imagine robert plant

Mini story?

Ok dudes. I’ve been thinking about writing a Robert Plant imagine that’ll have 2 or maybe 3 parts. I have a very basic general theme planned out (I have yet to start writing) and I want to know if anyone would be interested in reading it, or wether it’d just be a waste of time. (Lil’ Robert gif, just for the sake of making this post more interesting)

Originally posted by stairwaytomordor

Imagine dating Robert Plant. He decides to take you out to the local drive-in theater, Thursday nights were “Classic Horror Flicks Night” so they were showing The Shinning. The two of you cuddle up to one another, and Robert’s long golden hair tickles the back of your neck. As the movie plays, Robert allows his fingers to graze over the smooth skin of your inner thigh. He slowly travels up and underneath your skirt, causing you to flinch. Robert’s chest rumbles as he chuckles. It takes all of your will power to keep still, and focus on the movie. Robert loved teasing you like this, but he could tell that you were holding back. He nipped at your ear, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck as he whispered,“Cmon baby… Give it on up already..” You shifted in your seat. You knew that you really did want him, but he just made you so anxious. Finally, you took your vision off of the screen and met his gaze. With one look, his lips crashed roughly onto yours. He tasted of Miller lite and Marijuana. You placed your hand on the back of his neck, and pulled him deeper into the kiss. Meanwhile, he slipped his hands down your panties. You moaned into the kiss, and he pulled away. You smirked at him. And just like that, Robert was busy tugging off your skirt, while you were practically tearing away at the buttons of his shirt. Robert laid you down on the seat, and he crawled on top of you. His body towered over your frame as he began to kiss your neck. You felt his teeth tenderly bite into the soft skin. His hard on rubbed against your core, he was taking his sweet time. The fire of lust in your abdomen was becoming uncontrollable, and you quickly grew impatient. Finally, he pushed into you. He wasn’t gentle, to say the least. As he began to pump in and out of you, your back arched, and he embraced your body. His fingers dug into your hips, as he softly moaned out your name. 

Jonesy and one of his girls were parked in a car next to you and Robert. Jonesy and his lady were actually watching the movie. But, they couldn’t help but look over and notice Robert’s car slightly bouncing. And with the absence of you and Rob in the front seat, they knew exactly what was happening. The two of them began to laugh and proceeded to honk their horn, while flashing their headlights. Soon after, Robert peaked his head up and glared at Jonesy through the window, with a look of pure rage. You were too busy untangling your hair to notice. Next thing you know, Jimmy begins knocking on the passenger window, “Hey, you guys think I could join ya next time?” Robert simply replied with his middle finger. 

Classic Rock Band Imagine #1: Robert Plant (Led Zeppelin)
  • Imagine Robert Plant arguing with you over shampoo.

“Babe,” Plant calls, his voice tinged with slight unease. “What is this?”

You gaze over at the Stud, whose lips, thin and small and pink, are pursed, tightly. “What’s what, Robert?”

“This.” He takes out a green bottle, and hands it to you. “Herbal Essences?” His smooth, grey eyes are glossed with dissatisfaction. “You know I don’t use that.”

“No.” You frown, disappointed; not at him, but at yourself. “I didn’t, actually.”

“Jesus. You’re killing me, honey.” He throws his head back in frustration, and his voluptuous curls, resembling puffs of golden smoke, bounce as he does so. “How long have we been together? Five years, right?”

“Yes. But — ”

“For God’s sake! Even Jimmy knows what kind of shampoo I use.”

Here he goes with this shit, again. Jimmy this, Jimmy that. As much as you loved Jimmy, you’ve gotten awful-tired of hearing Plant worshipping him.

“That’s because Jimmy’s your girlfriend,” you quip. Though you aren’t kidding, entirely. Plant’s bond with Jimmy really did resemble some type of spousal relationship.

His eyes widen. “Now don’t you get sassy, my dear.” The angry scowl on his face, of course, doesn’t last. He grins, crookedly, and begins to chuckle. “Y’know, you’re not the only one who thinks that.”

“I know. Bonzo and I joke about it … all the time.” You, too, begin to lose your scowl, and you’re eventually cackling with him. At the end of the night, you’ve forgotten that you were angry with him, and the whole shampoo fiasco didn’t even matter anymore.

Surely, Plant has pissed you off, and has for five long years. Although you could never be angry at him for too long.

He’s just that man. He’s your man. And you could never ask for another.

Robert Plant mini series, part 1

Description:

Modern-day AU: Led Zeppelin, mega-group extraordinaire is on the rise. Robert Plant -young rock god, 22 years of age- is basking in the limelight. Having moved to London a few years earlier to pursue his career as the worshipped frontman of Led Zeppelin, Robert is reluctant to leave for tour as he has his eye set on the new neighbour.

Recent university graduate Jane had dreamt of living in London her whole life, looking up jobs in the London area like her life depended on it. Her parents made a mutual agreement to let her have the house which had been passed down to the family by Jane’s recently deceased aunt. The house stood just south-east of Soho, the Thames a short walk to the right, and Trafalgar Square a short walk to the left.

A/N: I finished this last night but I forgot to post it lmao. Enjoy!

________

PART 1

Jane’s POV:

The dust rises as I pull back the plastic sheets that cover the furniture. The windows are open, letting in a chilly breeze from the grey weather outside. Mum and Dad came to help me unpack. I had insisted that I didn’t need their help. Nonsense, they had insisted.

The discarded plastic sheets lay in one corner of the room, all the furniture sitting exposed. Auntie Rita had passed away a few months ago. She knew that she was dying, lying in her hospital bed. She had insisted that we keep the house and she made sure to send someone over just before she died to cover the furniture so no dust would touch her precious belongings.

Most of the furniture is very old fashioned, but it’ll have to do. Rita was considerably older than her brother -my father- and she liked her antiques.

“Jane, we’ll have to leave in a few minutes. We don’t want to get caught in traffic on the way home,” says my mother, coming in from the next room. Home. Cannock, Birmingham.

“Right,” I say, “Alright. I’ll visit in a little while. Next weekend? Maybe that Sunday. You can call me anytime you want me to come over. It’s barely more than two hours by car-” My dad interrupts my rambling.

“Don’t stress,” he says. “You need to settle in. You start work on Monday. Focus on that. Focus on moving away. Focus on making your own life. Go sightseeing if you want, it never hurts to be a bit touristy, especially in London.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll send you souvenirs from the tourist shops if you’d like,” I joke. Both my parents nod solemnly, sad smiles on their faces. They simultaneously pull me in for a bone-breaking embrace.

When they have decided they’ve had enough hugging, my mum picks up her handbag and heads towards the door, her arm linking with my father’s. They open the door and step out, each giving me a small wave before the door is shut. The sound of the door shutting is the sound of me breaking free from my childhood. An old scab, finally replaced with new shiny pink skin.

**

I search for the nearest pizza place and order in. Don’t want to leave the house, not tonight. Get settled, said my dad. I’ll start with settling in here.

I start work on Monday. It is Thursday. 4 days to do as I please. I can’t stifle the smile that spreads across my face as I plan out everything I must do in those 4 days.

I’ll plug the TV in tomorrow. As my current form of entertainment, I use the radio. I switch between the channels in search for a song that’ll interest me. Crap. Crap. Crap. Absolute shit. Isn’t there anything good on the radio? No. No. No. Ooh, that’s not too bad. Not too bad at all. I recognise the band, but I don’t know the song. Led Zeppelin. The singer and I went to the same college. We never talked, but I saw him in the corridors. Blue eyes. Short blond hair. Judging from the posters I’ve seen around town, he’s grown his hair out.

“That was the captivating sound of Led Zeppelin. Whole lotta love. They’re playing right here in London on Saturday evening. Tickets are still available, get them while you can.” The radio host advertises the band, speaking with the enthusiasm that radio hosts are required to master. Well, it looks like I’ve got plans for Saturday now. My laptop is open before the presenter has the chance to move on to the next song.

‘Few tickets left!’ and ‘Tickets selling fast!’ claims the website. I barely think before buying tickets. My first concert in London. I would have probably gone no matter what band it was really. Led Zeppelin was just being played on the radio at the right time.

**

I can barely get to sleep all night. I feel every emotion all at once all through the hours where I wish I was sleeping. Giddiness and fear are the two over-powering emotions. ‘I’m finally in London’ and 'Holy shit I am all alone in London’ are thoughts that will not leave my head.

The sunrise of Friday morning comes before I can properly get to sleep. And I would’ve stayed asleep well past two in the afternoon if it hadn’t been for the doorbell ringing.

I pull a robe over my pyjamas and pad down the stairs. I walk through the living room and towards the adjoining entranceway.

I cautiously open the door, wondering who the hell is coming to visit me. I don’t know anyone here. If I had been any less tired, I would have been too wary to open the door.

The blond mess of hair has barely registered in my mind before the initial feeling of shock rolls in.

“Hi, I, uh, I got this letter in the post. I’m sure it was meant for you.” He brushes golden locks out of his face before he smiles and hands me a slightly bulky envelope. His blue eyes seem to shine for a second. The envelope cover is torn. “I’m sorry that I opened it. I didn’t realise it wasn’t mine until I read the letter.”

I open the letter and skim my eyes through it as he leans in the doorframe, arms crossed. 'Haven’t seen you since college’ blah blah blah 'Miss you loads’ yak yak yak 'Heard you moved to London’. It’s from one of my old school friends. I’ll read the rest later. I stuff the letter back in its envelope and look back up towards the man at the door.

No feeling of 'Where have I seen him before?’ I know who his is. Right away, no doubt about it.

“I couldn’t help but see on the letter where you went to college. King Edward high school?” he asks. I nod. “I went there too! We’re both Brummies then, huh?” He now uncrossed his arms and puts them out in an enthusiastic manor.

“Yeah, I know. I had seen you around,” I say and nod. Now it’s my turn to lean on the doorframe. I’m still tired from my disturbed sleep. I scratch my head and give a yawn.

“You must have just moved here,” he says.

“I came yesterday. Couldn’t get to sleep. Excited from the move.” I use that as my excuse to looking so scruffy.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t think that I’d disturb your sleep,” he apologises. And then under his breath, “It is one in the afternoon, after all.” I smile, just having caught his quip. And he smiles again, showing that he didn’t mean to offend me. “I’ll let you get back to sleeping then.”

He’s just about to turn around before I croak out, “Wait!” Wait? Wait for what? What do I say now? I think fast. “Would you like to go out for a coffee?” Really, Jane, coffee? “And you could show me around London. I hate feeling lost.” Weak save, but it’ll have to do.

He chuckles. “Sure. I’ve got nothing to do today. But I’m not sure I caught your name. Jane, is it? I think that’s what it said on the letter.” He motions towards the envelope that I’m still holding. I nod my head. “I’m Robert.” He holds out his hand for me to shake it.

“I know,” I blurt out. I’ve really got to stop blurting out. “I mean, everyone in college knew you.”

“Ah. My popularity was probably due to my rugged handsomeness,” he jokes and strikes what I suppose is supposed to be a pose before he puts out his hand again, and we finally shake hands. I catch myself laughing. But that’s alright.

“Why don’t you come in. I’ll just get dressed,” I offer. He shoots a quick smile before accepting with a single nod and stepping into my house. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a minute.”

**

We take the tube from Charring Cross to Piccadilly. We end up at spaghetti house for lunch and a coffee.

“What have you been doing since school?” asks Robert after we’ve ordered our food.

“More school,” I sigh. “I went to one of the universities close to home. I wasn’t ready to leave my family yet.”

“What did you study?”

“Architecture. Boring, I know, but it’s been a dream of mine since I was little. And you? Are you doing anything apart from the band?”

“Ah, so you know us,” he smiles.

“Well, of course I know you. Once I had heard that Birmingham’s local hippie was in a band, I had to check you out.” Robert was known in our area for being the pot-smoking hippie that he is. He attended pretty much all marches demanding to legalise pot. “I’ve got tickets to the show tomorrow,” I admit.

“Blast. I was just about to offer you a ticket.” He leans back in his chair and chuckles. “But I bet I could one-up your measly general admission ticket with a backstage pass.”

“Measly?” I feign overdramatisised offence, throwing a hand over my heart. “I paid like 40 pounds for that ticket.”

“Oh please. Try selling it when the concert sells out. People will pay you triple for it.” His cockiness is mostly just to be cheeky. “Don’t worry, I’ll reimburse you. And I’ll put your name on the backstage list.”

Our spaghetti arrives. And thank god it does; I’m starving.

**

We walk around London, doing all the touristy things for my benefit. Robert doesn’t mind taking cheesy pictures of me posing in front of practically anything.

Time has passed by so quickly that the sun is staring to go down before I suggest that we go home.

“But I want to stay out just a little longer,” says Robert. “There’s this place I like to go to watch the sun set. It’s not far.”

“Robert, I’m getting tired,” I complain.

“We’ll leave in a little while. Come on, we won’t stay long.” He grabs me by the wrist and starts pulling me towards the Thames. He lets go of me when I catch up with him, willingly following.

We walk along the river and over the bridge. Finally we reach the other side of the bridge and we stand with the Big Ben on the other side of the river.

Robert leads me towards a gate near the bridge. He helps me jump over the gate and we walk down stairs leading to the river bank. A rickety old bench sits on the small area of land, maybe just a metre up from the water.

Robert lets me sit down first and he follows suit.

I shiver. “It’s a little cold down here.” I wrap my arms around myself, not being as properly dressed as Robert. Robert having brought a jacket surely doesn’t feel the effects of the cold like I do.

He wraps his arms around me in an attempt to warm me up, nuzzling his head into my shoulder. My mouth is full of his wild hair and I push him away a little and attempt to remove all the hair from my mouth.

“Sorry,” he mutters and repositions himself to make sure that he doesn’t cause the same discomfort again. “I would give you my jacket,” he then says, “but then I’d get cold. And I don’t want to be cold.” Understandable.

“Sure,” I say. And now I look towards the sun set. Robert was right, the sun set is beautiful from here, setting behind the Big Ben. I yawn and slump into the bench further.

“I’m getting tired,” I mutter.

“We’ll leave soon. Don’t worry,” he says. How soon 'soon’ is is a mystery to me.

I start to nod off. “It’s fine if you fall asleep,” he whispers as not to wake me from my half-sleep.

**

The walk towards the cab is a blur. Robert lets me sleep in the cab on the way home. He doesn’t attempt to wake me up until we are nearing our street.

He leads me to the door although I am able to make it there myself; I’ve woken up enough. I fumble tiredly with keys before I finally get the door open.

“By the way,” he says, “I never got your phone number.” He hands his phone over to me and I hand mine to him so we can add ourselves to each other’s phone. “Will you find your own way to the concert tomorrow?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

He then digs in his pocket and eventually pulls out a 40£ note. “For your useless ticket.” The reimbursement. “And just ask security if you can get in and give them your name. See you tomorrow.”

He stands for barely a second longer before turning around. “Looking forward to the concert,” I call out. He turns his head and nods at me with a smile. “Good night!”

“Night.”

And so he’s disappeared next door.
And so I’ve closed my door.
And so good night.

**

Saturday morning. I don’t feel compelled to get out of bed until about mid day.

I had almost completely forgotten about the envelope that Robert had brought over yesterday until I see it lying on the kitchen counter. I open it again and read it properly.

'Jane!

I’d heard you were moving to London! I asked around and found your address (I hope). Hope this letter doesn’t get there too early.

Can you believe how long it’s been since we last saw each other? We haven’t really talked since college. King Edward high school… what a shitter.

I miss you loads! Call me if you can

-Rita’
And then she has her phone number written.

It’s not until then that I completely empty the envelope. A few pictures fall out. Pictures of me and Rita. I flick through the pictures, remembering the good times we spent together. Oh she was a blast. And she had the biggest crush on Robert. She would come squealing to me whenever she saw him. They must have talked a few times, but just casual conversation. If only she knew that I’d be living next to him. But I’m not one to rub anything in… Well, maybe a little.

I pick up my phone and dial the number stated in the letter.

“Hello?” asks Rita on the other side of the line once she picks up.

“Hey! It’s Jane,” I say, surprisingly relieved to hear her voice again.

“Holy hell! I didn’t think the letter would actually reach you.” She also sounds relieved.

“Well, it almost didn’t. Ended up at the neighbour’s.” I can’t help the smugness that escapes me.

“Why’d you say it like that?” The short question radiates curiosity. Boy is she about to get blown away. I remember the first time she heard that Robert was a singer, she almost fainted when she told me about it. There’s no doubt that she knows he’s in a band, and there’s no doubt that she hasn’t forgotten about her crush. It’s probably doubled since Robert became a rock star.

“Guess who my neighbour is.”

“I have no clue.”

“Just guess. Come on. Wild guess.”

She sighs. “That weird guy from the news? You know the one with the lazy eye and the big nose?”

“Not quite.”

“Come on, just tell me!”

“Surely you remember that blond hippie you used to have a mega-crush on?” I ask.

She listens intently. “Yes.” I don’t think she can believe what she’s hearing.

“Well…” I trail off.

“No fucking way. Don’t you dare tell me you’re joking.” The shock in her voice is unreal.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I say. I can feel the smug grin on my face.

“You wouldn’t mind me popping by for a visit, would you?” she jokes. “I mean… I don’t live far from London…” I know she’s expecting me to laugh it off and not take her question seriously. But I’m a good friend.

“You can drop by. I’ve got my name on the backstage list for their show tonight. I could probably call Robert up and ask to get your name on there too.”

The other side of the line falls quiet, and I’m scared that Rita’s actually just fainted.

“Holy shit,” she finally whispers. And I laugh. “I would be brain dead to say no. Sign me the fuck up!”

“No problem.” There’s silence for a moment, both of us certainly smiling. “Hey, Rita?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve really missed you. We have to catch up when you get here. Pack your shit right now and drive over as fast as you can.” My eyes almost start to water. Why we lost contact over the time we went to university? I have no clue.

“I’ll be at your place as soon as I can.” She exhales for a few seconds, probably taking it all in. “Fuck. We’re seeing Led Zeppelin tonight.”



________


Imagines Masterpost

Imagine Robert Plant hearing you cry in the shower late at night. Life has been too much for you lately and you just lost control. He opens the bathroom door as he yells, “Love, you alright in there??” You remain silent. The whole reason that you were crying in the shower was so Robert wouldn’t hear you. Now that your plan has failed, you feel rather embarrassed. You’re curled up in a ball, leaning your head against the tile wall of the shower. Robert jerks open the shower curtain. “The hell?! What’s the matter baby?" 

Your face turns red. You don’t even turn your head to look at him. And you’re thankful that the steam of the shower hides your puffy eyes. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Robert continues to stand outside of the shower, looking at you, slightly confused, but mostly concerned. The water is slowly soaking his blonde curls. You think to yourself, ‘Maybe if I continue my silence, he’ll just leave me alone.’ Slightly irritated by your silence, Robert leans over and shuts off the water. Dammit. He reaches over and picks you up, bridal style. He sets you down on the toilet and reaches for a towel. The two of you remain completely silent as Robert dries off your legs, arms, and torso. You’re surprised at how gentle his touch feels. As he squeezes the water out of your hair, you stare into his eyes.

 His eyes are too focused on your hair to notice you staring at him. His eyes seemed so soft, and almost hurt. You feel yourself melt internally. Still, the two of you remained silent. The only sound was the occasional drip from the recently turned off shower faucet. Robert then wrapped a fresh towel around your body. He reached for a brush and began to run it through your hair. You were his girl, and he wanted to take care of you in your moment of weakness. This thought made your eyes moist. You let Robert finish untangling your hair. He then picked you up off the toilet and carried you bridal style once again, and laid you down on the bed that you two shared. He tucked you in, and rested his lips on the side of your forehead. He lingered there awhile, until he undressed himself and climbed into bed next to you. What a man he was.