Freddie Mercury Oneshots

Drunk Words Speak A Sober Mind

"Come on darling!" Freddie laughed, grabbing at your arm and clothes, trying to drag you off with him.

"Stop it Freddie," you said sternly, swatting his hand away.

"I just want to dance!" he called out over the loud music, still pulling on you.

"Well go dance then," you sighed, continuing to scribble words down on the paperwork in front of you.

"Darling come o-"

"Freddie! Stop!" you finally said loudly before standing up and walking away from his drunken state.

You didn't bother looking back as you could just tell that he was trying to call you back. Luckily for you, the music was too loud.

You trudged out of the big room, moving through all the people and went up the stairs to the bathroom, locking the door and sitting on the toilet.

You sighed with the pen and paper in your hand, phone numbers going the whole way down. You needed to ring them all to suggest help for the tour, but you couldn't do so now with all the noise.

You massaged you're temples to try reduce the pounding head ache in your head, trying to juggle Freddie's sudden needs and moods with work at the same time was already hard enough, let alone when he's drunk.

"Daaaarling where art thou?" you heard Freddie sing as you heard his treacherous footsteps clambering up the stairs.

You stayed silent and continued jotting down each company that you could remember from the previous tours.

"Darlingggg," you heard a thud at the door, as if he had walked into it. You heard a bit of a whimper before the door knob was turning left and right. "Aha! You're in there- here! The lock is door," he slurred, his words jumbled a bit.

"Freddie go back down stairs," you grumbled. It wasn't seldom that this situation would happen. Freddie would quite oftenly have a whim to throw a party, of course he'd already be pretty tipsy, and you usually said no however he'd just ask Paul instead. Paul always says yes, what a rat. He always seemed like he was just trying to ruin Freddie's life. Soon enough Freddie would see it though.

"Pleeeeeaaaase!" you heard him lean against the door.

"Freddie I'm doing the job that your shitty assistant paul should be doing! Work that's needed for your tour! For you!" you said, walking up to the door and hissing with spite.

Freddie could be a real darling, he could be the kindest, sweetest person in the world, but when he was drunk... you just didn't have time for him. He usually had a lot of tantrums and you were just not bothered to put up with it.

He stayed silent for a few minutes before you heard his back slide down the door. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

You opened the door, having to catch him before he fell back as he was previously leaning on it.

"Well, it's not okay, but you're drunk so there's no point in having this conversation now," you sighed, sitting on your knees as he laid in your lap.

"Pretty," he mumbled, looking up at you and reaching his hand up to touch your face.

"Handsome," you smiled back, tapping his nose as he played with a strand of your hair. A blush crawled onto his face as he smiled sheepishly.

"Paul is... he's very bad. Very, very bad and mean," Freddie slurred, his eyelids drooping.

"What do you mean?" you said, slightly concerned.

"He hit before," Freddie said tiredly, snuggling into your lap.

"H-He hit you?" you said, slightly afraid for Freddie.

Freddie nodded. "It's okay though, Paul said it was because I was being silly..."

"Oh Freddie, why didn't you tell me?" you said, lightly rubbing his temples. His eyes suddenly widened.

"Oh- I- D-Don't tell I said! I didn't- He told not me to," Freddie tried to scramble up, almost toppling over.

"I won't," you lied, you knew you would tell someone, but right now you wanted to be there for Freddie. You stood up next to him. "Let's get you to bed."

He nodded, reaching for your hand and holding it, locking both of your hands together, fingers intertwined.

He hummed and buried his head into your shoulder as you both started walking. "Do you want me to carry you sir?" you said sarcastically.

"Yes," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and leaning on you.

"I was joking," you giggled as you pushed him off and opened his bedroom door.

He jumped quietly as he practically ran over to the bed and flopped down on it. You closed the door behind you, the music still loud. "What about the-th-the party?" he said confused.

"I'll clear everyone out," you said softly before sitting down on the bed beside Freddie. "I think you should take a break from the drink Freddie. I'm serious this time..."

"Then what would I do? It's the only way I forget about stress," he said, sounding very unsure of what he was saying.

You felt your heart break at his words. "That's what Paul's been telling you. You need to learn that drink isn't the right alternative Freddie, don't listen to Paul," you whispered, rubbing Freddie's clothed leg.

"I'm scared," his voice cracked as his eyes shone with, what you presumed, tears.

"Oh Freddie," you whined, getting up and sitting closer before taking him into your arms. It seemed like he couldn't hold it in for any longer as tears started flowing, sad, muffled cries coming from him.

"I feel shit," he continued to sob, holding your clothes tightly.

"I'm here," you whispered, rubbing his hair as a few silent tears fell from your eyes.

"I'm sorry for being an asshole," he said, seeming to not be as delirious, his mind a bit clearer.

"Freddie it's not your fault," you whispered, leaning down and kissing the side of his face. He didn't respond but his breathing became a lot calmer. Standing up you looked at him and saw he was asleep. "It's not your fault," you whispered again, rubbing his hair before going to take off his shoes.

"Not your fault," you whispered again, taking another look at him, then closing the door.

i don't know what the relationship between freddie and the reader here, so it's up to you :)