#John Deacon x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spreadyovrwings · 8 days

Text

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: smut! slight sub/dom dynamics, i guess, i'm never sure, i just like being bossy. john gets topped, and i do mean topped!

A/N: i'm so sorry! i’ve been gone for ages! i've just got a million hyperfixations and they all take up a lot of energy you know how it is but but but hopefully this makes up for it

Chapter 11

Sweat beaded your skin, clammy and tight. Every breath you drew in was lukewarm and fetid, half someone else’s. Your feet hurt and your head was pounding and the floor was sticky beneath your new shoes, but you hardly noticed any of it.

John was pressed tight against you, and it was all you could think about, all you could bring yourself to focus on. His narrow body felt angular and hot; you could feel the heat coming off of him through his clothes.

It was Saturday night. The bakery had been yours for exactly six days. John had been yours for even longer. Now, pressed up against each other in a tiny Camden club, you could finally celebrate both.

The music was so loud, it had risen to a dull hum, pop music you were faintly aware of but didn’t know the words or the steps to. You weren’t being modest when you said you weren’t much of a dancer, but John didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hands hadn’t left your body since he pulled you onto the dance floor, and he had enough moves for the both of you.

It had been an exhausting week, but the kind of exhausting that left your muscles glowing and your chest full at the end of the day.

Universities had finally broken up for the summer, so John had a lot more free time, and he’d spent most of it hunched over Gladys’ desk, running through 64 Oslo Square's accounts. He’d made it his solemn duty to uncover exactly what kind of impact Alastair had had on the bakery.

John was right, that night he walked you home and off-handedly wondered how the bakery could possibly be struggling considering it never lacked customers and the area was so affluent.

It turned out Alastair had been funnelling money out of the business for months, ever since he met Gladys. He had sought her out, plucked her from the vine, and pressed her between thumb and forefinger, squeezing her for all she was worth with a vicious smile.

Now he was gone, the bakery had come to life again. John found money ferreted away in all sorts of places, stored away for hard times, or just in case things went south for Alastair. Luckily, John’s astute head for numbers and figures got there first, returning what had always been yours back to you, like transposing music for one instrument to another.

Before too long, 64 Oslo Square could raise its head again. You didn’t have to beg for new kitchen equipment. You didn’t have to pray for a pay-rise. The scarlet front door could be painted for the first time in years, Mickey didn’t have to worry about taking care of his young family, and Gladys could hire more help, allowing you your first night out in almost a decade.

You met after work. John went home to shower and get changed, giving you time to figure out what on earth to wear on your first proper date with the boy you’d fallen in love with months ago. You kept having to remind yourself that you hadn’t actually told him yet; something about John’s pretty green-grey eyes made you lose all track of time.

When he picked you up, John looked less than pleased. Laughing softly at his turned-down mouth, you slipped a hand over his shoulder and pulled him down to your height so that you could press a kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, New Boy?”

“Hi, love.” John sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry.”

Frowning, you ushered him into your flat.

“Already? We haven’t even made it out the door yet.”

You smiled, hoping to reassure him, and it seemed to work. But John still looked troubled despite the little smile he summoned in return.

“C’mon, then. What’re you sorry for?”

With another, frankly dramatic sigh, John flopped down onto your couch like a sack of potatoes. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, splayed outwards in a ‘V’, his platform heels digging into the carpet.

It had been a while since he’d been in your flat. John looked so funny, collapsed on your couch. He was so tall and gangly, he made all your furniture look smaller, and tonight he was dressed up to the nines, his hair perfect, huffing and puffing on your second-hand sofa.

“I was telling Roger about tonight, you know, asking where we should go because he- And now-”

“He’s coming too?”

“And Freddie.”

John looked so despairing, you had to laugh. He looked like a teenager who’d been told he had to bring his little brother along to a party.

“I’m really sorry. I did try to tell them this was our first proper date but they’d already started planning what they were gonna wear, and you know what they’re like, I- We can just make this a night out, this doesn’t have to be-”

“John,” You spoke his name softly, gently, settling down on the couch beside him with an easy smile. “It’s alright. I really don’t mind.”

“You sure? We could always go to a different club or something. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t notice.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I like your mates. And hey, you know, we can always lose them in the crowd.”

Brushing your fingers along the seam of his black satin shirt, you pushed your fingertips in, just below his shoulder, squeezing gently, reassuringly, insinuatingly.

“You said you’ve got moves,” you murmured, your fingers dropping to play with his hair. “You gonna put on a show for me tonight?”

John’s ever-steady gaze never wavered, even as you curled his pretty hair around your fingers.

“Maybe I’ll treat you.”

His voice cracked when you “accidentally” tugged on his hair.

“Ohhh,” You grinned. “Lucky me.”

And now here you were, moving against each other in the dark.

John really did know how to move. It just came naturally to him. The music flowed through his veins, his heart beating in time with the pounding bass, and all you could do was watch him and admire the nice boy who’d so softly changed your life.

He bought you a drink, then another, politely refusing your offer to get the next round in.

As predicted, you lost track of his friends almost immediately. You’d almost forgotten you weren’t there alone until John leaned down and murmured by your ear,

“D’you wanna get some air?”

There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way they wrapped around you, the spark they lit in his dark eyes despite the low club lights. Your pulse raced, your body reacting to every touch, every look, just the proximity of him, the promise of his presence.

What he meant was, do you want to go home? And you did. You couldn’t imagine wanting anything more in all your life.

John’s back hit the bakery door with a dull thunk. Giggling softly against his mouth, you apologised over and over, half muffled as he tried to kiss you between laughs, reassuring you that it was fine while his big hands pawed at your hips.

He tasted so good, you couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from him for even a second, so you fished around in your bag for the door keys without once breaking the kiss.

After several shaky attempts (thanks to John tugging your bottom lip between his teeth) you managed to turn the key, and together, you fell into the shop.

Stumbling backwards in his stupid platforms, John clung to your hips for support as you guided him through to the kitchen.

The thought of getting the next door open seemed too mammoth a task to even attempt at that moment, so instead you backed John up against it, pressing your body as close to his as you could, until you had almost been consumed by one another.

The protruding angles and flat planes of his narrow body felt sharp and unfamiliar as you sank into each other. Your mind swam with the endless possibilities; running your hands over his slim chest, kissing across his stomach, your hands keeping him pinned down with the slightest squeeze at his hips.

Every niggling worry you’d ever had about being good enough for John, about being with someone for the first time in years, about trusting someone with all of you, it had all washed away. All that remained was a chest fit to burst with love, and a desire so strong, it was all you could do to stop yourself asking if you could just have him right there and then.

John could obviously sense where your mind was wandering to, even as he moaned softly into your mouth. He squeezed your waist, then your hips, kissing you so deeply, your knees threatened to give way.

“We can’t do this here,” he managed to gasp out between kisses. “Not in the bakery.”

When you huffed a little laugh, your warm breath fanned across his cheek and he couldn’t resist the shiver that slipped down his spine.

You smiled against his mouth, pointed and pleased with yourself.

“My bakery now.”

John groaned roughly at your soft, low voice, and again as your tongue pressed against his. He opened himself up to you, letting you take his mouth as you pleased, his breathing growing heavy.

He couldn’t decide where he wanted his hands, they were everywhere, in your hair, pressing into your back to keep you close, tugging at your hips, his touches waking up your body and making your head spin.

“It’s always been yours.” John’s dark gaze met yours. “And so have I.”

You laughed, airy and quick, hoping to disguise just how much that meant to you, but John knew, John always knew. The last thread keeping your doubt and your fear yolked finally snapped.

Taking your keys from your hand, John half-turned to open the door, his free hand still palming and squeezing at your hip.

You tripped up the stairs together, giggling and breathless in your eagerness.

“You have too many doors,” John muttered when you reached your flat. “It’s like a bloody funhouse in here.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, John.”

He pressed the keys into your hand then tucked himself behind you so that you had room to unlock the door. Or so you thought. A shiver ran over your skin when you felt John’s breath on your bare shoulder, then his lips against your neck.

As he mouthed at your hot skin and grazed you with his teeth, you shakily jammed the key into the lock, finally managing to wiggle it open just as John dragged his tongue over a spot that made you want to completely unravel.

There was no time to savour the ritual of undressing each other, neither you nor John had the patience for it right now. Instead, you practically tore his pretty satin shirt open, dragging the sleeves down his arms as you backed him up towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss.

“Oh God,” John laughed softly against your mouth when the cuff of one of his sleeves got caught on his watch. “Hang on, love. I’m not going anywhere, you know.”

“I know, but I’ve been wanting to do this to you for months. You can’t blame a girl for being impatient.”

“‘To me’?” John grinned as he shook off his shirt. “You mean ‘with me’?”

You just smiled and pulled him back down to kiss you.

Head still spinning from the nightclub, the rum in your blood, John’s aftershave, John’s everything, you hardly noticed him slipping his long fingers under the hem of your dress and pulling up and up and up, until you begrudgingly had to stop kissing him to let John pull it over your head.

“Oh, wow.”

It was all you allowed John before you planted both hands against his chest and pushed him into sitting on the edge of the bed.

You kicked off your uncomfortable shoes and got rid of your bra, and all the while John watched you with warm, full eyes, his mouth hanging open.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and for the first time in your life, you believed a boy looking at you.

“Yeah?”

Your movements slowed under his heavy gaze. Something about the look on John’s face made you want to take a breath.

When he raised his hands, you moved closer without a word, standing between John’s knees while he looked up at you in awe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your sternum.

When his fingers pressed into your bare skin, you tensed, sucking in a sharp breath.

John looked up at you curiously, his clever grey-green eyes so clear and bright.

“Sorry,” You smiled. “Not used to- It’s been a while. Not used to being touched there. Feels a bit…”

“What?”

John punctuated his question with a soft kiss pressed sweetly to the swell of your right breast. His other hand came up to cup the other gently, his thumb sweeping across you, circling and circling, his sharp eyes never leaving yours.

“The last boy…”

“The idiot?”

You smiled.

“Yeah, that one. He didn’t really like the way I looked.”

“What’s not to like?”

John frowned.

It wasn’t really question but you felt the need to explain.

“Kept trying to “help” me. Used to piss me off no end. Eventually, he stopped touching me. Wasn’t seeing him for very long but he was the last person…”

John shook his head, his brow furrowed, his funny mouth all turned down at the corners.

“I can’t believe you gave him the time of day.”

“Well, he had his own car...”

“Fair enough.”

John briefly smiled, then he shook his head again, as if he couldn’t even joke about it.

“I’m glad you’re shot of him. Means I get you all to myself. And to me, you feel soft…”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the middle of your belly, taking his time, dragging his teeth, his eyes closed to savour the feeling.

“And warm…”

Another kiss, this one to the left of your navel, while his fingers pressed into your hips and tugged you closer, until the tip of his nose was buried in your stomach.

”And inviting…”

Cheeks burning, you slipped your fingers into his hair, grazing your nails across his scalp.

“John…”

John’s stare met yours as his hands slipped round to squeeze your arse, pulling you closer still. His open mouth split into a grin before he bent his head to drag his tongue across your skin.

“You’re perfect. You’re so beautiful, love.”

It wasn’t often you were left speechless, but if anyone was going to manage it, it would be John Deacon.

You bit your lip, shaking your head to yourself, as you quietly watched him press more and more kisses down the centre of your stomach.

“Been wanting to touch you like this since the first time I saw you.”

John had spent so long thinking about kissing you like this, imagining how you would feel, how you’d taste, the lovely sounds you’d make, how your body would feel against his, and now he’d got his answers, he never wanted to stop.

You laughed as you closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against your shoulders, giving yourself up to him. It was hard to focus, so you just let him press little kisses all over your body, round your hips, across your belly, down your thighs, until his fingers slipped between your legs and you gasped, electricity shooting through your veins.

Biting back a smile, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled it up between you, like you’d caught him stealing. The excited smile was wiped from John’s face when you leaned in close and murmured against his neck,

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

“‘s funny,” John stretched his long fingers out, splaying then relaxing them again, testing the strength and limit of your grip on his wrist. “I thought I was exactly where I needed to be.”

“‘Needed’?”

“Mm hm.”

“Not ‘wanted’?”

“The two get sort of mixed up when I look at you. You’re very- You make them, erm, homonyms.”

“I think you mean ‘synonyms’.”

“It’s hard to concentrate with your tits in my face.”

“Fair enough.” You smiled. “We’re getting off topic.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been talking?”

“John!”

He laughed when you batted his shoulder.

“Love, I can barely remember my own name right now.”

“You were getting ahead of yourself.”

“Actually, I do remember disputing that.”

“Of course you do.”

“What’s your point, love?”

“My point is,” You carefully placed your knee on the mattress beside John’s hip. “I didn’t say you could touch me there.”

John’s eyes switched excitedly across your face, but his easy smile faded as you straddled his thighs, settling in his lap.

You sighed and looped your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into his thick, dark hair.

“I didn’t realise-” John swallowed when your bare chest pressed against his. “I had to ask permission.”

Feigning confusion, you frowned quizzically, and all the while, you slowly grazed your nails across John’s scalp. He shivered against you, his muscles shifting beneath his pale skin.

“We’ve known each other for almost a year, John. Have I ever given you the impression that you’d be calling the shots here?”

There was a point in his neck, neatly positioned between his shoulder and his protruding collarbone. You could see the steady, perfect bass line of his heartbeat pulsing under his skin. It jumped when you rolled your body into his.

“Couldn’t help myself,” John let his heavy eyelids close, focusing on keeping his breathing even. “Did I mention you’re beautiful?”

You tilted his head back and kissed him, your tongue rolling over his, too riled up to wait for permission. You kept his chin up with your hand against his throat, the pad of your thumb pressing into his thready pulse.

Kissing John was unlike anything you’d ever known. Other boys grabbed at you, pressed selfishly into you, taking what they wanted and not caring how it felt for you. They were too rough, unimaginative, or simply just looking for a way to stave off boredom. But John…

As John’s lips moved against yours, it felt as if you were speaking the same language as someone for the first time in your life.

Skilled hands smoothed up and down your back, finding every part you wanted him to find, every part you wanted him to warm, as if he could read your mind. His lovely nose bumped yours whenever he turned his head and you could feel his smile every time you made an appreciative sound.

He was attentive, thoughtful, just like you knew he would be, just like he was when he played. He might look like his mind was elsewhere, but John was honed in on every note. He knew them all, he knew you too.

You must’ve shifted just where he needed you, must’ve slotted your body against his in just the right way, because John suddenly broke the kiss with a wet sound that made you swear under your breath.

He cut you off with a low, sonorous moan, his soft lips parting so you could see his pretty, pink, antagonising tongue.

“Just like-” He groaned again and this time his big hands found your hips, moving you so that you rocked against him just like he needed again. “That feels good. Shit-”

You could feel the hard outline of him through his stupid tight cord trousers. The friction alone was enough to send thrums of electricity through your body.

You hummed, pleased with yourself. You were admittedly a little rusty. Before tonight, you had half a mind to warn John just how long it had been since you’d been intimate with anyone, but it appeared you hadn’t lost the knack. Either that, or John was extremely receptive.

Beneath you, he moaned and let his head fall forward until his face was buried in your chest, his voice vibrating through you. All you were doing was rocking your hips into his, tugging on his hair, grazing your lips by his jaw. Yes, very receptive. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on him properly.

Then again, you had never dared to ask how long it had been for him either. You weren’t stupid, John had been with girls before you, at home, at uni. He’d never mentioned anyone. Maybe there was no one worth talking about. Anyway, everyone in your life seemed to agree that when quiet, thoughtful, reticent John finally did speak, the only thing he wanted to talk about was you.

You kissed him again, twice, three times, then squeezed his shoulder.

“Get comfy. I’ll stick some music on.”

You wobbled to the record player on unsteady legs and put on something soft and slow, warm and romantic.

When you came back, John had shuffled up the bed until his back was against the headboard. He looked so silly, sat there shirtless, his trousers and heels still on.

His sharp eyes followed you as you moved around the bed, but John wore an enormous grin, his face flushed, his slim chest heaving. He was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Did you mean to say that out loud?” John asked, his smile growing.

In an effort to mask your embarrassment, you wrapped your hand around one of his ankles and gently tugged him round until his legs were hanging off the side of the bed.

Giggling together, you hefted his leg up to your waist and pushed up his trouser leg.

“I love these shoes,” you murmured, admiring his black and white patent heels. “You’re such a bloody tease, Deacon.”

Sitting up on his elbows now, John raised his eyebrows as you started to unlace one of his platforms for him.

“You like them?”

“Like them? I’m trying to decide whether I should make you leave them on.”

You took off one shoe, then the other, dropping them to the floor so you could kick them under the bed. His trousers came off next, leaving you both in just your underwear.

You said it yourself, you’d known each other for almost a year now. That was a long time to wait to touch each other. John seemed to agree.

As you settled back in his lap, his hands immediately found your hips, pulling you down so that you could feel exactly what you did to him, and the infinitesimal strands holding the last of your reservations together finally snapped.

“You’re so pretty.” You murmured the words against his lips this time, so he knew you meant it. “I love your mouth so much.”

Curiosity sparked behind John’s eyes, and you wondered if anyone had ever said anything even remotely similar to him before.

With one hand resting on his narrow shoulder for balance, you took the other and dragged the pad of your thumb across John’s bottom lip, taking your time. They were a little chapped, he was always worrying them between his teeth, and a shade darker than usual tonight, bruised by your own.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to play with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

John’s eyes widened, his lips falling open as a soft moan escaped him, one you were sure was completely involuntary.

Beaming, you reached down between you and wrapped your other hand around him through his straining underwear.

Those eyes again, they gave away so much. John’s expression hardly twitched, but his eyes grew glossy and heavy as you worked him, purposefully slow, until he had completely melted into you.

“Goddd, feels so good…” His eyes rolled closed, his jaw slack. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

With the tip of your index finger, you grazed his bottom lip, then dipped in a little. John cracked his eyes open, you could feel him watching you with interest. Breathing shakily, you kept going, parting his lips to gently push your finger against his tongue.

“What do we say?”

John’s brow furrowed, summoning up a crease between his eyebrows that you couldn’t resist kissing away.

“Please,” he gasped out.

Your finger slipped into his warm mouth with ease. John immediately swirled his tongue around it, whimpering and moaning as he sucked gently, so needy for you that his hips bucked up into your hand

“Oh, dear…” you practically purred. “Someone’s eager.”

John groaned around your finger, his eyes widening when you added another. He squeezed your hips in time with every stroke of your hand, silently urging you to keep going while his mouth was occupied.

Once he’d got them nice and wet, you pulled back your fingers and drew your index along his bottom lip.

“Good boy,” you whispered, then popped your fingers into your own mouth to taste him with a moan. “You’re even sweeter than you look, my darlin’.”

John thought he must’ve died and gone to heaven. That was the only explanation for it. How else could he be here, with you, your lips against his and your hands anywhere you wanted them?

You kissed both his pink cheeks, then the corner of his lovely mouth, and all the while, you palmed him through his stupid tight pants.

John looked up at you like it pained him to not have your mouth on his properly, but your hand pressing firmly down on his hard length pulled his expression from agony to ecstasy.

“Love, if you don’t do something soon, I swear, I’m gonna-“

“What?”

You removed your hand, eyebrows raised.

John bit his lip, trying heroically to hold back, but he couldn’t help it. He let out a disappointed whine.

“Love…”

He bucked his hips, trying to press himself into your hand.

Satisfied, you carefully clambered off him.

“Mm, that’s what I thought.”

“Wait…”

John tried to pull you back into him but you distracted him with a deep, searing kiss, keeping his brain occupied so your hands could work.

Though he missed you being close to him, John couldn’t keep the grin from his face as you pushed him down flat on the bed, his head safely nestled against the pillows.

In his chest, his heart was pounding like a bass drum. He wanted to shout so your neighbours could hear. He wanted to run to the windows and declare to the whole city that this was the greatest night of his life. He wanted to tell the world that he was the happiest he’d ever been and he was in bed with the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. But he settled for gazing up at you and thanking his lucky stars.

Kneeling beside him now, you took a moment for yourself to just enjoy the scene before you. It was selfish really but you thought John could stand to wait a few seconds while you took him in.

His long hair was spread out across the pillow, dark curls that took hours to set just right. You smiled to yourself.

He was a walking contradiction. He was such a low maintenance boy, so happy to do whatever you wanted to do. No fancy clothes, no ridiculous car, no expensive bad habits. But John cared about how we looked. He cared about doing well at uni. He understood music better than most and cared about Queen’s future. He just never made it anyone else’s problem.

It was only in the last few months that you’d really seen him open up. You couldn’t wait to discover the rest of him. ‘Easy Deacon’, they used to call him. Everything just came so naturally to John. You knew that wasn’t exactly true, but the thought of having a good, kind, lucky, sensible boy in your life, in your bed, might just be the most wonderful thing that ever happened to you.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about this,” you said.

John swallowed thickly when you pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then his sternum.

”Oh, yeah?”

He was still so slim, even after all your best effort. You could pick out each of his ribs as John sucked in a deep breath.

Kissing your way down his chest, you paused to rest your chin over his heart, trying to feel for it.

John’s head was thrown back, his jaw high and his neck exposed, so he didn’t see your fond smile, or the pang of emotion behind your eyes as you turned your head, aching to hear the rounded, powerful, thump thump thump of his heart.

It pounded harder than you expected. You could almost feel it pulsing against your cheek, strong and full and just for you.

“You’re having palpitations, Johnny.” You raised your head and caught his eyes. “You wanna stop and catch your breath?”

John exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, there was no humour in it. He obviously didn’t think that was funny.

“If you stop now, I think I’ll pass out.”

“Well, can’t have that.”

You kissed your way down his chest, taking your time, savouring the feeling of his hot, flushed skin against your lips.

You took note of every muscle twitch, your ears pricking at every sharp intake of breath. Learning what made the famously stoic and impassive John Deacon moan and squirm was going to be fun.

You peppered more kisses down his chest, taking the time to flick your tongue across both nipples, just to make John’s hips stutter. Face flushed, he groaned almost in protest, but didn’t move to stop you at all.

You pushed further, kissing your way down his stomach, until John was half giggling, half whimpering. He bit down hard on his lip, his long fingers reaching out and finding a home in your hair, where he tugged ever so gently, like he was trying to spur you on but didn’t want to risk making you stop again.

“Love, that…” John hissed through his teeth as you licked a stripe up his belly. “That tickles.”

You laughed softly.

“Does it? Sorry.”

“No, don’t b- Ohn…”

You looked up at John, the skin just below his navel still caught between your teeth. You let it go slowly, dragging at his skin, and all the while you watched his pretty face contort and soften, his teeth practically embedded in his bottom lip.

“Sorry, what was that?”

John huffed, his fingers tightening in your hair as you kissed down the front of his underwear, slow and hot, teasing him on purpose, drifting so close to where he desperately wanted to be touched, but never quite there.

Enough torture. You hooked your fingers under the waistband of his pants and slowly dragged them down his pale thighs, pausing only to place kisses on either side of his bony hips, and the contrasting softness of his inner thighs.

“Just relax, Johnny. It’s only me.”

You smiled against his skin, watching his face contort and shift as you tugged the waistband of his underwear down against him, a mean trick but worth it for the soft little noises he gave in response.

“I’ve got you, love. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

John whimpered, his chest rising and falling fast. His eyes stayed fixed on yours as you pulled his pants all the way down, until his aching cock was pressed against his stomach.

“Oh, hello,” You laughed, disguising just how embarrassingly turned on you were with a quirked eyebrow and a wobbly smile. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Despite his nerves, John huffed a little laugh too.

It had been a while since anyone had seen him like this. Somehow, it felt like the first time. You were the most important thing in his life, the most beautiful, wonderful person he’d ever known, it mattered what you thought, it mattered that you liked how he looked.

He watched you take him in, watched your pretty eyes cross his body, and for once, didn’t feel self-conscious under someone else’s gaze. John knew you wouldn’t care what he looked like but he couldn’t help blooming with pride, his cheeks prickling at the pleased look on your face.

John sucked in a sharp breath as your hand wrapped around him, moving up and down his length slowly, almost absent-mindedly, while you soaked up every new detail exposed to you, every new valley and slope, memorising every detail of his body until you could see him behind your closed eyes.

Then you squeezed him, testing the boundaries of his patience, and John lost all sense of bravado and decorum. He groaned, letting his head drop back against the pillow, panting now.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please…”

You tilted your head to the side, feigning obliviousness.

“Please what, love?”

“Just, please…” John moaned again, his hips pressing up into your hand, searching desperately for more pressure, friction, anything. “Please touch me. Feel like I’m gonna…”

You didn’t get to hear the rest, John’s eyes suddenly widened and he put his much larger hand over yours.

“Wait, this isn’t right. I should be- I should take care of you first.”

“What? Because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do?”

“No! Well, no- No, that’s not why I’m asking. I want to make you feel good. I should get you off first.”

Somehow, even though you had his dick in your hand, hearing John talk about ‘getting you off’ made you go all bashful.

“Why should you?”

“Well,” Looking oddly relaxed for someone in his position, John sat up on his elbows. “It’s just maths, innit.”

“Don’t say ‘innit’, you’re from Oadby.”

“I’m finally picking up the lingo. My point is, it’s maths.”

“Is it now?”

You smiled and sat back on your knees.

John’s eyes followed your hands as they left his body to drag across the mattress. Being cheeky had been a risky move and he’d miscalculated, you weren’t touching him anymore. He’d have to make sure it was worth it.

“I’m a bloke. You can cum again and again and again, but I get one shot at this. Two if I’m lucky… Three would probably kill me.”

“It’s tempting right now.”

“I’m just saying,” John’s grin was toothy and silly. He looked about the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. “I’d like to get a few in before I, you know, close up shop.”

“Well…”

You carefully placed your hands on either side of his body so that you could move over him. Placing your knee between his thighs, you leaned in close to murmur against his lips.

“How’s about I take care of you, properly. Like I’ve been thinking and dreaming about doing for… Hm, when did you start at the bakery?”

“30th January.”

“Right. Six whole months, John.”

“Almost seven.”

“Almost seven! Yes! Y’see!”

You kissed the tip of his nose, then his cheek, while John laughed softly, nuzzling his face against yours.

“How about… I take care of you. And then you can - what was it you said? - make me cum again…”

You kissed him.

“And again…”

Another soft kiss that made John’s whole body light up.

“And again…”

The rough pads of his bass-bitten fingers grazed your scalp as John slipped a hand back into your hair, keeping your mouth fixed to his, as if letting you move away would be allowing you, the night, that moment, to disappear.

Moaning softly into your mouth, John ran his tongue over yours, his eyebrows drawn together.

“You’re very persuasive.”

You grinned, feeling silly and happy and safe.

“‘s just maths, innit.”

“Mm,” John nodded and kissed you again, then pressed his nose to yours. “Sounds much better coming from you.”

“What was that about ‘coming?’”

“Oh-hoh, you’re on fire tonight.”

“Well, let’s see, shall we?”

You wrapped your hand around him and swallowed his surprised groan with a deep, slow kiss, matching the movement of your hand with your lips.

John shuddered beneath you, gripping you tight as your thumb absentmindedly swiped over the head of his cock.

Completely lacking all composure now, John’s hips jerked up into your hand, chasing a high you couldn’t wait to give him.

“You’re so fucking pretty, John.”

Cheeks tinged pink, he turned and buried his face in your forearm.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll-” He choked, his hips jumping into your hand. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Smiling, you leaned down to kiss him slowly.

“That’s kind of the point, pretty boy.”

The only sign that he’d heard and understood you was a keening moan.

John shut his eyes, his brow furrowed like he was concentrating, the same sweet little frown he got when he played the bass.

Your cheeks were starting to ache, you were so smiling so broadly. With one knee, you gently nudged his legs further apart, then hooked your hand under one of his knees so that his foot was firmly planted on the bed.

John opened his eyes but there was nothing behind them. He blinked at you, his mouth open, his pale, slim chest heaving. He had just enough wherewithal to ask,

“What..?”

Still smiling, you swapped hands, getting him off with one while you slipped the fingers of your dominant hand into your mouth.

John’s pretty eyes dropped to follow your hand as it fell between his thighs.

“Trust me?”

He bit his lip, eyes wide, when you circled his entrance, massaging it. You could feel his whole body seize up immediately, like you’d electrocuted him. Then, just when you thought he might ask you to stop, he said,

“Yes.”

It was only a whisper, so you made him repeat himself, just to make sure.

John nodded furiously, repeating ‘yes yes yes’ over and over as you pushed your finger against him.

John’s legs instinctively rose to hook around your lower body, his ankles crossing almost delicately behind you while he gasped and huffed, kneading at your hips to keep himself grounded as you gently worked him open with one finger.

You swallowed his hiccuping moan with another kiss, keeping him distracted, getting him used to the unfamiliar feeling.

“Relax, sweetheart,” you said, dropping your other hand to soothingly rub his thigh. “Just wanna make you feel good. Can you take over, sweetheart, while I..?”

Without loosing a beat, John’s fingers brushed yours as he wrapped them around his cock. You gave him one final squeeze before you let go.

You could wiggle your finger around now, and you worked a second in, twisting and scissoring, dropping little words of praise and encouragement when John began to grind down on your hand.

“Ohhnfuuck…” he moaned, his head flung back to expose his neck.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, watched his pulse jump under his jaw, and felt a swell of affection when John moaned your name. His tried to speak but his voice cracked, punctuated by sharp gasps whenever you pushed that little bit further.

“That’s it, pretty boy. That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”

Keeping your fingers moving steadily, you bent your head and nipped at his belly, then his pelvis, making your way down until you could nudge his hand away with your nose.

John seemed to begrudge the thought of letting go but you kissed his fingertips, then the base of his cock, and he released himself with a frustrated whine.

“Love, I’m-”

You stopped him complaining by dragging your tongue up the underside of him. John completely melted under your touch, his voice wobbling uncontrollably as you swirled your tongue around his head.

“Sweetheart, please, please, please-”

“Please what, Johnny?”

“Please don’t stop, please please please don’t stop, feels so fucking good when you- Ah!”

Though your muscles ached, you couldn’t imagine stopping now, not with John begging like that, so you shifted the position of your hand.

“When I what, honey?”

The new angle made John tense up again, his wispy little fringe now sticking to his forehead. But then you took him in your mouth, licking him clean and sucking at his swollen tip, and his whole body went slack.

“Ohhhn, when you fuck me like that.”

You couldn’t help it, you moaned around his cock, long and half feral, the vibrations making John’s eyes roll back.

Still your fingers fucked into him, stretching and pushing towards a pleasure that John wouldn’t have believed was possible, and then you hit a sweet spot inside him that made his back arch off the bed.

“Right there,” he gasped out, eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling. “Right there, that’s it, right there, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please.”

”I won’t, I won’t. I’ve got you, sweet boy.”

He took himself in his hand again, squeezing and tugging. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Seeing John like this, completely at your mercy, his mind completely disconnected from his body, it made your belly twist. He was completely yours, this was all just for you.

John cried out, begging you to go faster, so you did, and his hand sped up to match your thrusts. He squirmed against you, rocking his hips so he was practically bouncing on your fingers now.

“Ohhh, love,” You beamed against his bony hip. “You gonna cum like this, baby boy? With my fingers inside you?”

John half moaned, half laughed, almost in disbelief.

“God, I fucking am. Love, I’m-”

You leaned over him to brush his hair back from his damp forehead and kissed him softly, only slowing your thrusting fingers so that you could crook them inside him.

“C’mon, love. C’mon, Johnny, cum for me.”

Always so eager to please. Your only warning was one last sharp jerk of his hips before he suddenly came with another broken moan. It sent a jolt of white-hot desire curling in the pit of your stomach.

John’s grip on your hips was so tight, he was sure to have left bruises, and all the while he whimpered and called your name, his face flushed and pink.

Feeling just as breathless, you kissed and kissed him until John’s body slowly collapsed under you. You carefully drew back your fingers, just barely biting back a moan when John weakly protested.

He pulled you close, but it wasn’t enough, so - still gasping and buzzing with pleasure - John carefully guided your arms out from under you so that you had to lay on top of him, your bodies completely intertwined.

“You’re-” John kissed you lazily, his mind still somewhere out past Saturn. “That was amazing. You’re so beautiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He barely knew what he was saying, he just had to let you know that you’d made him feel more than he ever thought possible. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else other than right here, right now.

Content and warm, you buried your face in his neck, catching your breath as John dragged his hands up and down your back.

“You were so good, John. Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

He smiled. He couldn’t believe you were thanking him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He couldn’t believe crossing the road to see about a job had led him to this. In bed with you, just before dawn, sweaty and sticky and exhausted and gasping for breath, John felt like he’d finally found the home he’d been looking for all his life.

“Yeah, well, it’s your turn next, sweetheart. Give me two minutes and I’ll do the same for you.”

“Just two? Look at you.”

“You’re very inspiring, what can I say.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing your thighs together at the thought.

You considered getting up to open the window and let in some fresh, cooling air. You wanted to help John get cleaned up before the next round. More than that, you wanted to lay back and let him kiss down your body, till he’d seen to the mess he’d made.

You kissed him again, slow and languid. There was no need to rush. You had all the time in the world.

The bakery was alive again.

Like a pot set to boil slowly, incrementally over time, you hadn’t realised how anaemic the place had become until it was too late. Almost too late. With Alastair gone and the summer at its peak, 64 Oslo Square was back to its former glory, a shining jewel at the far end of Kensington High Street.

You kneaded dough with motions you knew by heart. There was a rhyme and rhythm to it, a particular push of your hands, a drag of your fingers, a dig with the heels of your palms.

You rolled the dough between your hands, forming and shaping it like a potter at their wheel, until it was the perfect consistency to divide and drop into proofing baskets.

There was music in the air. Mickey’s old radio oozed out Diana Ross, Tony Orlando, Free and Bowie, and he sang along to every word. How he knew them all by heart, you’d never know, but he never skipped a beat.

Equally vocal was John. He was leaning against the kitchen island, where he was supposed to be making butter cream. Instead, he had his head in the book he’d just bought, a textbook he’d need for his second year. He’d been reading out passages he thought were particularly interesting, and you and Mickey had been trying your best to humour him.

John recited a particularly convoluted paragraph, and Mickey actually laughed at how ridiculously complex it sounded.

“Hang on, say that one more time?”

You brushed off the flour from your hands, watching it cascade through the air like gold dust in the morning sunlight.

“Yeah, no, sorry, sweetheart. You’ve lost us.”

John turned the book around and held it up so that you could see the page he was reading from.

“Here, have a look!”

“My love, that might as well be written in Greek for all the sense it makes to me.”

“Well, some of it is Greek. It’s Physics.”

Behind you, meticulously icing fruit tarts, Mickey snorted.

You shot John a wry look.

“Well, I walked into that one.”

John turned the book back to face him.

You watched him with a fond smile, then pushed the loaves you’d made into the oven.

He got this look on his face when he was talking about his studies. John was completely in his element. All the nervousness and shyness dissipated when there was simple, honest, unconditional science to talk about.

He shrugged, shutting the thick book with a heavy snap.

“I know it’s boring-”

“It’s not boring, John, I just think it’s wasted on us.”

“Don’t be daft, you’re the smartest person I know.”

“Ta!” Mickey chimed in.

You ignored him, though it was nice to see Mickey so cheery. The last few months had been hard for all of you, but he had a family to worry about, a newborn, a mortgage. Now Alastair’s heavy chains had dropped from your ankles, the bakery was making enough for you all to live a little more easily, and Mickey had started to whistle again, bright and cheery and carefree.

While the bread proved, you set about preparing tomorrow’s croissants.

“The smartest person you know besides you, you mean,” you said to John, picking up the conversation again while you went to grab the right ingredients.

“Well, what else am I here for? Aren’t I the brains?” John smiled. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Grinning now, you tapped his thigh as you passed by.

“Don’t forget the legs.”

“I thought that was you?”

“Ohh, someone woke up in a good mood.”

“Wonder why.”

John reached out and tried to pinch your hip but you just slipped out of reach.

Plunking flour, eggs and sugar down on the metal counter, you took a deep breath before falling into the pattern of a lifetime. It was all second nature by now, like the steps of a dance or the words to a favourite song. You’d never forget the moves for as long as you lived, you could probably make them blindfolded, with one arm tied behind your back. It was good to be back.

“C’mon then,” You nodded to the textbook in John’s hands. “What else you got? Anything that’ll get you mixing faster?”

John huffed, lifting himself up to perch on the edge of the counter.

“It’s thanks to this book that you even have a mixer.”

“Oi, watch it, New Boy. I’m your boss, remember.”

John grinned at you across the island. It was an almost challenging look. Come shut me up. Come kiss me. I know you want to.

“Can bosses get the sack for fraternising with the staff?”

Startled, you looked over your shoulder at Mickey. You’d almost forgotten you weren’t alone in the kitchen with John.

Mickey tugged a cigarette down from where it had been tucked behind his ear and flicked it up, catching it in his mouth just to show off. He raised his eyebrows at you, then at John.

“I only ask cos I got an earful this morning I’m not gonna forget in an ‘urry. It’d do me a favour if you were legally obligated to never, ever do that again. At least while I’m in earshot.”

Cheeks burning, you refused to look at John.

Images of that morning flashed through your mind.

You had to be up early to get the bakery warmed up, and John needed to get on his stupid bike and make his rounds. You’d flung out a sleep-heavy arm to silence your alarm, and in the time it took you to draw it back under the warmth and safety of the covers, John had moved on top of you.

Between soft, slow, drowsy kisses, he lazily slipped inside you, dragging his hips back and forward against yours as you gasped into his mouth.

You came clinging to his back, your ankles hooked around his hips, his tongue in your mouth and your name in his throat.

When you came downstairs together. Mickey had already started warming up the ovens. You had paused, momentarily startled. Mickey was early for once. But you brushed your surprise away and slipped on an easy smile. There was no way he would've been able to hear you, and there were a hundred perfectly innocent reasons why John could’ve been upstairs with you.

Idiot.

“Oh,” You pulled a face, aiming for apologetic and ending up at awkward. “Sorry, Mickey.”

He just laughed and headed out into the alley for his smoke break.

Turning to John, you grimaced.

“Whoops.”

Looking about as embarrassed as you felt, he held out his hand to you. John guided you around the counter until you were standing between his knees, his hands immediately resting on your hips like it was second nature.

“Alright, so your walls are thinner than we thought. Lesson learnt.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so noisy.”

“Me!” John laughed. “Can I take you out tonight?”

“Depends. Where you taking me?”

“Thought we could go to the pictures? Get some dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.” You kissed the tip of his nose. “And your electric stuff is very cool, John. I was only teasing you.”

Smiling like a cat curled up in front of the fire, John squeezed your hips reassuringly.

“I know.”

“Not just a pretty face, eh?”

John looked sheepish.

“Well, you know, you’re always saying-”

You kissed him once, twice, then his nose again.

“You’re very pretty.”

“No…”

John barely put up a fight. It was hard enough arguing with you at the best of times, he could barely concentrate when you were so close, your floury hands cupping his face, your lips so close to his.

“Yes! Twice as pretty as Roger.”

John let his head grow heavy, relaxing completely until all that supported him were your hands under his jaw. While you giggled at his exhausted expression, John shook his head

“Now you’re just being silly.”

Your heart felt so full, it threatened to spill over.

There had been a small worry, so small it barely warranted entertaining, right in the back of your mind. It liked to remind you that the dynamics of your relationship with John had forever shifted.

What if things felt different now? Under these new parameters, there would be no more longing looks across the bakery, no dancing and stumbling around each other, no more tension and uncertainty. What if the sudden expectations and roles made things awkward?

A smaller, even stupider part of your brain had even been afraid that John would wake up and - in the cold, harsh light of the morning - decide he'd changed his mind.

That particular worry was extinguished almost as quickly as it sprang into life. When John hooked one long, slim leg through yours and moaned into your mouth that you were absolutely perfect, you could have laughed at yourself for ever worrying if your mouth hadn’t been full of his name, then his tongue.

But no, here, alone in the kitchen where you came to know each other, looking and smiling at each other like you were the only two people in the world, you knew nothing good had changed. It made you wonder just how long you’d belonged to each other without knowing it.

“I mean it!” You laughed softly when you brushed your hand over his cheek and John pretended to nip at your fingertips. “You’ve got pretty eyes…”

You kissed a spot under both of his eyes, right on the apple of John’s cheeks. His smile pressed into your palms

“And pretty hair…”

“You’re so odd, love.”

“And nice eyebrows…”

John laughed, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“My eyebrows are nice?”

“And you’ve got a great nose…” You kissed it to prove a point, then grazed your fingertip along the outline of his bottom lip. “I love your funny little mouth.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“What’s so funny about my mouth?”

“Nothing!”

“My mouth works just fine, thank you.”

You grinned.

“I’m well aware.”

Shaking his head slightly, his cheeks tinged pink, John asked,

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“I really do, John.”

“I think you’re pretty too. I think you’re beautiful.”

John smiled softly as you leaned in to kiss him, and you could still feel him smiling against your mouth as you tilted his head back with one finger under his jaw.

He pulled you closer, his hands on the backs of your thighs at first, before they slid up and bunched up your apron.

You had half a mind to pull away and check over your shoulder, just to make sure Mickey wasn’t about to walk in on you. You could hear Gladys a mile away, so you didn’t have to worry about her catching you, but you’d never live it down if Mickey had to bleach his eyes as well as his ears.

John brushed his nose against yours sweetly, his eyes half-lidded and heavy. He was so handsome when he was like this, all relaxed and confident and putty in your hands.

“That thing you did,” he said quietly. “Last night.”

You hummed, only half listening as you leaned down to kiss him again.

“Think you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I don’t think I do.”

John raised his eyebrows and you bit back a smile, feeling somehow simultaneously sheepish and proud of yourself.

You’d been waiting for him to bring it up, but when he didn’t say anything last night or this morning, you wondered if maybe he didn’t like it. His body certainly reacted positively, but sometimes there was a disconnect, a barrier, between what was felt physically and what was felt emotionally.

“Is that something you’ve done before?”

“Maybe.” Though your cheeks burned, you kept up your grin, never wanting to give away just how much John flustered you. “Or maybe I just saw you there, all wet and desperate, and couldn’t help myself.”

John’s eyes widened a fraction, like he couldn’t believe you would dare to say something so outrageous within a few feet of your colleagues and countless hungry customers.

Bending his head, he let his forehead rest against your chest, his hands tense on your hips.

“You’re terrible,” he grumbled, the sound muffled against your apron.

You couldn’t resist, you slipped your fingers into his thick hair, combing it through and playing with the odd curl.

He really was so wonderful, a ridiculous mix of pretty boy and handsome mechanic. There wasn’t anything John Deacon couldn’t do. He played every part so well without ever not being himself, and he was all yours.

“Did you like it?” you asked, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

John quietly huffed.

“I think that was fairly obvious.”

“Because we could do it again. And more, if you like.”

John raised his head.

“More?”

You kept your hand in his hair, grazing and tugging his curls around your fingers. It kept you grounded, kept you from pulling back and changing the subject and apologising for even asking. It wasn’t exactly embarrassing, just a lot to say out loud, especially with John looking at you like that.

“Yeah, you know…” You shrugged, fighting back a smile and losing. “I could use more than just my fingers.”

“Oh.” John’s eyes widened a fraction but that was all he gave away. “Would you… Want to?”

“Yes. Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

The tension between you was building again, a push me, pull you of daring looks and lingering touches, toeing the line a little more with every word passed between you.

“I…” John opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, “I trust you with me.”

There was a flicker of nervousness in his grey eyes but no hesitancy, no uncertainty.

Even just thinking about it left your mouth feeling dry, and from the way John’s fingers tightened on the backs of your thighs, threatening to slip up under your dress and beyond, he was thinking about it too.

“Still can’t really believe it,” he said softly.

“Well, you know, it’s not that uncommon. You’d be surpri-”

“No, I mean,” John laughed softly and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Can’t believe I’m here. With you.”

“Oh!” With a grin you brushed back his hair and tucked it behind his ear for him. “Well, I’m very glad you decided to stick around, New Boy. Well, not so new anymore.”

John hummed and leant his head in your hands again, nuzzling his cheek against your palms.

He’d gone all soft on you. You tried to pinpoint exactly when that could have happened, but came up empty. He’d always been sweet but recently, perhaps over the last few weeks, John had shown a vulnerability that he’d hidden behind clever words and smiles.

When did give himself over to you? Welcoming him into your little family had done wonders for John’s confidence, giving him somewhere that he felt safe and secure, where he had a set role and no doubt that he belonged.

But when had he become yours? When you were one of six people in the crowd to see his band play? When you took him into your home and patched him up, offering him love and comfort and a warm place to sleep? Or maybe it had been immediate, when you sent a stranger home with food just because he looked cold and hungry? Or maybe it was only recently. Maybe seeing how his friends welcomed you into his own odd little family had been the final nail.

Running your fingers through his soft hair, you knew you wouldn’t ever know when this started, when John had solidified himself in your life, but you were oh so very glad that he did.

The bakery door opened. You barely registered it, just a faint chime in the back of your head. You almost, almost ignored it. But something about the sound sent goosebumps shivering up your arms and down your back. Something told you to look up and pay attention.

Through the kitchen doorway, you could hear familiar voices. The same customers came by every day, or weekly, you knew them all by heart. They knew you as you knew them. There was a warmth there, a rare connection for this part of the city.

One voice, cold and discordant, cut through the rest like a bow pulled too sharply across violin strings.

Without taking your eyes off the kitchen doorway, you squeezed John’s hands, then gently let them go.

“Hang on, love.”

Heart thudding, you made it to the doorway just in time to catch Alastair moving round the counter towards Gladys.

Immediately, a coppery taste rose under your tongue, like blood, adrenaline. Your hands balled into fists and you didn’t know if you were afraid or furious or just shocked, but you froze in the doorway, unable to move any part of you apart from your wide eyes.

“Gladys, love,” Alastair smiled like an anglerfish as he drew closer. “You have to give me another chance. I was just trying to do what’s best for you.”

The bakery door closed behind the last customer, you caught the movement out of the corner of your eye. The shop was empty, apart from one woman, seated at a table in the corner, busy fussing over her baby.

“You’re being ridiculous, love. You know I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. I just want to help-”

“Alastair.”

You stopped him with his hand raised in the air, reaching out to Gladys, fingers curled inwards like claws. The big bad wolf.

“What the hell are you doing here.”

Alastair slowly dragged his gaze away from his target. His lip curled in irritation, almost like you bored him. You were just something to scrape off the bottom of his custom-made Italian leather shoes.

The sound of his name caught John’s attention. You felt his chest against your back but he didn’t touch you, just kept close, keeping watch but never interfering. Still, it meant there was now another man in the room, and Alastair’s attitude shifted accordingly.

He straightened his long back, pulled back his hand and tucked it behind him. His mouth shifted into something more friendly but his eyes he had less control over. They stayed cold and steady and fixed on you.

“There you are.” He tried to smile but didn’t understand the mechanics. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot, darling. But now everything’s out in the open, I really think we can come to some kind of agreement. I mean, you’re sitting on a goldmine here, sweetheart.”

Behind you, John scowled.

“Don’t call her that.”

Alastair pretended not to hear him.

“You don’t even know what you have here.”

You caught Gladys’ eye. This place was just as much her home as it was yours, if not more so. She bought a tiny corner of a bomb-stricken street, fixed it up, loved it into living, and filled it with good things to feed her community.

Until recently, until Alastair, she’d never had a day off, she’d never called in sick, she never complained or argued or admitted defeat. The fire that burned in her had been dampened but never snuffed out, and now it was back, roaring and clawing past the bars of its cage. And she’d passed it on to you.

“I do, actually,” you said, and Gladys smiled.

Alastair laughed drily, humourlessly, and there was no doubt that he thought you were beyond stupid, that you were all beneath him, that he understood the world better than any of you ever could.

“Honey, in ten years, this city is going to look completely different.”

He took a step towards you and you felt John tense.

“Twenty, thirty years down the line, this space will be worth triple what she bought it for. More than that. If you give it to me, I can talk to the right people, I can get you a good deal. Sweetheart, I can make you rich.”

“Alastair, I’ve been waitin’ a long time to say this: get the fuck ou’ of my bakery.”

Frantic now, he turned his gaze to John.

“You, you’re the boyfriend, right? Can you talk some sense into your girl? She’ll listen to you. You’re a smart bloke, I can tell. You can see what they can’t, right? C’mon, you and me, we know we can’t leave decisions like this up to- Well, a couple of girls playing business. We both know it’s too much for them.”

“Skip asked you to leave,” John said, terse and stern. ”Much more politely than you deserve.”

When Mickey came to see what was going on, Alastair took a step backwards. A smart move but not nearly quick enough.

Without a word from any of you, Mickey immediately understood what was happening and knew what the situation demanded.

Alastair raised his hands, his warped smile trembling at the corners. He shrank back as Mickey made his way towards him.

“Michael,” He shook his head, his cold eyes darting everywhere. “Michael, you-”

“Oh, mate.” Mickey grabbed Alastair by the scruff of his spotless jacket. “You’ve just made my day.”

Struggling against Mickey’s grip, Alastair cried out to Gladys, his hands wrapped uselessly around the much larger one dragging him out the front door.

Together, you watched Mickey throw Alastair onto the pavement, ruining his nice suit and removing him from your lives forever.

You looked up when you felt John slip his fingers through yours. Drawing in a soothing breath, you squeezed his hand back.

“Well,” Gladys turned to you with a smile. “I think I’ll stick the kettle on. Anyone want a brew?”

Master List

#john deacon reader #john deacon x you #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #john deacon smut #queen fic #queen fanfiction

12 notes · View notes

magickcandie · 10 months

Text

Sneaky Deaky

Joe!John Deacon x Fem!Reader

(not my gif)

You were a fairly good pianist and was so grateful of the day you became a part of Queen. With that, came meeting John Deacon. He was so sweet and cute, if didn’t take long before you started dating. Paul had mentioned that this time at the farm was so the band — he never looked at you like you were part of the band, but besides the point — needed the time to focus on music. No distractions! You never thought of yourself as a distraction to John. You two knew there was time to work and time you could spend together. At the same time, nobody knew you two were together. You’d find a way to see John. Even if that meant sneaking around.

On a quiet afternoon, you kept busy. You studied your music, tapping your finger to any surface to memorize finger charts. Well really you were waiting. “Oh, hello, darling!” Immediately you froze. “Freddie. I thought you were by the pool with the boys.” “I was, but Roger sent me back to retrieve his glasses.” He waved around the sunglasses. “What about you? Aren’t you going to come?” “Uh, no. I want to stay in.” You said, trying to keep it casual. “Oh.” He walked towards the door. “Well in that case, I’ll tell Deaky to hurry up. Shouldn’t keep you waiting like that.” “What?” Freddie didn’t give you the luxury of answering your question, just ran out the door. You were shocked and speechless .

John stood by the pool as everyone made their way into the water. Although Freddie wasn’t seen, but he didn’t worry. “Come on, John, the water is nice!” Roger called out to him. “It’s not that. Just don’t feel like it, I suppose.” He said back to his blond friend. Now seemed like a good time for John to make his way back to to the barn, makeshift kitchen. That’s when he saw Freddie walking towards him.

“Go on, Deaky. Y/N seems bored waiting around for you.” “What do you mean, Fred?” John asked, almost as if he was legitimately confused.

“I know about you two. It’s really a surprise the other two haven’t caught on.” “Oh.” “Don’t worry! I won’t tell them. I’ll wait until it hits them in the face. Oh well. Don’t be too loud darling!” John’s face went red but he tried not to focus too much on what he said. Besides the fact that he said you were bored.

“Hello, Y/N.” You immediately beamed up at your boyfriend. He leaned over to give you a quick kiss and sit down next to you. “Deaky,” you grinned at the nickname coming out of your own mouth. “How’s everyone?” “They’re fine. Hey, Freddie knows.” “I figured. He spoke to me about it. Did he tell you too?” John nodded then shrugged.

The more you thought about it and talked with him, the more you realized there was no true reason to hide it anymore. Brian and Roger were sure to not care overall about the relationship. Although... maybe you'd wait until after you left Rockfield farm.

Your conversation went on until late afternoon where Freddie tried to get in a few more minutes of practice. After said practice, everyone retreated to their rooms. You walked John to his since you could say you wanted to get water.

What you were unaware was Brian seeing your goodnight kiss and th exchanging of a plan to continue being together late that night. You didn't account that when you went walking with John late that night that Roger decided to have a smoke and could see you two walking hand in hand. All of that came to light that morning.

You and the bows were sitting in the kitchen eating your breakfast and drinking tea. It was silent but you paid no mind to it, nor the looks Brian and Roger were giving you.

"Okay, I have to ask; Y/N do you fancy, John?" Brian asked. "I just, I saw - not that I was evesdropping or watching you two! - I just saw you kiss him."

"Yeah, I saw you walking with Deaks last night too. So... are you guys dating or something?" Roger asked, leaning forward as if this was the most interesting piece of information to have been said.

"Bri, Rog, if you saw that much, do I really have to explain in?"

You laughed at John's sarcasm, feeling free enough to kiss him on the cheek. Freddie clapped his hands.

"Oh, finally! I was wondering how long it'd take you two." He said to Brian and Roger.

An argument bursted out, and John took you by the hand and you went on a walk.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #fem reader #bohrap boys #bohemian rhapsody #ask

36 notes · View notes

twotitsjohndecaon · 1 year

Text

You And I

Surprise bitches, more shit. I believe I meant to post this on August the 19th (holy day) but here we are now. Happy late birthday to John Richard Deacon and thank you for all of the feedback on my other shit so far :) <3

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: nothing for once just cutesy shit :)

It was the first warm day all year. Truly warm, and a bit strange to have so early in the year. Daylight savings hadn’t even happened yet so the sun still set early in the day, though not as early as it had been recently. Even a few extra minutes of light was nice. And it was still cold, but no longer freezing cold most days, and a select few tufts of grass and clumps of flowers suggested a bloom was oncoming. But today was a bit of an anomaly. It was extremely warm, warm enough to dress however you wanted, and as luck had it you had the day all to yourself, which was fantastic, as you had no idea how you’d spend it inside. Not when the sun was warm and the air was thick with promise like it hadn’t been since summer.

John, your boyfriend, did not have the day off, however, but he didn’t seem to care. He took the day off anyways, disregarding the angry and incessant calls from Freddie he’d probably receive, but they’d manage. He could just do his parts later. John wasn’t going to miss out on this day with you.

You both arose that morning later than usual, tangled in your clean sheets and each other, and slightly less bundled up than usual because you didn’t have to be for once. For a while you kissed each other with closed eyes, softly wherever you could reach until they could be opened, blinking the sleep away slowly into just as dreamy of a sight. John took longer to wake up, nuzzling into your neck to hide into your sweet scent and to attempt to keep his eyes closed for a little longer, but even he couldn’t resist the excitement of the day to come eventually. Lots of smiles, giggles, soft kisses, and cuddles consisted of most of your morning, and then a nice shower. As you finished getting ready for the morning, digging a summer dress out, you headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat, where you found John, now dressed, already making something. He was smearing some sort of spread onto a piece of bread, assembling sandwiches, and just as you reached to try to take one, you were stopped.

“Ah ah ah,” he scolded.

“Why not?” You pouted a bit. John booped your nose with his free hand and smiled, raising his brow.

“These aren’t for right now. They’re for later. But you’re more than welcome to help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

“Wow, John, thanks, for reminding me I’m aloud to eat my own food in my own home,” you commented sarcastically, but with a light tone to show him there weren’t actually any hurt feelings. You headed over to the fridge to grab a nectarine and sat to eat it on the counter nearby. Your feet dangled off of the edge as you reached over quickly to brush John’s hair over his shoulders to not get in the way of his food assembling. “So what are the sandwiches for later for?” you asked, taking a crisp bite of the fruit. You had just seen them in the shop for the first time in a while, the first of the season.

“Well,” John began, his focus still on the sandwiches. “I thought since I have the day off, and you have the day off, and it’s so nice outside, we should spend some time out this afternoon,” he explained.

“A picnic?” you asked excitedly. John hummed in confirmation and you gasped excitedly. John looked up from his sandwiches at this point. Your excitement was so adorable to him he had to take you in. Before he could look for long, you set your nectarine down and drew him into a big hug, holding your hands out straight a bit awkwardly to not get the sticky juice on your hands in his hair. John chuckled a bit, moving the knife into his other hand farther from you and grabbing your side to complete the hug, filling you both with warmth. It was a bit of an awkward jumble, but it didn’t matter, and you two could do a proper one soon enough. John pulled away.

“Thought it’d be a nice idea,” he smiled.

“It is a nice idea!” you said, continuing your breakfast. You finished and washed your hands, standing in front of John. “Ok. What else do we need?”

“You don’t have to do anything, love, just relax, I’ll take care of it,” he said softly.

“Nice try, Deaky,” you teased. You started helping him on your own accord, adding more fruits and grabbing some wine, cheeses, and crackers to add to the picnic. John had finished the sandwiches and grabbed the basket kept in the back of your closet, and the two of you started assembling the basket, you admonishing him for throwing everything in instead of making it look as nice as possible.

“But love, it looks very pretty this way, but the cheese and crackers will fall out if you put it this way,” he said, beginning to undo what you’d done. You whined. John stopped and gave you a kiss.

“How about we arrange it for practicality, and once we’re there we can pick some flowers and you can make it look even more pretty on the blanket?” You were satisfied with this, giving and “ok,” and kissing him back.

“I’m just saying though, if you’re going through the effort of a picnic, why not put the effort into the picturesque quality of it?” You reasoned.

“I completely agree, love,” John smiled. The two of you put on your shoes and grabbed a blanket. He held out his hand. “Shall we?” he asked, and you grabbed his hand, smiling as you walked firmly together. The two of you walked to the park nearby, a nicely sized one with flowers peaking out and a pond. The two of you found a sunny spot and set everything up, John picking you flowers as you arranged everything to your liking. You gasped in joy as you saw the gorgeous flowers he’d gotten you, and were flattered he chose such nice ones for your date. Finally, the two of you sat down with satisfied sighs, and John didn’t hesitate to pull you to sit between his legs, to which you squealed for a moment but adjusted happily. The two of you got to work eating, talking, basking in the sun and each others company. There wasn’t a worry in the world, and there were laughing children playing nearby, dogs running around happily, and ducks slowly marching by before taking a cooling dip in the sun. The weather remained perfect, not too hot and you never got chilly either. It was nice getting time to catch up with John too. He wasn’t on tour, so you had been seeing him, but still not as much as you would have liked with the next album starting up. Neither of you had any big things to update each other on, but it was still just as satisfying to talk about the hum-drum ordinary things in your life from recently. John fed you some chocolate adorably and you tucked a flower behind his ear, loving the sound of his voice and his presence touching you. Both of you were finally relaxed too, not that you stressed each other out normally, but from other aspects in your lives. You could really see the difference with John. His shoulders weren’t hunched, his jaw not tensed, his hair silky smooth and not mussed from running his hands through it out of nerves. His smile too, he wasn’t afraid today to bear his toothy smile which loved, the small gap between his two front teeth and the way the sides of his eyes would crinkle so adorably. Eventually, the sun set and moon rose, still early, but neither of you wanted to move. It wasn’t any less colder, but a transition still felt needed. The two of you packed everything up quickly, but decided to stay out a bit longer.

The two of you strolled down the streets, weaving in and out of parks and along the river when you found it, down past shops and row houses and lights along the city, talking or enjoying the ambiance, never a dull moment. The two of you did stop when you hit the river again at one point, you stopping and grabbing the edge of the rail to look out onto the city, the moon glinting brightly moreso than the city lights across the water, glittering and sparkling, even beyond the sun. John saw you, looked at you in the moonlight, saw how your hair moved softly in the light breeze, and took you all in. He came up behind you, holding you close and breathing you in. You smiled, leaning into him, giving him a kiss.

“I love you so very much,” he said quietly. The two of you were nearly forehead to forehead, smiles all around.

“I love you more than anything,” you told him. John hummed happily and the two of you looked out onto the river together.

“You’re it for me, Y/N,” he started. You looked to him a bit confused, but he just smiled more and explained. “There’s never going to be anyone else I’ll love more than you. I know it. Because it’s impossible.”

“John,” you whispered, turning around in his arms, touched. He kissed you and grabbed your hands. He seemed thoughtful, almost concerned for a moment, but decided to go for it.

“Would you marry me one day?”

“Are you… proposing?” you said, now wide eyed, but unsure what he was saying.

“No. Not right now. I just mean, is that where you see us going? Is that what you want with me? Because that’s what I want with you. Only you. And I know that for certain now,” he explained. Warmth filled your heart.

“Of course I would marry you, John. I’d marry you right here right now,” you said, the biggest smile on your face.

“Well… good,” John chuckled, unsure of how to continue, but both of you were completely pleased and even more secure in your relationship. You chuckled, and then noticed he still had the flower behind his ear which you’d put earlier. You pulled it out, fixing his hair, and sniffed it, taking in its lovely fragrance before looking deep into John’s gorgeous eyes.

“To us?” you said, raising the flower like you were making a toast. John chuckled. You were so adorable and perfect to him, for him. He grabbed your hand, fitting it over yours to also hold the flower.

“To us, for always,” he said, sealing your promises and dedication to each other with a kiss. You continued to hold the flower as you walked home together hand in hand, happy beyond belief. The two of you stayed up a bit and went to bed. But just as John fell asleep, you were still awake. You took the flower which you had set down once you got home, grabbed a book, and pressed it so you could keep it forever, because today, this time and this feeling with John wasn’t something you’d ever want to forget. You set the book back in place, and it looked almost like it didn’t contain something so important, and hopped into bed with John, who immediately grabbed you close, pulling you into him and whispered a sleepy “goodnight,” as the two of you drifted off to sleep once more, always together.

#john deacon #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #queen #my writing

42 notes · View notes

lady-maracas · 1 year

Note

i love ur writing sm 😭 can u pls do number 14 angst prompt with deaky ?? it’d mean sm haha, thanks !!

I cant lose you again.

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Word count:1,8k

Warnings: None!!

Masterlist

I loved living in the countryside. I always thought the calmness and the beautiful landscape were way better than the loudness of London. Again, my friends seemed to think otherwise. Most of my childhood friends moved to the big city, while I stayed here. The others? Well I guess their only reason to stay here was because they didn’t have enough money to move out on their own.

Well I am sure not ashamed of living the countryside! In fact, I’m actually quite glad I get to stay here with my parents. I have a great job at a bakery, where I get to meet lots of wonderful people.

The sound of the house phone pulled me out of my thoughts. I heard my moms rushed steps as she answered the phone.

“Hello?” I heard her say.

Silence.

“Yes, she’s upstairs, let me call her just a sec- Y/N!!?” She yelled.

I ran down the stairs. I already knew who was calling, it was my best friend. I had met her at the bakery. She was already working there when I got the job. She was the one who showed me everything I had to know. She is like a big ball of energy, I love her.

I snatch the phone from my mothers hand and try to take a breath before I let out: “Hey! What’s up?”.

“Honey you need to come to the pub with me tonight!” She almost screamed.

“Well actually I was planning on-”

“No, no. You don’t understand, I didn’t say ‘Do you want to come to the pub with me tonight?’, I said ‘You NEED to come to the pub with me tonight!’ It was not a question!” She was clearly excited, I didn’t know why, but before I even had the time to ask her what’s got her in such a rush, she added: “I heard there was a small band playing tonight, and I’m not one to usually spoil the surprise, but you might actually know one of them…”

“Know one of them? What do you mean?” I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder, trying to ignore my mothers complaints about the phone bill for this month.

“Do you remember your bestie, your best pal, Johnny boy-” she cooed.

“John?!”

“Anyways I don’t have very much time to talk. I’ll come pick you up around 7pm. Be ready!” She hung up before I had the time to process what she just said.

Deaky?

A couple years earlier…

“Why are you even leaving? Why are you leaving me behind? Am I not good enough for you” I complained to my best friend. We grew up together. We were attached at the hip. When you saw me, John would never we far behind.

Unfortunately, he decided to study far away from here. In fact, he was leaving for the big city, London. It broke my heart when he told me the news. But seeing him so happy made me realize I couldn’t hold him back. I wanted to follow him, to move in with him in the city, but I couldn’t leave my life here behind. My parents needed me, I loved my job and I always pictured myself living here forever.

I kept complaining while he was packing his stuff. He would be leaving tomorrow.

“What are you even talking about? You are perfect Y/N! You have been the greatest of friends to me during all these years and I wouldn’t change it for the world! But this is my chance, Y/N, it’s my chance to finally be happy and do what I love! Can you please try to understand that?” He kept packing, and the more he packed, the more he sounded annoyed.

“I understand that…” I looked down at my feet. I truly wanted him to be happy, even tho it meant I would lose him.

“I promise I’ll call and write to you everyday!” He finally looked at me, taking a break from packing to take a small breath. “This doesn’t mean we won’t stay friends, you’re still my #1, always remember that”

Oh and how I wanted to cry, I wanted to hold him forever, I wanted to keep him from going away, I wanted to stay at his side. But that was not possible. No matter what I said, no matter what I did, I couldn’t change his mind.

Now.

“Quick, Y/N, we’re going to be late!” My best friend yelled at me through the rolled down window of her car.

“Late for what?” I ran to her car.

“For the drinks, of course!” And she drove away.

When we got there, the place was actually a bit more packed than it usually was. This town wasn’t big, which meant every face was familiar. And as of the band playing on stage, one of the faces was familiar too…

She was right.

He’s here.

And he saw me. Oh god he saw me! His expression changed immediately after we made eye contact. He tried his best to keep playing without being distracted by my presence, and I tried to act calm, as if I didn’t just see my ex best friend I haven’t seen in more than two years.

I drank my drinks, ignoring the piercing stare Deaky was giving me behind my back. And when they were done with their show, everyone applauded, while I was stuck in my own thoughts.

“Come on! You’ve got to go see him! It’s been so long”. My best friend grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my seat.

“Stop! I can’t do that!”

“Why not?” She turned around and gave me a weird look.

“Because I…I don’t-”

“Exactly, you have no good reason. Let’s go!” She pulled me in the “backstage” area.

As soon as I saw him I froze, and so did he. We both looked at each other with tears in our eyes. I thought it would be awkward, I thought I’d be mad at him because he stopped writing to me after a year. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t even find one ounce of anger towards him.

So I ran up to him, and I think he ran up to me too, and I gave him the biggest hug I’ve ever given in my entire life. I heard him whisper a small “Hey little one” and I pulled back. I took a good look at him.

His hair had gotten longer, it looked so soft. His grey eyes shined under the bright lights. His features had gotten a little sharper. But in the end he was still my Deaky.

“I can’t believe you’re here! I mean, I’m so happy to see you!” I find myself choking out those words.

“I’m so happy to see you too! The boys wanted to do some shows and I couldn’t stop myself from asking to do one here! I missed this place so much.” I looked over his shoulder at his band mates. They suspiciously looked at us with satisfied grins on their face. One of them, with dark shoulder length hair walked towards us.

“You must be Y/N! Deaky here talked about you a lot! I’m Freddie.” He extended his hand for me to shake, which I took gladly. “You’re welcomed to stay here with us and catch up with your dear boyfrie- Ow!” He didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence, because John elbowed him in the ribs.

“Okay Fred, I think you can go sit with the boys, I actually have to talk to Y/N if that’s alright.” He turned to me, asking if it was alright.

“Sure!” I said.

“I meant- outside.” He added shyly.

“Oh! Yes, alright let’s go.” I walked out the nearest door, which I assumed lead outside.

I sat down on some stairs, and the boy beside me did the same. We stayed in comfortable silence for some time before he let out: “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. It’s been what? Two years?” I said softly.

“Myes, two years.” He nodded.

“You stopped writing to me, calling too.” I added.

“I really tried, Y/N, but it was hard to find the time with the band-”

“So that’s what you do now?” I scoffed.

“Do what?”

“Play in a band?” When he left, it was to study electrical engineering. Knowing he didn’t even end up doing that made me feel like I had lost him for nothing.

“I’m happy.” he simply said.

“Good for you.”

Silence.

“You know I loved you, right?” He said after some time.

“Yes, I loved you too…”

“No, you don’t get it. I LOVED loved you.” He looked away, as if he was ashamed of what he was about to say.

“Like I said, I LOVED loved you too. It broke my heart when you left, because I wasn’t just letting my best friend go, no, you were more to me.” I admitted.

“Oh…”

“It doesn’t matter now though does it? It’s all in the past. Right?” I let out, trying to keep in my anger.

He didn’t say anything.

“Right?” I asked again.

“Y/N, I…I know it’s been some time, I know we’re older now, but to me you’re still the same little Y/N I’ve come to love. I tried to forget about my stupid crush on you and I honestly thought I did forget about it but as soon as I laid eyes on you tonight, it all came back rushing on me.”

I stared at him. Oh how I loved him. I loved him with all my heart. I never wanted to let him go. What I did next was insanely stupid. I don’t know what went through my head, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I kissed him.

It was quick, just a small peck. As soon as I pulled back, I blinked a couple of times, trying to process what just happened. He did the same but then he leaned back in, cradling my cheek softly and planting a much more soft kiss on my lips.

I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to stay like that forever, with him. Unfortunately, we had to pull back to take a breath. When I looked up at him, he was already staring at me, a small smile across his face.

“Come with me” he said.

“What?”

“Come to London with me, move with me please Y/N-” he got up to his feet but I cut him off.

“Deaks, I can’t. You know I can’t leave my life here behind!”

“Please, I beg of you, I can’t lose you again!”

“I…alright” I give up, I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore. I love him. I’ll be happy with him, whenever I’m with him, I know I’ll be happy, in the countryside or in the city. “I’ll come with you.”

“Really? That’s amazing!” He picks my up and lifts me off my feet. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” I smile.

“That’s not possible!”

“Then I love you just as much as you love me!” I laugh.

“That’s a whole lot then.”

“Good”

#queen #queen band #john deacon #john deacon x reader #someone help

57 notes · View notes

deakyislife51 · 1 month

Text

i actually run a fan acc on insta still, if anyone wants to follow !

https://www.instagram.com/deakyislife51?igsh=OGQ5ZDc2ODk2ZA%3D%3D&utm_source=qr

5 notes · View notes

pebblewritesj · 2 years

Text

BEGGING FOR REQUESTS !!! ANYONE ON MY MASTERLIST IS FINE IM JUST BORED OUT OF MY MIND WITH NOTHING TO WRITE 😭😭

#roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #freddie mercury x reader #john deacon x reader #david bowie x reader #george harrison x reader #paul mccartney x reader #ringo starr x reader #jareth x reader #john lennon x reader #bowie x reader #the labyrinth

28 notes · View notes

here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can · 6 months

Text

excuse me?????? when did this happen??????

#my parents (real)#also they both look so good here i wanna kiss them #joan jett and the blackhearts #joan jett #joan jett x reader #roger taylor #queen fanart #queen #freddie mercury #john deacon #john richard deacon #brian harold may #roger meddows taylor #the runaways #brian may #queen band

275 notes · View notes

johnlennonswifey · 1 year

Text

My Masterlist 🫶

The Beatles

John Lennon

‘I love you the way you are’

George Harrison

‘Finally, A Break.’

80s!George x Reader (Part 1)

80s!George x Reader (Part 2)

80s! George x Reader (Part 3)

Ringo Starr

‘My lovely secret’

‘I’m here for you’

Paul McCartney

Nothing Yet.

Queen

John Deacon

Nothing Yet.

Brian May

Nothing Yet.

Roger Taylor

Nothing Yet.

Freddie Mercury

Nothing Yet.

The Monkees

Davy Jones

Nothing Yet.

Micky Dolenz

Cast Crush

Mike Nesmith

Nothing Yet.

Peter Tork

Nothing Yet.

#the beatles #the beatles x reader #the beatles imagine #the monkees #queen #ringo starr x reader #george harrison x reader #paul mccartney x reader #john lennon x reader #davy jones #peter tork #micky dolenz #mike nesmith #the Monkees x Reader #john deacon x reader

58 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 10 months

Text

72 Hours In Montreal

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. You are a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. You'll only ever have three short days in Montreal together…or will you??

Part I

Part II

Part III

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

#john deacon fic #john deacon x reader #queen fic

30 notes · View notes

spreadyovrwings · 6 months

Text

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: the knowledge that i started this THREE YEARS AGO FFS

Chapter Ten

It was late afternoon on Sunday, the tail-end of a painfully uneventful weekend. But then again, these days, ‘uneventful’ was something of a relief. Boring meant safe. Dull meant no more horrible surprises or eviction notices. You were just happy to have a few hours where the world didn’t feel like it had been completely turned on its head.

You weren’t the only one enjoying the peace and quiet. Even Gladys seemed a little cheerier when you bumped into her on your way back from the shops. She was busy in the office, sorting papers and getting everything tidy, though you struggled to ignore why she was getting herself organised.

Despite her effulgent greeting and the gorgeous sunshine, the bakery kitchens still felt eerily quiet. The ovens hadn’t been switched on in weeks. Once gleaming jars of ingredients sat gathering dust on the sides, even though you often came down just to give everything a quick clean when you were feeling restless. Just because the bakery wasn’t yours anymore, that didn’t mean you should let it fade away.

The old equipment - mixers, utensils, recipes - watched you, almost accusingly, as you walked through the kitchen. The whole room seemed to hold its breath whenever you entered, as if it blamed you for what had happened, as if it was waiting for you to promise you’d fight back, that you weren’t just giving up.

You placed your palm flat against the tiled wall, letting the cold seep into your skin. An apology.

In her office, Gladys was muttering away to herself. It wasn’t her usual warbling, it was much sharper. Behind her faux smile, she was angry with herself. You knew it, but couldn’t bring yourself to talk to her about it yet. You supposed you were still angry with her too.

Pressing your cooled hand to your forehead, you pulled in a breath deep enough to settle the tightness in your chest, then headed upstairs with your bags and bags of shopping.

Mickey was supposed to pop round later with Rita and the baby. Gladys had offered to buy you all dinner, an apology for what had happened and a thank you for years of hard work. Again, you struggled not to think about the reasons for the get-together. It would just be nice to see Mickey and to have a family dinner.

Tucking your hair back behind your ears for the umpteenth time, you twisted your wrist and curved a rubber spatula around the inside of the mixing bowl. It was a bit of a busman’s holiday for you, you could admit that, but you’d spent most of the week packing up your tiny flat and it was starting to weigh in your chest.

That morning, you had awoken with a renewed sense of determination, but when it finally came to packing up your poky kitchen, you had found the cupboards stuffed with ingredients. Rather than waste them all, you’d popped to the shops for what little else you needed and baked all morning, throwing together last minute gifts for your work family.

You’d just divvied up the mixture into identical tins when the phone rang. Swearing under your breath, you brushed your hands against the front of your old work apron, streaking the dark coffee-brown material with pale cake batter.

The phone continued to trill brightly as you picked your way through the living room, carefully skirting around cardboard boxes and stacks of books, magazines, records, and Lord knows what else. You checked your palm, grimaced, then gingerly picked up the phone.

“4531?”

“Come look out your window in… Ten seconds.”

“John?” You wrinkled your nose, confused, and pressed the receiver closer to your ear. “What d’you- Which window? Front or back?”

“Er… Back.”

You glanced towards your kitchen. Set into the wall, just beside the sink, was a small square window that looked out onto the alleyway. It offered a lovely view of the bins and the graffiti-covered flank of the building next door.

“John, don’t you ‘ave an exam tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be revisin’?”

“Nah, I never really revise for anything.”

“That kinda makes me wanna hit you a bit.”

“That’s fair. Y’know, they called me “Easy Deacon” at school.”

“What, because you-”

“Nope. Exams and things are just… Easy for me.”

“Kinda wanna hit you a bit more now.”

“Just come to the window.”

The line went dead with a faint clunk. Shaking your head fondly, you replaced the receiver then went to the window, as instructed.

It was almost insufferably hot in your flat. London in July was always awful. The buildings, built for keeping the heat in, left the air inside uncomfortably claggy and close, so you had all the windows flung open already.

Sticking your head out of the one in your kitchen, you peered down into the alley, just in time to catch John jogging round the corner, travelling far faster than you would have thought possible or safe considering his chunky platform boots.

For the first time in days - in fact, for the first time since you last saw him - you laughed.

“You’re daft, y’know that?” you shouted down.

Panting and grinning, John tilted his chin up to see you better.

“Good afternoon, Skip!”

The warm, yellow sunlight lit up his face, catching in his hair and making his eyes shine. John’s tiny T-shirt hugged his slim frame. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder, his bony elbow sticking straight up in the air, like a model on the cover of a magazine. To call it a ‘bicep’ was generous, but his upper arm looked so good tensed like that, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Are you comin’ up?” you asked hopefully, letting your gaze slip up and down his body a few more times.

John smiled sheepishly.

“If that’s alright? I’ve got some work to do and there’s a big party tonight, so halls are a nightmare.”

“You’re not goin’?”

“Where?”

You laughed.

“To the disco!”

“Oh, right.”

John shrugged, then tilted his chin back even further, so now you could catch every angle of his lovely jaw and pale throat.

“I know where I’d rather be.”

Pressing down a charmed smile, you huffed and shook your head.

It turned out, you were right. When John walked into the bakery just before closing on that drizzly January night, you knew there was more to that anxious, fidgety boy with the daft hair and shabby clothes. You knew instinctively that if you just got him to relax, to smile and feel at home, he’d show a side of him that very few were lucky to know. Cheeky, silly, and divertingly charming. And it was just for you.

“Well,” You nodded your head back over your shoulder, gesturing to your living room. “You better come in then.”

John grinned.

In a blink, he had disappeared inside the back door to the bakery, then you could hear his heavy-booted footsteps on the stairs.

You wasted no time getting him comfortable. With only four weeks left till Alastair officially took hold of the bakery for good, you had begrudgingly, painfully begun sorting your things.

There were boxes piled up everywhere, some brimming with clothes for the charity shop, some packed full of bric-a-brac you’d collected over the years and couldn’t bear to part with, an all manner of books and records, teapots and cutlery, posters and jewellery. Some of it had managed to spill out from your living room into your bedroom, crowding the kitchen table and making it difficult to tread anywhere without toppling a pile of tat over.

You scooped up a stack of bills and letters from the coffee table and dumped them on the kitchen counter instead - a feeble solution but the only one you had.

“Here you are,” you said, brushing off imaginary dust from the low table so that John could place his rucksack down.

“Thanks, love. Erm, you know…” John chewed at the corner of his thumb, his gaze struggling valiantly to hold yours. “If you did wanna go out tonight, you still owe me a dance.”

“I do, don’t I.” You glanced in the direction of the boxes piled high against the doorframe of your bedroom. “I don’t think ‘ave any clothes, though.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitched. As he sank to his knees beside the table, he opened his bag and took out a few tedious looking books.

“Sounds fine to me.”

You rolled your eyes and gently hit his arm with a stray magazine you scooped up from the coffee table.

“Nice clothes.”

“You’ll look beautiful in anything.” Rubbing his arm dramatically, John smiled so broadly, it made his cheeks bunch up and his eyes shine. “I just wanna go out with you.”

It was unbearably tempting. The thought of being pressed up against John in a dark nightclub, the music thudding in your ears and his hands in yours, or on your hips, your back, wherever they wanted to be.

You could see it, John’s little curls sticking to his damp forehead and temples, his tight clothes clinging to his tiny frame, his funny mouth by your ear as he shouted over the music, asking if you wanted to get out of here.

You’d end up back at yours, falling onto your bed or even the sofa, if you couldn’t wait another second. You honestly couldn’t care less. You just wanted, needed John’s mouth on yours, on your neck, his big clumsy hands mapping your body and his pretty eyes gazing up at you, so dark and full.

He’d been on your mind since you met him, everyone knew it, even John. Dancing with him, letting him pull you into him, sinking your teeth into his neck and grabbing his hips tight - it sounded like heaven.

You smiled.

“I’d love that.”

“Yeah? Really?”

John looked so pleased, you could’ve kissed him. Instead, you thought about it, and pushed his books towards him across the table.

“Go on, you be’er get started.”

Turning away towards the kitchen, you bowed your head, tucking your chin into your chest to hide your broad, excited grin.

Your life had been turned upside down, the cardboard boxes littering your poky flat were a reminder of that, but John still managed to make you feel several stories high. Somehow, despite everything, he made you feel like the world wasn’t ending. Just having him near made you forget about life outside these four walls for a while. It was just you and him, safe in a sanctuary just for two.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

“Have you had lunch?”

You barely glanced over your shoulder. You could guess the sheepish expression on his face without needing to look.

“Stupid question,” You lifted the kettle from the stove and held it under the tap. “I’ll make us somethin’. Any preferences?”

When he didn’t respond, you frowned.

“John?”

You flipped off the tap and settled the kettle back on the stove. You twisted your wrist, igniting the hob, then turned to find John peering out of your front window. His bag and his books lay ignored on the coffee table.

“Johnny? You alright?”

He still didn’t seem to hear you.

Before you could ask what was wrong, John pressed nearer to the window, so close now that the tip of his nose was practically bent up against the glass.

“Er, Skip?”

You watched his brow furrow in the reflection of the window.

“Did you know he was coming over today?”

Bewildered, you went to join him at the window.

It was a busy day. The high street was always packed with brightly coloured people, rushing to work or flitting from shop to shop like butterflies between meadow flowers. Scarlet buses streaked past, and between them, dark cars slotted into place. They moved together, like bees in a hive, individuals all moving in one great dance.

But there was one figure unlike the others, and your heart sank to see him. He moved like a shark towards the bakery, steady and focused, his dark suit setting him unnervingly out of place amongst the sweet wrapper colours all around him. Alastair.

“What’s that bastard doing back ‘ere?”

Your teeth clenched, your jaw compressing so tightly, it began to ache. As you watched, he pushed open the door to the bakery and disappeared inside. Your hands balled into fists.

Without thinking, you immediately stormed back into the kitchen and wrenched the hob’s dial back to ‘off’.

“I can’t believe he’d-”

You couldn’t think straight. All your ideas and plans for a nice afternoon with John had slipped from your mind, as well as all reasonable and rational thought. You couldn’t remember ever being so angry in all your life.

“I can’t believe- ‘Asn’t he caused enough- He can’t just-”

You fizzled and sparked like a dying firework, your mind in a million different places. Finally, you caught John glancing towards the door. You seemed to have the same idea at the same time.

Heart racing, you thundered down the stairs, taking them two at a time. You were moving so quickly, you practically fell into the door at the bottom, with John picking his way much more carefully behind you.

“Wait, love,” he whispered, just a step behind you. “What are you going to-”

You took a deep breath, then placed both hands flat against the door and shoved.

You found Alastair leaning over Gladys, her cheek cradled in his hand. She was sitting in Mickey’s chair, her eyes closed, but her mouth was drawn into a thin line, like she was trying hard not to cry.

Alastair lazily turned his head in your direction, as if annoyed that you’d interrupted him. His dark eyes switched over your face, the way he always did, like he was assessing you, calculating your worth. This was as a man who saw the world in percentages and figures; people were just another commodity. You should never have let him into your bakery.

“Ah, the cavalry,” he drawled, already turning back to Gladys.

Alastair didn’t remove his hand, not immediately. Not until he’d dragged one long, angular thumb across Gladys’ painted cheek.

Her shoulders tensed, her eyes still squeezed shut, as if trying to take herself away from him, to somewhere safer. Gladys was clutching a bundle of folded papers, her fingers wrapped so tight around them that the paper was starting to audibly crease and bend.

“Glad, you don’t ‘ave to let ‘im in,” you said quietly.

You didn’t take your eyes off Alastair as he finally drew back his hand and slipped it into his pocket.

“Actually, she does.”

He pulled out a familiar set of keys. They twinkled and shone in the low light of the kitchen.

Beside you, John tensed.

Gladys’ spare lipgloss, a piece of pink ribbon from a dress she kept telling herself she’d fix, her own spare house key, painted purple with nail varnish, they glinted from the keyring hanging carelessly from the tip of Alastair’s bony index finger.

“This is my building,” he said, swinging Gladys’ keys back into the pocket of his immaculate jacket. “I own the lock.”

“Righ’, exactly,” You glanced at Gladys, trying to gauge if she was alright. “You already ‘ave everythin’ you want, why can’t you just leave us alone?”

“Well, I came to see my best girl.”

Alastair smiled coldly down at Gladys, who finally opened her eyes. They shone with tears.

“We have lunch plans. Don’t we, darling?”

“You’re joking,” John scoffed. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

He was standing close behind you, his chest almost pressed against your shoulder blade. It felt good to know he was close by and just as angry as you. Keeping your eyes on Gladys, you reached back and gently took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” Alastair’s nose wrinkled as he looked John up and down. “Why is the delivery boy talking to me?”

John’s hand tightened in yours. You could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off him, but Gladys rose to her feet before either of you could speak.

She reached out a hand, as if to place it on Alastair’s arm, then seemed to think better of it.

For the first time, you thought about what it must be like for her. Forty-seven years old, a business owner for twenty-five of those, a valued member of her community, and beneath the veneer of her brightly coloured clothes and wild hair, quietly and incredibly lonely.

You, Mickey, and now John were all she had. If a handsome, rich, seemingly kind man like Alastair had come along and swept you off your feet, you probably would’ve fallen for it too.

And now it was all gone, and she was alone again. And worse than that, the man who’d broken Gladys’ heart had taken everything she’d built away too, her business, her little family.

You hadn’t spoken to her about it, not really. You’d been so wrapped up in your own selfish anger, you just hadn’t thought. But as Gladys rose up and levelled Alastair’s gaze, you couldn’t help being immensely proud of your boss.

“You should go, Alastair,” she said, quietly yet firmly. “And don’t come back again. We don’t want you ‘ere.”

Alastair seemed unbothered, though perhaps a little surprised. He chewed the inside of his cheek, as if debating whether he should try to sweet talk her round, one last deception, but eventually, he raised his smooth hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. Fair enough. We’ve said everything we need to say, haven’t we, dear?”

He smiled wolfishly at Gladys.

She just stared at the centre of chest, unblinking, her mind probably a million miles away, somewhere better.

The bakery door swished open with a bright chime.

You looked round to see Mickey in the doorway. When he saw Alastair in the kitchen, his warm face immediately sank into anger and he stopped mid-stride, his palm still pressed against the glass in the door.

Mickey was a good half a foot taller than Alastair, and one of Mickey’s biceps was about the same size as his head. Worst of all, Alastair had upset Gladys, and you, and worried Mickey’s family. There wasn’t a safe place to stand.

Alastair seemed to realise this too. It was the first time you’d seen him look even remotely flustered.

“Well, you all have a lot to discuss. I’ll leave you to it. Have a good weekend, everyone.”

He squeezed Gladys’ shoulder, making John huff and your fists clench. Then he edged towards the door, ducking under Mickey’s enormous arm, and hurried around the road.

As soon as he was out of sight, Mickey let the door swing shut with a bang.

“What was that twat doing ‘ere?”

You ignored him, choosing instead to take Gladys’ hands. They felt cold in yours, like all the life had been drained from her just by being near to Alastair again.

“Gladys, what did ‘e say to you?”

“Nothin’, nothin’.” She sniffed and blinked away tears, turning her face to the ceiling. “He just came for the paperwork and to let me know that the builders will be in next week. And to drop off this.”

She chucked the stack of papers Alastair had given her onto the nearest counter, letting them spill out and flutter. Some even fell to the floor.

You watched Gladys, waiting for a ‘but’, waiting for her to say it was all going to be alright. Slowly, then all at once in a sickening rush, her words finally sank in.

“Next… Next week?”

You felt your stomach twist and knot, your throat so tight, you couldn’t speak. The kitchen seemed to darken at the corners.

This place that had been home to you, this place that had housed you, fed you, given you purpose, led you to your new family, to John, it was being pulled from your grasp and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

You looked back at Mickey.

For such a big man, he suddenly seemed like a lost little boy. His broad shoulders were low, his gaze fixed on the floor, his huge hands bunched at his sides. His second home had been taken from him too, the place that let him do the work he loved, the place that supported his wife and daughter, the two loves of his life.

Finally, you looked at John, only to find him already gazing at you.

You knew what 64 Oslo Square meant to him, what it had given him. The bakery had been an escape, from uni, from his lonely halls, from worrying where his next meal would be coming from. Oslo Square had been a warm embrace, a place to grow and learn, and a reminder that there was more to life than exams, dingy tube rides, and lugging a heavy bass guitar around.

His expression, as always, remained fairly impassive. But when you met his eyes, John softened, only a touch, but you caught it. He was just as heartbroken, and for once, logic and reason wouldn’t give him a distraction or a way out.

The ringing in your ears grew louder and louder as the kitchen began to spin around you, and all that really registered was the deep bass drum of your heart.

You were faintly aware of Gladys talking as tears streaked down her face, carving dark mascara lines into her bright pink cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, love.” She took your hand, then Mickey’s. “Both of you, I’m so sorry. I thought I’d be able to think of a way out of this but ‘e’s- ‘E’s got it all there in black and white, darlin’s .”

John’s sharp eyes fell to the papers Gladys had discarded on the counter.

“It’s alright,” Mickey tried to summon a smile as he squeezed Gladys’ hand. “Don’t upset yourself, love. C’mon, now. It’s alrigh’, Glad. We’ll be okay.”

“But what am I gonna do with myself? Eh? Without the shop I’m… I’m just a li’le old lady.”

Gladys brushed away her tears, smearing black smudges across the back of her hand.

From behind you, John held out a tissue he must’ve silently gone to grab.

Gladys took it gratefully.

“And you,” She patted Mickey’s broad chest. “You’ve got your family. And you, sweetheart, you’re-”

You looked back at John. He gave you the tiniest smile, so faint you barely caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t soft, but it was full of promise, and when he nodded quickly, his hazy grey eyes switching nervously between yours and somewhere near your collar, you knew what he was trying to say.

“I’ll be okay, Glad,” you said, grabbing her another tissue.

“Oh,” Gladys sobbed. “And it’s nearly your birthday!”

You exhaled sharply, taken-aback.

“Well, that’s- That’s very sweet of you, Gladys, but that’s the least of me worries, right now.”

“It’s nearly your birthday?” John asked.

You nodded.

“At the end of the month.”

“You never told me.”

“Well, it didn’t seem very important, considering...”

“And it was gonna be such a special one, too,” Gladys wailed.

You frowned, glancing at Mickey for help.

“Was it?”

Gladys sighed as she dabbed at her eyes, pressing blue eyeshadow into the creases by her nose and right up to her painted eyebrows.

“I was gonna to surprise you. Well, I- It was always gonna be- It would’ve been for your birthday or for your anniversary here, whichever came first and now…”

You have a hollow laugh, hardly listening now.

“It’s fine, Gladys. Don’ worry.”

But John frowned

“What was?”

Gladys looked up.

“Hm?”

“What was the surprise?”

“Well, I went to the- Oh, what d’you call it? Henry sor’ed it for me a few months ago.”

“Henry?”

“Her uncle,” Mickey put in helpfully. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Really?”

“Well, not legally, I s’pose.”

“Anyway, he sorted it with Companies House and…” Gladys sighed again and sank back down into Mickey’s chair, her hands folded and shaking slightly in her lap. “I’m sorry, love. I had him add your name to the deed. I thought it would be a nice present. Wan’ed to show my appreciation for all your ‘ard work over the years, y’know.”

Silence fell in the kitchen. All eyes turned to you.

“You added…”

You tried to speak but found you couldn’t actually say the words out loud.

Mickey looked gobsmacked, like he too couldn’t believe what he’d heard. You’d worked together for years, he’d heard you harping on about your dream for longer than he’d known his own wife, about how you would own 64 Oslo Square one day and how wonderful it would feel, to be your own boss, to be in control for once in your life, to make decisions and create something that you and your community could be proud of.

You glanced sideways at John. Beside you, always right beside you. He never gave much away, not when it wasn’t just you and him, so his expression remained flat. But there, there in the outer corners of his eyes, in the slightest dip of his eyebrows, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, you knew he was thinking exactly what you were.

How cruel. How cruel to give you what you’d always wanted, but give it too late. How cruel to give only to take away again.

“When did this happen?” John asked, ever the pragmatist, needing all the information before making a decision.

“Oh,” Gladys flapped an airy hand, not seeming to realise the gravity of her news. “Months ago. Who can keep track of that sort of- Before you started ‘ere, New Boy. At least.”

“So,” John looked at you, his eyebrows pushed together. “You’re part-owner?”

You opened your mouth to respond but Gladys grabbed your hand.

“You’ve just always been so wonderful and this place is practically half yours anyway, I thought, y’know, in a couple of years, I could retire and you could take over. It’s always been the plan.”

“Oh, Glad…” You forced a smile though it barely touched your eyes. “That’s really sweet of you.”

John pointed at the papers Gladys had carelessly discarded on the counter.

“Is that the contract you signed with Alastair?”

You frowned at him in consternation but his expression gave nothing away.

Gladys had barely begun to nod when John grabbed for the papers, gathering them up in his hands almost frantically. He scanned the pages, his clever eyes rapidly darting back and forth.

“Look, it doesn’t ma’er now,” Mickey said gently. “We’re not just gonna let you fade away, Glad, I promise. When I find a new job, I’ll see if they’ve got something for you too, eh? We’ll look after you. I promise. Won’t we, Captain?”

The idea stunned you even more than Mickey’s optimism, but Gladys looked up at you so helplessly, you couldn’t find it in you to be realistic with them.

“‘Course,” you said, forcing a smile. “We’ll sort somethin’ out.”

“She could always move in with you.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Mickey smiled genuinely for the first time that day. Beside him, still wiping away tears and trying her best to catch her breath, Gladys was starting to smile too.

“You mean you don’t want me kippin’ on your sofa?”

“I don’t even have a flat!”

“I thought you was movin’ in with ‘andsome over there.”

“I haven’t decided y- ‘Ang on, how do you know about that?”

“Walls ‘ave ears.”

“You two, I swear to-”

“He doesn’t have it.”

You all stopped bickering. One by one, you looked round to find John still staring at the contract.

His gaze was still, his lips slightly parted. His fingers were tight around the paper, just as Gladys’ had been, like he was terrified someone might take them from him.

“He-” You blinked, trying to figure out what he meant, but nothing sparked. “What?”

Finally, John raised his head.

“He doesn’t have the bakery,” he said slowly, steadily, as if he could hardly believe it himself. “Skip, you’re part-owner. Gladys put your name on the deed. She signed this contract but you didn’t. He doesn’t have anything, this is-”

For the first time in weeks, you heart began to beat again.

“Worthless,” you whispered.

John raised the papers for you to see but couldn’t take your eyes off him. If you looked, it meant everything would change, and you weren’t sure if you could take any more life-altering news.

Either he was wrong, and your broken heart would only grow heavier. Or John was right, and the world would be turned on its axis yet again. It was safer just to keep looking at John, keep your eyes fixed on his, and find your answer there.

“Wait,” Mickey shook his head, stunned. “So you’re sayin’-”

“I’m saying 64 Oslo Square is yours, Skip.” John pushed the contract firmly into your waiting hands. “Not Alastair’s.”

There was a pause, just a beat of silence, and then the bakery erupted.

Gladys shrieked as she leapt up from her chair, pumping her two fists above her head, like her team had just scored before the final whistle. She practically fell into you as she threw her arms around your neck in a hug tight enough to bruise.

Mickey grabbed John by the waist and heaved him up over his shoulder, hollering at the top of his lungs.

“Oh, you beauty!”

John gripped Mickey’s broad shoulders as they span around and around.

“Well, hang on. You’ll need a lawyer to confirm-”

“Oh, shu’ up, New Boy. You’re a fuckin’ diamond!”

You clapped your hand over your mouth as you watched the boys but your smile was far too wide to cover. You realised you were laughing with Gladys, with Mickey, laughing so loudly and jubilantly that you were sure passersby would be able to hear you outside on the road.

When Mickey finally put John down, he staggered in his heels, his head probably spinning, but you reached out and caught his hand before he could trip.

John beamed as you pulled him into you, his eyes bright and shining.

“I thought I might kiss you,” you said, just loud enough for John to hear.

His expression hardly changed. He just smiled at you, warm and gentle, but his eyes were alight. John inclined his head, his long hair falling around his face as he let you pull him in even closer.

“Yes, please,” he said softly, his smile growing wider.

“You proper little-” Gladys stuck her hands between you and grabbed John’s face, pulling him towards her instead. “Bobby-dazzler!”

Pulling him down to her height, Gladys peppered John’s face in kisses, leaving his cheeks stained with pink lipstick. She was so much shorter than him, John was practically bent in half, his face all screwed up as she pressed kiss after noisy kiss to his skin.

“Looks like Gladys has taken care of that for me,” you laughed.

John managed to shoot you a crooked grin before Gladys held him at arm’s length again.

“You,” she practically squeaked. “You are getting a pay-rise, New Boy. And another kiss, c’mere.”

Gladys pulled him down again, kissing all over his face while John laughed softly and let her.

Finally, when she had released him and John could breathe again, Gladys threw her arms around you, then Mickey.

“C’mon, pub,” she said. “I’m buyin’ everyone a drink and I’m not takin’ no for an answer.”

Her words washed over you like water on the shore. You were faintly aware of your family talking, still giggling and clutching each other tightly as they moved to the door, but you couldn’t focus properly.

Heart still thrumming in your chest, you couldn’t figure out how to make your mouth move. You wanted to call out to the others, to laugh, to cry, anything, but you felt numb in the very best way.

It was yours. 64 Oslo Square was yours.

When you finally managed to get your tongue working again, you leaned your body against the doorframe, catching the door with your foot so that you could lean out and say,

“You lot go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Mickey and Gladys hardly seemed to hear you. They were practically skipping down the road, singing an old drinking song as they swayed in the direction of The Gardener’s Arms.

Only John hesitated. He looked like he might protest but seemed to understand what you meant. Against the late afternoon sun, he seemed to glow as he glanced back over his shoulder. Finally, he gave you a small smile, then followed after the others.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stood in the centre of the shop floor, waiting for the door to close behind you. The July heat didn’t seem quite so harsh anymore. In fact, everything seemed to have shifted slightly. The world was as it was, as it had always been, but the lead-like weight in your chest and on your shoulders was gone. You hadn’t felt so light in years.

Slowly, you turned on the spot, taking in what was now all yours.

The dark wooden shelves lined with tins and jars, bags of coffee, and photos of Gladys’ proud parents. The pinboard on the far wall, the step you tripped over every morning, the till that tried to bite your fingers every time it closed. The counter painted bright scarlet, just like the writing over the door, a door enrobed in bright summer flowers, lighting up the whole road. All yours.

Slipping your hands round to rest on your hips, you walked into the kitchen.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth at the sight of the familiar, bottle-green stove. It seemed to smile back at you. The whole kitchen did. Battered old pots and pans, mosaic tiles that remembered the Blitz, the bins out the back. It was all so ordinary, all so completely conventional and prosaic.

You pulled in a long breath, filling up your lungs until you felt your chest rise. Yours.

The bakery’s front door opened with a bright chime. You heard quick footsteps cross the wooden floor, unfaltering, sure of their destination. With no one around, they echoed so unnaturally, it set your heart on edge.

You turned, smiling, and felt two hands slip around your jaw to cup your face, then John was kissing you. You knew it would be him. He’d promised you. John always kept his promises.

Your chest lurched as you pressed your palms against the backs of his hands, keeping them against your cheeks as his mouth moved against yours. A sob sat in your throat, half relief, half joy. You knew if you pulled away it would rise up, so you pressed closer, keeping your mouth against John’s.

He groaned softly against your lips, the sound starting in his throat and ending up in yours, and all the while he kissed you so sweetly, you could hardly believe you weren’t dreaming.

You grabbed handfuls of John’s shirt, keeping his narrow little body pressed tight against yours until you could almost feel his heart thumping against your chest. His hands slipped up into your hair, sending shivers over your skin as his blunt nails grazed your skin, then travelled down your back to your waist, where they found a home and squeezed softly.

It was simple, sweet, and when he pulled back to catch his breath, you could feel John’s hands were shaking slightly.

You half expected him to look worried, like he always did, so anxious and cautious, he could barely move a muscle. But there was no fear in John’s eyes. There was vulnerability and uncertainty, but only about what to do next, not of his actions, not about you.

“Oh, New Boy.” You smiled, lips tingling from the force of his kisses. “I said you’d be good for business, didn’t I.”

When John smiled back, something warm writhed in the pit of your belly. This stupid, lovely, gorgeous boy.

“Anything for you, love,” John said softly as he reached up and tucked some of your hair behind your ear. “You know me. Always anything for you.”

The next thing you knew, you had him pinned against the kitchen counter. He gasped sharply as the metal dug into his hip, but you were kissing him again before he had a chance to speak.

John’s hips fit so perfectly in your hands, you were sure he must’ve been made for you. His chest was warm and firm against yours as you leaned your body into his, and when one of his slim legs slipped between yours, you smiled, dragging your lips around the outline of his mouth.

“Easy, honey…”

John felt all the air squeeze from his lungs, his belly clenching. The edge of the counter was digging into his back, the metal cold even through his clothes, but he couldn’t care less. In fact, he liked it, liked how you kept him pinned against it, how little force you needed to get his body to comply, how your fingertips pressed into the tops of his thighs as you kissed him and kissed him.

You angled your head, catching his bottom lip with a playful flick of your tongue, and sucked, gently first, testing the waters, then again, harder.

John whimpered against your mouth as you kept him in his place but he never once made an attempt to move. In fact, his big hands slipped around your waist, holding your body against his, and when you pushed your knee between his thighs, you were certain you felt his hips rock towards yours.

He kissed like he needed it, needed you, like he’d been longing for this for a lifetime and could finally breathe. It had been a long, patient wait, but you were glad of it. Feeling John moan softly against your mouth, his needy hands grabbing at you, the culmination of months of craving, aching, hungry love, it was unlike anything you’d ever known, and when he pressed even closer, until his nose was crammed against your cheek and you couldn’t tell where you ended and John began, you knew he felt it too.

John whined pitifully when you finally pulled away. You hadn’t expected him to be quite so vocal but it made your chest heave.

John blinked down at you, panting, dizzy. Your face was flushed, and when his eyes dropped down to watch your tongue swipe his taste off your lips, his knees nearly gave out. His breath caught in his throat when he realised he could still feel you smiling against his mouth.

You were torn in several different directions. Mickey and Gladys would be expecting you in the pub. There were countless boxes, all waiting to be unpacked, sat upstairs for you. The cake batter you’d been about to bake still sat, abandoned, on the side, and you had a nice boy to kiss and kiss and kiss. The choice was easy.

Grinning, you took John’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the stairs.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You pulled open the door up to your flat and shot him a bright smile.

“Dancin’.”

Master List

#john deacon #queen #john deacon x reader #queen fic #john deacon reader

28 notes · View notes

magickcandie · 8 months

Text

John Deacon x Fem!Reader

In the rising fame of Queen, many journalists were often there to talk. More often than naught, the band found themselves repeating things before sending the reporter away. That was until Y/N L/N.

When she was there, she found a way to make herself like able. Speaking about the art of performing with Freddie. Roger’s song writing. Brian’s understanding of writing music. And most of all, she got John to talk and smile and laugh. None of the others could.

She was the one they sent whenever they needed information of Queen. And that became the only time John was excited for an interview.

“You guys have another interview.” Miami said, walking into the studio. “It’s with Y/N.”

“Oh, that’s great!” John said, his tone of voice revealing how he really felt about said reporter.

Roger turned to look at the bassist. “That’s the most excited I’ve ever seen you for an interview.”

“Yeah, John, what is it?” Brian asked, just as curious.

“Nothing, just… interested in the… interview topics?”

“I think our lovely John is definitely interested in something, but not the interview.” Freddie said, coming to sit next to Roger and Brian.

Roger leaned forward to tease. “My my, Deaky, do you fancy Y/N?”

John raised his brows with a mischievous grin but shook his head anyway.

“You should totally take her out. It could be so romantic,” Brian said.

“No, I could never talk to Y/N.”

“You’re distaste towards human interaction is becoming… well, quite distasteful,” Freddie said with a pout. “What if we were to do something?”

Roger jumped to his feet in excitement. “Yeah, we could talk to Y/N for you!”

“No, we won’t be doing any of that, thank you. I’m willing to let things happen on their own.”

“John, dear, if we let you deal with it like that, nothing will happen.”

Freddie didn’t give John the luxury of arguing back. Said a simple “tut tut” and walked off, taking Brian and Roger with him. Which was fine because that’s when you walked in.

“Hello, John.” You smiled at him. “Where’s the rest of them?”

“Elsewhere. How have you been, Y/N?”

“Fine, fine. And you?”

“Quite alright. So what’s the plan for today?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m to ride with you to the venue while you all do sound checks and the like. In between those is when I’ll start individual interviews.”

In many ways you were found of John as well. You felt his answers were truthful in a way that the others didn’t quite have. But that was on the professional level. He made you happy, and laugh. He was very open, which you found out was actually a rare thing.

On many occasions, you tricked yourself into thinking he was just being courteous.

Much to John’s dismay, you got Freddie first.

“Hello, Fred. You can have a seat, I just need to get a new pen. Seems that I have lost mine.”

“Oh you won’t need that. Come, let’s talk.” He hooked arms with you. “Shall I interview you?”

“Me? Whatever for?”

“What, can’t I speak with my darling friend Y/N?”

You shrugged but went along with it. “What’s bothering you?”

Freddie waved his hands in dismissal. “You shan’t be my therapist either. This is about you, my dear. What do you look for in a lifelong partner?”

“Oh, that’s a bit forward." Freddie shrugged as if it wasn't "Well I don't know. Someone who's honest, I guess."

"John is very honest. Ever think about things short term?"

"No. I see no desire in that."

Freddie crossed his legs, then uncrossed them and stood. "Well that's all I have for you, darling. I'll send Roger in."

You didn't acknowledge him as he left the room, then Roger was walking in. He took Freddie's spot on the couch.

"How have you been, Y/N."

"Fine, fine. Now, I we see that you wrote a song on the album. What influences -"

"Oh, hush up about the album. Let's talk."

Okay....

"Roger, what are you and Freddie doing?"

"Oh, he got started? Good. Are you doing anything this coming week?"

"No, not that I know of."

"Neither is John." Roger left it at that and leaves the room, leaving you completely shocked.

Brian walked in with a smile. He would be easy to ask. He'd reveal himself if you asked.

"Brian May, what are you guys doing?"

"What do you mean?" He started to play with his hands. He was already nervous.

"You, Roger, and Freddie. What are you doing?" You crossed your arms, hoping that you could weasel the answer out of Brian.

"Y/N, we're not -"

"Were you coming in here to talk about John? Now tell me, what are you doing?"

Brian sighed and deflected in defeat. "John likes you, but he wouldn't do anything. We decided that we would try to push you into it instead." He stood up. "I'll leave now."

It was the greatest news you could've heard! You couldn't wait for him to say something, because you knew John. He wouldn't on any occasion!

John coming into the room took you out of your head. He smiled at you, sitting down at the couch.

"Hello, Y/N. What questions do you have about the album?"

At least he didn't set them up, you reasoned with yourself.

"John, I don't want to talk about the album." Everything was set up, and there was no better time to admit your feelings than here. "I really like you. And unfortunately, Brian did said you did liked me too?"

He went quiet and red in the face. "Y/N, I'm sorry you had to hear it from them."

"It's fine, John, really, but is it true?"

"Yes, Y/N, I really do. You're really beautiful, insanely smart, and just so... perfect. Can I take you out?"

You embraced him. "Of course, John!"

Freddie, Brian, Roger stood standing, peaking through the door. They froze when they saw John glare at them over your shoulder. The boys laughed before shutting the door.

Freddie sighed, dropping his hand to his hip. "Well that didn't take long."

#john deacon x reader #queen band #brian may #freddie mercury #roger taylor #request #ask #female reader

52 notes · View notes

here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can · 2 months

Text

it’s been 39 years since live aid and I’d still kill to have been there

#roger taylor #john deacon #freddie mercury #queen band #brian may #queen #incorrect queen quotes #roger meddows taylor #bohemian rhapsody #roger taylor bohemian rhapsody #borhap #live aid #starman david bowie #david bowie #david bowie x reader #david robert jones

114 notes · View notes

spreadyovrwings · 8 months

Text

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it’s more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: obscene flirting... characters realising their life has more to it than their job? other characters learning other people aren't quite so scary and can be trusted? those two characters fancying each other like crazy? yeah.

Chapter Nine

Steam billowed from the kettle’s spout. You watched it swell and curl through the air, until it hit the low kitchen ceiling and dispersed. On the mantelpiece, your grandmother’s carriage clock chimed ten.

It was the longest you’d been able to sleep in in years. Though you’d been trying to cast your mind back all morning as you set about making breakfast, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d been able to go to bed without setting an alarm.

Though the days were growing steadily warmer as summer rolled in, mornings were still cold in your little flat. You tucked your chin under the collar of your thick woollen jumper and puffed out a breath to warm your body.

It had not been a good week.

It’s difficult to anticipate how one might react in a situation like yours. You thought if someone had asked you a few months ago what you might say if given life-altering news like the kind Gladys had given you, you probably would’ve said you’d rage and eff and blind until the problem righted itself. You’d go out fighting, at least. But when Gladys set off her grenade, you didn’t say a word. You just stared at her. You stared and stared, and stared some more.

It didn’t take long for you to find your voice, though. Not after Gladys started to describe the whole ordeal. She couldn’t seem to get the words out fast enough, it was like watching someone in confession. Her open mouth was like a gutter, gushing words and apologies and useless explanations until finally, you couldn’t take anymore.

“You selfish cow!”

John came into the room when the shouting started. Mickey was close behind. One of them put a hand on your shoulder, it must have been Mickey because the hand was heavy and solid like a slab of concrete.

“Skip…”

John slipped his fingers between yours, trying to bring you back down to Earth, but you barely felt him.

“How could you do this to us? To Mickey? To me?”

Gladys covered her face with her hands, her chunky rings glinting in the low lights.

“I’m sorry!”

“He’s just had a baby!”

“I know, I know-”

“This is my home!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t think in a million years he would-”

You stopped listening. John was murmuring close to your ear, telling you to stop now. His long fingers were wrapped tight around yours, keeping you grounded but only just.

“Sweetheart, leave her,” he murmured. “You should get some air. Just come with me and breathe for a second. Please.”

But that didn’t sound like a reasonable option either. You didn’t want to go outside. You didn’t want to keep having this conversation either. Standing here, shouting at Gladys, that was the only thing that made sense.

“How could you be so stupid.”

The words barely made it out from between your gritted teeth.

You felt John’s hand leave yours. Mickey too took a step back. They both seemed to realise this wasn’t their fight, this wasn’t something they had a right to be involved in, even though they were grieving too.

Gladys was the brightest, most joyous person you knew. She flitted from person to person like a hummingbird. With her brightly coloured hair and her clattering jewellery, she was as dazzling on the outside as she was on the inside. But right now, she seemed to have shrunk a few inches. Her colour had dulled. Her light had gone out.

“I just thought he was interested in me,” Gladys looked down at the floor, ashamed. “No one’s ever been interested in me. And he seemed so eager to learn about the bakery and I thought- I thought maybe he was just proud of me. For building this place. For doing something so amazing on my own. But I was wrong.”

You could still feel your pulse pounding in your neck and the base of your skull. You couldn’t recall ever feeling so angry and let down in all your life. Time seemed to be rushing by you, and all you wanted was for John to hold your hand again.

Gladys still couldn’t look at you. In a way, you were relieved. You didn’t think you’d be able to meet her gaze either.

It was difficult to order the feelings surging through you. You loved Gladys. You owed her so much. You’d do anything for her and until today, you would have sworn she’d always put you, or at least Oslo Square, above all else. Despite everything, she was a good person. You knew that. She was enticing and gregarious and too trusting and a fool. And she had let you down for the last time.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you said, then turned and walked into the kitchen, through the back door and out into the alley.

But you didn’t get far. You never would.

Sinking down on the bakery’s back step, you folded your knees up to your body and prayed the pressure would take the ache away. It didn’t. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sob that lay in wait in the back of your throat.

Sun filtered through into the alleyway, falling on the ground in puddles of light. Above you, the sky was so clear, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. And you just wanted to cry and cry and cry.

There was a sound behind you, the scuff of a boot against the cement steps. You pushed your face into your crossed arms, not ready to face anyone just yet.

“Skip?”

It was John. Of course it was. Who else would they send after you?

He called you by your nickname again, then as he came to sit beside you, your real name, softer, more intimate.

Finally, you raised your head.

He was looking at you closely, his clever eyes switching across your face. He was trying to work out how upset you were, how carefully he needed to tread around you. That was just his way, John was just being a good friend, but right now, you didn't want kindness and gentleness, you just wanted to be left alone.

“John, I think maybe…”

“It’s going to be alright.”

It wasn’t like him to interrupt. Usually, John weighed every word with care, as if each syllable would cost him a great deal, or he had a finite number at his disposal. You had always admired that about him; everyone else in your life spoke so carelessly, like it didn't matter at all.

“John…”

“C’mon,” he said, nodding now, like he’d made up his mind about something. “Let’s go upstairs. We’ll have a cuppa and we’ll-”

You wrapped a hand around his arm and squeezed gently, asking him to stop without a word. John looked so crestfallen, you couldn’t bear it.

You stood up, crossing your arms over your chest, as if it would help to keep the sickness sitting in your throat at bay.

“I think maybe you should go home,” you said as gently as you could. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

John looked surprised, then a little hurt. It shouldn’t have annoyed you but it did a little. He had no idea what you were going through, he should just listen and know that when you said you needed some time, you meant it.

But the small part of your brain that could still think clearly knew that wasn’t fair. If the roles were reversed, as they had been before, you knew you would badger John relentlessly until he was forced to talk about whatever was bothering him. But this wasn’t about an exam or a tiff with his band, this was your whole life, your whole future, and it had wrenched from your grasp without you even knowing it

“Okay.” John slowly rose to his feet, his hands awkwardly moving from his pockets to his hips, behind his back and then to his pockets again. “I’ll come see you. Later.”

You nodded, your lips pulled back in a grim smile.

“I’ll call you,” you said again firmly.

For a moment, John didn’t move, he didn’t even blink. Then finally, he seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just… Be careful with yourself, darling.”

Then he was gone and you were alone again.

That was two days ago. You hadn’t left your lonely flat since.

You poured boiling water into your favourite mug, waited a few minutes, then added the milk. Your movements were robotic, rehearsed, the habit of a lifetime that required no thought at all, and thank God, as you didn’t have the energy to think or feel much of anything.

The phone rang again but you didn’t even spare it a glance as you padded back to your bedroom and closed the door.

Life went on like this for a few more days before finally, you decided to pull yourself together. You got dressed, headed downstairs, and debated whether or not to turn on the ovens.

Mickey hadn’t come into work since the news. You couldn’t blame him, he had a baby at home and a wife to reassure. You had no one. Just an empty flat and a cold, silent bakery. But even that wasn’t yours anymore. Mickey phoned often enough though, asking if there were any updates and if he could do anything to help. You wished you had something to tell him.

You looked around at the old kitchen. The multicoloured tiles from renovation after renovation, the cookers and the ovens, all older than half the buildings on the road, the pots and pans, bowls and utensils, all lying unused. They seemed to stare at you, waiting for answers, just like Mickey, just like the customers you watched from your window, who passed by every day and soon left again, looking disappointed and confused.

Yeah, you thought, me too.

You grabbed some paper from behind the till, scribble a quick note, then sellotaped it to the door.

Closed until further notice.

You stared at the sign, letting the words truly sink in, then turned and went to go hide yourself away upstairs.

Then the door chimed.

“Skip?”

You looked up, heart pounding. It had only been a few days, but it was the longest you’d gone without seeing John for the best part of a year.

You’d somehow forgotten how tall he was, how lanky and gangly he looked standing in the bakery doorway, his perfect, long hair a striking contrast to his shabby clothes.

He smiled at you, shy and unsure, and you wished you could do more than stare back.

“Hi,” John said as he carefully pushed open the door all the way and finally stepped inside.

As the door rang shut again, you gritted your teeth. You thought if he’d asked, if he’d given you the choice, you probably would’ve said that now wasn’t a good time and he should come back later.

“Hi,” you said instead, and watched him pocket the key Gladys had given him on his first day.

John looked at you like he was waiting for you to say more. You couldn’t blame him for that. You’d led every conversation you’d ever shared, guiding him and teasing him, wheedling information out of him with a fine hook. Now, you couldn’t for the life of you think of anything to say.

“You haven’t been answering the phone,” John said eventually. “I was worried.”

He cautiously approached the desk. Perhaps he’d only just noticed the thick tension in the air, or maybe he was just having trouble pushing through it, but he seemed to take careful steps, his eyes fixed on you.

“Well,” You tried not to sound huffy but it came out all wrong. “I’m kind of dealing with something right now. I don’t have time for…”

“What?”

He was challenging you, daring you to say more. You clammed up, feeling chastised.

“Did you talk to Gladys?”

You nodded.

You’d spent the last few days in meetings with your boss, discussing what had happened, trying to figure a way out of this mess, going over the details and again and again until you were both exhausted and resigned to the idea that this place was no longer yours. Everything that Gladys had built, everything you’d worked for, was gone.

“What did she say? What’s going on?”

John came closer until he could rest his hands on the counter. You stared at them, following the outline of each of his long fingers.

He really did have such lovely hands. The round onyx ring he wore on his little finger, the silver one he always took off and pocketed when he was helping out, because it was Freddie’s and he didn’t want to ruin it. The little scars from his childhood and faded burns from mucking about with machines. You’d missed them.

“Did you fix it?”

You pressed your lips together and shook your head.

“No.”

At home, you blankly stared at the ceiling, at the television screen, into the mirror. It had slowly begun to dawn on you that outside of 64 Oslo Square, you had nothing. Friends you saw once in a blue moon, no hobbies, no interests, no idea of what the future would hold. Everything, you’d put everything into the bakery, your whole life. In just a few weeks, you’d even have to find a new flat. Everything was falling apart.

“There has to be something we can do. She’s made a mistake.”

“I know.”

“C’mon, love. We can sort this out.”

It was too much. It was just all too much. You didn’t want to hear positivity and hopefulness, you didn’t want anyone to be kind to you, especially John, not after the way you’d pushed him away. You didn’t want gentleness and softness, because it meant he thought something had happened to warrant that care, and you didn’t want to be someone who needed looking after. You didn’t want to be someone that had had something so awful happen to them.

“I can’t do this.”

You pushed away from the counter and moved into the kitchen, heading for the door to your flat. All you wanted was to crawl back into bed and shut out the world. Compartmentalism had got you nowhere, not when one of the best things about your job had turned up out of the blue asking you a million questions and caring about you far more than you deserved.

You didn’t expect John to follow you, but you heard his boots clunking against the kitchen floor, his voice soft and low as he called out again,

“Skip?”

You bit back a sob. You weren’t Skip anymore. You weren’t the captain of anything. You had no bakery, no business, no prospects, you were just- You were nothing.

“Leave me alone.”

You tried to sound forceful but the words got caught in your throat.

“Love, please-”

John was right behind you as you wrenched open the door up to your flat. You could hear his stupid boots on the stairs.

“John, I can’t-”

“Just talk to me.”

“You don’t understand!”

You stopped in the middle of the stairs and span around. It must have taken John by surprise because he staggered to a halt, one foot hanging in midair, as if he’d been in the middle of a step.

“In a month, I won’t have a home or a job, and this place will be packed up and turned into luxury flats or some half-arsed storefront selling overpriced street food to bastards like him, and I won’t have anything.”

It was as if someone else was doing the talking. You could almost believe you were standing beside yourself, watching as you shouted at John, your eyes shining and your jaw tight. You wanted to tell yourself to stop, that he didn’t deserve to be talked to like that, but you couldn’t close the floodgates.

“And you, you’ll swan off with your band or pack it in and become an engineer, and you’ll forget all about us and this place, and I’ll never see you again.”

John’s eyes flashed but his expression was as neutral and measured as ever.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said evenly. “You really think that little of me?”

“Oh, shut up, I was only-”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. You don’t get to decide how much I care about something. Alright?”

“Why would you care? You’re just the delivery boy. Some student Gladys took pity on cos she can’t resist strays.”

“I love this place too, you know I do. Things aren’t as easy for me as you think.”

You scoffed. It annoyed you that he could be so rational and calm at a time like this, when all you wanted to do was shout and accuse and lash out.

“Oh, poor John. It must be so hard for you, being a genius and having to choose between being rich and famous and being a bloody rocket scientist, or whatever the fuck it is you do. Life must be so difficult.”

Finally, John scowled. He moved closer, so now he was on the step just below yours, your faces level for the first time.

“You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Not for lack of trying!”

“You’re so- I’ve given you more of myself than I’ve ever given anyone!”

“Oh, well lucky me.”

“God, you’re-”

“What?”

“You’re…”

John trailed off. He seemed to realise, at the same time as you, just how close you were to each other.

You waited, hardly daring to breathe. John was maybe a few inches away, his chin tilted up ever so slightly so that he could meet your gaze. His pretty, silvery green eyes were fixed on yours, as if to make a point. You were fighting the same urge, to not look down at his lips, angled so perfectly up towards you, it was enough to make your chest lurch.

Slowly, so slowly it was almost painful, you watched as John’s gaze finally slipped and he glanced down at your mouth. Surrender. You followed immediately, and felt time speed up again. You caught your breath. Your heart was hammering so hard, you were sure John must’ve been able to hear it, feel it.

John’s gaze dropped again and stayed for longer this time, very obviously debating something that terrified and excited you all at once. It was just a matter of who would give in first.

“We’re not going to kiss,” you whispered, not trusting your voice. “Not like…”

You made the mistake of letting your eyes fall to his lips again, one last time. They parted ever so slightly, an invitation, like he was asking you to give in and take what you’d been wanting for so long. You pressed your lips together and immediately regretted it. You’d given yourself away.

The corner of John’s mouth twitched up into a little smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured. “You said some horrible things to me.”

You pulled in a lungful of air and closed your eyes. The moment was gone, but it still took you a second or two to get your feet back on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” You rubbed your tired eyes, feeling guilty and ashamed and dizzy all at once. “I was being stupid.”

John shrugged.

“Just because it was hurtful doesn’t mean it wasn’t accurate.”

“Still, I’m being an idiot. I’m sorry, John. It’s been a fucking awful week.”

He smiled to let you know he understood. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth again, just for a second, but you couldn’t have missed it.

“Not like what?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“You said ‘We’re not going to kiss. Not like…’. Not like what?” John raised his eyebrows. “Not like this, you mean?”

It hadn’t occurred to you that you’d spoken those words out loud. It was jarring to hear John repeat them back to you, and even more surprising to realise that’s exactly what you meant.

You nodded.

“Not like this.”

This wasn’t the right time, as much as it pained you. He was so close, looking up at you so sweetly, telling you how much he cared about you and that he just wanted to help. But John was right, you’d been horrible to him, and you were so sad you could barely breathe. When you did kiss him, you wanted it to be right, you wanted it to be good, you wanted to make the world stop turning.

John nodded, looking down at his ridiculous shoes. When he looked up again, his gaze still lingered antagonistically around your mouth. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

“When then?”

“What?”

“When can I kiss you?”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“When you get me my bakery back.”

John grinned. He had such a lovely smile, so bright and honest.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Promise?”

John crossed his index finger over his heart.

“Promise.”

You beamed at each other. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, like nothing was wrong, or could ever be wrong. Because John was here and he was smiling at you, and he wanted to kiss you and knew you wanted to kiss him. But then reality slowly seeped in, harsh and so cold, it made you shiver.

“It’s hopeless, John,” you murmured, and pressed your face into your palms.

John wrapped his long fingers around your forearms and squeezed gently. When he carefully pulled your hands away from your face, you saw he was smiling sweetly.

“Shall I stick the kettle on?” he asked.

You’d never heard anything more romantic in your life.

You led him up the stairs to your flat and let him make you a cup of tea, while you sat on the sofa and watched him move around in the kitchen.

It was only tiny. Even ‘kitchen’ was a generous word, it was just the two sideboards, the hob and some cupboards set into the wall, but John moved around them as if he’d lived there all his life, and you were, once again, assured that he was fated to be 64 Oslo Square’s delivery boy.

“I was thinking about finding a flat. For after uni.” John handed you a mug and sat down beside you. “You could, um… Maybe I could start looking now and… You know, obviously we don’t know when things will… But I could look and…”

You blinked at him.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

John’s cheeks were tinged pink.

“I just want you to know you have options. I know you’re going to figure this out, but I want you to know you have somewhere safe to stay.”

Your chest squeezed as a wave of affection washed over you. How did you ever get so lucky? It was a small relief, in a way, to know that no matter what happened, you had a friend in John. The idea of moving into a flat together felt unreal right now. The more you pondered on it, the more the severity of your situation seemed to settle in.

“There’s nothing to figure out, John.” You sighed. “Gladys signed the paperwork. You know, she didn’t even really understand what she was signing? He got her drunk then pushed the papers across the table and told her he wanted to invest in the bakery, she just had to sign. Daft cow.”

“How’s Mickey taking it?”

“He’s alright. He’s a fantastic baker, he could find a job anywhere.”

“So could you.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You’re joking. Everything you make is incredible! And you’re passionate and you’re dedicated… You could find somewhere else. Maybe start your own place someday.”

You laughed softly, embarrassed by the compliment. His faith in you was flattering. No one had ever said anything like that to you before.

You reached out and took John’s hand, folding your fingers between his and interlocking them, as if you’d done it a million times before.

“You’re so sweet. But I can’t.” You squeezed his hand gently. “I started working here when I was sixteen. Have I told you that?”

John shook his head.

“I used to pass by on my way to school. Me and my friends would come in every Friday. And every day, Gladys was there, behind the counter. And she was mad and funny and she let us stay all afternoon, even though we only had enough money for a cuppa and a cake. And when I left school, there was one place I wanted to work.”

You looked up at the photo of you, Gladys and Mickey on your mantelpiece. Your tiny, ridiculous, mismatched family.

“I was just behind the counter at first, like you. But it was fun, it was a living. Then Shaz, the head baker back then, she started letting me help out. I loved it so much. The time things took. The attention to detail. The warmth of the kitchen. And it’s stressful but it’s full of love. You know? Everything we make is…”

You squeezed John’s hand again.

“When you see people smiling because of the things you make… It’s the best feeling in the world. I asked if I could start working as a baker and Gladys agreed, and even knocked a bit off the price of this place.”

Together, you looked around at your tiny flat. It wasn’t much but it was home, it was yours. You’d never had anything that was just yours before, and you couldn’t stress it enough, the importance of having space, having ownership, a room of one’s own, especially for a working class woman in 1973, especially for someone making it on their own.

“This is my home, John. And these people, they’re my family. I had nothing and the bakery gave me a purpose. I can’t just find somewhere else. I can’t. I can’t. It’s Oslo Square or nothing.”

John watched you for a moment, and you wondered if maybe you’d bored him with your outpouring. You wouldn’t be shocked. But then he raised your interlocked hands and held them to his chest.

“I’ll get it back for you. I promise.”

You laughed softly. He’d surprised you yet again.

“Where did you come from, New Boy? You really are an angel, aren’t you.”

“I don’t know about that.” John shyly glanced away. “The bakery means a lot to me too now. I want to help. If I can.”

Was it too early to revise your ‘no kissing’ policy? You really wanted to kiss him. Actually, kissing John would probably fix most of your problems. Or, at the very least, make them much easier to deal with. God, you could probably make him moan with just a kiss, you could tell from looking at him that he’d be a noisy one. Or maybe he’d lay you back on the couch and run those stupidly big hands all over you, playing you like one of his instruments. You wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Skip?”

You blinked. John was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, sorry,” You gave him a wonky sort of a grin. “Just a bit tired, I think.”

John didn’t look like he believed you but he let you off the hook.

“I think you need to get out of the house.”

You had to agree. Aside from nipping to the shops for the essentials, you hadn’t left your flat since Gladys’ news.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Well, actually,” John said guiltily. “I have to meet the lads at three. I wondered if you wanted to come.”

“To watch you rehearse?”

“It’ll probably be really boring for you, but you’ll get to see a few arguments. And we can get lunch first or dinner after or… I don’t mind, I just want you with me.” John blushed. “But you can say no, I didn’t mean to-”

You laughed softly. He really was the sweetest boy alive.

“I’d love to, John.”

That afternoon, Queen were rehearsing in a studio space in South London. John was tempted to grab the tube but you convinced him onto the bus, remembering, as you handed over your change to the driver, that he’d once admitted he was nervous about travelling that way. If he was going to be a proper Londoner, you thought, he had to learn how to use the buses, and the 49 seemed as good a place to start as any.

You watched John watch the world go by. He really was so beautiful and he had no clue. He had some semblance of an idea that he was alright, you knew that. The way John preened in front of every passing mirror told you so. But he didn’t see the lovely slope of his strong nose, or the way his grey eyes shone every time he saw something that piqued his interest, or the way his lovely, funny mouth twitched at the corners just before he was about to murmur something to you in that lovely, funny voice.

You’d tell him, you decided. Soon. You’d tell him just how beautiful you thought he was.

It was only when you followed John through the quiet, carpeted corridors of the recording studios that you began to feel nervous. You’d never been anywhere like that before, it was a foreign land.

As you passed, you peered through the porthole windows of every door to catch glimpses of steely grey microphones and mixing desks in big glass boxes. It was like something out of a film, something you’d only ever seen in magazines and photographs.

John seemed totally at ease. You supposed you were seeing him in his world for the first time. He would protest, he was a scientist, an engineer, he wasn’t a rockstar, but he was a musician, through and through. This world of dials and crossfades and endless electric cables suited him very well.

Eventually, he pushed open a door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to go in first.

The room was only small, probably all he and his friends could afford to hire by the hour. In the corner sat a shiny, black grand piano. Freddie tapped on the keys, humming under his breath as if building a tune just from a few plaintive notes. Next to that, there was a row of guitars all standing to attention, and a drum kit, steadily being put together to just the right requirements by Roger.

He looked up when the door opened.

“Hi, John. We were just saying-” Roger stopped in his tracks and immediately brightened when he saw you come in. “Bakery girl!”

“Hiya, Rog.”

You laughed as he came over to give you a big hug. It had been a while since you’d seen John, so it had been even longer since you saw his friends. You were sure Roger was only sweet to you because he knew it annoyed John but you were more than happy to play along.

John waited until Roger had gone back to his drum kit to stop frowning.

“Brian not here yet?” he asked, a little gruffly.

Freddie scoffed.

“He’s late. Again. He’s teaching somewhere in Balham. He’ll probably be hours, you know how he likes to bang on. You don’t play guitar, do you, love?”

You smiled shyly as Freddie also came over to greet you.

“No, sorry. Just the recorder in Year 3.”

“Ah, you’ll fit right in.”

Freddie beamed.

You didn’t know him as well as Roger but every time you saw Freddie, you practically tripped over yourself to befriend him. He was just so cool, so beautiful, his voice soft and his mannerisms so enchanting. He drew you in, just as he did the crowds when he was on stage, like a siren beckoning in beguiled ships.

“How are you doing?” Freddie held you by the shoulders as his soft dark eyes searched yours. “We’ve heard about this awful business with that twat. Andrew, was it?”

“Alastair.”

“That’s the bastard.” Freddie shook his head. “I’m so sorry, love.”

You wondered how much John had told them. By all accounts, he wasn’t the most talkative of people. In fact, you were still getting used to how much he spoke now. If you compared the boy standing beside you to the boy who first anxiously walked into the bakery that cold January night, you would almost say they were completely different people.

“Thanks, Freddie.”

“Are you staying?” asked Roger.

You glanced at John and he shot you an encouraging smile.

“If it’s okay with you lot?”

“Make yourself at home!”

You found a seat off to the side, just behind John’s amp.

You couldn’t help staring, transfixed, as he got himself set up. You could watch his hands forever, the way his fingers slipped over the strings, how the instrument fit perfectly against his body. Even watching him plug in his bass was mesmerising. It all just seemed to come so naturally to John, as most things did. He really was wonderful.

Queen warmed up slowly, giving Brian more time to turn up, and as they did, they passed ideas back and forth to each other. It was like a foreign language. Musical terms, notes, lyrics, pacing, you didn’t understand any of it, though you loved to listen to the boys figure it all out together.

For the most part, Freddie and Roger talked back and forth, while John watched, thumbing pensively at the thickest string of his bass as he waited to play. But you noticed how they never decided anything without consulting John for the final say, and his word seemed to be gospel.

John looked back at you over his shoulder and shot you a rare confident smile. You just had time to blush before the door opened and Brian fell in, apologising and shaking his head so that his wild, dark curls danced.

Brian waved to you but didn’t waste any time chatting. He grabbed his guitar and struck up a chord that filled the room with that familiar, quintessentially them sound.

They were magic to watch. You couldn’t wait to see what they became.

Soon, Freddie started to complain that he needed a drink to soothe his raw voice, and Roger and Brian went with him. They asked if you and John wanted anything but you both declined quickly, eager to be alone together again.

As soon as the door shut behind them, John turned to you properly and smiled. He nodded down at his bass, asking wordlessly if you’d like to try.

Grinning, you nodded too, and tried not to look too pleased as he ducked out of the strap. John gently lifted it over your head, and you tried to keep still as he settled the bass against you. You’d never held a bass guitar before. You hadn’t expected it to be so heavy.

“Oof, wow.”

You rolled your shoulders back, adjusting your posture so that you could balance its weight better.

“I know,” John’s hands skirted over your shoulders, making sure the strap was sitting comfortably first before he came round to stand in front of you. “I’ll have a terrible back when I’m an old man, I’m sure of it.”

Trying to remember how his hands moved when you watched him play, you lifted your left hand and pressed the tip of your index finger against the first metal string. It was thick and strong, and indented your skin as you pressed down. You couldn’t imagine how he managed to play so quickly, so deftly. The instrument seemed ungainly and oversensitive to you.

“You make it look so easy.”

John just smiled.

It was nice to see him in his element, to see him confident and sure of himself. He’d had once told you that he only picked up the bass because his first band needed it. You found it hard to believe, John and the bass, they seemed made for each other.

“You’ve almost got it. Here.”

You held your breath as John moved to stand behind you again. His left hand came up to cover yours, gently twisting your wrist around so that it was positioned nicely under the neck. With his other hand, he plucked a few notes on the lowest string, then took your index finger between his and showed you how to curl it just right. You swallowed thickly, and hoped he wouldn’t be able to hear your shaky breaths.

“Feels funny,” John said as he watched you pluck out a few tentative notes. “Me teaching you something for once.”

Face hot, you just tried to concentrate on playing right.

“You’re a much better baker than I am a bassist.”

John moved closer to correct your left hand, and now his chest was pressed up against your back. You tensed, trying to keep as still as possible but it was difficult to concentrate with him so close. All questions about whether he was doing it on purpose left your head when he spoke softly by your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“I don’t know,” John let his hand slip down your forearm, just as it did the neck of his bass, and tentatively let it rest just above your waist. “Looks pretty good from where I’m standing.”

You stopped attempting to play, it was pointless. You couldn’t so much as hold a thought in your head, let alone carry a tune. You turned your head to the side until you could just see John out of the corner of your eye.

“You’ve taught me a lot, you know,” John went on. “Not just the baking. You’ve made me much braver.”

His big hand felt heavy against your side. You were suddenly hyper aware of the slightest movement of each of his fingers. While his other arm was slung across the body of the bass, his fingers tucked underneath it to support its weight, the fingers of his left hand pressed into your soft waist ever so slightly and you had to hold back a gasp. You were touching so much, it was insane, you could barely remember your own name.

“I think I just bullied you into talking more.”

Your voice was shaky and low. You knew John would catch it but you didn’t care. You were too busy thinking about how warm his chest felt against your back, and how if you angled your hips just right, you could sink back into him until his hips were fitted against your arse. Then John spoke again, so close now that it felt like his lips were close to brushing your neck

“I’m glad you did.”

You could practically feel him smile against your skin as he added,

“You’re good for me, I think.”

Slowly, carefully, you turned your head a little further, and John shifted around so that you could meet each other’s gaze properly.

His confidence seemed to slip the moment he knew you could see him, but the hand that rested heavily on your waist slipped down to your hip and squeezed.

“I think you’re good for me too,” you said, and smiled when John blushed under your gaze.

There was no space between you at all. Just one move, one inclination of your head, one press of John’s hand, and you’d be in his arms, your fingers in his lovely hair, your mouth pressed against his with only the bass between you, and suddenly the worst week of your life would be over.

You had just the wherewithal to realise how wrong you’d been. You thought you were alone, you thought you had no life outside of the bakery, but here you were, in the arms of the sweetest boy you’d ever known, listening to his band create some of the best music you’d ever heard, and John truly believed everything would be okay. Maybe you ought to trust him.

John let out a short breath, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, as if he too was nervous and excited and uncertain all at once. How sweet it was to know he felt exactly what you were feeling.

“What you said about, erm, no kissing till I’ve got your bakery back,” John murmured, his pretty eyes fixed unashamedly on your mouth. “Is that a… Is that a hard and fast rule? Or more like a suggestion?”

You smiled, and watched John’s adam’s apple bob in his lovely throat.

“What do you think, pretty boy?”

It was very clear from the look in John’s eyes what he thought about that. He bent his head, slowly and with great consideration, just like with everything he did, until the tip of his nose brushed yours. You felt your eyes close without you needing to think about it, your lips parting as you heard John say,

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting t-”

“Oh, have we got a new bassist? Lovely.”

Your eyes snapped open in time to see Freddie swoop into the room with a drink in his hand. He was smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am, love. You’ll look much better in the costumes.”

John begrudgingly moved away but he was smiling to himself. Caught. When his hands left you, it felt like all the air had come rushing back into the room.

The boys chatted as they filed back in, passing around ideas and thoughts on the next show, but you could barely hear them over the sound of your own heart thumping in your ears.

John stayed close. You couldn’t be more relieved. After today, after this week, you never wanted him to move out of arm’s reach again.

“Thanks for today,” you whispered to him, when you were sure the others wouldn’t hear you. “I needed this.”

John shrugged, then carefully helped you out from under his bass. He slipped it over his head, then swung the guitar round so that it wouldn’t bump against you as he took your hand in his.

“You’ve saved me enough times. It’s about time I returned the favour, Captain.”

“I’m still Captain, am I?”

“Of course! You’ll always be my captain.”

“I was worried… I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me anymore, now you don’t have to.”

John smiled.

“It wasn’t the bakery I was coming to see, love. I haven’t been getting up at the crack of dawn and peddling across half of London for the bakery. I didn’t suffer scraped knees and a daft helmet for Gladys and her bloody ancient coffee machine.”

You marvelled at this for a second, then you smiled.

“It’s Mickey, isn’t it.”

John laughed.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Can’t get enough of the bloke.”

“I knew it, I knew it.”

”It’s the arms.”

“Who can blame you.”

Master List

#john deacon #queen #john deacon x reader #john deacon reader #john deacon fic #queen fic #john deacon x you

27 notes · View notes