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4 Times Brian Tries to Ask You Out, and the 1 Time He Does. [Gwilym!Brian x Reader]

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Reader

Summary: You’re Brian’s guitar tech, and he has a huge crush on you but doesn’t seem to know how to ask you out. So, these are the four times he tries to do so, and the one time he actually succeeds. 

Word Count: 1733

Contains: FLUFF

A/N: This was my first request (thank you for requesting this, lovely reader!) + my first Gwilym/Brian fic! I hope you enjoy this (I had a lot of fun writing this)! I also did some research on what guitar technicians do, lifestyle, etc, so hopefully it’s at least a little bit accurate.  

PREFACE 

“Brian, we found a new guitar tech for you. She’s really good, so I think she’ll be with us for a while. She’s coming in like ten minutes to meet you,” Jim Beach says while walking into the room where all of the members are currently sitting in before the show. Brian hums a noise of agreement, a bit distracted with some song lyrics he’s currently working on. 

Ten minutes later, you walk into the room. And being the gentlemen that he is, he gets up to introduce himself, but when he sees your face, he stops. His mouth opens just a little. 

“Hello, I’m Y/N, I’ll be your new guitar technician,” you say with a little wave. A little intimidated as all the members of the band are now looking at you. He snaps out of his daze. 

“Oh! Hello, nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says a bit too cheerfully. The others say hi and formally introduce themselves, instigating some small talk, and you guys all chat for a bit. Brian especially seems very interested and asks lots of questions. 

“Okay, well, it was nice to meet all of you, but I should be getting back and help set up,” you say, giving them a smile before exiting the room.

Brian watches you leave, and when he looks back, he sees Roger with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Oooh, Bri has a cruuushhh,” he teases. 

“What are you talking about––no I don’t.” Oh, but he does know exactly what he is talking about. It’s just something about you and your happy energy and the fact that you just brightened up the room as soon as you walked in.

“So that wasn’t you just drooling over that new guitar tech right then?” his friend asks with raised brows. 

“Her name’s Y/N.”

“Oh my goodness, this is so cute! You should ask her out!” Freddie exclaims, clapping his hands together. 

“No! No.”

ONE

You’ve been touring and traveling with the band as Brian’s guitar tech for a couple of months now, becoming closer to the boys and getting accustomed to this new life. Sometimes it’s rough being on the road for this long, but you don’t mind as you’ve been really enjoying it and gaining that precious work experience. And you’ve been especially enjoying working with a certain curly-headed guitarist. The show tonight just ended, and you were currently packing up the equipment into the back of the bus.  

While Freddie makes a call at the payphone (most likely to Mary who’s currently back home in England), Roger is surrounded by his usual gaggle of groupies, and John has a smoke by himself, Brian comes up to you. 

“How’d you like the show?” he asks, his face still flushed from the performance. 

“It was amazing, Brian! Really loved your guitar solo.”

“Oh, thank you! Wouldn’t have been possible if not for you.”

“Ah, you give me too much credit,” you reply back with a smile. A pause. 

“Do you want to go get some dinner?” he asks.

“Ooh dinner? Where are we going? I know a really good place around here,” John says, stamping on his cigarette. 

“Did I hear food?” Roger asks, untangling himself from the group of girls surrounding him.

“Yeah! That would be really fun!” you say, “I just have to finish up clearing the equipment, but let me know where you guys are going, and I’ll meet you there!” you say before skipping away and then chatting with another roadie.

Brian sighs before shoving John in the shoulder.

“Heyyy, what was that for?”

TWO

Brian is in his dressing room, hopping on one foot to pull up his skinny jeans, shirtless.

“Y/N, do you––no––would you want…” he mumbles to himself, trying to think of a satisfactory way to ask you out.

You were already headed to his dressing room to tell him about the tuning of his guitars, and right as you knock on the door, you hear,

“Y/N, would you…” and so let yourself in, assuming that he was talking to you.

“Hey, Bri, just wanted to let you know––” you start, looking down at your clipboard. He yelps in surprise, and you look up to see a very surprised––very shirtless, very pantless––Brian.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” you shriek. “Um––I just wanted to let you know that I was done tuning your guitars and wanted you to make sure everything was to your liking but we’ll go over that when––when you’re dressed,” you sputter as you back out, tripping over your feet a little as your eyes are glued to the floor below.

He stumbles as one of his legs is still stuck in his trousers. You hear him call your name, but you’re already out the room, back pressed against the door. Your face burning. Despite the awkwardness and embarrassment, you smile to yourself. He has cute legs, you think. You adjust your headset and power walk down the backstage hall, heart beating way too fast.

A few minutes later, Roger walks into Brian’s room. As he’s downing a shot of scotch, he finds Brian laying on the floor, still with no shirt on and still half wearing his pants.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Brian mumbles something behind his arm that’s strewn across his face.

“Huh?”

“I said,” he flops his arm onto the ground, “Y/N saw me with no clothes on.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Roger replies with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Rog, I love you, but I would very much like to punch you right now.”

THREE

Okay, I’m gonna do it. Don’t think. Just do. Brian takes a deep breath.

“Hey, Y/N!” You turn around. “Uh—do you want—would you want to—”

“Hey, Bri, could we talk a little later? This is really heavy,” you say, breathless. He looks down, just noticing the huge amp in your arms.

“Oh yeah, yeah, sorry, of course!”

“Okay, thanks, talk to you later!” you say before hurrying (well, walking as fast as you can while holding a twenty-five pound amp) down the hall.

Roger snorts in his hand behind him.

“Oh shut up, didn’t that girl steal all your boxers from your house last night?”

“She what?” John asks, laughing.

“Hey! You promised not to tell anybody!”

FOUR 

You’re bopping your head slightly to the music and humming quietly to yourself. They’re currently performing “Hammer to Fall” (one of your favorite Queen songs), and right as they’re about to hit the chorus, you hear a distinct twing through your headset––the distinct twing of a guitar string breaking.

“Broken string––May. Y/N, get on it,” your manager says through your headpiece. You quickly grab one of the backup guitars you’ve already restrung and tuned and sprint to the wings of the stage where you meet Brian. 

“Sorry ladies and gentlemen, technical difficulties,” you hear Freddie boom to the roaring crowd. You shove the guitar into his arms. 

Winking at him, you say, “One guitar coming right up, Mister May!”

He stands there, almost transfixed. Mesmerized even. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins, and you look especially pretty under the stage lights, little strands of your baby hairs sticking to your face, and he knows that he’ll only have the guts to ask you right here, right now. 

“Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you this…”

“Brian? Brian, where’d you go, my dear? Has anyone seen a very tall, very curly haired guitarist?” you hear Freddie ask the audience. 

“Um, shouldn’t you be getting back…?” you ask, confused, but with a little smile on your lips. The crowd starts chanting his name, and he looks back. The moment was gone. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” he says distractedly. “I’ll just see you after the show,” and then he’s off again, the thousands of fans going wild when he returns back into the spotlight. 

FIVE

“Bri, are you done drooling over Y/N?” Roger asks as he sits down at the breakfast table in the tour bus. 

“Just ask her out already!” John says through a mouthful of toast. 

“Yeah, if you don’t, I will,” Roger says before bringing his cigarette to his mouth. Brian ignores him. 

“What if she says no?” 

“Then there will be tons of other girls. You can literally choose any one of the girls who wait backstage after the shows.”

“But I really, really like her.” He sighs. “I feel like a proper idiot.”

“You’re just noticing that?” Roger asks. He glares at him. 

“Brian, darling, you just have to make a leap of faith,” Freddie says. 

–––––

“Okay, leap of faith, leap of faith,” he whispers to himself, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet in front of the backstage room that you were holed up in for most of the afternoon, checking the amps and the guitars for the show tonight. He knocks on the door, in which you shout a quick, “Come in!” and he finds you bent over a cardboard box, rummaging through it. 

“Hey, Bri. I ordered these newer, more durable strings for tonight, so we won’t have an incident like the week before, but if you don’t like the feel of them––”

“Y/N,” he interrupts, and you stand up straight. Your hair falls into your face, and you shove it behind your ears. “I’ve liked you for the longest time. I think you’re sweet and smart and absolutely beautiful, and I was wondering––I was wondering––would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Instead of replying, you stand on your tiptoes and plant a sweet kiss onto his lips, smiling. 

“I like you, too, Brian,” you whisper, “and yes, I would love to go to dinner with you.” He lets out a relieved laugh and quickly pulls you back to him, his hands on your waist and kisses you again, lifting you up and twirling you around, which makes you laugh against his mouth.

“WOOHOO! Took about damn time,” you hear Roger interrupt and see him, Freddie, and John all standing outside the door. All with big smiles on their faces. Roger walks over, slinging an arm around your shoulders, 

“Thank you!” he exclaims. 

“For what?” 

“Now we won’t have to hear Brian constantly talking about asking you out anymore.” 

4 Times Brian Tries to Say I Love You, and the 1 Time He Does. [Gwilym!Brian x Reader]

Pairing: Gwilym!Brian x Reader

Word count: 2646 (this is the longest fic I’ve posted so far!) 

Contains: PURE PURE PURE FLUFFINESS 

A/N: This is kinda a part two to this fic where the reader is a guitar tech (so check it out if haven’t read it already). ALSO: I LOVED WRITING THIS & I’m currently in a Brian/Gwilym mood, so if you have any requests for either of them, let me know! If you want to be on my taglist, message me :)

PREFACE: 

Brian doesn’t remember exactly when he started loving you. Can’t pinpoint the moment where he stopped in his tracks and declared, I am in love with Y/N Y/L/N. 

It crept up on him, really. Crept up on him when he sees you laugh as if you don’t have a care in the world––a laugh that brightens up the whole room––makes others laugh as well. Crept up on him when he sees the way you furrow your brows when you’re trying to figure something out, a pen held between your teeth. Crept up on him when he wakes up to your warmth seeping into his side, the light streaming in from the gauzy curtains embracing you in an angelic glow. It truly crept up on him one day while eating the pancakes you two made together, and he realized with a jolt that he would happily spend the rest of his life with you. 

–––––––

“Does he talk about anything else besides Y/N?” Roger asks from his seat on the recording studio’s sofa, legs sprawled wide. 

“Oh, Roger, darling, just because Brian’s found the love of his life, doesn’t mean you have to be so bitter about it,” Freddie says.

Just as Roger’s about to respond, Brian cuts in, “I––I don’t––I mean, love is a really strong word…” 

“Oh come on, Brian, are you honestly telling us that you don’t love her?” Freddie asks, arms crossed. 

Brian pauses. No. That is not what he is telling them. He really just didn’t realize it––loving you. Loving you––well––it crept up on him, really. Truly. 

“I love her,” he whispers, more to himself. “I really, really, really, really love her.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you?” Roger says with a shit-eating grin and a hand up to his ear. 

“I love her!” he exclaims, a bit too loudly. “I love her so much, I feel like my heart is going to burst. I don’t know what to do!”

“You know for someone who has a PhD, you are so stupid sometimes.” Brian stops pacing to glare at his friend.

“And what do you suggest I should do Mister ‘I Know Everything’?” 

“Say it to her, you dumb idiot!” 

Brian stops at that, his hand stills in his hair. 

“Dumb idiot?” he asks, surprised at Roger’s pretty moderate word choices. 

“You said I shouldn’t say ‘fuck’ so much.” 

“And you listened to me?”

“No, I just thought it would be funny to sound like you for a bit.” 

“Rog, I hate you.”

“You love me.”

ONE: 

It shouldn’t be this hard, he thinks, frustrated at himself while waiting for the coffee to finish roasting. But it is. He’s scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of vulnerability. Scared because he cares so much for you and doesn’t want to mess it up. 

After pouring some cream and two cubes of sugar into yours (he keeps his black), he pads back to the room where you’re currently buried beneath the covers, trying (futilely) to escape the frigid morning air. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Brian says, handing you one of the two steaming mugs of coffee he’s holding. He puts his down on the table next to the bed and sits on the mattress. You take yours with two hands, giving him a grateful smile. Taking a small sip, you sigh in content. 

“Thanks, Bri,” you say, your voice still a little scratchy from sleep. His heart melts at that. Melts at you in his bed, his shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders, hair messy, eyes still hazy with sleep. Melts because you look absolutely stunning. Melts because he absolutely, positively adores you. 

You catch him staring and put down your cup on the bedside table. 

“You know, staring’s rude,” you tease, flicking his nose. He covers up his embarrassment from getting caught by pulling you down for a kiss, making you squeal in surprise and delight. You’re now laying wholly on top of his body, elbows resting on his chest as you look down at him. His heart skips a beat. 

“I––” he starts. You look at him, your face centimeters away from his, so close he can see the way your eyelashes graze the tops of your cheeks. “I––I should be going over to Fred’s. We have a few more songs we want to hash out.” You groan, flopping off of him. 

“Fine then, leave your poor girlfriend all alone on this cold winter’s day,” you lament, flinging an arm across your face. He chuckles, flicking your nose, causing you to stick your tongue out at him.

“I’ll be home soon,” he says before giving you a quick kiss and rolling out of bed to start getting ready for the day. 

TWO:

Brian storms into Freddie’s living room where the band has been holed up all day writing new songs. He just arrived after spending the morning at your apartment. 

“I almost said it. I almost did. And then I backed out,” Brian babbles, hands roughly running through his hair, making his curls stand up even more than they already do. “God, I’m such an idiot.” Freddie and John whip their heads up from the song lyrics they were scribbling down in a notebook. Roger mumbles something incoherent with a cigarette dangling between his lips while lazing against the couch. 

“Well, hello to you, too,” Freddie says. 

“Almost said what?” John asks. 

“That I love her––that I love Y/N!” A pause. “I’m just gonna call her,” he says in an impulsive “I just need to get it out” kind of moment. He reaches for Freddie’s landline that’s sitting on the small table to the side of the couch. 

“What? NO!” John yells before slapping his hand away. “That is a terrible idea.” 

“Why are you so nervous for this anyway?” Fred asks, now absentmindedly stroking his cat who had just sauntered over and perched itself on his lap. 

“I don’t know! I just don’t want to mess it up,” he mumbles, a blush tinting his cheeks. “I––I just really care for her.” What he doesn’t tell his best friends is that, he really, really, really cares for her. That he’s absolutely in love with her––knows that he wants to spend his whole life with her. He doesn’t tell them that he feels unworthy of her love. That he thinks that she deserves so much more. She deserves so much better. 

Roger finally pipes up, head looking up at the ceiling as if in deep thought. “Which part of the car do you think is sexier––the grease gun or––” 

“Rog, did you even hear a word I just said?” Brian asks, sighing. 

“Roger, not this again,” Fred says.

“What the fu––what is wrong with you?” John asks, slightly disgusted but honestly unsurprised. 

THREE:

The band agreed to play a small gig as a favor to one of their favorite pubs. And so, one can find Brian May backstage of said pub, currently jumping up and down and shaking out his shoulders while Roger’s slightly hunched over, hands on his knees.

“So what are you going to say?” Roger yells, trying to pump Brian up. 

“I’m gonna say that I love her!”

“What? I couldn’t hear you!” 

“I’M GOING TO SAY THAT I LOVE HER!”

“Huh? One more time!”

“I LOVE YOU, Y/N!”

“Bri, Rog, you guys are up in ten,” you say, popping your head into the room. Brian screams a very high, almost shriek–like scream. Roger just slowly puts his hand up to his open mouth, eyes wide, the sound of a low “ohhhh,” coming through his fingers. You look at them in confusion before taking off your headset. 

“You guys got that?” you ask, a bit slower, having heard nothing that was said in the last few minutes with the stage manager constantly yelling through your headpiece. Brian realizes this and lets out a breath. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, overcome with relief. You smile before pecking him on the cheek. 

“Good luck,” you call out to him before exiting the room. 

“Mate, you gotta stop yelling confidential information in the dressing room with your doors closed when you’re girlfriend is the bloody guitar tech,” Roger says as he lets out a chuckle, running his hand down his face.

Brian just flops down on the couch, face down. Freddie walks in. 

“Ooh what did I miss?” he asks, clapping his hands together. Brian simply groans in response. 

 “Fred, I have a serious question, how do you think Brian managed to get a PhD with a brain like his?” 

Brian flings a pillow at Roger, catching him on the head, and thus, knocking the black RayBans off of his face and messing up his hair. 

“Oi! Watch the hair!” Roger says before hurrying to the mirror to try to fix it. Deacy walks in a few seconds after. 

“‘Lo, mates, did I miss anything good?” he asks, his usual smile on his face. 

“Deacy––I have a serious question for you––” 

“ROGER.”

FOUR:

Brian tiptoes into the room to see your figure already fast asleep underneath the covers. It’s around two o’clock in the morning, and he just got back home from a recording and writing session. He changes quickly and quietly, running the sink as low as possible. After he stripped down to his boxers, he gently worms his way under the blanket which causes you to shuffle in your sleep. 

“Bri?” you ask, sleep heavy in your voice. 

“Yeah, it’s me, love, sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep,” he whispers, stroking your hair. You yawn, knuckling at your eyes and sitting up a bit. 

“How was the studio?” 

He smiles. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he says before pressing a kiss to your temple. You yawn again and snuggle into his side, wrapping an arm across his middle. Your soft breaths hitting the bare skin of his chest. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair. But, you’ve already fallen back asleep, soft snores breaking the silence of the room. He sighs because he knew you were asleep when he said it. Knew that he could finally whisper these words aloud without having to worry about your reaction. He leans over to turn off the lamp before pulling the covers a little higher over your sleeping body and wrapping his arm a tad tighter around your shoulders, bringing you closer. 

Placing a gentle kiss onto your head, he whispers, “Sleep well, my love.”

FIVE: 

The boys thought it would be an excellent idea to drive a couple hours down to the beach for a bonfire and s’mores night as a break from writing and recording songs. So, after hanging out at a small pub they used to perform at and grabbing a quick dinner, you all pile into the car for the drive. You finally make it to the beach (after approximately two hours––it would’ve only taken one, but Deacy had to stop for the restroom every ten minutes).

Once finally setting up the bonfire (which took way too long as no one knew how to do anything––Mary ended up saving the day), you all settle down around it, blankets on your shoulders. Soaking in the cozy warmth and smell of the fire crackling in front of you. Each holds a stick with a marshmallow stuck at the top near the flames.

“Hey! Stop hogging all the marshmallows, Roger!” John accuses in which Roger responds with a noise of disbelief. 

“What? I didn’t have dinner,” he grumbles, but grudgingly hands the bag over. 

“That’s because you were too busy trying to flirt with that girl at the bar and in doing so, rudely ditched having dinner with us instead,” Fred says promptly before carefully assembling his own s’more. 

You snort into your palm, and Roger looks at you with a betrayed expression on his face, as if saying, “Hey, I thought you were on my side,” as you and Roger have grown quite close as friends (and partners in crime when stirring up mischief). You shrug your shoulders with raised brows, replying, “Sorry. Your fault, and that girl was rude.”

Hours in, after all the chocolate and marshmallows and graham crackers were long gone (thanks to Roger, they ran out before the first hour), you and Brian pick a spot on the beach away from the others and lay a large blanket on the sand beneath you. You both plop down, stretching out your legs, watching and listening to the waves crash onto the shore. 

Eventually you lie back, both of you side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, looking up at the night sky. The stars are so much clearer, so much brighter––finally able to shine––without being smothered by the city smog, and they’re beautiful. 

You lean your head against his shoulders as he points at the sky, identifying all the different constellations to you. His eyes are bright, and you love seeing him like this––talking about the things he’s passionate about. 

“And that’s the Big Dipper,” he says, drawing out the little outline with his pointer finger in front of you. 

His other hand rests on your stomach where you play with his fingers. Mindlessly twisting his rings around and around. He rolls over onto his side, gazing at you, gazing at the stars, and you turn your head too, smiling at him. His face is soft, and his eyes are serious.

“I love you,” he says softly although his heart is thundering in his chest. He waits with bated breath, waits to see your reaction. 

He sees your face light up with pure joy, which makes him want to say “I love you” a billion times again just to see your reaction a billion times more. You place a hand to his cheek and press your lips to his for a long kiss. 

“I love you, too, Bri,” you say when you pull away. And just like what he saw in your face, you see in his what you imagine could only be pure, unadulterated love. That pure, unadulterated love directed at you. 

Silence stretches on as you simply look at each other, your fingers dancing along his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. He leans in to give you a kiss on your cheek, and then on the tip of your nose (you scrunch up your face when he does that), and then on each of your eyelids, and then the corner of your mouth. Impatient, you tilt your head to catch his lips with your own. 

“Say it again?” he asks after you separate. Vulnerability shining bright in his eyes. 

“I love you, Brian May. I love you with all of my heart,” you whisper with a smile. He closes his eyes––almost reverently––a soft smile on his lips as he listens to your voice. 

And you––your heart swells in your chest, and you feel like crying. You don’t even realize you are until you sniffle, and he reaches out a hand to brush a tear from your cheek. You move closer to him, resting your head right above his heart. You can feel its rapid beat, and he places a large hand to cup your head to his body, stroking your hair. 

And you know this is so cliché, but lying down with the stars as your ceiling, the love of your life’s warmth pressed against your side, and the laughter of the others and the waves as background music, you feel like this moment is completely and utterly perfect. 

“FUCK,” you hear Roger yell. 

“Why the hell would you put your hand in the fire?” John asks, exasperation and incredulity in his voice. You break down in giggles, Brian chest shakes as he laughs alongside you. 

Yep, absolutely, completely, utterly perfect.

Permanent taglist: @thefirstkillerqueen

You're Roger’s Younger Sister, Secretly Dating Brian [GWILYM!BRIAN x READER]

Pairing: Gwilym!Brian x Reader

Summary: You’re Roger’s little sister, and you’ve been travelling with them on tour while also secretly dating Brian. And then Roger finds out. (Dun dun dunnnn)

Word count: 1577

Contains: overprotective brother Roger, lots of spicy language 

A/N: I don’t know why, but I was in a frenzy while writing this (it was really fun to write, and I was inspired!) Thank you to the anon who sent me this request! And like always, I hope you enjoy! 

“Okay, we all know that you have a sister,” the interviewer begins, looking at Roger, “but the question is, would you let anyone in the band date her?”

“Absolutely not,” Roger says with no hesitation. He’s not even looking at her when he replies, focusing more on taking a drag from his cigarette. Besides him, Brian laughs along with the audience, a light blush on his cheeks, scratching the back of his head. His friend besides him doesn’t notice. 

–––––––

“Hello? I called about twenty minutes ago, asking for some more conditioner and was wondering if you got it? Yes, room 728,” you talk to the hotel concierge through the phone. You hear knocking on the door. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I think they just got here, but thank you!” you say before hanging up and jumping out of bed. Tying your robe a bit tighter around you, you walk over to the door. You swing it open. But instead someone with the conditioner, you’re met with your brother on the other side of the threshold.

“Roger? What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Have you called Mom? She called me at four in the bloody morning asking about your university documents, and I don’t know why she’s asking me about that shit, so I came to tell you to call her, so she doesn’t wake me up again,” he says, clearly still annoyed. 

“Oh shit,” you say, putting your hand on your forehead. “I completely forgot––okay––yeah I’ll call her after I take a shower.” 

But Roger doesn’t hear that, too busy squinting at you. 

“What is that?” he asks, pointing at your neck. 

“What is what?” you look down and see the giant purple bruise––the one left from Brian last night. Your heart stops a bit, but you quickly compose yourself.

Rolling your eyes, you say, “It’s literally just a hickey Roger, get over it.” But he’s not even looking at it anymore. Instead, his eyes are focused in the room behind you. 

“Are those…are those Brian’s shoes?” he asks, pointing at the white clogs on the floor next to the bed. You stay silent, completely caught off guard and not able to come up with a believable excuse. He pushes his way into your room. 

“Roger! Get out of my room!” 

“Those are Brian’s shoes!” He whips his head towards you, a dark red flush beginning to crawl its way up his cheeks.

“How long?” he asks, dangerously quiet. You let an exhale while picking at a loose string on your robe. 

“Four months,” you mumble, wincing. A pause as he lets that sink in. 

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he explodes, his anger quickly building up. “You’ve been dating for four fuckin’ months and you didn't think to tell me? I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he says, more to himself. And with history’s worst possible timing, Brian strolls out of your bathroom at that very second, only covered by a towel hanging loosely around his hips.

“Hey Y/N––” he begins, and Roger whirls on him, a fire in his eyes. 

“You fuckin’ asshole piece of shit––” he growls, stepping towards him. Brian looks at you and back at Roger. Somehow the dots connect in his mind, and he raises his arms, palms up in a placating gesture.

“Rog––we can explain––”

“Oh it’s ‘we’ now, huh? What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my little sister you fuckin’ wanker?” He’s so angry, his accent is all the more prominent, making him almost incoherent. Brian recognizes this too as it’s the exact same expression and tone of voice he’s experienced right before he’s seen Roger throw a TV through the window or punch a hole in the wall. Brian, recognizing that, this time, the wall is now his face, he begins to back up.  

“I bring her on tour for the first time, and you just jump at the opportunity––just––just using her for sex!” You gasp, and Brian stiffens. 

“Watch it Rog,” Brian growls. 

“You’re telling me to watch it?” Your brother steps towards him, his fists clenched by his sides. He’s about to hit him, you know it. 

“Roger stop it!” you scream, coming in between them. He looks down at you, and alongside the fury, you see hurt in his eyes. 

“It’s not your fucking choice to make who I get to date or not. And if you hurt him, I will never ever talk to you again. Now stop being a fucking dick!” you yell. He stops before letting out a deep exhale. It’s silent in the room. 

“Roger––” Brian begins. 

“I need a fucking cigarette,” he mumbles and goes to leave. Brian puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but he swats it off before stomping out the door. When he slams the door close, Brian goes to sit on the armchair in the corner of the room, putting his head in his hands. You walk over and put a hand on his cheek. He looks up at you, worry and distress marring his face. 

“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. “He didn’t mean those things––he’s just shocked is all. He’ll come around.” He turns to press a kiss to your palm. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “And you know I would never ‘use’ you or whatever Roger was saying.”

“I know, I love you too,” you say. 

–––––––

Roger walks to the public smoking balcony on the floor, throws himself into one of the seats, and rips out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. But his hands are shaking so bad that he can’t even flick on the lighter. 

“Fuck,” he snarls before throwing the lighter onto the small table next to him. He’s mad. Not mad––furious. Seeing-red furious. But he isn’t mad because you and Brian are dating (that’s part of it) but more that you kept it a secret from him. Lied to him. He’s mad and angry and––betrayed. And hurt that you––both of you––felt as if you couldn’t tell him something as important as this. And he knows deep in his heart, Brian would never ever hurt you. Knows that he would be a great boyfriend and person towards you. Knows this about his best friend. 

The fresh air and this inner discovery calms him down. Calms him down enough to pick up the lighter again and successfully light his cigarette. 

––––––––

“Roger?” you say, rapping a knuckle on the sliding glass door. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t tell you to go away either. You step onto the balcony. 

“I’m really sorry for not telling you,” you start. “But––I also want you to know that this is my life, and some things I don’t have to tell you and––and I want you to respect that,” you say. He opens his mouth, but you’re not done yet. “And I know you’re my big brother and you’re protective and everything, but you have to let me live my life. But I am sorry for hiding and lying to you and everything.” He sighs. 

“It’s okay. And I know, it’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt. I know this lifestyle––and––it’s hard to keep relationships up like this…and you guys are two of the closest people in my life, and I want you to know that you can always come to me to tell me things––like––I don’t want you to be afraid of telling me things,” he says, twisting the ring around his finger. “And––and I’m sorry for saying all those things in there…I didn’t mean it.” 

“I accept your apology,” you say jokingly as it’s a line your parents would always make you say to each other when you got into fights as children. He rolls his eyes but smiles as well. He pushes himself up and flicks his cigarette to the floor before stomping on it. 

“I guess I should go apologize to Bri as well,” he says.

“Wait!” you say. He looks at you, about to step back into the hotel’s hallway. “Hug?” you ask with your arms stretched out in front of you. He rolls his eyes, not in an annoyed way. Walking back, he wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace.You two stay there for a little. But then you scrunch up your nose. 

“When was the last time you took a shower?” you ask. 

“Three days ago,” he says, and you can hear the smugness in his tone. And he tightens his arms around you, not letting you escape. 

“EW ROGER, LET GO OF ME!” 

––––––––

Brian is still where you left him: sitting in the armchair in your room, and his head whips up when he sees Roger and you walk back in. He immediately clambers out of the seat, almost tripping. 

“Rog––I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you––” 

“It’s okay––just next time––next time don’t lie to me,” he says before bringing him into a hug. Brian smiles, relief washes over him. 

“But if you hurt her, I will actually cut off your balls in your sleep right after I shave all of your hair off,” Roger says as they hug. Brian laughs nervously, not quite being able to fully make out the tone of the statement. 

“Roger!” you scold.

“What? I’m joking!” he says, laughing, slapping Brian’s back. 

I also wrote another “Band member Sister imagine” for Roger if you want to check that out: You’re Brian’s Younger Sister, and Roger Tries Flirting with You

Permanent taglist:

@thefirstkillerqueen @hysterical-queen-trash @clara-who @ladycataztrophe @ghost-in-love

1K Followers Blurb List!!

In celebration of reaching 1000 followers, I thought I would make a blurb list from where you can request one for me to write! So, if you would like me to write a blurb, please request a number(s) + a band member (sorry, but I don’t write for Freddie). THANKS SO MUCH AND LOVE YOU ALL WITH ALL OF MY HEART 

“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“It’s 3 in the morning.”

“Quick! Give me a kiss.”

“Where are your clothes?”

“Please, just come home. I need you to come home.”

“I’m scared.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I thought we were friends!”

“You better get your hands off of me.”

“You were in a crash. Can you tell me your name?”

“I will bite you.”

“If you do this, I will never forgive you.”

“Can you not be an asshole for maybe five seconds?”

“Can you come over?”

“I need a fucking cigarette.”

“That seems fake, but okay.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“What is that?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You’re joking.”

“Are you high?”

“I got you.”

“You are a literal toddler.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You can sleep over if you want.”

“Come on, it’s late.”

“You can’t always get what you want.”

“Let me down!”

“Oooh, you’re blushing!”

“Where’d you go?”

“Who’s that?”

“What’s that on your neck?”

“Wanna come home with me tonight?”

“You totally have a crush!”

“Please talk to me.”

“You disgust me.”

“She’s losing too much blood.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Oh fuck me”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Don’t make me laugh!”

“I know you’re awake.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Kiss me please.”

“You’re lying.”

You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Two can play at that game.”

congratulations on 1000! could you do 16 and/or 24 with brian? thank you for doing this

16) “Can you come over?”

24) “Are you high?”

Thank you love!! Hope you enjoy :)

“Can you come over? I’m bored, and I wanna smoke with you,” you ask Brian through the phone. You’re currently upside down on the couch, the phone receiver sitting precariously on the edge of the small coffee table. You kick your feet up and down as you wait for his response. 

“I’m glad I’m the guy you call when you have nothing else to do,” he says sarcastically, but you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Shut up, and just come over,” you whine. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll be there in ten.” 

When he rings the door, you jump off the couch to answer it. 

“Hello, my beloved boyfriend,” you say with a quick kiss to his cheek. He chuckles, closing the door behind him. The Beatles are already playing from your vinyl player in the back, and you guys move to the couch, plopping yourselves down before lighting a joint. 

–––––––

“Are you high?” you ask, close to his face. You don’t know why you bothered to ask. His red eyes and dopey smile are all proof enough. 

A pause. “Yes.” And you both burst out in giggles. You pass the joint between the two of you until it’s only but a stub before putting it in the ashtray and snuggling into his side. You look up at him. His eyes are closed, and he’s sporting a little bit of stubble (that you love a little bit too much). 

“You’re really, really pretty Brian,” you whisper. He opens his eyes slowly, a smile on his face. 

“Yeah?”

You nod, biting your lip. Before he can say anything else, you lean in, brushing your lips to his. But you don’t deepen the kiss, pulling away at the last second, making him chase after you. He huffs, and you smile. He tries again, leaning in, but you move away, snickering. 

With a squeal, you’re pushed onto your back as he puts his whole weight on top of you. His long legs get a little tangled, and you laugh more. 

“Kiss me,” he says with a pout. You brush your thumb against his lips while you pretend to ponder the idea. He buries his face into your neck, and you giggle as the coarse hair tickles your skin. He comes back up with a wide grin, and you smile back at him. You both are probably grinning like idiots, but you don’t care. Finally, you wrap your arms around his neck and bring your lips to his. 

The kiss is lazy and a little bit sloppy, but you don’t care. He pulls away to press wet kisses on your neck and your collarbones, and you bury your hands in his hair. You pull away. Hungry.

“Wanna walk over to the McDonald’s down the street?” A pause. 

“Y/N?”

“Brian?”

 “The nearest McDonald’s is like twenty blocks from your house.” 

REQUEST A BLURB FROM HERE

Hi, can I have #40 with Brian please? Have a very nice day!

40) “She’s losing too much blood.”

Thank you! Hope you have a great day too! 

“What’s her status?” 

“She’s losing too much blood!” Brian says to your daughter as he looks down at the stuffed bear currently laying on a makeshift bed in the living room (it was a couch cushion and the throw blanket). 

“Doctor, what do we do?” he asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix her up,” your daughter says seriously, before pretending to make stitches into the stuffed animal with a pencil. 

“You saved her!” Brian says, raising his hands in triumph before lifting your daughter up into his arms and twirling her around. She giggles hysterically. 

“Daddy, you’re so silly,” she squeals, slapping his arm with her chubby hand. 

You watch this scene unfold with a fond smile as you stand in the doorway, having just arrived home from work. Sensing your arrival, your husband looks up at you and smiles. 

“Look, Mommy’s home,” he whispers to your daughter, putting her down to the floor.

“Mommy!!” she yells, sprinting over to you with outstretched arms. 

“Hi Pumpkin!” you say as you carry her, peppering kisses onto her face. “How was your day with Daddy?” 

“It was so much fun! We saved Mr. Bear!” 

“Ah, did you now?”

“Uh-huh, and then he gave me a chocolate at lunch––oh wait––he told me not to tell you that…” you laugh, and jokingly give Brian a little glare. He has a smile on his lips as he shrugs. 

REQUEST A BLURB FROM HERE