#holding onto each other for dear life bc they keep each other steady. theyre each other's rock.

[bladesmitten]

ajax and wyll + holding each other

[angrylizardjacket]

morning light {John Deacon}

Anon asked: do you think you can write more fluff for deacy like a lil “morning after”ish bc i’m sad and i love him

A/N: 1877 words. I’m in sever pain and my ankle Hurt. I just want BoRhap’s Another One Bites The Dust!Deaky to tell me it’s going to be okay so picture him, and also just pretend he’s not married please and thank. Not exactly what the prompt asked for but God i’m a sap.

It’s... it’s weird waking up in the morning, and he’s still there, sprawled out beneath the duvet, morning light peaking through the curtains. Not weird bad, just weird. You didn’t really think you’d get this far; you’d been working as an assistant for the company that produced a majority of their music videos, and somewhere along the way, they’d started remembering you. Well, actually, John started remembering you.

It had started with ‘We Are The Champions’, in which you had the tedious job of being more or less an usher for the audience, though it was just a small crowd. While you were seating a particularly excited bunch close to the front, you look up for a moment to see the band warming up, and John Deacon smiling fondly at the excited audience members, before he looks to you. For just a moment, you share a look, and he gives a single nod of solidarity, which you return, before you both go back to your jobs.

When you show up to the filming of ‘We Will Rock You’, practically freezing your ass off in Roger’s backyard, you debate ever getting in to the music industry, and offer to go get coffee and tea for everyone as something to keep you moving.

“I remember you.” You’re so focused on the warmth of the drinks in your hands that you’re surprised when someone says more than ‘thank you’ when you give them theirs. It’s John, smiling at you, shivering, and holding the styrofoam mug so tightly you’re a little afraid it might burst.

“You do?” You answer, and his smile turns amused, before your brain kicks into gear. “I- yeah, I was there for the last shoot.” You agree. “I’m Y/N. I’d shake your hand but-” You gesture helplessly, both hands holding trays of drinks.

“Well it’s lovely to meet you, Y/N, I’m John.” He says, as if you don’t know, and you have to bite back a giggle. It’s then, when he sees the way you smile, and can feel his answering smile brighten, that he decides he likes you.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you too.” You nod at him and he thanks you for his tea before you move on to the others, only preening a little bit when they praise you for bringing them warmth on the cold, winter day. ‘I remember you’ plays in your head on repeat; you can’t stop thinking about it, about the way he grinned at you like he’d know you his whole life, and you realise a few days later, when you’re still dwelling on it, you don’t even remember how cold it had been, just his smile.

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” On the set of ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ you’re the one everyone turns to as the go-between for the band and the crew, seeing as how you’d been working with them for over a year at this point. Now, you’re holding out a water bottle to John, pulse a little quick when he fixes you with a surprisingly affectionate grin of thanks, “I was asked to give you guys these.” 

“Is that the water I asked for? That was quick; Y/N you’re a bloody legend.” You hear Roger call from behind you, bounding down from behind the drums to snag one of the other three bottles from your arms. John stays quiet as he takes the drink from you, watching Roger with an amused smile. 

“I’m parched, thank you, dear.” Freddie takes the second, and after you and John share a look, an endeared smile at the grabby but thankful nature of the others, you turn, raising the final water bottle above your head.

“Brian?” You call, and he looks up from where he’s been tuning his guitar.

“Is that for me?” He asks, and you nod with a smile. He comes to collect the drink, and they all disperse back to their original places.

“We really do have to stop meeting like this; it’s what, the fifth time?” John finally agrees once they’re out of earshot, and you turn back to him, grinning.

“Sixth, actually.” You say, and he nods, making a face like he’s cataloguing the information in the back of his mind.

“Six, wow,” and after a beat, his gaze returns to yours, “six videos and I’ve never seen you at a wrap party?” At that you duck your head with a chuckle.

“I work during the week.” It’s easy to admit; it’s not that you dislike parties, persay, but you’re also not fond of turning up to your day job hungover. John hums, low and thoughtful.

“You should come to tonight’s.” He says, and you hesitate for a moment, looking up in confusion. “You don’t have to drink or anything - ignore whatever Freddie and Roger say - but it’d be nice to have you.” After a beat, he shrugged with a small smile. “But only if you want to, of course.” And you can’t help the small, pleased smile that makes it’s way onto your face as you head back to your station.

You do attend the party, squirrel yourself away on a sofa in the corner of the room, nursing your drink and talking to a revolving door of people who are getting progressively drunker as the night goes on. It’s getting close to midnight, however, when John finally joins you. The two of you had had a few conversations during the night, but he was inevitably pulled away by someone else, and you didn’t like to admit to the sinking sensation in your chest. 

He asks you if you’re enjoying it, but your answering smile and nod is unconvincing. Truth be told, you were feeling a little lonely, a little out of place, and a little Cinderella having to still get up tomorrow at a reasonable hour. As soon as you admit you’re thinking of heading home, he offers to join you, to make sure you’re safe, telling you it’s no trouble when you try to wave off his kindness.

Your home is within walking distance, and you’re thankful for the breezy Spring air as you walk through the streets talking about everything and nothing with John by your side. He’s got his hands tucked in his pockets, and at one point you tuck your arm into his; he doesn’t comment on it, but you can see him smiling.

You’re an adult enough to admit to yourself that you’d developed a crush on him, observant enough to know he liked you well enough too, unsubtle enough that Roger had told you to get a move on, though he had been quite drunk at the time. As you walk, you’re not sure what’s holding you back, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

It turns out, you don’t have to, at your doorstep, he hesitates after saying goodbye, before quickly leaning in and kissing you on the cheek.

“Sleep well.” He says fondly, turning to leave. You reach out, grabbing his hand and he turns back in surprise, and you step forward to press your lips to his, soft and chaste. He’s actually blushing a little when you move back, seems a little surprised.

“You too.” You tell him, voice gentle and fond, and you head inside, catching his flustered smile as you look back over your shoulder.

He gets your number during the next video shoot, or rather, after.

“I should have your number.” Is what he actually says, voice serious like he’s been musing about it for a long time, despite the fact that he’s naked in your bed, a little out of breath, fingers linked with yours as you both take a moment. You’re heart’s still racing and you’re still in quite a heady state, and all you can do is laugh, warm and bright into the darkness of the bedroom.

You wake up the next morning and he’s still there, one arm around you where you’ve got your head on his chest. There’s an anxiety, an uncertainty in your chest, tension creeping into your muscles due to this change, this development in your relationship. But then he wakes up, voice rough with sleep, giving you an easy grin in the morning light as he greets you. 

He’s warm and secure, he always has been, but it’s strange to have such solid confirmation, to feel his arms around you and feel like nothing could move you from that spot if you didn’t want it to.

He calls you, actually follows through and asks you out, and the next thing you know, the two of you are sitting in a fancy restaurant on an actual date. He’s so unwavering genuine, in his smile, his words, in the warmth he gives off; when you talk, you knows he’s actually listening to what you’re saying. 

You learn he’s an engineer; he sort of fell into music, but he’s always had a passion for electronics, and after a few weeks, he shows you the amp he built (and then the false one he built for his mini fridge, which delights you). And then he’s plugging in his record player into the amp, puts on some old jazz single you didn’t really think he’d own, and he’s offering you his hand.

Taking it, you do actually giggle at the whole situation, a little bit flustered by the sweetness of it all. You’ve seen him dance on stage, of course, in videos, but here he wraps an arm around you, swaying gently in his studio, the carpet soft beneath your bare feet. As the music picks up a little, he gently prompts you to twirl, and when you’re back in his arms, there’s nothing but adoration in his eyes. You can’t help but kiss him. 

The music keeps playing, but it’s like the two of you are frozen in time, the world falling away around you as you kiss him. Still holding each other like you’re dancing, his grip tightens just a little on your waist, his thumb brushes yours where your hands are linked before he lets go, moving to hold steady on your other hip while you wind your arms around his neck. 

The song comes to an end, but neither of you break apart. The world feels right, here.

So even now, almost a year later, it’s weird to wake up in the morning, sometimes, and see him there, after everything he’s done in his life, all the places he’s been, and he’s still by your side. He takes your breath away sometimes, when he doesn’t even mean to, like now he’s not even awake but he’s so serene and you woke up holding his hand and you felt like your heart might burst. 

“Good morning, darling.” Voice scratchy, he yawns, and you press an affectionate smile against his shoulder, a little embarrassed for still being so sappy after all this time. His free hand is gentle when he coaxes you up, pressing a kiss to your lips, amused and endeared. “What’s gotten you all smiley?” He asked, and you kiss him again.

“I just love you is all.” You tell him, and his smile brightens in the early morning light.

“I love you too.”