one last long hug and a wave as you scurried off, bunching your gown in your hands to keep it from scraping against the pavement. Brian watched as your parents silently scolded you, chastising you for being a normal teenager, and waited until the taillights of the minivan disappeared into the darkness before joining his classmates in celebration without you, the one person he really wished was there.

That was nearly a month ago and even the biggest declaration of coming adult hood, graduation, did little to change your parents’ no-nonsense ways. Your summer as of now was spent working the occasional shift at the library, cherished but always short visits with friends, and enjoying the sunshine of late-June. What made this particular summer miles more bearable was your daily interactions with Brian, either in person or over the phone. His seemingly respectable and gentle nature had won over your parents’ trust and even they enjoyed his company when he stopped by. He lived close by, usually walking the short distance or hopping into his birthday present, a used but very loved station wagon. His presence was always the highlight of your day. Summer afternoons were usually spent in the cool grass of your backyard, listening to music that encourage rebellion or cooped up in your room, doing the same. Conversation was easy, and Brian pulled laughs from you with skill and practiced grace, never failing to bring a smile to your occasionally sullen face. Today was no different, Brian’s sweet voice over the phone placed a wicked grin on your face without fail.

“How long has it been since I’ve seen you?” He asked, you could see his brows drawing together in thought through the phone.

“Just two days, Bri.” You laughed, twirling the phone’s cord idly between nimble fingers.

“Well, we can’t have that. Come over.” He said simply, and you could hear him shifting his position on the creaky bed he was sat on.

“Are you mad? It’s past curfew.” You laughed incredulously, eyebrows raising in disbelief.

“It’s past curfew for you. I don’t have one of those.” He said, grin evident in his voice.

“Wish it worked like that, Bri.” You sighed into the phone, turning your head momentarily to look at the open magazine sat beside you.

“What are your folks gonna do, hm? You’re eighteen, they can’t keep doing this to you.” He huffed, falling back into the pillows behind him.

“They can if they pay for me to live.” You reply in an attempt to jog his memory, turning the page of your magazine absentmindedly.

“Still.” He whines, running a hand through his mop of brunette curls.

“Still nothing, Bri. I’m not risking it. I’m so close to ditching this joint and I’m not jeopardizing my freedom because you’re bored.” You chided, throwing your magazine to the floor before crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well I’ve already got shoes on and my car keys are looking mighty tempting.” He says, and you can hear a smirk in his voice.

“Brian May, I swear on my- “

The phone goes dead. You scoff as you pull it from your ear and stare into it. You groan and stand from your bed, trying to devise a logical plan of action. After minutes of pacing the length of your tiny bedroom, you gave up; huffing loudly as you fell backwards onto your bed, running a shaky hand over your face. Fuck it.

You slip on a pair of worn, trusted shoes and looked in the mirror at your appearance. Your skin was aglow with the mark of the summertime sun, your hair wild and mussed, lips pulled into a wide smile and heart pounding. Despite everything your parents had drilled into your head from the day you could comprehend complete thoughts, you’d never been more inclined to throw it all to the wayside in this very moment.

A soft knock sounded against your fogged window and you looked up, nerves sizzling with a mixture of fear and pure adrenaline. You stood and glanced at the clock, past midnight, your parents no doubt asleep in their seemingly sound proof master bedroom. You took a deep breath and made the leap of faith, opening your window and peering down at a smiling Brian before hopping out, the short distance knocking you off balance momentarily. Brian caught you, his laughs stifled through clenched teeth. You shut the window tight with shaky hands and turned to Brian, eyes wide in shock.

“You did it.” He whisper-yelled, gripping your shoulders and shaking you with excitement. You laughed, giggle laced with a nervous energy. Brian pulled his keys from his pocket, dangling them before your face, the brass shining under the bright glow of the moon.

“Let’s go.” He whispered, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards his car, parked a cautionary block and a half away. No turning back now.

***

“Brian, my heart’s pressing against my ribs.” You groan, clutching the rough polyester shirt covering your sternum.

“Oh stop, you know you’re loving this.” He quips, eyes never leaving the road but a bright smile on his face nevertheless.

He was right, you were loving this, every moment of it. The feeling of freedom, completely careless as you let the summer air wash over your face and through your hair, with your best friend by your side. It’s a sensation like no other and you never want to feel anything less thrilling than this. It’s like getting a present when it’s not your birthday, like diving into the silky-smooth water of a backyard swimming pool, like running through the crowded streets on the 4th of July with a sparkler in hand, its fiery stars glowing in your wake. Letting go completely without worrying about being reprimanded or punished for being human, for wanting to feel, to live. It’s intoxicating and the energy within you has your limbs buzzing, your entire body shaking with pure glee. You let your arm hang loosely outside of the car window, face blissed out and heart fuzzy. Brian glances out of his peripheral, smiling at your content state. He averts his eyes back to the street before him, making sure he’s headed in the right direction.

“Told you.” He smirks, still focusing on the fluorescent traffic lights above him. You roll your eyes, bringing your arm back into the car and searching for a familiar sight down this unfamiliar street.

“Where are we going exactly?” You ask, voice noticeably uneasy.

“It’s a surprise.” He mumbles, smile teasing. You roll your eyes again, shaking your head incredulously. The car suddenly lurches forward and takes a hard left. You brace yourself against the dashboard and look to Brian with wide eyes.

“We’re here.” He says with a grin, yanking the keys from the ignition and stepping out of the car without another word. You take a deep breath, still dazed from the near car accident. He knocks on your window, gesturing for you to get out and follow him. You exhale and momentarily regret every action that had led you to this point before hopping out of the car and following Brian, his curls shining under the flickering orange street light. You put in a great deal of effort to catch up to him, his long legs easily carrying his weight in long strides.

“Slow down, tall ass.” You call out from a few feet behind him.

“Speed up, short ass.” He responds, turning around to meet your flustered gaze. He stops, allowing you to catch up and jerks his thumb to the right.

“This is it.” He says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, awaiting your response. You move your body to look behind him and raise a questioning brow.

“A park?” You ask, a bemused expression painting your face.

“Yes, a park. It’s really nice at night and it’s always empty around this hour. I come here when I need to get away, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say you need the same.” He explains, grabbing your hand and leading you through the gated entrance, which is open after midnight for some ungodly reason.

“Yeah, yeah.” You mumble, letting him lead you to the destination he has in mind with little resistant.

“Do you ever look at the stars?” He asks quietly, stopping and sitting down on a particularly lush area of grass and clovers.

“Um, not often. But I’ve seen them, yes” You giggle, sitting down next to him, your knee pressing against his bony one. He laughs, laying back with his hands behind his head, gesturing for you to do the same. You do, mimicking his actions and looking forward to what he has in store. Brian’s a simple man, but he’s clever and uses that to his advantage.

“Well, you should make it routine. Good for the soul.” He explains, green eyes admiring the speckled sky above him.

“Maybe I will, Mr. Astrophysicist.” You quip, giggling as you try to take his suggestion seriously.

“I mean it. Takes you away for a minute. Reminds you that there’s more. That you’re not so alone here.” He whispers, eyes catching the reflections of the glowing orbs looming above you both.

You’re quiet for a moment, taken aback, then hum in acknowledgement, trying to take in the night sky in a way similar to him. He’s quiet for a moment, then inhales rather sharply before breathing out, as if he’s nervous to speak.

“Why do you think your parents are the way there are?” He asks, quietly and cautiously, afraid you may take offense. You suck your lower lip between your teeth, eyebrows drawn in thought.

“I dunno. Could be a lot of things. I’m their only kid. Maybe they don’t want to lose me. Maybe they just need something to control. If I knew why, I think I’d know true peace.” You laugh dryly, eyes downcast and mouth drawn in a tight line. He nods, eyes still averted towards the stars.

“I think it’s the control thing. They feel so out of control when it comes to everything else and you’re an easy target, considering you’re their kid and all.” He says, still gazing up at the expanse of the dark sky, eyes visibly darting in all directions. You hum, closing your eyes and breathing in.

“I just wish it was different. I feel so disconnected from them. They’re both like teachers or coaches, not parents. Everything’s so dull. I just wish they could let go for a bit, just to see what it’s like.” You say, expressing feelings you’ve harbored for much longer than you care to admit.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, removing a hand from under his head and gripping the one you have lain across your stomach. You squeeze back, grinning slightly.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He mumbles, bringing your hand up to kiss the knuckles. You nod, feeling warmth return to your chest and a familiar flutter in your gut.

***

“Where to next?” Brian asks as he folds his long legs in order to fit into the car, turning to you expectantly once he’s comfortable. You raise your brows and let out a breathy laugh.

“Thought you had that covered, May?” You say, leaning back in your seat.

“I did, up until the park. Your turn.” He smiles, jamming the keys into the ignition and twisting, the car spitting momentarily before revving to life.

“Anywhere but my house.”

“On it.”

***

You recognize the route Brian is taking in only a few minutes, smiling to yourself at how transparent he could be at times.

“Your house, really? Are you trying to make your parents punish you?” You ask, laughing as you study your watch, nearly two o’clock in the morning at this point.

“They’re not home. I wouldn’t consciously bring a friend over this late. I’m not stupid.” He mocks, sticking his tongue at you. You sneer playfully, pushing his shoulder lightly, the protruding bone sharp against your palm.

“What’s so interesting at your house that it’s the only place you thought to go?” You giggle, cocking your head to the side in question.

“Told you I didn’t plan too far ahead.” He huffs, giving you an exaggerated frown. “Besides, it’s much better than your house.” He chuckles, pointing a long finger at you.

“Touché.”

***

You run before Brian, beating him to the door and letting yourself in. He shakes his head, locking his car and following you.

“Where is she?” You ask, poking your head around the cozy living room.

“And who may you be referring to?” He questions, tossing his keys onto the glass coffee table and plopping down onto the couch.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. The cat.” You huff, still searching diligently for Brian’s fiery red kitten.

“I dunno. She’s gotten really good at hiding.” He shrugs, smile playing at his lips as he watches you flip over throw pillows and look behind furniture too heavy to move. A small meow steals your and Brian’s attention and you squeal in delight, immediately scooping up the ten-week-old kitten and placing a loving kiss to her head. She purrs, perching herself upright in your arms to look around from the new angle.

“Still no name?” You question, noticing her green nameplate still blank.

“No, can’t think of a good one.” He answers, hands toying absentmindedly with frayed threads of a nearby blanket.

“Well, let’s go up to your room and put on some records. Sometimes I get inspired by a good song.” You smile, already climbing the stairs, the kitten still wrapped in your warm embrace. Brian chuckles, standing up and following you hastily.

“How bout this one?” You ask, already arms deep in Brian’s vast vinyl collection.

“Looks good.” He mumbles, not really hearing you, much too focused on your form sitting idly on his carpeted floor; eyes bright and excited, a new energy to your movements, a new light that Brian hopes never dulls. You smile, placing the record clumsily onto the turntable and flicking the needle down; climbing up onto Brian’s bed, cat in your arms.

“Alright.” You breathe, laying down onto the plush comforter beneath you, Brian following suit. You hum quietly to the song’s lyrics, fingers running lightly through the cat’s orange fur.

“Anything?” He asks, smiling as he crosses one long leg over the other.

“No.” You huff, closing your eyes before allowing a smile to overtake your features.

“S’alright, maybe we’ll just call her Kitty.” He mumbles, reaching over the pet the kitten’s head.

You hum, looking down lovingly at the small animal in your arms, purring softly as she drifts off into a peaceful cat nap. You look up at Brian, who’s still focused on the kitten perched atop your chest. You pick her up gingerly, placing her sleeping form onto the carpet, where she promptly wakes up and scurries quickly out of the room. He furrows his brows, eyeing you carefully as you sit up and cross your legs.

“Bri?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for doing this. I really needed it.” You say, smiling wide and reaching to grip his hand tight.

He returns your gaze, bringing your knuckles to his lips for the second time within the span of a few hours. You breathe in sharply, the contact still foreign.

“Of course. I like you this way.” He hums, his fingers fiddling with the rings wrapped around yours. You purse your lips and furrow your brows in question.

“What’d ya mean?” You laugh, confused by his statement.

“Ya know, like this. Careless, not worried about your parents. Nothing holding you back. It’s you, and I only ever want to see you like this. You’re so beautiful like this.” Brian mumbles, eyes widening minutely when he registers the words that tumbled from his mouth. You choke, eyes wide in shock.

“Beautiful?”

Brian doesn’t hesitate to nod, sitting up and grabbing both your hands in his.

“Yeah, beautiful. So bright and so happy. Your eyes are different, they aren’t scared or hesitant. They’re bright. This is the person you’re meant to be. You’ve got so much to give and so much to do, so much ahead of you. Being able to see you like this, for the first time, makes me love you more than I ever thought I could. It was always there, you just had to let go.” He breaths, cheeks red and eyes glossy. You can’t speak, completely stunned by his words.

It’s what you’ve always wanted, to be seen as careless and free, beautiful in your natural state of humanity. Hearing that you’ve got it, you’ve finally done it, is overwhelming and you bite your lip with enough force to draw blood.

“Thank you, Brian. For being so good to me. For showing me how good life is. I didn’t think it could be this nice, that I could be this happy. Just…thank you. I love you, and I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Don’t wanna be afraid of anything.” You smile, voice watery and filled with a loving fondness.

Brian’s chest feels full and fuzzy, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. He feels grateful, happy he met you, happy you’re here now, sat with him on his twin bed, surrounding by the scratchy melodies playing from the corner. With no hesitation, Brian grabs your face and presses his parted lips to yours. Your hands immediately grip his shirt, afraid if you let go, you’ll float away. His hands move from your cheeks and card through your hair, moving it from your face, wanting nothing to bar him from you. You pull away, sucking in a sharp breath and smiling like a fool.

“Fuck.” He breathes, pulling you closer by your hips. You nod, skin hot, the metal of your necklaces cooling you. He kisses you again, gripping your hips desperately, wanting to feel all of you. He pulls away and you boldly climb into his open lap, lacing your legs around his waist. His eyes go wide, an anxious innocence glazing over them.

“I’m not afraid of anything anymore, remember?” You smile, thumbs brushing over his swollen lower lip. He nods, smiling before wrapping his long, delicate arms around you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss these lips.” He whispers, running two fingers over them to emphasize his pure want for you.

“I could venture a guess.” You quip, voice cracking as he nips at the skin of your neck, the sensation sending heat straight to your lower stomach. You bury your hands in his hair, gripping softly at the roots; the groan that leaves his lips encouraging you to move against him. He pulls away, satisfied with his work; running a ringed hand over your neck and clavicle in admiration.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He whispers, toying with the first button of your shirt. You brush his hand away, quickly making work of the baby blue buttons and tossing the blouse aside. Brian’s eyes widen, and his pupils visibly dilate, mouth suddenly growing dry at the sight of your near naked chest.

“Touch me, Bri.” You beg, eyes closed in concentration as you continue to move against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer. He obeys, hands immediately running over the material of your bra, admiring the faint rise and fall of your chest, the occasionally freckle or mark painting your skin, the curve of your breasts; all these factors establishing you in his mind as a goddess among men.

“God, fuck.” He curses, feeling himself grow painfully hard under your ministrations, your hands gripping the hair at the nape of his neck is also no help. You’re panting desperately, silently begging Brian to continue. He must read you well because he quickly removed his shirt and reaches around to fiddle with the clasp of your bra. Much to your surprise, it snaps open with little trouble and if it were possible, Brian’s pupils dilate further at the sight of your bare chest. His hands are trembling as they slide up your sides, cupping your breasts before he slowly brings his mouth to your right nipple, circling the tip of his tongue around your it before taking it in his mouth, nipping then soothing the skin with his cool saliva.

“God, Brian.” You moan, hands gripping his bare shoulders for leverage. He places open mouthed kisses around your chest, giving each breast ample attention before pulling back, a smug grin on his face.

“Making me feel so good, baby.” He groans, hands guiding your movements over his clothed cock.

“Let me taste you.” You whimper, hands grabbing at the material of his trousers.

He leans back on his hands, allowing you to climb off of his lap and crawl over him, stopping just above his hips. You carefully, run your hand over the bulge, curious as to what his reaction will be. He hisses, hips shifting impatiently. Your thighs clench together involuntary watching the boy below you react to your touch and your touch alone. You grip the zip of his trousers with your thumb and forefinger, pulling it down at an agonizing pace, sultry eyes never leaving his wild ones. His jaw sets painfully, sweat beading then falling from his temple. He has to bite back a soft whimper when you pull his trousers down, then all the way off.

He feels vulnerable, but he isn’t afraid. He’s happy that you’re seeing him this way and he’s happy he gets to see you this way. You look back to him after flinging his pants to the side, eyes hooded, and plush lips parted. He nearly groans at the sight of you so beautiful above him, confident and undeniably sexy, if not painfully so. You remove your own shorts, only two layers separating you two now.

You run your hand slowly over his clothed length, taking note of the precum state visible at the tip. You toy with the waistband and he whines impatiently, bucking his hips in search of friction. You tut, bringing your face closer to his crotch and hooking two fingers under the hem of his boxers. You’re still surprised by your confidence throughout this entire situation. You pull them down and immediately your heart falls to your stomach. He’s big, and your nervous for the first time in the last half hour. He notices this, sitting up to place a sweet kiss on your lips, hand brushing hair delicately from your sweaty face.

“We don’t have to.” He whispers, lips millimeters from yours; so close you can taste him, sweet like cherries and lemonade, like summertime.

“I want to.” You respond, pressing your lips to his feverishly, gripping his cock softly in your hand and biting his lower lip as you pull away, lowering your face slowly.

“Fuck.” He breaths, watching you intently as you give his cock an experimental lick, hand still pumping him.

“Please.” He whimpers, hands trembling as they grip the sheets with all the strength they’re capable of. You comply, closing your lips around him, placing one hand on his thigh, the other around what you can’t fit in your mouth. Your studying his face through your thick lashes, searching for his reactions to your movements, noting what he likes and doesn’t. You hollow your cheeks and he lets out a long moan, brushing hair from your face and keeping his hand there to guide you.

“So good, baby. Fuck.” He pants, grip tightening in your hair. His words give you a boost of confidence, pride blooming in your chest as your speed up your movements, head bobbing in tandem with the movement of your hand. Brian groans, his head lolling to the side and eyes rolling back in ecstasy. You hollow your cheeks again and Brian unexpectedly pulls your mouth from him, chest heaving and sheathed in a light layer of sweat. You look to him, confused, lips wet and swollen, more beautiful than you’ve ever been. He kisses you, pulling you back into his lap, fingers burying themselves below the hem of your underwear.

“Sorry, hun. Don’t wanna cum until I feel you.” He breaths, flipping you over onto your back, drawing an airy giggle from you. Brian’s cock twitches at the sight of you beneath him; eyes hooded, lips swollen and parted, arms stretched above your head, and body willing, begging for only him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groans, kissing down the length of your body, stopping abruptly above where you need him most. You moan at the sight of him between your legs, lazy smirk and hands gripping your thighs with a bruising strength. He presses a chaste kiss just above the hem, studying the way you squirm and write beneath him, desperate and needy.

“Can I taste?” He asks, fingers already tugging at the flimsy material.

“God, yes. Please.” You whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily under his hold. He smiles, hooking two fingers under the elastic before pulling them down slowly, eyes never leaving your writhing form. He brings himself back up, groaning as he dips his fingers into your heat, absolutely soaked.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He breaths, kissing your pubic bone as his lithe fingers continue to glide through your folds, reveling in the feeling of how wet you are for him. You moan, an unbelievable pressure building steadily in your abdomen.

“Please, Brian. Do something.” You whine, gripping his hair in an attempt to coax him towards your aching clit.

“What do you want me to do, baby?” He coos, fingers swirling around your clit, the pressure sending a shock all the way up your spine and back down again.

“Use your mouth, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate, delving between your folds, lapping at your clit like a man starved. You’re trembling beneath him, hands gripping anything in your near vicinity and hips grinding against Brian’s mouth. The feeling of his lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh, his curls tickling your lower tummy; It’s divine, a pleasure like no other and you clench around nothing, so close to climaxing.

“So close, Bri.” You moan, mind too foggy to register when he pulls his mouth from you. You look up, huffing at the loss of contact as you watch him slip a condom over his painfully hard length.

“Sorry, love. Want you to come on my cock.” He breaths, pressing his lips to your sin a needy, sloppy kiss; his hands placing your legs over his hips before settling between them. He locks eyes with you, suddenly very serious.

“You sure?” He asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face, an act of pure love. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck, taking in his sloped, elegant features before answering.

“Never wanted anything more.” You smile, bringing your lips to his in a kiss conveying something along the lines of pure want and pure love.

He nods, suddenly very nervous as he lines his cock up with your entrance and slips in slowly. The stretch is uncomfortable but not particularly painful and you remind yourself to breath as he continues. You gasp at the hallway point, gripping his shoulders and throwing your head back. He stalls, afraid he’s hurt you. It’s taking everything in him to hold back, the feel of your walls wrapped around his cock bringing him to the edge faster than he’d like. You moan, digging your heels into the skin of his lower back, begging him to continue.

“Don’t stop, feels good.” You breathe, lifting your hips in an attempt to meet his. He nods, and continues, gripping the sheets around your head to ground himself. He bottoms out, the two of you releasing a broken moan in tandem. Your breathing is labored, walls fluttering around his cock without restraint.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” He groans, his head falling into the crook of your neck.

“Move, Bri.” You whine, swirling your hips.

He does, bringing his cock all the way out before pushing back in. You both watch the space at which your bodies connect in awe. The only sounds are your mixed, tangled breathing and broken moans. The sound of skin against skin, and a rock album spinning idly in the corner. Brian soon adopts a brutal pace, his cock brushing all four walls, hitting a spot that has you crying out, moaning loudly.

“Fuck, Bri. I’m close.” You whimper, holding him tight. He grips your left leg, bringing it from his hip to rest against your abdomen, spreading you wider and allowing him to reach an entirely new angle within you. You nearly scream, mouth agape in a silent moan. You’re panting, struggling to catch your breath as Brian pounds into you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.�� You whisper, all air choked from your lungs.

“Cum for me, babe. Cum on my cock.” He growls, bringing his hand to rub frantic circles over your clit. You moan, long and fractured, your walls clenching around Brian with a vice-like grip. He groans, thrusts growing sloppy as he chases his high, you still reeling from your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m close.” He groans, leaning back and pushing both your legs up, watching how he disappears inside of you.

“Come on, Bri. Let me feel you.”

His hips stutter and his movements still, groaning as he spills inside of the condom. Moving his hips in small, languid motions for a just a moment after. He pulls out slowly and you whimper at the loss. You both remain still, taking a moment to regain control of your breathing. You’re smiling up at him and he’s smiling down at you, both of you glowing under a post-coital sheen. Brian sighs, moving to discard the spent condom and rejoining you on the bed. He wraps his long, strong arms around you and lays his head against your naked chest. You sigh contentedly, running a hand through his sweaty curls.

“You think your mom will be mad to see you’re not in your bed when she goes to wake you up?” He asks, smiling against your skin.

“That’s a problem for the morning.” You breathe, chest rumbling with soft laughter.

“It is morning.” He says, smiling as he points to the clock hung over his dresser, which reads six a.m. You groan, laying your head back and rubbing your tired eyes with your thumb and forefinger.

“Well, that’s a problem for later. Just wanna lay with you right now.” You sigh, snuggling into his side, pressing soft kisses to his neck and chest.

“Want you to lay here too.” He mumbles, throwing a blanket over your naked bodies and pulling you as close as humanly possible, breathing you in, wanting to remember every minute detail when he’s without your presence.

“Autumn.” You suddenly mumble, voice muffled in his chest, and he raises his heavy head in question.

“What?” He asks, squinting his eyes and chuckling at your seemingly sleeping state.

“Think you should name the kitten Autumn.” You whisper, half asleep, eyes closed delicately.

“I think I just might.” He answers, settling back into his previous position. You hum, a lazy smile on your face as you give in to a much-needed rest. The room is heavy with love, the thick fog permeating throughout, evidence of what you both cherish so much.

The orange sun is close to breaking the horizon and for the first time in maybe your entire life, you don’t really care about how your parents will react to your disobedience come morning.

- read my other fics here!

#brian may #brian may imagine #brian may x you #brian may x reader #brian may smut #queen #queen smut #queen imagines #queen band #smut

256 notes · View notes

mamaskillerqueen · 6 years ago

Text

I’m Gonna Miss You, Blondie || Ben!Roger x Reader

A/N: This is for @bensroger 3k fic challenge. My prompt was an angsty one, so this is super sad. Nevertheless, I really hope you enjoy it!

Wordcount: 3,658

Warning: This is nothing but sadness, there is no happy ending. At all. I don’t want to give away too much so just know, this is going to hurt. But also, like, horrible writing.

Prompt: “And even when I leave you, I will still be with you, in your memories.”

The only thing you were aware of was the uncomfortable bite of gravel on your skin as you fell to the ground. It was if time had slowed down the minute he put his hands on you.

You were new to school, it was your first day and you hadn't made any friends yet. The playground was packed full of kids milling about and having the best of times. When you had noticed that the swings were empty you made a beeline for them. It wasn't that you didn't want to make friends but being seven years old and new to this trying to make friends thing, you weren't entirely sure how to go about it.

Logan Collins. He was immediately identifiable as the school bully. He was in your class and you had done your best to stay away from him and his group of friends. Unfortunately for you, being new made it easy for him to notice you.

Apparently, deciding to swing on the swings by yourself labeled you as weird. To boys like Logan, weird was all he needed to make you feel like scum under someones shoe. You had made the smart decision to walk away, to try and avoid his verbal barrage but that was when he stepped in front of you. There was no time to react before he was shoving you to the ground.

"Stupid girl," he bellowed, his posse erupting in laughter.

You cast your gaze up towards the boy towering over you, and then all you saw was a flurry of blonde hair before the grey sky was wiped clean. Pushing yourself up off of your back to a sitting position you could see that a different boy had come to your rescue. To the bully's rescue came the adults.

You were sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair in the Head Teacher's office, impatiently waiting to explain what had happened. The blonde boy was called in first, and you could hear through the door as he answered the questions asked of him.

"Well, then why did you tackle and punch Mister Collins in the face, Roger?"

"No one deserves to be picked on," Roger answered as if it was the most obvious reason of all. "I wasn't going to stand there and let him keep screaming at her."

Just like that you met the bestest of friend you'd ever have in your life.

You had become inseparable. Where there was you, there was Roger and vice versa. He was your best mate, and you were his. It never seemed weird to you that you both shared everything with each other. Your parents used to joke that one day you two would end up married, which always made you both respond with gagging noises. You were sixteen when that changed.

The chill in the air had you wrapping your coat a little tighter around your shoulders as you trekked towards the doors to school. The shout of your name nearly made you jump out of your skin and when you turned to face the sound you couldn't help a chuckle. Roger was running towards you, blonde hair flopping into his eyes.

"I gotta ask for your help, love."

This wasn't unusual to you. Generally he came to you for help with school work in the subjects he was absolute rubbish in. In turn, you often found yourself begging for his help in the ones you couldn't seem to get a grasp on.

"Sure."

At your nod his eyes lit up and he animatedly started explaining the situation. A situation that had nothing to do with school work.

"You know Susan, yeah? Think you could say a few nice things about me, help me get a date with her?"

There was a pang in your chest but you nodded again, forcing a smile on your lips and ignored the odd feeling you couldn't quite place. Later that day you figured out how you would bring up the topic of conversation with someone you didn't exactly consider a friend. It wasn't until the day of the date that you placed the feeling. Jealousy. You convinced yourself you were just scared of losing your best friend.

After that girls came and went in his life, much like a revolving door. You had stopped trying to keep track, and for the most part you were able to ignore the jealousy. They never stuck around but you did. He made sure you did. And for now, you believed that was enough.

When you both decided to attend Uni in London you couldn't have been more excited. It was nice to know you weren't going to be alone in this new city. You had never fancied much of being the new kid, you definitely didn't want to do it again by yourself. There were times as you were packing your things that you thought about how maybe, just maybe, once you were in the city things could be different.

Of course they weren't. The revolving door of women only grew but you still remained the same. When Brian came into the picture with the band Smile, you never missed a gig. You often left alone after watching a random groupie drag Roger out the doors, the same pang you felt all those years ago now becoming a constant presence in your chest. No matter how much you tried to pretend it wasn't there.

Smile turned Queen and after much protest, a van was sold and an album was recorded. That was easily the longest and most interesting day of your life. By the time you had made it back to Roger's flat, you were far too exhausted for the journey to your own. The couch was inviting, warm, and comfy, so that was where you stayed. The weeks that followed often ended the same, on his couch too exhausted to go home.

The habit became your constant explanation for you exhaustion. Sleeping on a couch couldn't be helping you get a decent sleep but you and Roger didn't really want to be apart. He'd started sleeping at the other end, tea cups abandoned on the coffee table. Mountains of you school work had become permanent decor on the floor. Your relationship with your best friend seemed to have shifted but neither of you acknowledged it. There was no point. Soon he'd be running off to America.

"I'm gonna miss you, Blondie," You told him as you stretched up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

The two of you had never spent this much time apart since you'd met. Just thinking about how long it would be before you saw him again was heartbreaking. He wasn't due to leave for another two weeks but you had exams coming up and you weren't too sure how much you'd get to see him before he left. That was why you continuously made a point to essentially say goodbye.

He shook his head at you as you stifled a yawn behind your hand. If he said he didn't feel slightly guilty for your near constant state of exhaustion, he'd be lying. That didn't change the fact that he didn't want you far for long. It was almost like he was trying to get as much time spent with you to stock up before he spent months away.

"Got plenty of time, love. Don't go missin' me quite yet."

With a roll of your eyes you adjusted your bag on your shoulder over your coat. You'd skipped your first class to catch up on a bit of sleep and if you didn't hurry you'd miss your next one. Otherwise, you'd have stayed to argue that it wasn't nearly enough time at all.

"Shut up, I love you, bye!"

You'd been completely out the front door, it shutting with a click behind you when you realized what you had said. Just as you were getting ready to open the door and retract what you'd said, it swung open with a wide-eyed Roger on the other side.

"I-"

"Say it again..."

He sounded desperate, cutting you off before you could take it back. To everyone else this wouldn't have seemed like a big deal but it was. He was your best friend, and sure you were basically living in his flat, but you weren't together. You couldn't even brush it off as a friend thing because he knew you better than anyone and it was clear in his eyes that he knew exactly what you meant.

After a while of weighing your options you decided that life was short and you already knew you had months without him awaiting you. Could you really go on wondering what it would be like if you had told him? If maybe he wouldn't have a new girl in his room every night while he was gone? You weren't so sure you could.

"I said..." You started, bringing your eyes up to meet his, "I love you."

You didn't make it to classes that day, and it wasn't because of the exhaustion that's been haunting you.

"I'm gonna miss you, Blondie," You repeated the words from weeks ago, only this time there were tears in your eyes.

Roger and the band were leaving and you could barely keep yourself from crying. You had spent the last few weeks as a couple, cuddled together and even more inseparable than ever. To be even more dramatic than you already felt, saying goodbye to him felt like losing a limb. There were promises of phone calls and 'I love you's' exchanged but it wasn't until he had shut the door to your now shared flat that you allowed the tears to actually fall.

He'd been gone for almost two weeks when you started to come down with the flu. You tried to keep going, missing more classes wasn't really an option. After having spent so much time off to be with Roger and the band, you were in trouble of failing. Every night on the phone Rog tried to convince you to visit the doctor, your sickness was far too clear in your voice and he was beginning to worry about you. You continued to reassure him that you were fine.

It wasn't until a near collapse on the way to your next class that you finally made it to see a doctor. Your best mate had to quite literally drag you there, as you continued to argue that you were fine. It was nothing a quick nap couldn't fix. The doctor wasn't so convinced.

You nearly missed Rog's call that night. He heard you shouting a 'hello?" just as he was getting ready to place the phone back on the receiver.

"Y/N? I didn't think you were there, love."

"I-I just got in," You replied, a bit disappointed in how shaky your voice sounded. The last thing you wanted to do was worry him.

"Everything alright?"

"Fine, I just had lost track of time in the library. Didn't think I'd make it in time to talk to you."

You could tell he wasn't quite buying it but he let it slide and you continued your conversation as usual. It was a relief to hear his voice, it calmed the fear the doctor had instilled in you mere hours ago.

The doctor had ordered the nurses take some of your blood to run tests on and you'd been staring at the same wall for what seemed like forever, waiting. You had explained you were just burning the candle at both ends, it was why you were so exhausted. Something in your explanation of the collapse didn't sit well with him and he insisted on a longer visit than you had hoped for.

You were attempting to keep your mind off of the possibilities of why he was so worried, so Roger was the only thing that occupied your thoughts. Just as you were starting to drift to sleep the doctor returned. His face seemed far more serious, a frown deepening the lines in his face and making him seem older.

He pulled in a deep breath and then his eyes seemed to take on a look of pity. "Something just doesn't seem quite right here," He explained while taking a look at the chart in his hands.

"The guys are calling for me, love," Roger said, pulling you back from your thoughts. "You sure everything is alright?"

"Yeah, Rog. Everything is fine. I promise."

You could hear a sigh on the other end of the phone. He always knew when you were lying. For now though, he seemed to be able to tell that pressing the subject wasn't the best. You were grateful for that.

"Alright, I'll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, Y/N. I love you."

"I love you, too," You replied, ignoring the tear that was making its journey down your cheek. "Bye, Rog."

When the phone was securely on the receiver you allowed yourself to feel the sheer terror that had settled into your heart the minute the doctor had uttered the diagnosis.

"We can't be certain yet, we'll have to do a few more tests but we may have caught this early enough. With some treatments we might even be able to beat this."

You knew, he didn't have to say the words, you knew. Your aunt had gone through it, years ago. It might have been when you were young but you knew the process, unfortunately that didn't make it any less scary. She hadn't won.

After quite a few tears and a good bit of wine you crawled into your bed with a new resolve. Everything was going to be fine. Just like you'd been saying for months now. Some may call it stupid to have such blind faith that things would work out but the way you saw it, either you could live terrified for years or you could live happily and accepting for months. You weren't going to give up but you definitely didn't want to spend any of your time hiding.

Or so you thought.

Weeks passed by. More tests came and went. Verdicts were dealt. Roger? Still in the dark. As far as he was aware, everything was fine. Nothing was happening in your life except school. There was once or twice that you had missed a phone call, you had sworn it was because you were napping. The truth was, most of the time, you were at the doctor.

You had started action plans for treatments and with your Professors and University to postpone your studies. Every day it started to feel more and more real, and yet somehow you continued to stay in a bit of denial. Your best moments were when you could take the nightly phone calls with the band. As the tour was wrapping up they were all missing home a bit more and insisted on speaking with you if they had the chance. You weren't complaining.

It was your mum who had put the thought in your head, and it was slowly eating you alive. Roger didn't sign up for this. His entire life was sitting in front of him, opportunities that would bring him so much success and happiness. You didn't want to be a sadness, or a burden. The best thing you could do for him was let him go. That was when you started packing.

He was due home soon, your last call had been earlier that day. Your mum had come the night before to attend a doctor's appointment with you. It was after the call she had got you thinking, and then she left to go home. There hadn't been any tears as you placed the last of your things in a box.

"Y/N!!"

The door slammed shut behind him, your heart was immediately in your throat. You had dreamed about this moment since he'd left. All you had wanted this whole time was to be wrapped in his arms, to feel safe. You couldn't do this to him though. You couldn't force him to watch you die.

"Hey, lo-..." He cut himself off as he noticed the boxes stacked up in your shared room. His brows knitted together in confusion. "W-what's going on?"

Your eyes had met his and you could feel your heart shatter. He knew you were leaving but he didn't know why. His eyes were welling up and you wanted so desperately to go to him, to kiss away his pain but you couldn't.

"I don't think this is a good idea," You motioned between the two of you with a wavering voice.

"D-don't do this, please," He begged, something you never thought you'd see him do. "Whatever happened, we can fix it. It's you and me. It's always been you and me and we only just started. Please... Please don't do this."

He had come up and taken your hands in his, stooping just a bit so he could catch your eyes. The floor had become mighty interesting during his speech. You knew this was going to hurt but you didn't think it would hurt this badly.

"I... we can't."

"Why? Why can't we?"

Tears were escaping, falling in fat splatters on the floor that you were still intent on staring down. You hoped you could find the answers there.

"I'm dying, Rog."

The words were so quiet he would have had to strain to hear them, and even then you weren't sure he heard you. Silence stretched on for what seemed like forever, and so you lifted your eyes up to his. Confusion was the prominent look in them but you could see the same terror that had haunted your own eyes since you first found out.

"I... I have cancer. It's in the late stages, the doctors have done everything they can but... It's just too late," Your words broke again and your eyes found the floor. He was unmoving for a while, and then he dropped your hands and took a step back.

"How long have you known?"

"Almost three weeks after you left..."

"Jesus Christ, Y/N!! Were you ever going to tell me?!" His face was flushed, anger rolling off of him in waves.

"I didn't want to worry you! You had enough going on!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes and giving you a glare before running his hands through his hair. You could have sworn you had heard him saying something a long the lines of "Are you joking?!" but you couldn't be sure as he was mumbling.

"I can't believe you," He finally said clearly, shaking his head. "I.. I've gotta go."

Just the way he came, he was gone again with the door slamming shut behind him. To say that wasn't how you expected this to go was an understatement. In fact, you had hoped to be gone before he got there so you could avoid this whole thing. You sat down on the bed, curling up on your side to let the tears fall freely.

You were just so tired.

You hadn't intended on falling asleep but here you were, being woken by a gentle shake of your shoulder. When your eyes popped open you were greeted with a sight that nearly shattered your heart even more than it already was. Roger was looking at you with the softest expression you'd ever seen, his eyes red and puffy. You could still see tear tracks on his cheeks.

"I love you," He started and when you started to open your mouth to speak he shook his head. "I love you, and I don't want to lose you. I'm all in, love. You can't just run away because I know you, and I know that's not what you want. I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you but I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Y/N. You're it for me."

By the end of his speech you were both crying but he never broke that promise. He was there for you through it all. His hand was clasped tightly around yours even up until your last breath. You'd been in the hospital for a long time, you didn't know if it was weeks or months anymore. It all just blurred together.

You knew. The fight had been long and you fought tirelessly, doing everything you could to try and stay there with him. You weren't ready to go, not even in the slightest but you didn't really get to choose. His head was resting on your clasped hands and you could hear him faintly mumbling something.

"Rog?"

His head shot up at the sound of your voice, his brows nearly in his hairline. You could tell he was about to greet you but you shook your head this time, stopping him in his tracks.

"You know, I love you more than anything," Your voice was thin, tired, "I'm gonna miss you so much, Blondie."

His heart shattered before your eyes and you couldn't stop the tears that started to fall down your face. He tried to tell you not to talk like that, that there was no reason to miss him. He wasn't going anywhere. You could only manage a sad smile.

"I want you to know that all I want is for you to be happy. You have to promise you'll try, okay?" He had resigned to listening to you, his own tears falling down his face. "And even when I leave you, I will still be with you, in your memories."

Roger rose from his seat and cupped your face in his hands before placing a loving kiss to your lips. You could taste his tears and it hurt to know that this was something neither of you could stop.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Rog," was the last thing you said.

#abbys3kfics #roger taylor x reader #ben!roger x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy!rogertaylor #ben hardy #bohemian rhapsody #queen imagine #queen

449 notes · View notes