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ineloqueent · 4 years

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Starstruck: Part 9

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 9 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 8 / Part 10

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Only Freddie and Brian went to see Zandra Rhodes on that first evening. Also, this event occurred in 1974 and not in 1975, as I’m writing it :)

Word Count: 4.2k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Zandra bloody Rhodes?!” Roger cried for the hundredth time. “And she took your call?”

“Pretty fucking fantastic, isn’t it?” said Freddie excitedly.

The meeting had lasted hours, from morning until lunch— in which Roger and John had gone to pick up Indian takeaway— and into late afternoon. Freddie had a multitude of different ideas, and the others had passionate opinions on these ideas, so the morning meeting had quickly turned into an all-day event. Reid had left early on, claiming he had another meeting, this time with Elton— Elton bloody John— but you suspected he was just tired of you and Freddie and Brian and Roger and Deacy yelling ideas back-and-forth at the speed of derby commentators.

Now evening was rapidly approaching, the last sunlight of the day slipping slowly from the sky. The five of you were walking down the road to the flat of the one and only Zandra Rhodes.

Zandra Rhodes. You could hardly believe it. Sure, Freddie was brilliant, and persuasive too, but you hadn’t imagined that even he would be able to win an audience with one of the world’s most promising designers.

Freddie led the parade with you and John at his side, and Roger and Brian followed behind. Freddie glanced back at you, flashing a giddy smile. Roger stuck him a cigarette and the two of them sparked up in the amber glow of the streetlights. Deacy made a face, and you and he fell back to walk apart from the two smokers.

Brian was deep in conversation with Rog and remained that way, talking animatedly about something, a song, maybe, that you only caught snatches of because of the way the wind blew.

Just then, Roger made Brian laugh. Not quietly or shyly, but properly laugh, where Brian threw his head back and his shoulders shook and his smile spread across his face, broad and beautiful. You’d made Brian laugh like that once— when you’d sat on the wall outside of the Union Pub, months ago. Months ago.

It felt an age ago, it felt like yesterday, and how those two ideas could coexist was beyond you, and yet, exist they did. Brian was familiar, like the stars that wheeled above, like the soft sheets of your bed against your skin, like the strings of your guitar that were and would always be in E-A-D-G-B-E form. He was reliable, he was always there. If six point six seven times ten to the negative eleventh was the gravitational constant, then Brian was yours.

John’s voice startled you from your thoughts. “I see the way you look at him.”

You felt yourself flush, heat rushing through you in the same way that happened when you missed a step on the stairs and only just managed to catch yourself in time.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t play silly with me, Y/N,” Deacy looped his arm through yours. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. You’re always looking at him when he’s not looking at you, and you look quite besotted.”

You opened your mouth to speak, then realised you had nothing to say. You watched your shoes hit the pavement instead. “It’s nothing,” you said finally, lowering your voice. “I’m just a little...” you bit your lip, searching for a word. You gave up. “I mean, look at him,” you gestured vaguely in Brian’s direction. His elegant silhouette seemed to shimmer in the darkness, as though he were made of dark matter, effervescently gorgeous in the shroud of mystery.

Deacy raised his eyebrows. “I do, quite often, and most of the time, it’s to snap at him for being too obstinate with his guitar solos. I don’t,” he pointed to you, “look like that.”

“It’s nothing,” you repeated, shaking your head. “And even if it was something, it would be one-sided, anyway.”

John scoffed. “Ridiculous, Y/N, you’re being ridiculous. You’re all moony, and he goes all starry-eyed—”

The need to justify yourself was suddenly overwhelming. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little starstruck, but that’s all it is!” Your tone had gone shrill, and the heads of the others in front of you turned, wide-eyes and questioning expressions abundant.

“Deacy darling, what did you say to her?” Freddie piped.

“Not a thing,” Deacy raised his hands in surrender and Roger laughed.

Brian slowed until you and John caught up with him. He smiled at you, and you melted a little. “Deacy’s talking your head off, is he?”

John rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk, Mister Back-Chat.”

“Oh, leave us, John,” said Brian, and Deacy winked at you, jogging a bit to catch up with the others.

“Put those out, I’m here now,” you heard him say, and Freddie and Roger dutifully crushed their cigarettes.

“Oi!” said Brian. “In the rubbish bin, not on the ground!”

Freddie and Roger exchanged a look of ugh, mum, then once again proceeded to do as they were told.

Brian shook his head at them while you laughed.

“So, that rascal John Deacon bothering you?” he asked.

“I heard that!”

“Oh, he could never,” you said fondly.

“Does his hair make him more likable?”

You blinked, surprised that Brian remembered your conversations as well as you did. “No,” you said. “That’s your privilege and yours alone.”

Brian looked positively chuffed, and squaring his shoulders, he tugged the lapels of his jacket and pretended to fix a tie he wasn’t wearing.

“You’re secretly just as obsessed with your hair as everyone else, aren’t you?”

“No…”

“Yes,” you pushed him, “you are.”

“Okay,” he pushed back, “perhaps just a bit. But I used to hate it, you know.”

This surprised you. “Really?”

He nodded, tugging absently on a curl. “Brushed it out. Every day.”

“I’ll need to see those photographs,” you told him, admiring the way a ringlet framed his face in the dim light of the street.

“Ha!” said Brian. “Not if I have my way.”

“No?”

“They’re hideous,” he declared. “Can’t possibly let you see me like that. You’d never want to look at me again.”

Then, as though he really were afraid of you never looking at him again, his eyes fixed firmly upon yours, his gaze almost plaintive. The flecks of green amongst the hazel of his irises glittered, trimmed by dark, pretty lashes. The amount of sway he held with a single gaze would have been enough to disintegrate anyone.

“I think you underestimate the power of your presently curly hair,” you murmured, unable to look away from him.

Brian laughed.

Properly.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Freddie rang the haphazardly hung doorbell to Zandra Rhodes’ small attic studio, and the sound of high heels against wood reached you through the door.

You and the others exchanged glances of anticipation. Freddie looked about ready to burst with excitement. You couldn’t blame him.

The door swung open.

A broad-shouldered yet petite woman, perhaps about five years older than you, held open the door. Her denim trousers were decorated in gems and assorted swatches of fabric, and her top was flowing, stitched of a fabric that looked to be African influenced. Wooden beads hung around her neck, and her boots were a white leather. Her bright eyes twinkled.

“Hallo! Come in. You must be Freddie Mercury,” Zandra ushered you all inside, then shook Freddie’s hand.

“Oh, I’m delighted to finally meet you, darling,” Freddie beamed.

“Likewise! I’ve been listening to your records everyday,” said Zandra. “You really ought to make another one. Roger Taylor?”

“I am,” Roger shook her hand with a grin.

“And you must be Brian, the studious one,” Zandra quirked an eyebrow at Brian.

“Sometimes,” he said with a friendly smile, and she laughed.

“That leaves John Deacon— or is it Deacy?”

Deacy shrugged. “Either one works, hello.”

Zandra nodded, “Noted.” Then she saw you. “And who might you be, my dear?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Y/N,” you said, shaking her hand.

“Ah,” she smiled, “you must be… Brian’s wife?”

Freddie sputtered, then elbowed Roger who was looking like he wanted to laugh.

Brian’s cheeks had turned the same colour as Betelguse, the red star of Orion. You imagined your pallor was something similar.

“I’m sorry,” Zandra apologised, “Freddie mentioned someone in the group was married, and I just assumed, since—” she gestured at how you and Brian had come to stand side by side.

“No harm done,” John swooped in to save the day. “I’m the only one who’s married, but my lovely wife is at work, currently.”

“Y/N’s a friend,” Brian added. “Practically family, she’s been with us so long.” He had regained his composure and now had the gall to wink at you, so that your own composure crumbled further.

You managed a tight smile at Zandra, who above all seemed amused by the whole thing.

“Well, thanks for tagging along, Y/N. I could always use another set of eyes and another pair of hands to help me do fittings. Come on through,” she waved you all down a hallway.

Sorry, Freddie mouthed to you as you followed Zandra.

It’s okay, you mouthed back.

“Secret language?” said Brian from behind you, and his soft exhale tickled your ear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you replied over your shoulder, and Brian chuckled.

Zandra led you into a wide room crammed to the rafters with racks of clothing in all the colours of the rainbow, and all the glamour of Marc Bolan. Although, you supposed the glamour was Zandra’s own; she had only designed for Bolan just last year.

“Voilà, mes amis.” She swept her arms around the studio, and Freddie let out a little gasp.

“It’s stunning,” said Roger, and the others murmured in agreement.

“Thank you,” the designer said humbly. “I like to think I work hard.”

“So, now what?” asked Freddie, and Zandra shrugged.

“Go wild. Pick some things off the rails so I can get an idea of your concept.”

“Oh, be careful saying things like that,” Brian intoned. “Freddie’s like a child at a sweet shop.”

Sure enough, Freddie was already rifling through clothing pieces like he was on the clock.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t destroy anything, by accident,” said John, and followed after him.

“I could never!” Freddie cried.

“By accident,” Deacy reiterated.

Roger ambled off to the other side of the studio, and Brian turned to you.

“Where to start, then?” you asked him.

He pulled a feathery hat down from a stand and plonked it on your head.

“Right here,” he decided. You dipped the brim of the hat and lifted your chin, posing. “Gorgeous,” said Brian, “but I think it needs something more…”

“What about this?” Zandra appeared with a swath of sparkly fabric, which she handed to Brian.

“Oh I shouldn’t— we’re not here for me,” you said. But Zandra shook her head.

“No one comes to my studio without the opportunity to feel fabulous.” She grinned, then swept away in a jangle of beads and gemstones.

“I think she’s right,” Brian said, and he draped Zandra’s fabric about your shoulders, arranging it with careful fingers. He adjusted your hat so that it sat at more of an angle. “Magnificent. I must be a genius,” he sniffed in a haughty manner, and you laughed.

“Your turn, then,” you declared, ushering him down a row of racks. “Here’s the starting piece,” you reached up and threw a silky, checkered scarf around his neck.

“Hmm…” you squinted up at him. He narrowed his eyes in response. From another rack you drew a fashion piece that was something between a kaftan and a kimono, printed with little birds. Brian bent his knees slightly so that you could wrap the material around his shoulders. He placed his hands on his hips and pouted.

He looked absolutely divine. His angles were accentuated by the way the fabrics hung from his frame, and his volume of hair and the heartbreakingly gentle line of his lips rendered about him a feminine sort of beauty that looked better on him than it ever would have on you.

All that was missing from the picture of glamour was the makeup.

“I think we need Freddie to do your eyeliner,” you said, leaning against the wall.

“Oh, love,” he said, and your stomach flipped. Leaning against the wall too, folding his arms and peering down at you, “you think Fred does my makeup? I’m glam too, you know.”

He was so close to you that his curls nearly hung over your face as well as his. It was difficult to breathe when he was this close, as close as when he’d helped you to play guitar the first time. You yearned for him to touch you, or for you to muster the courage to reach out and touch him. Still, no one moved. But his proximity was startling, and the thrill of it rushed down your spine like shooting stars.

“Well, Spaceman,” you said softly, “be glamorous. It suits you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, and you could have sworn that his fell to your lips.

Then he looked away, and your shoulders sank.

But who were you kidding, anyway? You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him. You’d meant what you’d said to Deacy, because just like your thoughts of worthlessness, this too was all in your head; anything that truly existed was one-sided, a lonely phone call with no reply. Better to bury whatever fluttery notions that surfaced in you at the thought of Brian. He hadn’t wanted to give you the wrong idea. He didn’t want you.

“We should… We should see what the others have found,” you murmured half-heartedly, deliberately not looking at him.

“Oh. Yes… Good idea.” He cleared his throat quietly, a finger brushing the side of his nose. It was a nervous tic he had— you’d noticed him do it before, when he was uncomfortable. Around you, he did it often. You made him uncomfortable. Yet another reason to get as far away from Brian May as possible.

Brian retraced his footsteps, putting the checkered scarf and the kaftan-kimono back into their rightful places. You took off your flamboyant hat and replaced it from where it had been taken earlier, but you remained cloaked in the dark sparkly fabric, because you had no idea where Zandra had picked it up from.

“There you are, darlings!” Freddie said upon spotting you and Bri. “Come see— I’ve fallen in love.”

Deacy and Roger and Zandra joined you as well, and you found Freddie holding up a lovely white top with flowing sleeves.

“Fred, that’s a wedding top,” said Roger.

“And what is a performance if not the marriage of music and fashion?” Freddie proclaimed.

Zandra bore the expression of a proud mother. “He understands,” she said. Then she urged, “Try it on.”

Freddie was in and out of the changing room in moments, which was really quite a feat, given the structure of the white top.

“Oh, I see what you mean, now,” said Roger, a faint smile appearing on his lips at the sight of Freddie, who looked like an avenging angel, with his dark eyes and hair a brilliant contrast to the paleness of the top he wore.

John looked impressed too. “Stunning, Fred.”

“Very regal,” agreed Brian.

“Very Queen,” you said as Freddie spun in view of the mirror.

“Enough room to move about in, onstage?” Zandra asked.

Freddie nodded. He stopped spinning, facing her. “Darling, I feel I could fly.”

Zandra had genuinely gone teary-eyed. “Oh, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for people to feel.” Then she sighed, composing herself. She clapped her hands, “Time to get you fitted!”

“Excellent, Zandra dear,” said Freddie with a contented air. “Have you got anything similar that the others could try on, to be fitted as well?”

Zandra shook her head. “Sorry, that’s a one-of-a-kind. I’m going to have to fit you all to the same top, then have you tell me your design preferences and replicate the model.”

Deacy exhaled, “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It will be. So how many am I fitting?”

Roger squinted at the white top Freddie modelled. “Mm. I might have a bit of a hard time drumming in that. Think I’ll keep browsing.” He disappeared between the racks again.

“Yeah, might get a bit on the sweaty side,” Zandra mused. She turned to John. “Deacy?”

“I’ve actually got my eye on another one of your other pieces.”

“Ah, lovely! Well, point me to that one, and I’ll sort that for you as well, while we’re here.”

Deacy went to retrieve his garment of choice.

“Brian, darling?” said Freddie in dulcet tones.

You watched the exchange from a distance, perched on a chair that was more for decorative than for accommodating purposes but lifted the weight from your weary feet nonetheless.

“You’d look like that lovely White Queen you’re always waxing lyrical about…”

Something shifted in Brian’s features at the mention of this White Queen, but you couldn’t distinguish a single emotion from the plethora of those that flashed across his face.

“How did thee fare, what have thee seen, the mother of the willow green; I call her name,” Freddie recited with a flourish of his hands. When Brian said nothing, only let his jaw tighten, Freddie went on. “And ‘neath her window I have stayed—”

“Alright, yes, I’ll do it,” Brian muttered through clenched teeth.

“Oh brilliant!” Freddie clapped.

You leaned your chin on your palm, wondering at the scene before you. When Brian’s stare caught on you, his eyes were so intense that you blushed and looked away. You felt like you’d been going through his diary and he’d caught you reading.

“Right,” Zandra dragged a crate towards where you were sitting, just as Deacy reappeared with a shiny black top, and Roger with a kimono. “I’m going to need some help, I think.” She tossed you a roll of measuring tape, which you caught deftly, despite your tiredness. “Will you take some measurements, please?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you nodded. She gave you some quick instructions as to which measurements she needed, then settled a pair of thick, round framed glasses on her nose, and went to work on scavenging fabric and threads.

You took Freddie’s measurements and then John’s, proving that both tops needed quite the alterations; they had been designed for women and thus did not fit the boys quite right.

Roger’s kimono, on the other hand, fit perfectly, and so he went on to peruse Zandra’s vast collection of fancy hats.

Freddie handed the white top over to Brian before joining Roger in the scavenger hunt for hats, and Bri went to change.

When Brian returned, you couldn’t help but stare.

Softness made his being— rounded lips, delicate curls, sleepy eyes— and he seemed wrong for this world; he belonged to the stars.

You stood motionless, the world spinning gently out of time.

And dry my lips no word would make. White Queen indeed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and his voice too was soft.

You nodded but said nothing. Tearing your gaze away, you strode toward him and wound the measuring band behind him, around his back, drawing the ends to meet at his front. You felt his chest contract as your fingers skimmed his collarbone. But you wouldn’t let yourself think about how he breathed, how his head dipped toward yours.

“There, done,” you said, short of breath and scribbling down the measurements without much thought at all. Then you slipped away quickly, weaving through racks of clothing before Brian’s gentle touch could unravel you.

In your mad rush to get away from him, you ran straight into John.

“Deacy!” you cried when you collided. “Sorry!”

Deacy took one look at you and frowned. “Y/N. Stop running.”

“I’m not running,” you said.

“Only because I literally stopped you,” he sighed. “Stop running from Brian.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” John sighed again, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, he spent the entire morning with his arms wrapped around you.”

It was true. Brian had made no move to get you away from where you’d perched on his knee that morning. If anything, he’d settled farther back into the plush of the settee to make you more comfortable, arms encircling your waist lightly, as though he feared both shattering you and not holding you tightly enough.

“Look,” Deacy had both hands on your shoulders now, compelling you to meet his eyes. You did, though with heavy reluctance. “Brian… he may have his cheeky side, but he’s not a flirt like Rog. You can’t pretend that doesn’t mean anything.”

From the way your heart thrummed, anyone would have said you’d run a marathon. But the only thing that ran was thoughts of Brian, through your head.

You were breathless, “But don’t you see that I have to?”

Someone like you and someone like him. There was only an abundance of ways in which such an affair could fail.

“No,” said John firmly, but he didn’t get a chance to develop the argument further.

“There you are!” Roger exclaimed, sounding rather exasperated. “This place is a maze. Freddie says it’s time we’re off.”

Deacy frowned, still in his thoughts, but Roger roped an arm around you both in a Freddie-esque manner.

“We must be nearing Brian’s bedtime,” Roger said. “He’s awfully grumpy. Again.”

“That’s not—” Deacy began, but you glared daggers, and he backed down.

The three of you reached the door of the studio, where Freddie, Brian, and Zandra stood waiting, the former two back in their usual garb, and Zandra without spectacles once more.

You handed Zandra your list of measurements, and that was that.

The past few hours felt like they’d passed in a dream.

“So,” said Freddie when you’d bid Zandra goodnight and started down the road again, “we’ve got the costumes, the finances, and the music, more or less, sorted.”

Deacy smiled bemusedly, and Roger stifled a yawn as he nodded. Brian had sunken into silence, and there he remained, distant and inaccessible.

Freddie continued, “But what about a place to write it all? This new album? We need to get away from all of this city buzz. It’s distracting.”

“The city itself, or the people in it, Fred?” Roger chuckled.

“Aha-ha. Very funny,” Freddie elbowed Roger in the ribs. “Quite seriously though darlings, that empty lecture hall just isn’t doing it for me.”

“Don’t think it does it for anyone, excepting our two resident scientists,” Deacy joked.

You rolled your eyes good humouredly, but Brian gave no indication of having heard John’s quip.

“Any real ideas?” said Freddie.

No’s were mumbled and heads were shaken. But for you, a thought blossomed.

“Yes.”

They all— even Brian— looked to you expectantly.

“Well?” Freddie prompted.

You wrung your hands, swung them by your sides. “Well, it might be a little silly.”

Freddie shrugged. “We’ve got nothing, Y/N dear, so have a go.”

“My family owns a farm…”

“Go on.”

“My dad has a recording studio.”

It wasn’t anything fancy, but he did, and the studio was fully functioning in every sense.

“Does he really?!” Freddie exclaimed with childlike fascination.

“That’s pretty fantastic, Y/N,” Roger commented, genuinely interested and for once devoid of sarcasm. “Do you think he’d let us use it?”

Deacy wondered aloud, “Do you think we could stay at your farm?”

“At a reasonable price, of course,” added Freddie.

“Your family has a studio,” Brian repeated, as though he were only just catching on.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m sure you could use it, and stay,” you blurted.

What the hell, stop talking! your internal monologue reprimanded you.

Freddie’s face was lit up like a ferris wheel, and Roger and Deacy exchanged a glance of excitement.

You grinned back, their happiness contagious, until your eyes caught on Bri’s and your heart skipped a beat.

“When can we go?” Freddie inquired, looping one arm through yours and another through Deacy’s, who in turn linked arms with Roger, who pulled Brian into the chain.

“The summer holidays,” you said, as it was the first thing that came to mind. Apparently, the link between your brain and your mouth had been severed. “When I go home to visit anyway, and I can take some time off from studying.”

“Oh this is brilliant!” cried Freddie, pressing a delighted kiss to your cheek. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

But you couldn’t stop looking at Brian, and now you were inwardly kicking yourself; only a day ago, you had resolved to get as far away from Brian as possible, not spend an entire summer with him!

But from the way Roger cheered and Deacy literally waltzed down the deserted street with Freddie as partner, there was no backing out of this now. You would only let them down, and that was one thing you could not bear to do, no matter how selfishly your thoughts might have been inclined.

You would just have to face the dire consequences of your actions.

Even if those consequences involved Brian May.

And his damning smile.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: the ridge farm era is coming up!! fun fact— this whole fic was inspired by a dream i had about living on ridge farm when queen turned up. the prologue to starstruck is actually a transcript of my dream. wild.

taglist: @melting-obelisks @hgmercury39 @stardust-killer-queen @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 8 / Part 10

#tina’s writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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