She Makes Him (Brian x reader)

1

Shit. No. I can't. This is the last thing I should be doing. The very. Last. Thing.
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A/n: Hello, this is my first x reader I've ever done and I figured it should be about my one and only husband, Brian May. Let me know if you have any questions about what's to come but onto the story...
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You stepped out of your cab on a rainy day on November first, in London, 1975 with your right, black converse shoe landing right in a muddy puddle.

"Shit.." You mumbled under your breath. However, you were rather glad your bell bottoms didn't get wet.

"Everything all right, Miss?" The cab driver asked as he got out of the car, ready to get your suit case.

No, you idiot.

"Yeah," You assured him. "Thank you." You smiled as you took your bag from his hand and quickly reached into your pocket to pay him.

"Thank you, ma'am." He smiled back. "You'll love it here- really is a charming place!" He implied.

You were an American reporter, right out of college, coming from a small town, Annapolis, sent to London to follow and write about the band Queen for a year. Your boss, Allen Trough, knew you'd be the most excited about the opportunity which also meant you'd work the hardest, so he gave the job to you.

You shook off your right foot, picked up your suitcase and began walking to your hotel, it was only a block away from where you got dropped off.

God, my legs feel like shit.

You stepped through the hotel door, practically dragging your suitcase behind you and went to go check in.

"And here is your key, Miss. Y/l/n." The receptionist at the front desk said as she handed you your key to room one-forty, on the third floor.

"Thanks." You said, putting on a fake smile before you started to walk away.

"Oh, Miss?" The receptionist added, you stopped walking to listen. "The elevator isn't working properly," no. no. please. god. no. "So you'll have to take the stairs."

damn it.

After you dragged your exhausted self up three flights of stairs, you immediately threw yourself on your bed. After about a minute of just laying there you checked the time on your watch that was still set to Maryland times.

3:01 p.m.

Then you checked the time on the clock in your room that was set to London times.

8:01 p.m. This is going to be a long night.

You knew you had to be out of the door at 8:15 for your interview with Queen at 8:30, so you set an alarm for eight in the morning so you could get ready. Then you tried going to sleep, but you felt your stomach start to hurt, then you heard it growl. You knew you couldn't sleep hungry, so you forced yourself to get out of bed and walked all the way downstairs. Once you got on the street, you felt the top-corner pocket of your Jean jacket for a cigarette.

And the smokes are back up at the room, just my kind of day.

But you knew you were in no way, shape, or form going up those stairs just to go back down them again.

"Hey!" You shouted and began to trot over to a woman who looked a few years over your age standing near an alleyway, having a smoke. She turned her head. "Sorry to interrupt, but could you tell me somewhere close I could get a bite?"

"Oh," Then she paused and you could tell in her eyes that she was debating whether or not to say something useful. "I was actually just headed to a pub nearby, would you care to join?" The woman asked, she had one of the prettiest voices you'd ever heard.