#i wonder if they flirt with deacon more than once (first meeting him)

[maspaz]

i made a joke about shroud being down with whitechapel charlie and i dont think its a joke anymore

charlie: i need a dirty boy to do some dirty, dirty work

shroud (sleep deprived, drunk, hasnt had game in two years): ...

shroud: oh my! well. im down to do anything once

shroud: where should we take this? when are you off the cock? i mean clock

charlie: jesus christ no i want you to kill people.

shroud: oh! i can do that i guess

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Madness

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja

Summary: “I was wondering if I could request an imagine where the reader is a princess and Ivar travels to England with his brothers & thinks the princess is beautiful but he gets teased by Sigurd and his brothers but she can understand their language and decides to flirt with him in front of everyone?”

So I made her Kwenthrith’s daughter because why the fuck not, and Blaeja (Aelle’s daughter) is on this cause again, why the fuck not. Also the Reader might be a tad insane, but at this rate all my Reader characters are idk what to tell u

Word Count: 4.7k (I’m sorry lol)

Warnings: Mentions of rape and child abuse, mentions and allusions to violence and death, my horrible writing

A/N: Idk how I feel about this, I hope I don’t dissapoint the anon that requested it lol. Hope you enjoy, thank you for reading, and ily! <3

Also, I kinda went a lil overboard :/

The handmaid is fixing the coronet over your head when you hear the doors to your rooms open, so she turns to demand propriety from whoever entered unannounced, but seeing Aelle’s daughter with a devilish smile on her lips stops her on her tracks.

“Your Grace.” The woman bows gracefully, and steps back, letting Blaeja take her place.

“Are you ready?” The girl whispers to you, adept hand working at the tresses of your hair to make sure it is carefully hidden under your veil that showcases the delicate circlet on your head.

“You are the one that will be sent off to be married, my friend,” You remind her, chuckling, “To one of those…”

“Lord Sigurd is not that bad,” She interrupts, what for a second sounds like girlish infatuation on her tone. You are opening your mouth to quip on how she refers to one of those brutes as a ‘Lord’ but she clears her throat, and continues, “He played some music for me, the other day.”

“You have nothing to fear then,” You mock with a roll of your eyes, “Maybe he also played music for your father before they executed him, made all of it a much more lovely affair.”

Blaeja tugs at your hair in warning, and you steal a glance at the handmaid that looks carefully at the floor. As if she needed eyes to hear you, as if you didn’t know how she’ll gossip about this with the others.

“Careful, or I’ll ask that you come with me,” She laughs, “I’ll have you sold for two gold coins.”

“You are talking to the heiress to a broken and war-torn kingdom, Lady Blaeja, you better remember that!” You tell her in jest, and she laughs, with that laugh you two share, that laugh born out of despair and loss and uncertainty.

“How could I? Judith never lets me forget what a might Mercia continues to be.” She replies with no little disdain in her tone. After a breath of hesitation, she orders with curt words for the servants to leave you two alone, and once the doors close, the Princess of Northumbria kneels in front of you where you sit, grabbing your hands tightly on her own.

“You are scaring me.”

“There’s no reason to fear,” She tells you even as tears fill her eyes. With a tremulous smile, she whispers, “I heard my sister talking with her husband, about you.”

“Me?”

“Alfred would benefit greatly from having a Mercian Princess as wife,” She states, and though she smiles you feel only cold settling over your heart, dread. “With your mother dead…”

“Dead when King Ecbert, blessed be his memory, took control over Mercia, Blaeja! They already own my kingdom.” You remind her lowly, leaning down so your faces are closer to each other, but this doesn’t dim her smile.

Your heart aches at the reminder of your mother, for her, in all her sins and her scars, was the only family you ever had. The only protection you had, in that palace filled with monsters.

If you think about it, if you sit surrounded by all your sins and your mistakes and your faults and think about it, you know it was the sight of her shaking hands as she looked at them expecting to see blood and told you of the death of her brother that made you stop having faith in your God.

It wasn’t the death of a would-be king at the hands of his sister what made you realize the bishops and priests and deacons and saints were all full of lies, no. It was the emptiness in her gaze as she spoke of walking out of that room a Queen and realizing it wasn’t enough to make up for the pain he -the last remaining alive in the long line of monsters that made up your family- caused her.

It was the hoarse voice of the proud and ruthless Queen of Mercia telling you of the barbarity that took place right under her father’s willfully ignorant gaze, it was the shaking hands that clasped your own and begged for forgiveness that she didn’t need to ask for, it was the severed heads brought in by the Vikings that weren’t enough to heal her, it was the realization God, if he was ever there, looked away most of her life.

You shake those thoughts off, and focus on the Princess before you that smiles in a mix of joy for your fate and bitterness for hers.

With shaky breaths, you insist, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They would have Mercian blood on their lineage, it would strengthen their claim.” She states, and the disgust it fills you with makes you feel shame. You should be ecstatic at the chance of becoming Queen, at the prospect giving Wessex strong sons to prepare for ruling and beautiful daughters to…to exchange like broodmares, like Blaeja, given to a Viking of all men, breakable daughters to fail to protect, like Kwenthrith, raped by her own brother and uncle.

You remember your mother’s pain. You remember her whispers about the court being filled with snakes, you remember her stories about the women with swords and loud voices.

And you remember King Ecbert’s lessons. You remember his tales about the land where his Ragnar Lothbrok came from, you remember his bitterness at the strange land that captured the heart of a man of God such as Athelstan.

You meet her brown eyes, and force a smile on your lips, because may the earth part underneath your feet and drag you down, you will not wed Alfred.

____

They introduce you to the sons of Ragnar, and you will admit, Blaeja looks positively smitten by the easy smile the blond man gives her in greeting. Lovely.

Judith makes a point of having you be sitting next to Alfred who, blessed be his soul, attempts to strike conversation with you only to be stopped by his own shyness.

You still offer him a few courteous smiles, and thank his kindness when he offers it so. When the Vikings talk amongst each other, mostly about the strange food and customs, you notice the King looks at you to gauge your expression, as if he knows you also know their tongue.

You worry about how much King Ecbert shared with him for a moment, but say nothing.

“So, the one that walked in with your bride,” One of the sons of Ragnar starts, and though you decide to pay attention you keep your gaze on your food and the entertainment going on around you, offering one of the performers a small smile. “Who is she?”

“Princess of Mercia, I think. The crazy queen father fought for with Uncle Rollo and the others, that’s her daughter.” A man with hair that you thought first was short but realized later falls down his back in a thick braid, his blond beard unkept, but his eyes those of an experienced man as they look over the room.

“Let’s hope beauty is not all she shares with that crazy bitch, huh? I would love to fuck a Saxon princess again.” Mocks a man you weren’t introduced to, so not a son of Ragnar, with ink on his face and long dark hair.

You realize too late you have lifted your gaze and set your eyes on him, what is sure to be affront and embarrassment showing on your face.

You lower your eyes again to the table before you, clenching your hands into fists on your lap, but you feel like someone is looking at you, and from the other end of the table, when you peek carefully, you catch the eyes of the one they introduced but whose name you can’t remember, the one with short dark hair, the one whose legs seem to be broken.

He looks at you with a silver of surprise, but there’s something else there. Regardless, you know he knows, and it makes fear settle on your stomach like acid. You wonder if this is what Burgred felt when he was poisoned.

“You’ve been staring at her all night, Ivar,” Blaeja’s betrothed starts, voice sickly mocking. “Are you hoping she’ll look back? Take your cripple ass to her bed?”

“Sigurd…” One of the elder brothers grumbles, clearly tired of it all.

“I’m just saying, he’d have more luck forcing a thrall to touch him than hoping a free woman will.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you, brother? Fucking your slave so she can’t even say no.”

“Who out of the two of us will bed a princess, hmm? It surely isn’t the cripple that can’t even please a slave right, is it?”

You and Alfred exchange a look, no longer pretending either of you don’t understand, as the youngest, Ivar, snarls some threat at his brother, voice and temper rising alike.

Refusing to be spoken of like some sort of cunt with a crown, you speak up, though your gaze remains on your plate.

“Princess Blaeja asks you to play that awful lute to keep your paws off her, so I fear that arrogance is unfounded, my Prince.”

Alfred chokes on his drink as he tries covering a startled laugh with a cough, and you feel wide eyes from the end of the table where the Vikings seat settle on you.

“What did you say?” One of the men asks slowly, and with the madness your mother left you with, you lift your gaze and meet the eyes of the man you recognize as Bjorn Ironside.

“My mother wasn’t crazy,” Is all you reply with gritted teeth, before turning to the blonde that Blaeja is to marry. You don’t know what it is that makes you open your mouth again, but you do, “And I was indeed looking at your brother. I feel for you deeply, my Prince, if you can’t recognize want in a woman’s gaze.”

Alfred clears his throat, what you could swear is a smile -the youthful smile of a boy witnessing chaos- shyly settling on his lips, and stands up to propose a toast and dissipate the atmosphere.

“With this being one of the last nights our dear Blaeja, daughter of the late King Aelle, blessed be his soul, spends with us, I-…”

You don’t listen anymore, taking a sip from your wine and catching over the rim of your goblet the eyes of the youngest son of Ragnar -Ivar, you remind yourself- on you, studying you with a mix of mistrust and curiosity.

You keep your gaze on his, and as you lower your cup from your lips, you offer a smile. His own lips tremble in what was sure to be an instinctual reply with a smile of his own, before he schools his features.

Regardless, he takes his eyes off yours and in his whole posture embarrassment is written. Managing to fluster a Viking of all men fills you with a thrill, a heat, like no other.

The men toast and you gesture your goodbyes as the dinner is dispersed. Before you can make it out the door, Blaeja stops you with a hand on your arm.

“What did y-…do you speak their tongue?”

“I do. King Ecbert taught me a lot before he died,” You state, before frowning in confusion and thoughtfulness, “Before he died at the hands of these men…Blaeja, my friend, don’t you ever stop and think about how strange it all has become?”

Blaeja only narrows her eyes with a growing exasperated smile on her lips.

“I care about what you said to my future husband.”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” You pat her cheek in friendly jest, making her roll her eyes. After a moment of consideration, you tell her, “Though he may not play his lute as often anymore, I fear.”

____

You wait impatiently by the window to your room, wondering over and over if this is the wrong choice, if you are making the worst mistake possible, if you are walking into the wolf’s den.

Before you can think yourself out of this, Blaeja, with her head covered by a dark cloak, makes her way into your room.

“I didn’t think your betrothed would agree.” Is all you state, dryly, as she motions for you to get your own cloak.

“Oh, I can assure you Prince Sigurd despises you, but luckily, he seems to adore me. Go, and don’t make me regret this.”

With a light laugh you kiss her cheek and dart out of the room, ready to follow the familiar path to where you asked Prince Sigurd to arrange a meeting between his brother and you.

“So it is you.” He says, dragging himself up a couch in front of yours. You clasp your hands together to keep them from trembling, and try to remember all the logic, all the strategy, you’ve put behind this stupid plan of yours.

“I told them to let you know.” You reply curtly, but the Prince shrugs.

“Sigurd could be mocking me. Make the cripple think he is meeting with the Princess?” He shrugs, but it is not nonchalant in the slightest. In all of his fame and vitriol, you notice, now only remains a man uncertain, unmoored, braced for rejection or mocking like you’ve scarcely seen before. The knowledge that you, or the combination of you and his older brother, seem to be a vulnerable point for him is a knowledge you don’t truly know what to do with. You say nothing in response, and with a movement of his head, after settling in his seat, he insists, “Why did you want to meet with me?”

“You norsemen have a reputation,” You start carefully, plucking at a lose string on the sleeve of your dress. “And the crown needs the allegiance Blaeja’s marriage with your brother gives them, so no mat-…”

“I don’t like your roundabout ways,” He states brusquely, and it stops you on your tracks, your eyes wide and lips parted as you stare at the Prince. He gestures with one hand, a frown starting to mar his face, “Just say what you want, Princess.”

“I want you to take me with you back to wherever it is you come from. I want them to believe I’ve been stolen.”

The Prince looks at you like you have grown a second head, and to be quite frank, once the words have left your lips you realize you might as well have. This is foolish, and dangerous, and...crazy.

That’s what they called your mother, not only these norsemen but all of them. Because she admitted what many didn’t dare to: that if she had been born with a cock they all would have bowed and given her the crown she deserved, that the earth would have been easier to walk on.

You refuse to think madness is a bad trait.

You don’t have to ponder whether the Viking will see it as such, for you notice you have piqued his interest, you notice the curiosity at the madness in your request.

“Are you sure you aren’t the mad Mercian princess?”

You offer a humorless laugh at his taunt, and retort, “I don’t want to be here anymore. And…I can prove useful to you.”

“If you say a wife…”

You don’t let him finish, leaning closer and whispering,

“They want me to marry Alfred.”

“And you don’t want to.”

“His grandfather took Mercia from me, I will not be used as a broodmare so they can hold on tighter to my kingdom.”

The Viking starts to smile, wild and yet calculating, the ruthless and intelligent man his fame says he is.

“But you don’t want revenge.”

“They can fight for the scraps of what once was a mighty kingdom for the rest of time for all I care,” You offer honestly, “I do not want to be caught up in between. I will have to give him children if I marry him, and I refuse to let a child of mine suffer like my mother did, like Blaeja did.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, and his tone grows cruel, mocking, like the cat that plays with the poor mouse before eating it, when he insists, “I could make you a slave, sell you. If you annoy me, I could torture you. If you betray me, I would kill you.”

“I told you I was of use to you, though,” You insist past the fear that makes your hands tremble, “I will not be of use in pieces. You and Alfred played chess before, haven’t you?”

He loosens his posture, his expression is no longer so guarded and venomous as he asks, “And what is this use?”

“I’m a pawn they want to make Queen,” You state, and the Viking starts to smile. You knew he was smart; you knew he was aware of how he could take advantage of ‘taking’ you as a prisoner for his own gain. You have a feeling he wanted to know if you were aware of how your position could be played. Like chess, you ponder. “Surely you could ask for a lot in exchange for my safe return home.”

He considers your words in silence for a few moments, eyes travelling between yours as if trying to read your response to the words he has not yet uttered.

“And if I don’t want to return you to your home?”

You shrug, “Then they’ll have a rallying call for their war against your people, and I will be free from these…these nobles and their fucking priests.”

The Viking breathes a laugh, surprised and a little enthralled it seems, but you find yourself smiling back.

You keep careful eyes on the moon that travels the skies, watchful over the time that you will have to return to your rooms before anyone notices your absence. But in the meantime, you enjoy with easy smiles and a light heart the company of the Viking, surprisingly enough.

____

And the few extra days Blaeja can buy you do almost nothing for the plans of your escape -a part of you is certain the Viking has a plan he won’t share with you- but it does let you get to know the man you are asking to kidnap you. A giant brute like the others, that’s for certain, but he is smart, and cunning, and his dry humor never fails to make you laugh.

You find yourself intrigued, captivated, much more so than you could have thought when you made the choice to speak out against his brother during that first dinner. It is no secret to you he is no longer a pawn in the game you decided to play, but you cannot help but think you still are merely a pawn to him.

One of the nights you meet under the guard of the moon, he starts, “I cannot take you from this city, not without an army.”

“I know.”

His eyebrows raise, “And you have thought of a way around that.”

“Haven’t you?” You reply with a small smile, knowing he has.

“If you could go closer to York…”

“Or you closer to Tamworth.”

“We’d have no way to leave by sea. I can’t exactly walk through the wilderness with you, Princess, as you can see.”

You roll your eyes with a smile on your lips, but eventually acquiesce with a nod.

You sigh, “Then I don’t know, Ivar.”

You notice it is the first time you have said his name instead of his title, and you raise startled and apologetic eyes to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though you notice his gaze lingering on you for a few moments longer than it should.

It gives your still young and innocent heart a shock of hope that you feel all the way to the tips of your fingers.

“One way or another, I will steal you, Princess,” He insistes, and you only lift an eyebrow in response. He crosses his arms, “I promise.”

____

“They leave tonight.” Blaeja starts from her place sitting at your side on the garden bench. You turn to her.

“You leave tonight,” You remind her, “Aren’t you forgetting your lovely husband to be?”

But she shakes her head, “Prince Sigurd and I will marry if he returns,” Her voice wavers, and you realize with a mix of dread and joy she has learned to care for the Viking. She straightens her back and continues, “When he returns from the battle they depart today to prepare for.”

“Against Alfred?”

“Against the woman that murdered their mother. He says they are to take back their Kingdom from her.”

“Your Prince trusts you with all of these things.”

“His brother tells you things too.” She states without hesitation, and you look at her but stay silent, not denying Ivar has told you of Queen Aslaug and her murder already. Many things actually, just as you have told him many things too.

“So it will be a while before you see him again, if ever.” You muse, not only talking about her. It would be foolish to feel pain, loss, fear; you tell yourself. It doesn’t stop the prick of tears on your eyes, or the pit of pain on your chest.

“I will depart to Bamburgh in three days to await word of the outcome of the battle.”

You lay your head on her shoulder, releasing a shaky breath, “I’ll miss you.”

_____

Judith hounds you like a dog and it is starting to get on your nerves. You feel you are being judged and considered carefully for the role of Alfred’s wife, a role you do not want to be in and, if you were to ask him, you don’t think he’d want you in either.

The talks start of having a royal wedding soon after Blaeja weds the Viking Prince, who seems to have survived the battle for Kattegat. You tried asking around, bribing a servant or two, to figure out the fate of Prince Ivar, but you are too close to bearing the crown for them to feel comfortable trading secrets with you, it seems.

You catch sight of Alfred’s eyes on you during a dinner one night, and he offers what you swear is a soothing smile even if his warm eyes shine with regret.

Judith grabs onto her son’s arm and a tired-looking Aethelwulf stands up from his throne, calling for the attention of the clergy and nobles alike.

They announce you as Alfred’s betrothed after a few words you don’t bother with listening to.

As a gift for his bride to be, Alfred arranges for a few soldiers to escort you to Bamburgh, apparently at the request of Princess Blaeja that you accompany her on her wedding day. And barely with time to pack, almost three months after you last saw her, you are in a carriage on your way to the North.

____

She looks radiant, that’s the first thing you notice when you see her awaiting for you by the gates to the royal home. Bright smile and even brighter eyes, rosy cheeks and excitement and joy written all over her posture.

It gladdens you, to know she will be wed to a man she can care for, a man that can care for her. That maybe, just maybe, like in those tales your mother used to mock, there’s love to be felt before the Lord is to bind them together.

And once the ships arrive you will not lie and pretend you don’t feel disappointment, maybe grief, at the absence of the vitriolic yet captivating prince you met what seems so long ago.

You heard them talking about a son of Ragnar becoming King of Kattegat, and you have no doubts as to who bears the crown now. In another world, you may have left, he may have earned a kingdom in what used to be Mercia or Northumbria in exchange for the safe return to Wessex you’d never make.

But you will not let it stop you from finding a way out of this arrangement, of this…this marriage.

The possibility of asking Blaeja to claim you as a permanent resident of her land is there, of course, but you don’t think she has enough leverage against the crown itself to be able to keep you more than a few months. You could simply run away, but you are not stupid, you know you’d die or be found before you can spend a moon in the wilderness.

Still, you are a smart woman, you tell yourself, you will find a way out.

While the dinner -feast, they call it- in celebration for the wedding takes place, a man you recognize as one of the eldest sons of Ragnar approaches you while you sit alone.

You cannot help the pang of fear that runs through you at the sight of one of those giants looming over you, but you still offer what you hope is a courteous smile.

“You have to come with me.” He tells you, and you frown.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Follow me.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, turning his back to you and slithering effortlessly between the dancing and feasting guests. After a moment of consideration, with a small smile on your face as if it were a thrillingly dangerous game of hide and seek, you chase after the Viking.

He leads you all the way down to the docks, and since the moon is high up in the skies, the streets are almost deserted and you are left forced to guide yourself in the darkness or thanks to the rare and dim light of a faraway lantern.

You still push on, your heart beating on your ears and fear and thrill bubbling under your skin.

“This is where I leave you, Princess,” The son of Ragnar says, stopping abruptly and turning to you. You frown, but he doesn’t step closer so you have nothing to fear. “We will see each other again.”

The man with the blondish and long hair gestures a mock of a formal goodbye, and walks confidently back to the royal home where the party -feast- is still taking place.

You are left dumbfounded and alone in the darkness, and instinct makes you want to chase after him and demand answers.

“Following a strange Viking into the darkness,” A familiar voice starts from behind you, stopping you on your tracks, “No wonder people say you are as crazy as your mother, Princess.”

You turn around with a frown and raised chin, ready to retort, “My mother was not c-…”

But you realize halfway as the words leave your lips whose voice it is, to whom the familiar pale blue eyes belong to.

Ivar stands now, and his hair seems longer and braided in some strange style, even his armor looks different. It seems like years have passed even though it has scarcely been half a year yet.

“You’re alive.” You whisper, and the Viking frowns, affronted.

“Of course I am,” He replies arrogantly, and you cannot keep the smile from your lips. He extends a hand, “And I’ve come to…steal you, was it?”

You don’t answer, even if a part of you is thrilled at him remember that first conversation. You only look at him with wide eyes.

“You’re a king now.”

“Hmm, and I was offered a queen, was I not?”

It startles you back to reality, back to your senses, and you notice the three ships with dim lanterns and silent warriors docked at the sides of the dragon-headed ship Ivar -King Ivar now, you suppose- stands in.

“That’s…not what I meant.” You say, but still your hand grasps at the skirts of your dress to lift it up, and you walk closer.

“Have you decided to stay with them?” And the sudden steel underneath his words, a promise of what you could be at the other end of if he is to believe you’ve fooled him, or gone back on your word, makes a thrill of fear go down your back.

“No, but…”

“Usually stealing a bride doesn’t involve this much talking, Princess.” He interrupts, and extends a hand, and you look at it with wide eyes.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“I-…” You look into his eyes, pale blue eyes that you saw more than once when you closed your own in these past months, and a breathy laugh leaves your lips, “This is madness.”

Ivar says nothing, but his hand is still stretched between you. You take it, and jump into the ship.

___

So, that was it :/ I have a feeling it’s pretty boring but I’ll hope that’s cause I wrote it lol

Thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think, and if you wanna rquest anything go right ahead, I promise to try my best lol

Thank you, I hoped you enjoyed <3

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

Love your blog. It’s ✨Immaculate ✨. How would companions (+preston) and anyone you wanna add react around a preferably f!sole that they have a HUGE crush on? For example; what are the little actions or habits they do?

omg, this request made me happy and i enjoyed writing it! i love this so much. thank you for requesting anon, please enjoy! this was probably one of my longest reacts ever written.

anddddd i added sturges and x6 just cause.. i.. love them.. 😶❤️

-

Danse:

he’s never had a real crush before and you bet your fucking life that he has no idea how to deal with it. he wouldn’t notice the crush at first and would be completely oblivious to it until he found himself growing strangely flustered at sole whenever they were in his presence. everything they did, from modding power armor to simply just staring at him with their breathtaking features, always pulled the paladin out of reality, making his heart beat in all different directions and forced him to become speechless even if he had a million things to say. upon realizing that he may be harboring feelings much more than friendship for his long term partner, he becomes more attentive and protective towards sole, even if it goes out of his notice. he would find himself taking over her tasks in sanctuary despite her pleas so she can rest a little longer and take a break from all her responsibilities. danse would become more frantic over soles health, often scolding her about the importance of self care whenever he noticed that she was neglecting it and if she refused to listen, then he’d take matters in his own hands. he’d grow abnormally nervous and concerned whenever sole was away without him for too long and would literally run over to her the minute she’d come home, bombarding her with a million questions before his worries could completely subside. deep down, danse knew he wanted to shield sole from the dangers they faced everyday and pry her away from any kind of pain that could be inflicted on her. he figured it was impossible but knew damn well he could at least try, even if it killed him. soon enough, his crush for sole would grow painfully obvious and knew that he’d have to confront her about it when she started picking up signs.

Deacon:

terrified is an understatement. he found himself panicking at the thought of being attached to someone once again and tried to do everything in the book to perish those emotions as quickly as it came. unfortunately for him, no matter how much he pulled away from sole, he always found a way back to her despite his mind screaming at him to escape. god knows he wouldn’t be able to; not with that dammed smile, perfect personality, and smart mouth. now that she was there existing in his mind rent free, there was no turning back no matter how hard he tried. regardless of his newfound feelings, he’d still continue to act normal around sole, often pulling jokes here and there but everytime he’d try to friskilly flirt with them like he used to, his cheeks would go visibly red and his mouth would become dry whenever sole played along with his games. once he accepted the fact that he was in love and ready to move on, he’d spend every waking moment with her, trying to make her laugh whenever they were together just so he could see their smile. even if he tried to stray away from it, he became more affectionate towards sole, often letting his touches touches linger longer than necessary, offering a shoulder to her whenever she needed it, and just being the rock everytime life decided to knock her down. he’d observe sole a lot, noting down whatever she seemed to have interest in and all the details, small or vast, he could capture of her. remember that necklace you wanted when you looked at a run down magazine at a shop? deacons got you covered. feeling sad? he’d be kicking through that door with an armful of fancy lad cakes before sole could shed a tear. he’s more than willing to go out of his way for sole without a second thought just to ensure shes happy and safe in this chaotic world.

Hancock:

hancocks a natural flirt, it’s definitely obvious by now and sole knew it herself since the day she stepped in goodneighbor. if he wasn’t flirting with her, he was often caught flirting with people he found attractive. after a while though, that habit would deteriorate the more he spent time with sole and got to know her better as a person instead of the commonwealth hero. the idea of one night stands and random hook ups didn’t appeal to him so much anymore as he leaned more into the idea of committing to sole and the possibility of what they could be. he’d find that his flirtatious comments would grow more genuine whenever it left his lips and that his actions were much more gentle and affectionate whenever they were together. his once provocative thoughts about her would be replaced with more innocent ones and he’d constantly wondered how her lips would feel against his instead of observing her ass in that vault suit like he normally would. hancock would often give sole pet names, such as sunshine and sweetheart, and would completely abolish the nickname ‘sister’, pushing it away from his vocabulary as time went by. hancock would constantly tease sole with comments or actions, often telling her she’s absolutely beautiful to caressing her face gently just to see the sight of her wide eyed and flushed with his own very eyes. that image of her was definitely a sight for sore eyes- it made his heart swell with love and awe, a feeling he thought he’d never experience in his lifetime. he would give up anything in the commonwealth, even his love for chems, just to be with sole and stay by her side until the end of time.

Maccready:

he’s such a dork and is absolutely head over heels for sole the first time he realizes he has a thing for her. though he doesn’t go over the top to show he admires her or anything, it’s more than enough to display exactly what he feels for her. whenever they’re out on a mission, mac would always try to impress sole with anything he knows he’s capable of doing or exceeding just to catch her attention, even just for a moment. his suave and cocky attitude while doing so would immediately crash down into bits once sole sent him a dazzled grin or displayed her amazement at his skills. he would then become a flustered and anxious mess, stumbling over his sentences as he tried to pull himself together. mac would become more open with her, showing sole his interests excitedly, like his comic book collection, or telling her stories that he’s never told anyone besides lucy. he’d allow her to pry into his private life and is more than willing to have any type of conversation with her regardless of whether it was personal or just small talk. maccready would frequently gape at his companion with a lovestruck smile on his face and a dreamy glint in his eyes, admiring everything about her from her appearance to her personality. even if sole didn’t notice him doing so, others did and boy did he look like a lovesick teenager.

Nick Valentine:

it wouldn’t take nick forever to realize he had fallen in love with sole. though it’d take a while to accept, he’d eventually warm up to the idea, realizing that the more he pushed away from it, the worse the issue would become. after all, there’s no better way to confront a situation than to encounter it first hand. he’s really old school when having a crush on sole, mimicking prewar actions to show that he really cares for her outside of professionalism. nick would open doors for her, give her his coat whenever he caught her shudder, pick flowers from a garden to give to her, and overall just be an absolute gentleman. he’d literally drive ellie insane by talking about sole all the damn time, whether about professional matters or personal ones, and if her name ever slipped his lips one more time, ellie might just grab a book nearby and knock him unconscious just to catch a break. just like hancock, nick would push away the nicknames he usually used for her, such as kid/pal, and would instead replace it with ‘doll’ or ‘sweetheart’ - it seemed much more romantic and meaningful. he wouldn’t hide the fact that he has interest for sole and would make it known that he has intentions, but would never force sole if she wasn’t comfortable. luckily, she was more than comfortable.

Gage:

he would be in major denial with his feelings for sole. gage would assume it’s just a simple infatuation for the overboss and try his best to ignore the feelings that surfaced whenever she was around. there was just no way he was gonna commit to something he was uncertain of. as much as gage denied the truth, he couldn’t avoid the change of behavior that followed after that realization. he found himself defending the overboss more when someone badmouthed or threatened her and would go out of his way to kill them himself if they stepped a little too close for comfort. not for soles comfort - his comfort. whenever someone displayed any signs of affection or interest towards her, his eyes would shoot daggers directly at that person (who eventually backed away, intimidated) and his hands would clutch his rifle until his knuckles turned white. everytime sole felt down and let a few tears slip, he couldn’t bring himself to give her space like he once used to and would instead accompany her, attempting to ease her pain with small comments and a hand on the shoulder. the thought of being the person behind the one in charge soon faded into nothing as he caught himself saving sole more than once from the dangers that dared to meet her in his presence. he got more than few bullets and bruises while doing so and he found that he didn’t mind that at all. he’d let sole be affectionate to him; when she’d lay her head on his shoulder, let her hand brush against his when they were close, or lay a hand on his chest, he’d find himself enjoying it much more than he should and slowly began to crave it more. his previous thoughts of committing to her would switch entirely and he’d realize that maybe being in love for once wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Preston:

he’d come to accept his crush for the general pretty quickly. she was amazing and genuinely kind hearted after all, so there was absolutely no reason why he’d try to pull away from this feeling. prestons a huge sweetheart when it comes to sole, often complimenting the way she looked that day, sending her small comments of appreciation to know he’s grateful for her in his life, and would go as far as leaving them small trinkets hes found on his adventures, telling her that it reminded him of her. whenever sole was brought up into a conversation, he’d feel his ears perk up and he’d immediately butt in, praising her as a person and for all that she’s done for the commonwealth. he wants to make it known that she deserves more than what she is given and that all her deeds do not go unnoticed. everyone noticed the big smile on his face and the proud look in his eyes whenever he speaks about sole to others and would laugh at his joyful tone as he continued on. it’s almost identical to a child talking about their favorite toy on a show and tell event. he tries to give her the life she deserves by showing little acts of appreciation; leaving an extra box of dandy apples near her bedside so she had something to snack on, sparing a few extra caps to buy her a drink whenever they were out and about, and even cleaning up her room whenever he had the time to do so. in the end, everyone knew that sole had preston wrapped around her finger and anything she needed or desired, he was more than willing to make it happen to the best of his abilities.

Sturges:

sturges hesitates at first, believing that he’s nothing special compared to sole. it would take him a billion years before sole could actually look at him the way he looked at her, but comes to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to try and pursue her. just like nick, sturges is an absolute gentleman to his core but shows it with different actions. instead of picking flowers and opening doors for sole, he’d focus on doing things that could benefit her in the long run. he’d mod whatever weapons or armor she left behind, ensuring that sole had the best of the best while venturing the wastelands and would try to upgrade her living space, adding anything that he knew would put sole more at ease whenever she came home. he would also guarantee there was an extra plate of freshly cooked food and a drink waiting for sole on her kitchen counter in case they decided to come home that night. before sole would go back out in the wasteland, he’d pack a special bag full of stimpacks, rad x, radaway, modified weapons, and other useful things she might need on her adventures, sending her away with a soft smile and a simple, “get home safe.” besides his actions, sturges would try to converse with sole more whenever he found the time to and find any excuse, even if ridiculous, to spend time with her, disregarding any plans he had that day.

X6:

the crush is absolutely foreign to him. he wouldn’t be able to utterly process the feeling at first, confused whether his systems were malfunctioning or not but would notice that his behavior would be drastically changing the more he walked the wastelands with her. he’d catch himself staring at sole longer than necessary, observing her features while she was distracted and allowed it to engrave every single part of his perplexed mind. he’d talk less, unconsciously taking in sole’s voice whenever they spoke and letting that melodious sound replay in his head for an unhealthy amount of time. with this new crush came new emotions he was never programmed to experience - fear, worry, happiness and relief. the strange thing was, it would only rise around her. whenever she was hurt or away, he felt fear and concern, whenever she was laughing and smiling, he felt a sense of happiness and the minute she’d come home from a dangerous part of a mission, he’d feel a wave of relief. he yearned to know more about her outside of professionalism, asking questions about her personal life and interests as he became more curious. as sole opened up more to him and let him see the better side of her - the one that was playful and was full of smiles and laughter - he’d feel the strong heartbeat bang against his chest for the first time in his life. once he realized he had it bad for sole, he was too far into the rabbit hole to ever turn back.

[7r0773r]

Heavy by Kiese Laymon

Inside Concord Missionary Baptist church, I loved the attention I got for being a fat black boy from the older black women: they were the only women on earth who called my fatness fineness. I felt flirted with, and like most fat black boys, when flirted with, I fell in love. I loved the organ’s bended notes, the aftertaste of the grape juice, the fans steadily moving through the humidity, the anticipation of somebody catching the Holy Ghost, the lawd-have-mercy claps after the little big-head boy who couldn’t read so well was forced to read a greeting to the congregation.

But as much as I loved parts of church, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t love the holy word coming from the pulpit. The voices carrying the word were slick and sure of themselves in ways I didn’t believe. The word at Concord was always carried by the mouths of the reverend, deacons, or other visiting preachers who acted like they knew my grandmama and her friends better than they did.

Older black women in the church made up the majority of the audience. But their voices and words were only heard during songs, in ad-libbed responses to the preacher’s word and during church announcements. While Grandmama and everyone else amen’d and well’d their way through shiny hollow sermons, I just sat there, usually at the end of the pew, sucking my teeth, feeling superhot, super bored, and really resentful because Grandmama and her friends never told the sorry-ass preachers to shut up and sit down somewhere.

My problem with church was I knew what could have been. Every other Wednesday, the older women of the church had something called Home Mission: they would meet at alternate houses, and bring their best food, their Bibles, notebooks, and their testimonies. There was no instrumental music at Home Mission, but those women, Grandmama’s friends, used their lives, their mo(u)rning songs, and their Bibles as primary texts to boast, confess, and critique their way into tearful silence every single time.

I didn’t understand hell, partially because I didn’t believe any place could be hotter than Mississippi in August. But I understood feeling good. I did not feel good at Concord Missionary Baptist church. I felt good watching Grandmama and her friends love each other during Home Mission. (Be, pp. 54-55)

***

You were on your way back from Hawaii with Malachi Hunter while LaThon Simmons and I sat in the middle of a white eighth-grade classroom, in a white Catholic school, filled with white folk we didn't even know. These white folk watched us toss black vocabulary words, a dull butter knife, and pink grapefruit slices back and forth until it was time for us to go home.

We were new eighth graders at St. Richard Catholic School in Jackson, Mississippi, because Holy Family, the poor all-black Catholic school we attended most of our lives, closed unexpectedly due to lack of funding. All four of the black girls from Holy Family were placed in one homeroom at St. Richard. All three of us black boys from Holy Family were placed in another. Unlike at Holy Family, where we could wear what we wanted, at St. Richard, students had to wear khaki or blue pants or skirts and light blue, white, or pink shirts.

LaThon, who we both thought looked just like a slew-footed K-Ci from Jodeci, and I sat in the back of homeroom the first day of school doing what we always did: we intentionally used and misused last year's vocabulary words while LaThon cut up his pink grapefruit with his greasy, dull butter knife. "These white folk know here on discount," he told me, "but they don't even know."

"You right," I told him. "These white folk don't even know that you an ol’ grapefruit-by the-pound-eating ass nigga. Give me some grapefruit. Don’t be parsimonious with it, either."

"Nigga, you don’t eat grapefruits,” LaThon said. “Matter of fact, tell me one thing you eat that don't got butter in it. Ol’ churning-your-own-butter-ass dying laughing. "Plus, you act like I got grapefruits gal-low up in here. I got one grapefruit."

Seth Donald, a white boy with two first names, looked like a dustier Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but with braces. Seth spent the first few minutes of the first day of school silent-farting and turning his eyelids inside out. He asked both of us what "gal-low" meant.

"It's like galore," I told him, and looked at LaThon. "Like grapefruits galore."

LaThon sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Seth, whatever your last name is, first of all, your first name ends with two f's from now on, and your new name is Seff six-two because you five-four but you got the head of a nigga we know who six-two." LaThon tapped me on the forearm. "Don't he got a head like S. Slawter?" I nodded up and down as LaThon shifted and looked right in Seff 6'2's eyes. "Every thang about y’all is erroneous. Every. Thang. This that black abundance. Y'all don’t even know."

LaThon's favorite vocab word in seventh grade was "abundance," but I'd never heard him throw "black" and "that" in front of it until we got to St. Richard.

While LaThon was cutting his half into smaller slices, he looked at me and said Seth six-two and them didn't know about the slicing "shhhtyle" he used.

Right as I dapped LaThon up, Ms. Reeves, our white homeroom teacher, pointed at LaThon and me. Ms. Reeves looked like a much older version of Wendy from the Wendy restaurants. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept cutting our grapefruit slices. “Put the knife away, LaThon, she said. *Put it down. Now!"

"Mee-guh," we said to each other. "Meager," the opposite of LaThon's favorite word, was my favorite word at the end of seventh grade. We used different pronunciations of meager to describe people, places, things, and shhhtyles that were at least eight levels less than nothing. "Mee-guh," I told her again, and pulled out my raggedy Trapper Keeper. "Mee-guh." 

While Ms. Reeves was still talking, I wrote "#1 tape of #1 group?" on a note and passed it to LaThon. He leaned over and wrote, "EPMD and Strictly Business." I wrote. #1 girl you wanna marry?" He wrote, "Spinderalla + Tootie." I wrote, "#1 white person who don't even know?" LaThon looked down at his new red and gray Air Maxes, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and wrote, "Ms. Reeves + Ronald Reagan. It's a tie. With they meager ass."

I balled up the note and put it in my too-tight khakis while Ms. Reeves kept talking to us the way you told me white folk would talk to us if we weren't perfect, the way I saw white women at the mall and police talk to you whether you'd broken the law or not.

I understood how Ms. Reeves had every reason in her world to think I was a sweaty, red-eyed underachiever who drank half a Mason jar of box wine before coming to school. That's almost exactly who I was. But LaThon was as close to abundant as an eighth grader could be. (Meager, pp. 65-67)

***

When I came back from playing ball at the Greenbelt rec center during spring break, you made me read back over sentences I’d written in my notebooks back in Mississippi. You said I asked a lot of questions about what I saw and heard in my writing, but because I didn’t reread the questions I didn’t push myself to different answers. You said a good question always trumps an average answer.

“The most important part of writing, and really life,” you said, “is revision.” (Contraction, p. 85)

***

When I got in the house, you brought your belt across my neck. Earlier in the day, Ms. Andrews, one of your friends who was a teacher at my school, told you Coach Shitzler said I was in a sexual relationship with a white girl. You heard this “news” on the same day you watched a gang of white police officers try to kill a chained black man they later claimed had “Hulk-like” strength.

I did not know Rodney King, but I could tell by how he wiggled, rolled, and ran he was not a Hulk. Hulks did not beg for mercy. Hulks did not shuffle from ass whuppings. Hulks had no memories, no mamas. I wondered what niggers and police were to a Hulk. I wondered if all sixteen-year-old Americans had a little Hulk in them. 

I knew, or maybe I accepted, for the first time no matter what anyone did to me, I would never beg anyone for mercy. I would always recover. There was physically nothing anyone could do to me to take my heart, other than kill me. You, Grandmama, and I had that same Hulk in our chest. We would always recover. At some point during my beating, I just stopped fighting and I let you hit me. I did not scream, I did not yell. I barely breathed. I took my shirt off without you telling me. I let you beat me across my back. It was the only beating in my life where watching you beat me as hard as you could felt good. (Hulk, pp. 96-97)

***

I listened to the Coup and read everything James Baldwin had written that summer. I learned you haven’t read anything if you’ve only read something once or twice. Reading things more than twice was the reader version of revision. I read The Fire Next Time over and over again. I wondered how it would read differently had the entire book, and not just the first section, been written to, and for, Baldwin’s nephew. I wondered what, and how, Baldwin would have written to his niece. I wondered about the purpose of warning white folk about the coming fire. Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change. (Already, pp. 143-44)

***

I’d never given much weight to the idea of present black fathers saving black boys. Most of the black boys I grew up with had present black fathers in the home. Sure, some of those fathers taught my friends how to be tough. But I can’t think of one who encouraged his son to be emotionally or even bodily expressive of joy, fear, and love. I respected my father but I never felt that I needed him or any other man in the house to show me how to become a loving man. I knew, truth be told, that a present American man would likely teach me how to be a present American man. And I couldn’t imagine how those teachings would have made me healthier or more generous. (Seat Belts, p. 200)

[gold-and-rubies]

Hi there! I was wondering if you’d be comfy with writing something w/ Deacon/F!ss? It’s my fav 0u0

Hi! Thank you for the request! It's the first one I've gotten so I'm excited.

I'm going to be honest, I don't travel with Deacon as much as I'd like, so I apologize if his character is a bit off. It gets a little angst, but there's a happy ending.

I hope you enjoy!

Deacon laid on a couch in the house at Kingsport Lighthouse as Whisper administered some radaway to him. The place had been crawling with Children of Atom bastards armed to the teeth with gamma guns. Neither of them had been hurt too badly, but he had taken enough rads to need treatment. The rads made him feel sick to his stomach, and the medicine was not much better.

"You know, you wouldn't need the meds of you hadn't decided to become a meat shield, right?" Whisper asked. Her tone was mostly sarcastic and teasing, but there were undertones of concern.

"Becoming a ghoul was my next disguise for your information. It's been a while since the last time I was. Not the most fun disguise I've done though," he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

"Not sure it's much better than your current one," she said.

"And what would that be, my dear friend?" He asked. He sat up to make room for her on the couch and did his best to offer up a cheesy smile. It was not only the rads and meds that made it difficult. He was finding more and more difficult to not show her how he really felt. Good or bad, she made him want to be truthful for once.

She looked at him, trying to look through his shades to meet his eyes with her own. Those damn eyes that could see right through every word and mask.

"Meat shield," she said simply. Her voice was now firm and serious, "you keep diving in between me and the baddies when you don't need to. Why?"

For once he did not know what to say immediately. She was not wrong, he had been throwing himself between her, and every dawn threat they came across. It was happening more and more and more. At first he had tried to convince himself that it was because she was more important than he was. Sure, his role as a spy was unique, and it would be near impossible to properly replace him, but that got nowhere near her role. She was going to infiltrate the Institute. But it was a lot harder to lie to himself than others.

He eventually admitted to himself that he genuinely cared about her, as much as he did not want to. He trusted her more than anybody else, and could call her a true friend without it being even remotely close to a lie. He had told her about his past, about the UP Death laws, about Barbara, about what he did. No one else knew, but her, and when she reacted by comforting him instead of ridiculing him, that was the moment he was too far gone.

It took him even longer to admit how he actually felt. He had tried to sum it up to nothing more than physical attraction. That they were just good friends, and all the playful flirting was just banter. That she was just a buddy that he happened to think was hot. Then he would find himself admiring her kindness, determination, strength, all the good qualities that made her stand out from the rest. He found himself adoring all her littles quirks. The way she sang or hummed quietly to herself when she was focused, or how expressive she was with her hands. He found himself simply wanting to be near her all the time. He wanted to hold her tight and keep her safe, no matter the cost. He loved her.

He wanted to tell her the truth about how he felt, but he was scared that if it were real he would lose her, just like everyone and everything else. When he had lost Barbara he had broke, and he did not want to shatter beyond repair.

So as he sat there, staring at her through tinted glass, he did what he did best. He lied.

"Thinkin' about becoming a body guard when I retire. Done a pretty damn good job so far, don't you think?"

Her gaze did not falter. It never faltered.

"If you're gonna try to lie to me, you're going to have to try harder," she said. He swore his imagination was acting up, because it seemed like she had leaned closer to him.

He turned away from her. He felt like if he held her stare any longer he would turn to ash, even with the sunglasses to protect him.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I am the most honest person you have ever met. I'm a little offended if I'm being honest, which I am," he joked.

"Deacon," she said. He could suddenly feel her body heat along his side. She had leaned closer.

"I'm worried about you."

Those words were death sentence, because when he heard them he turned back to her and saw just how close she had gotten. Their noses were only an inch apart.

"Fine, Dez wants me to keep you alive at all costs," he offered. It was partly true. She did want that, but that was not why he was acting the way he was, and Whisper knew it.

"That's only half true, and you know it. If you want me to believe you, you need to look me in the eyes."

He knew what she meant. Under other circumstances he would not have necessarily minded if she had seen him without the glasses. He had even been meaning to show her his eyes, the one thing about him he never changed. It would have been the ultimate show of trust for him, but now it only meant certain doom.

"I am."

"Without the shades, Deacon."

He did nothing for a moment trying to think if there was some way out. If there was it would only delay the inevitable, he realized. She would not leave him alone after this. He would have to come clean at some point.

He slowly raised his hand up, and removed his glasses. He stared into her eyes unfiltered for the first time. They were even more beautiful than before, and more intense.

The moment he saw those eyes he lost all self control. His words would never be as honest as his actions. So instead of doing what she asked and telling her the truth, he showed her.

He closed the gap, and kissed her. He was gentle, far more gentle than he would have thought possible, but he wanted her to be able to pull away, even if it hurt him. She did not. Instead she responded just as gently.

When he finally pulled back she spoke before he did.

"I love you too."

A large smile spread across his face, a genuine one. The heat that came from the fear of rejection cooled to a warm feeling.

"I'm scared of losing you." He confessed. It was the truth she had been looking for.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me for a long time," she said, smiling.

"How will I ever get by?" He teased, before kissing her again, firmer this time.

Fear be damned. This was worth the possibility of heart ache.

[nightmare-circus]

Serica | Reaction 4/4 | Ode to…

When: Second motive, when their surroundings were not these ephemeral islands but a quiet village. In the midst of suffocating fear, after she had committed to holing up in her room, before he had come to stay with her.

Where: On their mirrors. Due to aforementioned self-isolation.

Who: One conspiracy theorist, one nurse. Just friends, for now.

What:

( > seriously though i dont want to find you dead )

> then don’t go looking

( > how could i not? )

Why:

IX. Yamamoto, Deacon

Was it her fault, for trying to make concrete plans for the future?

( “Deacon Yamamoto, I will do everything in my power to make sure you and I can leave here, that I will find you and bring you home and we’ll spend days just sitting on the couch watching terrible sitcoms, riding on the subway gossiping about tourists, walking through the park hand in hand…“ )

No, that was stupid. 

Serica may have been a woman who believed in more than the average person, trusted in platitudes and jinxes where others would scoff, but even in the midst of the unthinkable she was dimly aware this wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t his fault. It was���. someone else. Someone else’s fault.

A someone else who she needed to find. But, she found herself once again incapable of meaningfully investigating. Not this time for exaggerated pain and weakness, but of a pure inability to move forward both physically and psychologically.

She’s done this before. She had just forced herself to shallowly rationalize and pack away the deaths of Miles, Juniper, Tatsuya, Elise. One more couldn’t be bad. She was great at compartmentalization wasn’t she? She was able to laugh and have drinks hours after poisoning a man, she was able to pretend to be a victim when only half an hour before she had killed one Danny Ostergard with her two hands. If she approached this from a distance, with the veneer of a woman who had nothing to do with the dead man before her, with the objectivity of a woman who simply was trying to figure out what was going on… she could do this, right?

Let’s begin.

How does she even begin to explain Deacon Yamamoto?

(Ah… he’d probably like that reference, wouldn’t he?)

u/BoysBBUGS ||  u/aviary23

Head mod of Fanatical Ravings of the Disappeared, he(?) had a lot of theories that she didn’t necessarily subscribe to, but saw his contributions interesting to pick at. Ships passing through the night on the world wide web ocean.

IX. The Hermit || XI. Justice

A neighbor of a neighbor, though she hadn’t seen him around much. Does he keep to himself? Why the mask?

Cockroach & Serica

A riot of a man, able to make her laugh to hysterics at their first meeting. Supposedly 32 years old, supposedly unable to bath for fear of chemicals, supposedly with child with a man he had just met. Willing to have himself come off as incredibly unreasonable in public. Despite all this, clearly intelligent, clearly possessed a mind that had a voracious appetite for information and was wonderful to bounce theories on. An asset, despite it all.

( “I’m Serica by the way!” )

[…]

“They gave me the name Cockroach. Fucking COCKROACH Ser. What kinda joke is this shit?”

“I have a dumb fucking gift and Cockroach might as well be my real name since I doubt I’ll ever hear my original one ever again.”

Roach & Riccy

Slippery in every way, but not so unreasonable as he seemed. Logic was a great way to combat him, and any answer often had to be weaseled with either heavy theorizing (her specialty) or with a tango with some off the cuff roleplaying (decidedly not her specialty). She wouldn’t be so cocky to say that he changed his habits for her but… she thinks she had a hand in convincing him. He really wasn’t so bad, if you gave him a chance, and he’d surprised her more than once with acts of care and thoughtfulness.

Dee & ██

A friend for sure, and one who seemed to have a genuine loyalty. No qualms at seeing her drop a stun gun in front of him, no reservations when she admitted tentatively that she slept with a knife, no judgements when she casually brought up murder once more. Morals in the traditional sense didn’t seem to shackle him, which was very convenient to incorporating him into her tentative plans. 26, not 32. A New Yorker, as well though rather than any borough, his car was his home. Given his life he had become a stranger to hugs, to positive affection, but once he had a taste he was hungry for more. For all his mock lovers and public swooning, he was dense to actual subtle flirting.

( “My middle name. Aka, no risk of harming me if a faelien hears it. ██.” )

“I don’t have a middle name. I’d tell you if I did, swear. You can call me Dee though. It’s a part of my first name and you already know the first letter of it when I fucked up that one time. So Dee is a pretty good substitute then, yeah?”

Deacon & ███

Incredibly cute. A true newcomer to being hit on, to being told he’s handsome, to being kissed, to being in a relationship. A strong backbone even as she herself wavered in the days leading up to the decisive moment. Determined, stating possibilities as if they were facts and refusing to acknowledge her agonizing over the worst case scenario. Through everything, an unwavering support, a hand on her back, a shoulder to lean on. A good singer of lullabies, in her opinion.

( “███. My name is ███.” )

“Deacon.”

Deacon Yamamoto & ███ ██ █

Did not hold himself in the same concern he showed her. Makes a fuss in the public chat about the wrongs done to him but brushes off the severity when questioned by his own girlfriend. Still a liar, still a master of faking a smile. 

( “I won’t remember much but i’ll know your name, your, that you helped me so much in escaping that, that you mean the World to me–” she’s just babbling “I probably will believe myself if, if I actually try to find your information or maybe your drivers license– maybe if I put you in as a missing person or– But oh no will you believe me? What if I just show up at your car and you just think I’m a scam artist or–” )

“My license plate is HGO789. Deacon Yamamoto. I’ll believe you. I’ll always believe you.”

( “…█. My last name is… █.” )

███ ██ █

There once was a man upon whom was foisted a change. Upon his rise to a breathing dream, he was stripped of his taste and stripped of subsequent limits. Immune not only to the aches of poison but the salve of saccharin, the burn of capsaicin. To match with his steel stomach was his mercurial tongue, not gifted but cultivated carefully. Silvery and poisonous with every other word, it was at the command of a mind that paralleled in fluidity. It was as if he was a maestro, and his instrument of choice was a dictionary, phrases and scenarios slung with such rapidity that all who listened were on guard for constant whiplash.

So, it meant something when words became actions.

Anyone can say anything. He especially was able to say anything, a master class perjurer of the highest degree. The sun was about to peek through the sky at any moment, he was a Staten Island woman in an unhappy marriage trying to hook up her hair dresser with her son, he was fine, he was going to be okay, he was going to get out of here–

…

There is a difference, between telling someone that you will take consideration for the situation, and spending precious currency to fit yourself with a weapon.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you will help them, protect them, and taking the extra mile to pull down the mattress of a woman who’s waking hell of a gift would not let her climb up the steps otherwise.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you want them to live and helping them plan and execute the death of another person.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you want to live and…

…

(She was failing miserably in this task).

…

No one who looked at his body, at the stagnant ichor dripping out of his head, could understand the potential for warmth like she would. His fingers combing through her hair, pulling out loose tangles and tucking locks behind her ear so she could look at him unfettered. A grin, not sharp and pulled taught, but gently reassuring, murmuring soothing phrases to ease her anxious hands. Irises, bright not with the promise of information to unravel but with unbridled emotion that made his eyes crinkle, a devoted gaze meant for one.

One person, who stood here alone.

“And it’s not like I need it, yanno? I kinda wasted my life away before all of this. Not sure if I want it back.”

"I won’t die. Not yet at least. I have some things that need getting done." 

“I mean I’m not gonna let myself die after I break a leg like some racehorse. I wanna be useful, not a damn trigger happy martyr. ” He had snorted. “I’ll still make a valiant effort to get out of here Rics. But if it comes down to me and you? Well.” He had shrugged. “As a consolation prize I will say, you do make me wanna become someone worth living again.”

"I was impliiiied my dear, of course I’m making it out of here with you. What would the point be otherwise. I was trying to make it seem all badass and broody, adding a technicality to it all would’ve been underwhelming.”

“You’re going to be stuck with me until the end of times.”

“You’re getting out of- we’re getting out of here. You were wonderful.”

“Yes I know. I will. I’m going to get out. With you.”

“Of course, █. We can live a life worth living together out there.”

“It’s going to be alright █.”

“I love you █, please. Trust me, things are gonna be fine.”

“One day at a time.”

One day at a time, she had repeated.

One day at a time, she repeats, staring at his face, flesh frozen in the way that only a cadaver could. She’d never forget the first time she had touched a dead body, and was forced to confront the jarring dissonance, the coldness, the stiffness, the pallor of the skin that had been warm, soft, pliable, just hours before. Only a child, forced to confront the concept of lives ending for the first time. Since then she had seen more than her fair share, from work, from this place, before her very eyes.

Joints creak and echo through her body as she moves, finally. To fold her knees under herself, sit at his side, hand hovering indefinitely, torn between not having to face that final moment of confirmation and wanting to just hold him once more. Before she would have to be torn from him for hours, before they returned from a useless trial and his body would be gone, before she’d have to trudge to their caravan, who’s emptiness would threaten to collapse on her.

“There is nothing worse than not knowing.”

( “No, there’s nothing worse than not living.” )

[doubledeaky]

Art Deco

John Deacon x Female!Reader Smut

A/N: Hi, everyone! First, apologies for the lack of consistent updates for “See What a Fool I’ve Been.” The third part will definitely be out Monday or Tuesday. Until then, here’s some Freaky Deaky to tide you all over. This was inspired by @captain--americanna‘s post of this particular photo of John! Thank you for the inspiration dear! Ok, hope everyone enjoys! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! -m:)

Summary: You’re a fresh face on the Queen crew lineup; your main tasks - get all four of them from one venue to another in an orderly fashion, preferably sober, dressed, and ready to play. As the 1974 tour quickly approaches, you find yourself falling for a particular bassist. During their first show, John bares it all in a beyond extravagant outfit and you can’t control yourself any longer. Much to your surprise, neither can John.

Word Count: 6,176 words (oh my)

Warnings: some cursing and sexual content (18+ only please!) 

You were struggling to keep up with the suited man walking briskly before you, clipboard in hand. Your heeled feet ached under the quick pace, but you forced your legs to carry your weight at a speed that almost matched the man’s. This particular man was the tour manager for a particular rock band, that particular rock band being Queen. Despite the burn of your muscles, excitement reverberated from every corner of your body as the pair of you neared the recording studio that housed said rock band. While you were excited, you were also beyond nervous, terrified even. Being hired as a personal assistant and stylist for an up and coming band was honestly a dream come true but now that your dream had become reality, your stomach flipped violently with anxiety. You were nervous for a number of reasons. First, you were afraid that the band wouldn’t welcome you or that the five of you wouldn’t connect and you’d lose the job you so yearned for. Second, the idea of having to be in the constant company of four guys was daunting; you had no brothers growing up. You hoped you’d figure out how to handle them quickly. Third, you were afraid that you wouldn’t be able to handle the demands of the job and get the boot.

You picked at the black polish covering your nails as the man with the clipboard finally halted his unnaturally quick pace and gestured for you to take a seat. You sat and looked up at him expectantly as he flipped through the large stack of papers and forms on the board. He furrowed his brows and for some ungodly reason, the action had your body tensing. He looked up at you briefly before bringing his wrist up to study his watch. He cleared his throat and folded his arms, clipboard hanging loosely under his suede-clad arm.

“Alright, here’s the deal. Your job is to dress them, get them to gigs at a reasonable hour, and keep them happy. Easy enough, right?” He laughed quietly, looking down again at his clipboard and raising his brows. You nodded, a little unconvinced by his last statement but still remained polite. He looked up at you for a verbal answer and you nervously coughed, nodding again.

“Right.” You said, giving him your most convincing, sugary-sweet smile. He nodded, giving you a tight-lipped grin. The man looked exhausted and you feared the boys in the room across the hall would chew you up and spit you out with no hesitation. In the five minutes the two of you had made brief discussion, you’d managed to chipped off three fingernails worth of polish and you chastised your frazzled nerves. He huffed as he placed the clipboard under his arm again.

“Ok, ready to meet your bosses?” He asked, extending his hand for you to take. You took it graciously, afraid your legs wouldn’t be able to properly hold your frame on their own. He led you to the room with a comforting hand on your back and gave you a genuine, reassuring smile as he reached to turn the knob of the door. Before he completed the action he looked at you and whispered an encouragement, noticing your panicked eyes.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. They’ll adore you.” He said, smiling sweetly. You returned it, his friendly demeanor reminded you of your dad and it was nice knowing he’d be around to bring reason to situations you would surely make unreasonable. He opened the door softly, knocking on it as the two of you entered.

“Boys? Are you all decent?” He asked, letting go of the door knob and standing straight with his hands folded in front of him. He gestured for you to come out from behind his tall stature and you did, cautiously. He laughed softly and patted your upper back in an attempt to shake the nerves from your form. A loud crash suddenly boomed from the far left side of the room, behind the sound-proof door funnily enough. The man beside you groaned and rubbed the bridge of his noise with his thumb and pointer finger. You tried to stifle your giggle with a hand over your smiling mouth. Then, as if they were all pressed against the door, four eccentrically-dressed men fell out into the control room. You widened your eyes and stepped back slightly, they were certainly different. They all groaned and giggled, squirming around on the floor like puppies. The man beside you cleared his throat loudly; which did little to capture their attention as they all continued to laugh, holding their stomachs and wiping tears. The man huffed.

“Boys, please. We have a guest. Can the four of you keep it together for more than five minutes?” He said, gesturing for them to get up from the floor and greet you properly.

“Terribly sorry, Gerry. It’s all in good fun.” The man with straight, jet black hair and lined eyes said as he got up and dusted off his white pants. The man beside you- Gerry, you noted- rolled his eyes and hummed disapprovingly. The black-haired man smirked, mischievous and childlike. You felt anxious again, you were certainly in for a wild ride with these characters.

“All right, all right. Enough pissing around. Boys, this is Y/N. You’re new stylist and personal assistant.” Gerry said, turning to give you a reassuring grin and gesturing for you to introduce yourself personally to the four of them. The black-haired man was quick to pull you into a tight hug. You returned it, a bit hesitant at first but his cheery energy somehow calmed your uneasy one. He pulled away and smiled, looking at you with an almost earnest admiration.

“Freddie Mercury.” He said, affirmatively, giving you a wide smile. You returned it, already looking forward to getting to know this enigma of a man. He held both of your hands and lifted your arms, holding you out before him at arms length and giving you a once-over.

“My, my. You are certainly qualified for the position of a stylist. Very chic, I love it.” He quipped, and you blushed under his gaze. He gingerly placed your arms back to your sides, stepping aside and turning to fiddle with the soundboards, allowing you to continue with the introductions.

The next man, tall and curly-haired, extended a hand out to you with a kind smile. You took it, returning the gesture and nodding your head politely.

“Brian May, wonderful to meet you.” He said, his voice smooth and soft, comforting. You smiled sweetly, and released his hand.

“Ditto.” You replied, giggling, and he followed, your laugh strangely infectious. He nodded and followed Freddie to fiddle with the soundboards, a bit more expertise behind the movements of his fingers. The next man was a bit shorter, blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful, and nearly shirtless. You couldn’t prevent the pink blush that dusted your cheeks as he placed a gentle kiss to your cheek, shaking your outstretched hand as he pulled away.

“Roger Taylor. Looking forward to having you around.” He flirted, sending you a quick wink and walking away to plop down on the couch, lighting a cigarette almost immediately. You nodded politely in his direction and you could tell he was pleased with your flustered state. You wrung your hands and turned to the fourth and final man. He gave you a kind smile and offered you his ringed-hand to shake. You took it graciously and admired his enchanting but classic appearance. You could infer that he was the black sheep among his band mates. Dressed only in a red flannel shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. The only thing connecting him to the rock star look was his long, wavy brown hair.

“John Deacon, bassist. Terribly sorry you’ll be babysitting us for the next nine months.” He joked, letting his hand fall to his side after your friendly handshake. You giggled and he seemed pleased he’d gotten a laugh out of you, beaming with pride.

“I wouldn’t have taken the job if I couldn’t handle the likes of you.” You quipped, turning to point a painted finger in the direction of the other three, who all joined in on the easy laughter. You suddenly felt comfortable among these rockstars, something you thought would come with time and not on the very first day. You felt that welcome sense of giddiness fill your chest and for the first time since you’d been awarded the job, you looked forward to the upcoming months of touring Queen was scheduled to fulfill. You turned back to John and gave him a goofy smile.

“Thank you for your apology in advance. Now I know who I’m certainly going to like the most.” You said, mostly to him, but the rest of the room certainly heard and all adopted sly smirks. John looked down at the linoleum floor, flustered at your comment. He was also pretty sure who he was going to like the most over the next nine months.

***

The first date of Queen’s debut tour was quickly approaching and you were swamped in assignments gifted to you by the band, you were loving it. Creating and assembling extravagant stage costumes was awarding you with a passion you’d never experienced. You pumped out costume after costume in such an efficient manner and the band was blown away, especially Freddie. He often spent hours on end over your shoulder, watching you work in pure awe. Today was no different, Freddie was nearly perched atop your shoulder with his jaw touching the floor.

“My God, I have truly been blessed. Never have I seen a fellow designer have a vision so similar to mine. Not only that, you go beyond my expectations. You’re truly a blessing, Y/N” He complimented you endlessly and you couldn’t help but grow flustered, a wide grin stretched across your face. Freddie was now marveling at finished pieces hung on the rack across the room, begging to be worn and showed off.

“Thank you, Freddie. Don’t let me get a big head, my dear. These are your designs, I just so happen to bring them to life.” You said, trying to give him a subtle compliment and downplay the praise he’d just awarded you.

“Don’t be silly, darling. I could give you a simple noun on Monday and you’d have something incredible ready by Thursday. You’re truly a talent.” He said, refusing to allow you to deny the obvious talent in your possession.

“You spoil me, Mercury.” You quipped, focusing on the fabric being fed through the needle of your sewing machine.

“I don’t mind.” He responds slyly, grabbing a few pieces from the rack labeled “Freddie” and placing them over his bent arm.

“If you need me, I’ll be trying these lovely ladies on in the next room. Thank you again, dear.” Freddie called as he exited the room with a practiced grace. You smiled and shook your head. Freddie surely was an enigma.

Moments later, the door to the room opened softly but you didn’t notice, the whirring of your machine blocking almost all surrounding noise. John closed the door behind him and leant against it, admiring you in your element. Though he had trouble admitting it, over the last few weeks of tour preparation, he’d developed a small crush on the band’s on-call therapist and devoted seamstress. Like Freddie was to you, you were to John-an enigma. He admired your passion for your work. When he would run his hands over the careful beading of Freddie’s garments and notice the precise hand-stitching of the many jackets and vests Roger demanded of you, he knew you were meant to do this and you poured your heart and soul into every piece of fabric. He admired your patience and rock-solid tolerance of the band’s constant demands and immature antics. You never complained and did everything with a saccharine sweet smile, never failing to melt John’s heart. You were exactly what the band needed, a dedicated individual who could really take a beating but above all, a friend. You had really become a part of the group and your support of their endeavors and artistic visions was exactly what a young band like Queen needed. However, the thing about you that had John shifting in his seat from time to time was how drop-dead gorgeous you were. Despite humble beginnings, you had an effortless confidence about you and you weren’t afraid to let everyone know. John loved everything about you and the ache in his lower stomach was a constant reminder of his infatuation with you. John continued to watch you work until he shifted his weight and knocked over a heavy rack of clothes, sending it crashing loudly to the floor. He cringed as it landed, and you jumped in your cushiony work chair.

“Shit!” You yelped, turning back to identify the culprit. Your annoyed facade softened when you noticed it was John Deacon, infamous klutz. You rolled your eyes playfully as he stumbled to return the rack to its position, piling clothes in his arms to hang back up.

“Need some help there, my dear.” You joked, leaning your cheek against your hand. He looked up, obviously flustered and stuttered out an apology.

“Sorry, Y/N. Never been very good with not making a mess.” He laughed, still a bit embarrassed as he struggled to place the garments back on cushioned and velvety hangers. You laughed fondly and stood from your seat to help him. He watched you with concentration, noting which pieces belonged on which hanger. As you both worked to restore the rack of its clothes, John’s right hand brushed against your left as you both hung up a costume simultaneously. The shocks running up and down your nerves was enough to have you hastily pulling your hand away, slightly startled. John seemed just a surprised and he massaged his palm with his other hand after he let it fall from its position on the rack. You both remained quiet for a moment, your rapid breaths the only sound bouncing off of the peeling green walls. You cleared your throat suddenly, grabbing John’s attention immediately. You looked up at him and swallowed, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his red hot gaze.

“Did you need anything, John?” You whispered and John coughed, feeling a bit flustered and silly now.

“Um, no, no. The boys wanted me to ask if you’d like to get dinner. Our treat.” He said, nervously shifting from one foot to the other and biting his thumb nail with a nervous enthusiasm. You pulled his thumb from between his teeth and gave him a pointed look, quickly calming him with a smile. You nodded and laced your arm in his, grabbing your purse and locking your eyes with his surprised grey ones.

“I’d love to.” You said simply, guiding him out of the door and down the hall. He prayed you couldn’t feel his pace quicken as you laced your delicate fingers with his ringed ones. As you walked through the mind-bending corridors of the studio, you noticed none of the others boys seemed to be present. John noted your confusion and was quick to explain.

“They got a head start.” He said, gesturing to the empty parking spot that usually housed the band’s beloved van as the two of you exited the studio. You giggled sweetly and John’s heart fluttered.

“Well in that case, let me be the chauffeur. Least I could do for a free dinner.” You said, throwing a smirk his way. He nodded a bit too enthusiastically, like a child answering to the question of “More ice cream?” John laughed at his own nervousness and hopped into your car, the backseat filled with at least seven separate types of fabric, all in an array of different colors. You noticed his eyes scanning the backseat and laughed as you turned the key in the ignition, the car spitting then revving to life smoothly.

“Certainly don’t leave anything to the imagination, huh? I want everyone to know I make clothes for her majesty.” You joked, quickly peeling out into the busy city street. John laughed, his eyes bunching up and the gap of his teeth on full display for to admire. The two of you joked and gave each other the run-around the entire fifteen minute drive, laughing fondly and fiercely like old friends reconnecting. This difference was the prolonged gazes, lip bites, and adoring glances the two of you shared. John sat back against the window as a comfortable silence settled in the vehicle. His eyes scanned your regal profile, tracing the curves and slopes with the darting movements of his irises. You were truly a beauty; classic and modern with a killer personality to boot. John leant his head back on the head rest of his seat and bit at the inside of his lips, the next nine months were certainly going to be interesting.

***

The first date of Queen’s debut US tour was quickly approaching, just days away in fact and you could tell the four musicians were getting antsy. The flight to their first destination was today and you were more than excited to finally be in attendance of the breakout band, in America no less. Their first stop was a state you couldn’t quite recall the name of but you were excited, nevertheless, as you pulled into the parking lot of the studio to meet the band and attending crew. You first noticed John leaning gingerly on the west side of the band’s large tour bus smoking a cigarette, his suitcases resting idly at his feet. You smiled and yanked your key from the ignition, hopping out of your car with a childlike enthusiasm. John noticed this and smiled, walking over to help you with your luggage-ever the gentleman. You joined him at the trunk and gave him an apologetic smile as his eyes widened at the six suitcases stuffed in the small space, not including your carry-on.

“Got to look my best.” You giggled, hauling two suitcases out of the trunk, John copying your actions. He laughed and nodded, gesturing to the many trunks and racks of handmade costumes being loaded into a separate van.

“Understandable, considering you’ve intended to have us dressed to the nines for every show.” He joked and you nodded, a bit embarrassed. You had made an abundance of costumes-maybe enough for two tours, but Freddie insisted.

“So, you excited?” You asked, as the both of you pushed your four largest suitcases into the back of the cargo bus.

“Yeah, a bit nervous but I’ll be alright.” He said, giving you a sweet grin and following you back to your car for the remainder of your bags. You giggled, waving his words off dismissively.

“Nothing to be nervous about, love. You’ll all do fantastic.” You assured him with one of your famous, honeyed smiles and who was John to go against your better judgment. He nodded, grabbing the remainder of your luggage while you closed the trunk and locked your car; looking forward to the next nine months.

***

You were running about the backstage area frantically, preparing for Queen’s first performance in less than two hours. Three of the four of them were dressed, the outfits possessing a similar theme that created a unity among them-they looked like a band. You were doing last minute adjustments, making sure every detail was perfect and ready to be appreciated by the excited eyes of the crowd. After you gave the three of them the okay to relax and shake any pre-show nerves from their system, you looked around in confusion at the area surrounding you. Where was John?

You walked around, feeling dread settle in your stomach as each location you checked proved fruitless. You finally found him, asleep on the couch of the dressing room. You couldn’t stifle your giggle, shaking your head in disbelief.

“John!” You shouted, swatting his leg which hung off of the edge of the worn, leather couch. He stirred slightly but immediately fell back asleep. You huffed, a bit frustrated and antsy now, and shook his shoulders with enough force to wake him. He looked confused for a moment but when his eyes focused on your features, he smiled and yawned.

“God, John, I have no time for your sleepy ass.” You joked as you grabbed his designated costume from his personal rack. He laughed and sat up, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up, revealing his abdomen and the muscles of his arms tensed, then relaxed as they fell into his lap. You felt yourself blush but quickly shoved his outfit, still on the hanger, into his hands.

“Get dressed, goofy. Show time’s in thirty.” You said, moving to grab the makeup, which the entire band was sporting, from the vanity. John noticed this and furrowed his brows.

“Makeup?” He asked, cringing slightly.

“Makeup.” You confirmed, sending him a mischievous smirk. He groaned but continued to change, taking off his t-shirt and pulling the skin-tight vest over his torso. Your breath hitched slightly in your throat, was he really going to change in front of you? You busied yourself, fiddling with random garments and tubes of eyeliner. John proceeded to pull on the tight, jet black trousers and threw the silk kimono over his frame, shifting to study his figure in the mirror. He looked pleased with his appearance.

“Nice job, Y/L/N.” He commented, sitting back down to pull on his tall platform boots. You smiled, and turned to toss a bowtie in his direction. He looked a little confused as his long fingers fiddled with it.

“Put that on and then get over here so I can do your makeup.” You said in your best authoritative voice and John whined from behind you.

Do I have to?” He asked, lacing the bowtie around his throat. You turned and felt your body heat up exponentially as you took in his appearance. Nice job indeed, Y/L/N. You cleared your throat and held a chubby stick of eyeliner up to his face.

“Yes, sir.” You said, grabbing his shoulders and sitting him down in front of the bright lights of the vanity. He huffed and crossed his arms, clearly unhappy with the idea of having what looked like charcoal smeared near his eyes.

“Oh, stop, you big baby. It won’t kill you.” You joked, as you proceeded to line his eyes to the best of your ability, his twitching and constant blinking making it hard. As you applied an ash-grey shadow to his lid, the situation felt weirdly intimate. You could feel his breath fan over your chest and neck and he could feel yours wash over his face. You smelt like roses and tailor’s chalk and he smelt like coffee and adrenaline. It was intoxicating and it took all of your strength to push down the urge to kiss his pouted lips as you completed the envisioned look.

“All done.” You coughed nervously, bringing John out of his trance. He peered at himself in the mirror and laughed.

“I look like a proper dick.” He laughed, scooting closer to the mirror to further examine your work. You giggled and playfully swatted his arms.

“You look like a proper rockstar, Deacon. Now get outta here! You’ve got a show in ten.” You said, eyes widening as you glanced at your wristwatch. You ushered him out of the room, a roadie handing him his bass as you both neared the main stage. You quickly joined the four of them to snap a photo, the flash of the camera blinding them momentarily. You gestured for them to stay put and took a step back to look at your work, perfect. They looked absolutely incredible and you felt pride bubble in your chest, finally seeing your hardwork pay off. You waved them towards the stage with a wide smile.

“Break a leg, boys. I’ll be in the crowd, front and center.” They all nodded, waving and smiling your way as they took the stage; the crowd cheering widely. You walked into the crowd from the wings and politely elbowed your way to the section of people consisting of Queen’s staff, right at the front and to the far left. You took your place next to three friendly roadies and cheered along with the crowd. You sent John a smile, which he returned. The heavy rhythm of John’s bass joined the crowd’s attention and you witnessed pure magic for forty-five minutes. This was the first time you’d seen them perform properly and all of your suspicions were confirmed, they were beyond good.

You understood now the awe they held for you when you created costumes, this was their thing, the thing they were meant to do. You noticed your eyes focus on John much longer than anyone else and it had your entire body humming, unbelievably hot. This didn’t go unnoticed by John, who was trying desperately to shift his weight and cover his arousal with the body of his bass. You looked breathtaking under the purple light illuminating the room and John felt a hunger grow in his lower abdomen. He needed you and no amount of prior hesitation or doubts would stop him once his roadie took his bass from him. The shift in John’s demeanor wasn’t unnoticed by you, his eyes looked desperate and his lips were blood red from constant biting and picking. The show ended, the wails of the adoring crowd pulling you from your daze. You watched the four of them thank the crowd and disappear behind the heavy black curtain separating the people from the band. You were quick to follow them into the wings and then the dressing room, intending to congratulate the four. You knocked quickly and swung the door open with a big smile but only John was there, sat patiently on the same worn couch he’d been napping on a few hours before. You furrowed your brows and walked over to him.

“Where are the others?” You asked, tilting your head at him softly. He smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow with a rag. His eye makeup was smudged and his hair was mussed, he looked like a dream.

“They went for drinks. I wasn’t really feeling it, just wanted to chill.” He said simply, patting the spot next to him, beckoning you to sit down. You did and turned to him with a toothy smile, leaning your head against your hand.

“Enjoy the show?” He asked, taking a sip of water. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and the heat in your belly intensified. You nodded in response, trying to distract yourself from the arousal growing within you.

“I could tell.” He whispered, confidently bringing a hand to your thigh, squeezing gently. Your eyes widened slightly, but you didn’t stop him. He brought his face closer to yours.

“I saw the way you were looking at me. A deer in headlights, really.” He laughs, his warm breath fanning over your neck. You felt a whimper build in your throat as his hand continued to inch up your thigh, squeezing with increasing intensity.

“John..” You trailed off, gasping as his lips brushed across the swell of your collarbone.

“Do you want me?” He says into your neck, soft lips sending shivers throughout your entire body. You couldn’t stop the quiet moan that slipped past your lips and John grinned as his fingers gripped your hips.

“Yes.” You breathed, lacing your fingers in his hair, still slightly damp from sweat. John seemed pleased with your answer, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking softly, determined to work hickies into your delicate skin. You exhaled sharply, your body arching into his, breasts pressed flush against his chest. He continued to mouth at your neck and chest, fingers pushing past the material of your blouse. He removed his lips from your neck and looked into your hooded eyes, pupils dilated in lust.

“May I?” He whispers, eager to remove your top. You nod frantically, feeling suffocated by the fabric. John quickly peels it off of your torso, groaning at the sight hidden underneath.

“My God, Y/N.” He breaths, eyes wide and mouth watering. With a sudden burst of confidence, you hold his gaze and reach behind you to remove your bra and John’s hands tighten their grip on your hips, anticipating every movement. You unclasp and throw your bra to the side, brushing your hair behind you so John can have a complete view of your chest. He moans at the sight of your naked chest, hands coming up from your hips and over your ribs to cup them softly in his hands. His eyes flit up to meet yours in silent permission and you grant it with a delicate moan. He circles his lips around your left nipples, his hand kneading the other. The heat in your abdomen is nearly unbearable as he continues his ministrations. You moaning consistently now, breathy and full of want. John can feel the fabric of his pants grow uncomfortably tight and his legs are shifting in an attempt to relieve some pressure.

“John, please.” You breath out, your arm thrown over your eyes, hips bucking involuntarily. John removes his mouth from your breast, climbing up the length of your body to place a searing kiss to your lips. It steals the air from your lungs and your gasping when he pulls away to speak.

“Yes, dove? What do you need?” He asks, moving to undo your jeans. You moan out, the pressure of his hand on your lower tummy enough to send a shockwave of pleasure through you.

“I want you. All of you.” You say, mind clear enough to sit up and climb upon his lap. John is surprised by your sudden action but doesn’t complain, his hand making themselves comfortable on your hips and effectively grinding you against his hardening length. The friction has your mind spinning and a broken moan escapes the both of you.

“You have me.” He whispers, grabbing your face to pull you into a kiss, sloppy and full of want. You grasp at the material of his kimono, desperate to see him shirtless.

“Off.” You command softly and he complies, taking off his kimono and vest in one motion. Your lips immediately press against the hollow space above his clavicle, moving slowly up the column of his throat. He groans, the feeling of your lips and clothed core against his lap overwhelming his senses. You lower your mouth, kissing your way down his torso until youre above the hem of his trousers. His jaw is clenched tightly now, hands brushing hair from your face as you undo and take off his trousers, leaving him in boxers and smudged makeup only. You stand up with the intention to remove your own pants but you take a moment to admire him. Your eyes doing a slow once over along the entire length of his body. He’s reminiscent of a painting hung on the grand wall of a house with gilded pillars and crystal chandeliers, a stunning sight and it’s all yours. He seems embarrassed under your gaze and you smile dreamily at him, removing your jeans and returning to your position atop his lap. He groans, the idea of only two layers separating you beyond arousing. His fingers are dancing softly along the length of your arms and it only adds to the sensations your experiencing at the moment. You run your hands through his now dry hair, your nails grazing his scalp and his eyes flutter shut.

“You are so beautiful, John.” You whisper into his ear, your fingers brushing back his hair so he doesnt miss a word. He looks at you as you pull away, eyes heavy lidded and smile lazy.

“You’ll be the death of me, dove.” He says quietly, pulling you in for a chaste kiss while his fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear. You know what he’s asking and you nod as his lips press against the base of your throat. He removes them and stuffs them into the pocket of his trousers, which are tossed over the arm of the couch and he looks back at you with a smirk. You giggle and smack his shoulder playfully, the gesture reminding you of classic high school romance. You lean down, your lips mere centimeters from his.

“You don’t need to take them, love. You’ll be seeing a lot more of them after this.” You whisper, silky and beyond seductive and it has John whimpering softly.

“But if you’re going to take them, I’ll need something in return.” You quip, your hands raking down his chest to remove his boxers, his cock promptly slapping against his lower stomach. He groans as a slight amount of pressure is expelled from his body. Your hand delicately grasps his cock, pumping it slowly and your eyes study the micro movements of his face as you do. His eyes are squeezed shut, lip caught between his teeth, and brow brimmed with sweat. You kiss the space behind his ear, your hot breaths bringing him close to release at an alarming pace. He stops your movements and you sit back, confused. His hand grip your hips tightly, rubbing your wet folds against his length slowly, deliberately. You whimper, you nails pressing red, crescent moon shapes into the skin of his shoulders. He groans, his falling back against the couch. His eyes meet yours, his pupils taking up a majority of his grey iris.

“I need to feel you.” He growls, pulling your torso flush against him, your breast pressing against his upper chest.

“I’m waiting for you.” You say smugly, your cockiness melting as he slips into you, the stretch absolutely delicious. You both moan out, your head falling into the crook of his shoulders. After a beat, John experimentally snaps his hips up into yours and the high-pitched moan that escapes you encourages him, setting an intense pace.

“Look at me.” He growls, wanting nothing else but to see you fall apart over him. You meet his eyes, your hips instinctively meeting his in an age-old rhythm.

“John, I-I’m close.” You moan out, hands splayed across his chest. The sensation of him inside you, stretching you, brushing against all four walls is so intense it has you seeing stars.

“Let go, love. I’ve got you.” He whispers, leaning back to watch your features contort in pleasure, still maintaining a brutal pace and intensity. You cum, your walls fluttering against his cock and he’s absolutely in awe at the sight of you. Mouth agape, hair draped around your features, eyes shut in pleasure. John knows he’s close and you can feel it as you ride out your orgasm. You clench around him, hips still bouncing atop him. He groans, biting his lip with enough force to draw blood.

“C’mon, John. Cum for me. Let me feel you.” You whisper into his ear, feeling beyond sensitive as he continues to thrust up into. He cums with a long, strangled moan; his hands gripping your hips with a bruising strength. You both still for a moment, panting heavily, his cock still sheathed inside of you. He gently lifts you up and pulls out, you whimper at the empty feeling. His cum is pooling onto the couch and John curses, grabbing his t-shirt from the floor to catch it. You wince and giggle, leaning down to lay flush against him, your arms wrapping around his neck. His own arms rest atop the length of your lower back, fingers dancing along the soft skin. John is pressing soft kisses into your hair, the both of you waiting for your breathing to even out. After a few moments of stillness, John lifts his head to speak.

“We should probably get dressed. The boys are no doubt on their way back.” He laughs, pulling up his boxers as you move from his lap to stand up. You start to dress and you hear John groan from behind. You turn around to see him in his blue jeans only, holding his soiled t-shirt.

“Don’t worry, love. I have something for you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his middle as you take the shirt from him and toss it into the band’s dirty laundry bag.

“My God, you’re an angel.” He says, gratefully, pulling you into a sweet kiss. You giggle and pull away giving him a clean shirt from the rack across the room.

“I try.” You say smugly, beckoning him with your pointer finger to follow you out of the door. He smiles, not hesitating to fall in line behind you as he pulls the clean shirt over his head. He’s laughing like a child, giddy and without restraint as he wonders what you have in store. Now more than ever, he’s so looking forward to the next nine months.

-Thank you reading! Feedback is very much appreciated! -m:)

[deaksandgeeks]

Later That Night

(John Deacon x F!Reader)

3385 words, 18+ (I’m serious). John and Reader meet out at a bar one night with friends, but don’t go home together. He can’t stop thinking about her and the next best thing happens. 

A/N: Only really got into the Queen fandom in a big way in the last little bit. I also haven’t written anything in a really long time (like, years) and I am terrified to post this, but am doing it anyway, because follow your dreams, amirite? Also, there’s a bit of a buildup to the sexy bits ‘cause I like to set the stage. I am a dramatic bitch.

Warnings: SMUT, solo stuff, probably some cursing because it is impossible for me to go more than ten minutes without swearing, even in my writing. 

Touring in the United States for the first time was exciting in the beginning. It was new territory and being popular internationally was something that they had wanted for the band for a long time, especially in a market as large as America. The only problem being, they were away from their lives at home and missed small comforts. John was getting especially restless.

Roger seemed to be handling it the best, clearly trying to make the most of his time abroad. In an effort to cheer the others up, he suggested they head out of the hotel and try to enjoy the city they were staying in. Freddie liked the suggestion, but John and Brian didn’t exactly want to go out and get into trouble. The tour left them with an extra night in Connecticut, of all places, and Roger thought it would be a good chance to “scout the local talent.” They knew he was mostly joking but agreed it would be nice to be able to take a night to blow off some steam.

The place they ended up wasn’t anything special, but it was decently full. It was some tavern within walking distance of the hotel. The main appeal of it was that it didn’t seem too pretentious. They found a round booth near the back that was empty, and Brian and John scooted in to sit down. The four of them removed their jackets and lazily tossed them down on the extra bench space, of which there was plenty. The table was clearly made to accommodate eight or so people. Roger and Freddie tossed their jackets on top of Brian’s and headed to the bar to grab drinks for the table. While they were gone, one of the waitresses walked over.

“Did you guys need drinks?” The phrasing was curt, but her tone was polite. She was cute.

“No thank you, love. Our friends are just up at the bar.” Brian gestured to Roger and Freddie, but it was a second before she turned around to look. Her eyes sparkled when Brian spoke.

“I like your accent.” She smiled and cocked her head, but Brian just laughed gently.

“Thank you.” He dipped his head a little, hoping not to take this any further. “We appreciate the service, love. We’ll find you the next time we need anything.”

She recognized she was being dismissed, however politely, and turned to John to give him a once over. She quickly turned back to Brian. Clearly, she had a preference.

“My name’s Susan, if you need anything.” She brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder before walking away to tend to another table, order pad in hand.

Freddie and Roger returned carrying four beers, and Roger holding a tray of shots. A man on a mission, apparently.

“I thought about getting the bottle, but we’ll see where the night takes us,” Roger professed as he put the tray down and slid it in closer to Brian and John, spilling Crown Royal onto the plastic platter. At least he didn’t get any on the table, which was already a little sticky.

Roger raised his bottle to toast and the other three did the same. “Cheers, boys!” They each took a pull before Freddie sat down and Roger turned to the room. He leaned on the elevated table with his elbow, surveying the other patrons.

The first round was taken down mostly in silence. Everyone was tired and still sober, so they hadn’t much to say, yet. Roger doled out four of the eight shots from the tray to get everyone to loosen up. Freddie was a good sport, but Brian and John already seemed to be ready to call it a night. Roger caught John’s eye roll while they took their shots, and when the bassist went to chase the whisky with a sip of his beer, Roger reached across the table and playfully lifted the bottom of his bottle. John chuckled a bit and took a bigger gulp. Roger seemed satisfied.

Freddie scooted out of the booth and crossed the floor to the jukebox, to see if anything tickled his fancy. On his way he caught the eye of a young lady, who appeared to be focused on his skin-tight jeans, but managed to make eye contact when she greeted him.

“Oh, Freddie’s got one.” Roger nodded over in his bandmate’s direction, as if Brian and John hadn’t seen the whole thing. He gave a whistle. “Great legs. Wonder how long it takes her to figure it out.”

They watched the tall girl nod enthusiastically at whatever Freddie was saying, before smiling broadly. She was clearly gushing over him. He leaned in and gave her a hug and she looked as if she would faint.

“Must be a fan,” Brian suggested. “Don’t bring her over here, Fred.”

They all watched as he motioned over to their table.

“Why not?” Roger contested.

They observed the girl nod and point to the table she’d been sitting at, where another young lady was stationed, eyes fixed on the encounter and eagerly waiting for her to return. The leggy brunette hurried back to where she had been sitting and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair, while she picked up her pint and explained the situation to her friend. The other one gathered her coat and drink, too, as well as a third drink on their table. They patiently waited for Freddie to select a song, then walk past their table to collect them and bring them over to his own.

Brian sighed as he watched the three of them approach. John smirked at Roger, who smiled at the girls in a very welcoming manner.

“Look what I found!”

“Hello, ladies.” Roger opened his arms and slid one around the shorter girl’s shoulders.

She looked up at him as if the sun rose and set in him. Brian and John each nodded politely at their new guests.

“These young ladies are…”

“Cassie,” the tall one offered quickly.

“Natasha.”

“Yes, so, Cassie, Natasha and… there’s a third one, yes?” Freddie looked to them for confirmation, and they both nodded but neglected to give their friends’ name. “These three young ladies drove down from Canada to see our performance last night.” He motioned proudly to the two of them. The band had only started to gain traction in America. It was actually quite flattering that they’d found fans with such dedication.

Just as Freddie was about to invite them to sit down, John, who had been watching their now empty table, began laughing. Everyone turned to see what had amused him. Standing a few tables away in the middle of the room was a very confused looking young woman, scanning her surroundings, most likely for her friends, coat, and purse, all of which had gone missing. She looked comically lost. Cassie waved an arm in the air to catch her attention.

“(Y/N)!”

Her head whipped around, and she started to approach her friends quickly.  Her expression was slightly confused, until the situation dawned on her and she stopped in her tracks. She stood in place for a split-second, before continuing as if nothing happened. Everyone had seen her reaction but tried to hide their laughter to be polite.

Introductions were exchanged and the girls were offered seats in the ample booth as Brian and John tucked their jackets over the back of the bench. (Y/N) slid in without hesitation, securing a spot next to John. Cassie next to her, before Freddie sat against the edge. Natasha picked the seat next to Brian, but kept her eyes on Roger, who remained standing.

The girls explained how they’d made it down from their hometown. One of them had a cousin in the city, who bought their tickets as a lure to get them to come visit. Something about growing up together, lifelong friends, the usual. Apparently, their American host had an overnight shift at the hospital, and wasn’t present that evening, but they assured the band that all four of them had enjoyed the show immensely.

The waitress, Susan, came by again, and gave Natasha a disapproving glance, clearly not realizing that she just happened to be sitting next to Brian, not that she had any real interest in him. She took an order for another round. Roger also made sure to order three more shots, so as not to exclude the young ladies, after which the conversation started to pick up. The girls seemed nervous at first, but the alcohol helped, and Freddie was so welcoming that they quickly loosened up and became less star-struck.

It was becoming fairly clear that Natasha was fixing to end the evening with Roger, and he seemed to be all for that. Cassie watched Freddie with the utmost admiration but didn’t seem to have designs on him. (Y/N) was clearly trying to play it cool, but kept crossing and un-crossing her legs, not-so-accidentally brushing up against John under the table in the process. He’d admit he liked the attention, but it wasn’t what he was looking for tonight. She smelled fantastic, though.

After a few more drinks, a handful more attempts by the waitress to flirt with Brian, and an invitation lacking a modicum of subtlety from Roger for the girls to head back to the hotel, John was ready to call it an evening. (Y/N) was leaning against his shoulder and her body heat was becoming more inviting by the minute. He really didn’t want to be making any irresponsible decisions and was honestly looking forward to a night where he could squeeze in a couple extra hours of sleep.

She’d clearly been very interested in him from the moment they met, and John hated to let such an attractive young woman feel as though she wasn’t appreciated. John indulged (Y/N) a little by putting his hand on her knee and leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“I think it’s time I left.”

Her head snapped around to look him in the eye, her lips parted and eyes blazing. He laughed at himself, immediately realizing his (mostly unintentional) mistake. He leaned in close to her one more time.

“It was lovely meeting you. Would you be so kind?” He motioned for her to slide out of the booth, allowing him to leave. She closed her mouth and her expression changed to one of disappointment, but she nodded obligingly, before giving him a rueful smile.

She gave a gentle nudge to Cassie who was lost in conversation with Freddie, but they both picked up on the signal immediately. Everyone shuffled out of the one side of the booth, and John slid out behind them. They were all pooled at the end of the table, and John brushed up against (Y/N)’s backside as he stood up, trying to squeeze by everyone. He tensed when her back arched instinctively, feeling that he was already semi-hard from how close they’d been sitting all night. He gently placed a hand on her waist as he pulled away from her, and they both let out a slow breath.

Roger tried to convince his band mate to stay, but John knew he had to get going before things heated up any further. He made sure to thank the girls for making the trip to see their show and wished a warm goodbye to everyone at the table. As Brian passed his jacket over their drinks, John grazed the tips of his fingers against (Y/N)’s arm, before sliding them to her elbow and locking eyes with her one last time.

He walked to the door, pulling his jacket on, and headed back to the hotel.

When he arrived in his room, which he shared with Brian, he was glad to have some time to himself. He tossed his jacket on the end of his bed, closest to the door. They had a couple beers sitting on the desk in the room, and he cracked one open. He took a sip and looked around the room, thinking he might still be too wired to fall asleep. Part of him regretted leaving the bar early, but he knew it was the right decision. Still.

The idea that she was so willing wasn’t what excited him. It was just her. She was magnetic, in a way, and while he knew it would have been too dangerous, an ever-growing part of him wished he had stayed, just to soak in a little more of her. He was quite certainly attracted to her, and the clear evidence presented that she felt the same was nearly overwhelming. It was too easy to tease her. He was sure that she was aware of just how much he had enjoyed doing it, too.

He set his beer on the table and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

It had been a while since he’d had enough privacy to jerk off properly. Always having to quietly rush while in the shower, or awkwardly keep silent in his bunk on the bus. Typically, it would discourage him altogether, and he found himself getting cranky the longer they were on tour. He decided to make the most of his time alone tonight.

The mirror came all the way down to the sink and he could see his reflection down to his thighs. He regarded himself while leaning one arm on the counter, before sliding his hand along the waist of his jeans, unfastening the button and pulling the zipper down. Reaching in, he began to stroke himself steadily, still half-ready from earlier in the evening, while gently sliding his jeans down his hips a little. He pulled his cock out over the sink and looked down at himself in his hand. Not bad.

He began slowly, gently. He closed his eyes and inhaled, thinking about the girl from the bar. She was such a good-looking thing. Sharp, too. He thought about a few of the jokes she’d made. The way her eyes flickered with mischief when she knew she’d made him laugh. He thought about the moment she’d lost her earring and had to slide under the table to retrieve it, surprisingly gracefully. He imagined her giving him that mischievous look from under the table, looking up at him with hollow cheeks and her plump lips wrapped around his cock.

He started to stroke himself faster.

He thought about pressing up against her when he left. How her plush ass felt against him, as he was already starting to get excited from her physical flirtations. He started breathing heavier. He thought about the way her back had arched at the contact. He had already known she wanted to fuck him at that point, but that had been too much. He thought about how badly he had wanted to grab her, right then and there, pulling her up against him until he was smothered in her soft ass.

He imagined her arching her back for him now, presenting for him as he pushed her up against the edge of the counter. He imagined running his hands along her smooth skin, up under her skirt, only to find she wasn’t wearing any panties. He imagined how he’d glide his hands over her waist and up her chest, aggressively pulling her blouse open, and the ticking sounds of buttons clattering over the counter and tile floor, before taking handfuls of her firm breasts.

He could almost hear her mewling and sighing as he slipped inside her, and could practically feel how wet she’d be, dying for his cock. He imagined grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back to him as he’d thrust into her, burying his face in her neck. He remembered how good she smelled.

John bit his lip and watched his own reflection with half-lidded eyes for a moment, before returning to his reverie. He already knew how much she’d love the way he’d fuck her. How she’d call his name, and her gentle feminine moans as she succumbed to pleasure. The sound of their skin slapping together as he bumped up against her ass and the backs of her thighs. The feeling of her juices making a mess all over the two of them.

He was leaning forward now, feeling close as he pumped his fist faster. He looked at the tiny bottles on the counter, grabbing for shampoo, Vaseline, anything. He nabbed the closest one.

Aftershave? Not that.

The next bottle he snatched was lotion and he poured a generous dollop into his hand before wrapping his hand around his shaft again. He let out a low moan, knowing no one could hear him and that he could make as much noise as he wanted. His breathing quickened as he pictured (Y/N) undone and cursing, dying for release. Her hair a mess in his hand, eyes closed and mouth open. How the reflection of her tits bouncing would look in the mirror, as he pushed into her, over and over. Her hands would be clutching the edge of the counter as her hips bucked back into him, matching his rhythm, taking all of him in and adoring him.

He imagined her crying his name one final time, and the feeling of her tightening and flexing around him as she came on his cock, loving having every inch of him buried inside of her.  

He remembered the look of pure lust in her eyes when she thought he was taking her home. The thought occurred to him that (Y/N) would no doubt be in a similar state tonight, indulging in an almost identical fantasy to his. He quickened the pace of his hand until it was nearly frantic.

He could hear her voice, tauntingly innocent. “Should I stop? Am I being bad?”

The image of her touching herself while thinking of him drove John over the edge. Eyes closed, he leaned his head back. With a soft, almost inaudible whimper he came hard, spurting come all over the sink, tap and mirror in waves.

Spent and suddenly exhausted, he took a moment to lean with both hands on the counter, breathing heavily. He cleaned the sink off and refastened his jeans before walking back into the room to grab his beer. He guzzled half of it in one go, then went back into the bathroom and started the shower, just as he heard Brian return.

Brian looked tired as he shut the heavy hotel door behind him as quietly as he could and greeted John with a small wave. The two of them briefly chatted about how the rest of the evening had gone at the bar, Brian not noticing how flushed John was. Nothing too crazy happened after John had left, but everyone had left Roger there with Natasha. The other girls had gone back to where they’d been staying nearby, and Freddie was currently in his room where Brian had dropped him off.

“Do you mind if I get in there before you?” Brian pointed to the washroom. John nodded to him absentmindedly as he picked at the label on the bottle that was still in his hand. He wondered how long the girls had been home and speculated how long (Y/N) would hold out before thinking about him properly. He was vaguely aware of the sound of the tap running and tooth-brushing, while his mind wandered.

He hadn’t even noticed the washroom was free again, until Brian started to change out of his clothes to crawl into his bed on the far side of the room. By now the shower had heated up and steam filled the room, fogging the mirror. John distractedly wished Brian a goodnight as he shut the door. He quickly pulled his clothes off, before stepping into the current and relaxing in the hot water.

As he stood for a moment, feeling the droplets hit his skin, his mind drifted back to (Y/N). Was she thinking about him right now? Maybe she’d already finished. She’d clearly been very eager earlier, it probably wouldn’t take her very long to get off. She could already be on her second round by now.

His cock twitched a little.

He wondered what she’d look like here with him, naked and surrounded by a haze of steam, hair soaked and skin slick with warm running water.

Hm. Something to think about.

[softspaceboibrian]

here you have some headcanons no one asked for

imagine being one of Queen members' daughter, how's your relationship with your father, with the rest of the family. and then, when you start hanging around the set of Bohemian Rhapsody, who do you fall in love with, why?

Brian May

being Brian's child is definitely one of the best things ever

first of all, you look a lot like him

maybe you don't have his curls, but you have his hair, which is a lot

you also have kind of the same physique

tall, slim

you are the youngest of his children, and, unlike your siblings, you're not Christine's daughter, but Anita's

but that doesn't mean people look at you in a different way, neither your siblings nor your dad

Brian, as any other father, doesn't have a favourite child, but being the youngest, you're still he's little baby

let me tell one thing, he might not show it, but he's an overprotective dad

since you were little, if people made fun of you, he made sure to help you

like that one time he showed up after school with a super fancy car and a killer rockstar outfit that made everyone's head turn, all of this just because someone made you upset

Anita is always trying to keep him from doing too crazy stuff for you and your siblings

not that it works

he loves to spoil his children, especially you, since you're the only one who's still living with them

whenever Anita can't make a big event as his plus one, he's ready to go out and buy you a pretty dress, so that you can accompany him

but, again, he's overprotective

especially when it comes to your love life

in fact, you have to beg him to let you go with him on the set of Bohemian Rhapsody

he says that he's sure you're going to get bored

but your mom tells you the truth

"he's afraid you might fall in love with one of the boys. you know, he doesn't want anyone to break your heart and, well, he's sure an actor would probably do it"

in the end, Anita convinces him to let you go with him

that day you wear something pretty but cool (you have to make an impression)

every one of the boys is kind to you, they ask you about your dad

especially Gwilym, who wants to know everything you have to tell him about your father

and your dad is afraid you might actually fall for him, being him a real gentleman

what your dad doesn't realize is how close you are getting with someone else

since they one, a certain blondie had caught your eyes

and let me tell you, you were the sun around which his thoughts revolved

when he asked you out the first time, you immediately told your mom

"should I tell dad?"

"you probably should, honey. I promise I'll keep him under control for you"

when you told him, he was actually surprised

"I'll have to have a talk with the guy"

"dad, he's a good person"

"I know, but you're still my little girl"

Roger Taylor

okay, so, think of Rogerina. that's exactly what you would look like

you are the the third of his children, born the year your dad and Dominique got married (1988)

when your parents split up, you explicitly asked to stay with your dad, not because you didn't love your mother, you did, but because you and your dad had a special relationship

you saw your dad go through so many things

when Freddie passed away, you were only three, but you still understood, in your own child-like way, the pain he was going through

"but he's still here" you pointed to his chest, still not exactly knowing where the heart is

he could never say it out loud, but you are his favourite child

you supported him every time, no matter what

and he loves to see how close you are with Sarina

it was a relief when you accepted her with no problems at all, unlike your siblings, who were a bit worried about the age difference at first

obviously, you took after him even when it comes to your skills

you're an amazing musician and, you're not the kind to brag about it, but having the Roger Taylor teaching you how to play the drums isn't something that happens everyday

he's protective like he is with every single one of his children, even though you're 30 now

when you first visited him on set with Sarina, he made sure to tell everyone that, if they hurt you or did something bad to you, they would get killed

luckily Sarina fixed everything

oh lord, your dad loves to brag about you

"sunshine, c'mere and show them how good you are!" and with that he hands you a pair of drumsticks

but let me tell you also how much your dad loves to embarrass you in front of people, especially when they are around your age, especially when he feels like you like someone

like that one time when he invited the BoRhap boys over for dinner and made sure to invite you too

"I see you and Joe are getting along pretty well"

"dad, don't worry, he doesn't even look at me.."

"why? you're so beautiful"

"maybe because he's afraid of you"

that night he makes sure you sit next to Joe

and you're grateful for it

but then, when you two are finally talking for real and he's actually flirting with you, your dad interrupts you

"so, Joe, when are you taking my daughter on a date? make sure to treat her well. otherwise, I'll break your legs"

"DAAAAD!" you scream

"ROGER!" Sarina screams

"I'm joking! I know Joe is a good guy, but being a father also means making sure you have the best of the best"

Joe actually asks you out that night, after asking your dad for permission

what you don't know is that your dad told him everything about you, what you like to eat, what's your favourite restaurant, what you like to do on a Friday night out and on a Sunday afternoon in

Joe is actually grateful for the information and plans the best date ever, tailor made for you

John Deacon

you are the fifth out of seven children, three years older than Luke (which means you're born in 1989)

yes, you guessed, you have his hair

so much hair, so voluminous, so soft

you still have to decide whether you love it or hate it

when Freddie passed away, you were too young to understand what was going on, but looking back to it now, you clearly remember not seeing your dad cry once in front of you

he was deeply affected by the loss and when he finally retired from the public scene, you were able to understand why

in a why, you were happy

it meant you were able to have your dad around more

never once he showed a preference towards one of his children

he always tried his best to spend enough time with every single one

he was and still is the best dad ever

he supports his children in everything they do

but when you told him you were interested in Electronics and hoped to get into King's College, just like he did, he couldn't hide the happiness

"I just hope you're doing this because you like it and not to impress me"

"dad, I built my own amplifier because you would let me buy one. do you really think I'm doing this to impress you?"

"you have a point. but, you see, i just want the best for you"

"I know, dad, and I'm thankful for it"

he's protective, but not too protective

he always makes sure everything is good

if you're angry or sad, he can sense it

he just walks into your room, lays on the bed next to you and starts telling you about his day, trying to help you keep your mind away from the thing that's bothering you

even though you're basically an adult, you love to still be able to cuddle next to him and just talk about nothings

when he learns about the Bohemian Rhapsody movie projects, he thinks you're the right person to go and talk with Joe

it was actually your mom's idea, but he thinks it's a good one

they both know you know your dad like the palm of your hand

and Joe is grateful for the help you are giving him by sharing that kind of information with him

you mainly tell him the little things he does when he's nervous or happy or frustrated

you start to spend more and more time on set, growing close to the boys

but one of them, especially, makes your hear flutter

"you're here! Gwil kept asking me when you were going to get here" Joe said

"he asked about me?"

"oh, honey, he does nothing else"

when you finally start dating him, you tell your dad about him

"if he really makes you happy, then I would like to meet him"

they surprisingly get along so well

and you're glad

"John, can I call you John? your daughter is the best person I have ever met in my life. she's a wonderful woman and she has an amazing heart."

"I know"

A/N: i wanted to write about being Freddie and Jim's adopt child but it hurt too much, sorry. and I didn't put neither Rami nor Lucy just because I love those two so much and I want them to be together and every universe possible

[obliteratethefrog]

ELEGANCE

Rami Malek!Freddie Mercury x Male!Reader

3.5k words

——“How much longer, Deaky dearest?” Freddie croaked out, voice breaking slightly as he yawned, stretching out as much as he could in the front seat without smacking poor John in his forehead. “Just a few more minutes everyone, but don’t think we’ll be jetting out of the door before my mum decides to pinch all of our cheeks, especially you Freddie, you’re my mum’s favorite..well, after me, of course.” John continued, chuckling softly as Freddie’s eccentric laughter rang out in the tightly packed Black Volkswagen Beetle. After at least 15 minutes more, the foursome rolled into the Deacon resident driveway, instantly hearing an excited squeal come from the open garage door. Roger, Brian, and John all got out to gather up their respective luggage, begrudgingly taking one of Freddie’s 3 overly stuffed bags with their own.

“John, my boy! Come give your mum a kiss!” Mrs. Deacon shouted out, bringing her son into a tight hug while kissing his cheek repeatedly, sending the usually quiet man into a fit of childish giggles. “Mum!Mum! Stop that, you’re gonna embarrass me in front of the boys!” John squeaked out between each giggle that escaped his throat. “Well I couldn’t help myself, son, you’ve been gone for almost a year, and you expect me to keep my hands off my own son? You must be mad, boy!” Mrs. Deacon shouted out, lightly hitting her son’s chest as she turned to the three others that stood behind him, all with giant grins spread out across their faces.

After at least an hour’s worth of a house tour, a quick phone call from “Miami”, and everyone getting somewhat settled into their own rooms, they were informed of what time to be ready tomorrow for their “family” get together, which mainly consisted of the boys and John’s parents. The band crowded around John’s Beetle, Freddie and Roger smoking a cigarette as they chattered amongst themselves. “If you guys want to take a trip into town, I can show you an old friend’s dance studio..” John suggested, taking an obvious step towards the driver’s seat. He’d been itching to go see his childhood friend, a lad quite similar to himself, as in being somewhat reserved, yet more confident in himself. “Dance studio..in a town this size? Sure, why not.” Brian replied, getting the other two to agree as they filed back into the car, awaiting a short 3 minute drive to the small, but spacious 2-story brick building.

The group filed out of the car, John was the first to hit the cement sidewalk in excitement as he walked over to the glass door, looking over the text that read “(L/N)’s School of Dance:Contemporary and Classic”. “I’ve never seen Deaky so excited to go into a dance studio, of all things!” Roger exclaimed as he walked in behind Brian, noticing how the bottom floor was more of a greeting area, filled with chairs and tables that were tucked into corners, along with vending machines located at the back wall by the open staircase. “Deaky does usually give a bit when we’re on set, if you haven’t noticed, Rog.” Brian said to distracted blonde. Freddie was right behind the both of them, listening in on their conversation as he took in the modest decor of the first floor, before ascending the stairs with the rest of them.

Once the four had reached the top of the stairs, they were met with four very spacious rooms, their walls being replaced with one-way mirrors, leaving its recipients to be seen and the ongoers to go unnoticed. One of the doors was left ajar, letting the lyrics of “Sweet Lady” flow out at full force while a young man-at least in his mid-20’s-danced along to the beat of the song, body flowing in many ways that some could call distorted, and others call art. John grinned widely as the other three were entirely enraptured by his friend, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he watched their reactions. “That’s my friend from High School. His name’s (M/N), and this is his family’s dance studio. I remember coming here after getting out of school, and (M/N) would sprint off, throwing his bag aside just to dance.” John reminisced, his smile going down to a soft line. “Well, he sure does love what he does.”Freddie finally spoke up, eyes still transfixed on the male with shoulder length, (h/c) locks that curled in just the right places. Brian and Roger nodded in agreement as they turned to John, beginning to pester him that he should’ve brought (M/N) to one of their concerts, to which John replied that everytime he had offered, (M/N) would decline, saying he was busy helping his mum with the dance studio.

(M/N) was an only child, being raised around music and dance through his parents. His dad was a luthier, well respected due to his craftsmanship on any string instrument that consisted of a neck and soundbox. His mother was an exquisite dancer, having performed with large accompaniments and even some famous musicians of her youth. The two were still active in their occupations, his father being out of town for long stretches of time to work with a range of performers, whether well-known or just started, while his mother is still teaching dance, even if it is to an older audience. (M/N) panted heavily as the song ended, walking barefoot to the folding chair that held his water bottle and towel. His red sports shorts cling to his well toned thighs, having gained muscle mass through puberty as well as his many dance practices. He was somewhat of a tall and toned type of guy, (s/t) complexion complimenting his very handsome features. His white tank top clung to his body as sweat cooled against his heated skin. As he sipped greedily from his water bottle, his eyes caught sight of a familiar tuft of brown hair outside of the open door. His legs carried him over as he released the now empty bottle with a satisfied huff. “John, if you’d’ve phoned me before you got here I would’ve looked more presentable than I do now.” (M/N) stated, leaning against the door frame that barely held his 6’0” form. “Good to see you, (M/N)!” John exclaimed happily, hugging his old friend, who brought him in more, playfully lifting him up before releasing him back to the ground. “These your band mates?” (M/N) inquires, receiving a nod from John. He flashed them a kind smile before waving them inside, going to the record player in the corner to remove the album and place it in its case.

“May I say, (M/N), darling, your dancing was quite exquisite. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, and if I’m honest I wouldn’t really want to tear away even if you weren’t performing .” Freddie flirted casually as (M/N) turned around, giving him a broad grin as he wiped off his face. “Thanks a lot. You must be Freddie, right? John’s told me a lot about you.” (M/N) replied, holding out a hand for the front man to take, and once he did, he squeezed it softly before bringing it up to his slightly chapped lips and lowered it back to the shorter man’s reach, letting Freddie take it back to his side. To say Freddie was speechless was an understatement. Freddie was merely mesmerized by the ethereal being before him. (M/N) wasn’t the first man to flirt with him, God forbid he’s anything like that douche named Paul Prenter, but he damn well was the first to catch Freddie’s attention without even buying him a drink first.

———————

John took notice of Freddie’s demeanor that night at dinner due to his lack of conversation. He wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Freddie’s actions began to worry both Roger and Brian, hell he even worried John’s parents. Freddie was sat at the windowsill of the Deacon’s living room, watching the nightlife of the tiny town as a glass of wine was balanced in his hand. The only thing on Freddie’s mind had been (M/N), ever since their brief interaction at his dance studio, the boys had to leave after John reminded them that there was still an entire town waiting to be seen, and (M/N) had a class coming in soon. It disappointed Freddie to no end that he had to leave the enchanting man so early, but he had to comply with his dear friend’s wishes to explore his hometown, even if it wasn’t as alluring as watching the dancers performance.

“I haven’t seen him that interested in anything except when we were working on our album..” Brian had said once the discussion at the dinner table had calmed. “(M/N) has been known to have that sort of affect on people, but the boy’s nothing but a saint!” exclaimed Mr. Deacon, a well aged gentleman who Brian was discussing a possible meeting with (M/N)’s father, who was the small town’s very own luthier. “I have no doubt in that, Mr. Deacon..I’m just worried about Fred..I don’t want him to end up in a situation like his last one when we were on tour..” Brian replied, hearing Roger mutter a soft “We don’t need another Paul Prenter incident.”, before he continued swirling the remainder of water in his glass. Mr. Deacon hummed in agreement as he turned back to his son, beginning a new conversation about their American tour.

Mrs. Deacon made her way towards the band’s lead singer, a plate of biscuits nestled in her hands as she sat beside him, displaying them in front of him. “Oh..thank you..” Freddie said once his trance was broken, taking the orange tinted sweet with powdered sugar, taking a bite before humming in delight at the slight pumpkin spice that invaded his taste buds. “This is phenomenal!” he complimented, receiving a soft chuckle from the older woman. “They’re (M/N)’s favorite..I usually make some for him when he comes over, but ever since he’s had classes at the studio, he hasn’t come over in a while. I still make them though, and I deliver them to his home when his mother’s there.” she said, setting the plate down before looking up at Freddie. “He has good tastes then.”Freddie replies before taking another bite, setting his wine down. “I was thinking of sending some to him today, but I haven’t had the time to go out and deliver them..I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking him some? I’d send John, but his father already has him wrapped up in conversation that I believe he’ll still be in the same chair come morning.” Mrs. Deacon said, turning to look at her son and husband. “Oh, well if you insist. I’ve actually been itching to get back outside, and now that we’re here, I’m able to step out without being stricken down by camera flashes.” Freddie replied before standing up to follow Mrs. Deacon to the kitchen, taking the biscuits that were carefully secured in a tupperware container.”Thank you, dear. Here’s his address, and be sure to ring the doorbell twice, knowing him he’s probably in his room.” Mrs. Deacon advised before Freddie stepped out of the side door in the kitchen, watching down the short flight of stairs before his platform shoes hit the weathered asphalt roads.

20 minutes of missed turns and misread street signs later and Freddie finds himself in front of a quaint two story English country home just at bend of the avenue. He stuck the now crumpled piece of legal pad paper into his jacket pocket before approaching the door, taking note of the small step up into the house before hovering his finger over the doorbell. ‘Come on, Mercury, you play for thousands upon thousands of people, yet you’re hesitating to ring a damn doorbell..’ Freddie scolded himself before pressing the glossy button twice as he was instructed. Heavy footsteps could be heard from outside just before the door opened in front of him. And there he stood. (M/N), hair dripping from his shower, only clad in his plaid pajama pants as a towel was hung across his shoulders, toned muscles on display before Freddie’s own prying gaze. “Oh, Freddie..wasn’t expecting a visitor tonight. Do come in, it’s a bit nippy out here and I don’t want you to catch a cold.” (M/N) said as he stepped aside, letting Freddie waltz inside to look at the modern decor that decorated the walls and tables. A multitude of guitars were strobe about in the living room, some in cases marked as ‘FINISHED’ while others were ‘IN PROGRESS’. A record player was stuffed into the corner, a classical vinyl playing quietly as Freddie took a seat on the beige couch, appreciating the warmth coming from the fireplace just in front of the coffee table. (M/N) had run upstairs to throw on a shirt before descending the stairs, hair ruffled up and family laying against his shoulders, some stray pieces in his face. “Mrs. Deacon asked me to bring you some biscuits she had made..for you.” Freddie said as he held up the tupperware, shaking it gently. (M/N) took it with a broad grin before setting it on the table, sliding into the spot beside Freddie. “Give her my thanks when you leave. I’m sorry I didn't look quite presentable when I answered the door.” “Don’t be sorry, dear. I didn’t mind, not at all.” Freddie quipped, looking at the framed pictures and posters that were hung along the walls and adorning the tables. (M/N) smiled softly as he looked at the exotic male before him, taking in his deep set eyes, contoured cheekbones, sharp jawline, and the adorable way his teeth would peek out from his mouth. Freddie drew his gaze back to (M/N), flushing a soft red when he saw the the dancer was looking at him as well, and also taking notice that his (s/t) arm had been thrown across the back of the couch. “So..you dance and..do you play?” Freddie started as he pointed to the guitars, beginning the conversation that continued into their shared interests and dislikes.

By the time the two drew away from the conversation, it was nearing midnight. Freddie has been drawn into (M/N)’s chest as he listened to his story. “And when i had told my parents that I liked men, they had me sit down and talk. They were so serious when they told me to sit that I thought they were going to throw me out. Instead, they asked if I was seeing anyone, which I wasn’t at the time, and then they told me that they were proud that I had told them instead of dealing with it by myself.” (M/N) drawled on, his voice barely raising as he rubbed soothing circles onto Freddie’s arm, leaving goosebumps to rise under his fingers. His jacket had been taken off and placed beside him, having gotten stuffy due to the open fire. “You’re so brave to tell them..I had come out to my ex-girlfriend as bisexual, and she didn’t take it that well..but we are still quite close. It..it was hard to find a way to approach the conversation, but i’m glad I told her.” Freddie said, hesitating between each sentence. The wound from Mary’s breakup was still somewhat fresh, and he didn’t want to cry in front of (M/N). “I’m glad you two are still close, and I’m sorry that the topic is still somewhat sensitive to you.” “No, I wanted to tell you..the boys know of my sexuality too, so it’s completely fine.” (M/N) brought Freddie into a side hug as he rocked them both gently, feeling the singer bury his face into his neck. “John was actually the first person I told that I was gay. Our last year in high school, I had pulled him into the art room and told him there. I was surprised that he took it well...or at least well enough.” (M/N) reminisced, rubbing his free hand through Freddie’s black locks.

Freddie pulled his head from (M/N)’s neck, looking up into his (e/c) eyes, watching as they were filled with admiration, and possibly even affection? He didn’t quite remember who leaned in first, but the way (M/N)’s lips felt in his just felt right. Freddie’s hands immediately began to card through his semi-dry (h/c) hair, moving to straddle his lap and deepen the kiss. (M/N)’s large hands we placed on Freddie’s hips, rubbing soft patterns as he pulled away, beginning to leave chaste kisses along his jaw and neck before making his way back to his lips. Freddie’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest as his thoughts ran into one another.

‘I don’t want this to be a one time thing.’

‘What if he’s just kissing you to get a shag out of you?’

‘He could easily turn this interaction into the tabloids and have you mixed up in even more shit.’

‘What if-‘

He couldn’t finish that thought before (M/N) pulled away, moving his thumbs to collect the tears that Freddie hadn’t noticed streaming down his cheeks. “What’s the matter? Did I overstep my boundaries? I’m sorry if I kissed you so suddenly. Here,” (M/N) started as he took Freddie’s hand, flattening it and holding his wrist gently. “Slap me if I’ve read the signs wrong.” “Slap you? Darling, why would I do such a thing? My mind was just swimming with my negative thoughts. It’s not your fault; You read all the signs correctly. I wanted to kiss you.” Freddie replied, moving his hand to caress (M/N)’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against his cheek. (M/N) leaned into his touch, moving to place a soft kiss to his palm while covering Freddie’s hand with his own. The two stayed the that position for what felt like forever until the ringing of the phone beside them interrupted the intimate moment. Reaching over, (M/N) plucked the receiver from its hook, bringing it to his ear. “Hello? (L/N) residence. Oh! Hello John..yes Freddie’s here..yes we did lose track of time, blame that on me, I had gotten so caught up in conversation that I hadn’t looked up at the clock...yes I’ll tell him to head home soon, wouldn’t want to worry your mum..alright i’ll see you later..goodnight.” (M/N) ended before putting the receiver back, sighing heavily through his nose.

“I don’t want that kiss to be the only thing between us, (M/N). We’re staying in town tomorrow and into the weekend, and I’m more that certain the Deacon’s wouldn’t mind you coming over for their “family” dinner tomorrow.” Freddie said, roping his arms around (M/N)’s neck as the two relaxed on the couch. “I was hoping you’d say that..I wouldn’t want the kiss to be the end of the start of something beautiful..”——-

“Then what happened after that, Uncle (M/N)” said Brian’s daughter, her curly hair bouncing about as the band members all chatted in the garden not to far from them. The other kids were off playing or staying near their mothers, while (M/N) was sat on a bench beside a patch of ready to blossom pansies, now shorter cut hair moving as a soft Spring breeze passed by. “Well, Louisa, I did have dinner with Uncle Freddie at the Deacon’s..and then I kept having dinner with him until I eventually moved in with him at his London home, which is this home. And after a few more years, he gave me this ring..” (M/N) replied before motioning to the gold band that sat comfortably on his left ring finger. Freddie had the same band, on the same finger, except his was slightly rougher around the curves due to his constant bumping into random things about the house. Louisa looked up at her non-biological uncle with a wide grin, displaying her two missing front teeth before she was called over by her step sister to play dolls. As the young May ran off, (M/N) stood, stretching his aged legs before sauntering over to his husband.

Freddie had been so enraptured in conversation that he was startled by (M/N)’s sudden appearance behind him, but that didn’t stop him from cursing up into his hold.

“So, what’re we talking about?”

“Just the up coming tour. I’m surprised people still want to see us.”

“Oh hush now, Deaky! It’s 1992 and we’re still rolling out albums! Why wouldn’t anyone want to come see our concert? We’re Legends!”

—————————

**A/N: yes, i know i put 1992 on there, because in this fic, Freddie’s alive and well. hope you enjoyed this fic! i plan on writing some more when i can, just give me time!

Tags:

@darlingyourebeingabore

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Hi duck! Would you be able to do me a ship (Queen&BohRap)? I'm tallish, blonde short hair, I swap invariably between very masculine style and very feminine depending on the mood. I'm a carer in a care home but I'm studying to be in PR, I'm an avid feminist and reader. I get told by friends/coworkers/residents that I'm very friendly, come across as extremely happy and optimistic, and I love helping people as much as I can - I work really hard to be pleasent and look after people I love. Thnk you!

hiiiii hi hi hi

sorry this took forever hehe college SUX

anyways ships below the cut!!!

For Queen, I ship you with Brian May!

I almost said Roger but I feel like your height, activist stance, and happy demeanor would mix very well with Brian’s personality!

You would meet Brian through a PR job, possibly a band interview that you were conducting for a publicity thing where he was absolutely smitten with you from the get go.

Although you tried to keep it professional, it was very hard to ignore how intensely he was focusing on you and how the rest of the band was getting a kick out of you two.

“So, Roger, rumor has it that you recorded something of your own during the studio sessions for News, any idea when we’re going to get a peek at that?” you asked, giving the blonde a toothy smile that he easily returned before he launched into a lengthy explanation about how it was actually partially a cover of a previously recorded song by a different band. And you listened, of course, but you kept getting distracted by the warm hazel eyes that were boring into your skull as you nodded along.

You could see Deacon’s shoulders shaking in silent laughter as he elbowed Brian, getting a swift elbow in retaliation as a deep blush covered the tall man’s cheeks. He sat back, crossing his arms grumpily and avoiding looking at you for a moment before falling right back into the same groove, unable to focus on anything else other than how intriguing you were in your more masculine-style suit. It was beautiful, and you were beautiful.

Catching his gaze for a moment, you flashed a quick smile at him before returning your attention to Roger. Brian’s cheeks flushed even more as he looked down at his lap, Freddie shaking his shoulders and snickering as Roger finally finished up his summary.

Looking down at your questions, you noticed that the next one was directed towards Brian, and you tried not to smile too wide as you replied to Roger. “Sounds pretty exciting, can’t wait to hear it! Maybe a full album is in the near future for us?”

Roger shrugged coyly and you laughed along, then cleared your throat and shifted your attention to the curly-haired guitarist who looked so lovesick even you could notice. “Brian, what about you? Any solo works in progress?”

He looked so horribly put on the spot that you almost started to apologize, but a gentle jab in the spine from Freddie sprung him back into action as he let a small smile take over his lips. “Actually, not right now. I’m afraid that’s Roger’s territory as of late, but I hope to do something soon. Just very busy.”

“It’s hard to be in a band and maintain hair like this,” Freddie joked, patting down Brian’s hair and laughing when Brian ducked away, protesting gently. 

“I’d imagine,” you giggled along, Brian shyly laughing along with you as he attempted to fix his hair. “It’s quite impressive, actually. Is it natural, or do you perm it?”

“Au naturale, darling,” Freddie interjected again, trying to muss with it but missing as Brian shifted his head to the left, shooting him a nasty look over his shoulder. “Sorry, Brian, it’s just so much fun to see you like this.”

You all knew he meant flustered from Freddie’s antics and being entranced by you, but you brushed the allusion aside and laughed once more. “Well, anyways, I hope we get to see something in the works from you soon, Brian.” He nodded, smiling bashfully, and you decided to spare him the next question until later, directing the attention to Deacon instead.

After the interview, you were gathering up your materials to leave when Brian approached quite nervously, a lilt in his step and his hands in his pockets as he tried not to fiddle with anything, already feeling anxious enough.

“Great interview!” you praised as you straightened up, holding your binder to your torso. “Seemed like Freddie enjoyed bullying you a bit much, but it’ll make for good material for the fans. You guys are phenomenal!”

“Thank you,” Brian replied, his voice soft and still quite bashful as he sent you a smile, rubbing the side of his head. “He thrives whenever I’m in a situation like that. My discomfort is his excitement. Always the challenging lead singer.”

“You did wonderful, I’m sure he was just having some fun with you. But a situation like what?” you pried, trying to remain friendly but also drop a subtle ‘flirt with me’ comment in. 

Brian’s cheeks reddened for what seemed like the 20th time in a few hours, and you grinned wider as you cocked your head to the side, trying to make him feel as comfortable as possible. “Well, you’re very fascinating. I may have stared a bit too long during the interview. Fred took that and ran...”

“I noticed,” you teased gently, reaching out to give his arm a soft nudge. He laughed at that despite look a bit tense, so you decided to relieve him a bit. “It’s not every day that handsome guys are checking me out, so I appreciate it.”

He definitely unraveled a bit at that, a weight dropping off of his shoulders as you carefully flirted back. “Well, I’m glad I could help, I guess.” After a pause, he cocked his head to the side and smiled a bit more. “Are you doing anything after this?”

You weren’t. So you and Brian went out for some drinks together, which led to another date, which led to more dates, which led to you and him becoming an item. And years later, when he did finally get around to recording something away from the band, you were right there with him.

“So you’re not going to put these out for public release?” Roger questioned as Brian flopped down on the couch between you and the blonde, stretching his arm out to wrap around your shoulder.

Brian looked introspective for a moment, then shrugged and pulled you a bit closer, smiling. “Don’t know. Still on the fence.”

“I think you should,” you chimed in, snuggling close to your boyfriend’s side and resting a hand on his knee. “It’s so... you. I love it.”

Roger fake gagged and made the both of you laugh before Brian pressed a kiss to the top of your head, nuzzling your hair. “Well, if the missus says, the missus says,” Brian quipped, Roger pretending to gag again and making you roll your eyes playfully before leaning up to kiss Brian quickly, then nudging his leg.

“You should get back to recording those backing vocals. We have a reservation at 8, love.”

“Am I invited?” the blonde across the couch questioned, turning so he was draped across the couch, his legs easily stretching out over Brian’s lap and feet resting in yours.

“No, Rog. Adults only.”

And for BoRhap, I ship you with Ben Hardy!

I almost said Gwilym - almost.

But I think Ben gets shipped with conventional, cookie-cutter types too often, and I think he can be more unconventional than that - for example, your versatile style may be intimidating to him at first, but I think he’d really enjoy it after the initial intrigue.

You’d meet Ben through Gwilym for sure - Gwilym and you would be on your way back from the Women’s March, when he mentions that a friend is going to be meeting the two of you for drinks at a pub near his house.

You don’t panic - although Gwilym’s friends are usually pretty recognizable stars, you’ve passed the point of starstruck despite your job in a care home. Meeting any of his friends was a positive experience, and you loved every minute of meeting such rich personalities.

So when you met Ben, you weren’t disappointed at all.

Ben was very overwhelmed at first - you were wearing a blazer and matching trousers with cartoon reproductive systems all over it, which he didn’t notice until he took a second look once you’d shrugged off the blazer, leaving you in a white button-up of Gwilym’s.

“Are those-”

“Yep,” you replied, already knowing he’d be questioning the pattern’s similarities to the female reproductive system (since it was). Giving him a toothy smile, you raised your beer in cheers before taking a sip. “Women’s March, after all.”

“Huh,” he remarked, not sure how to respond as he looked over the blazer once more before looking back to you and raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t offended in any way, just very surprised and confused by your comfortability with the subject.

But he quickly noticed that you were not an aggressively judgemental or harsh personality, so as the hour went on, he switched into his usual goofy demeanor with the two of you.

“No, Ben totally fell for it! I though Rami was going to pass out from laughing so hard.” Gwilym was laughing deliriously at that point, Ben pretending to be miffed but still grinning as his friend talked. Shifting his fascinating green eyes to you, he gave them a bit of a roll before he cut in.

“See how I get treated by my friends? I trust them with everything, and then they decide to falsely inform me that Roger Taylor wants me to play one of his drum solos.” You giggled at the banter between the two of them, Ben throwing up his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t even know how to play the bloody drums before I got the part!”

“He literally locked himself in his trailer!”

“In your trailer?” you questioned, Ben hanging his head in faux embarrassment but quickly raising it when you reached over to pat his arm, shooting Gwilym a gently scathing look. “Poor guy! You all were so mean to him, I’d understand why he did lock himself in! I’d do the same.”

“See, I like this girl,” Ben observed, nodding towards you as he kept his eyes on Gwilym, but you saw the way his cheeks flushed slightly as he said it. “She’s nice. Knows that I have feelings and emotions and that anyone in my situation would literally be terrified.”

“Oh, cry about it,” Gwilym gently teased, knowingly looking between the two of you as you removed your hand from Ben’s arm. Raising from his chair, Gwilym went to go replenish all of your beers, and by the time he got back, the two of you were chattering like chipmunks. 

And you never ran out of things to talk about. Not on your first, second, third, etc. date. The only time you were genuinely speechless was when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

All you could do was nod and cry a little. I mean, being Ben Hardy’s object of affection would be pretty overwhelming for anyone, y’know.

When you finally met Rami, the mastermind behind the joke about the Roger drum solo, you couldn’t help but bring it up. 

“You should have seen his face when I sent over the assistant to tell him!” Rami gushed, making you laugh as Ben rolled his eyes playfully and wrapped his arm around your waist.

“All of ‘em, bullies,” he remarked as you leaned into his side, grinning at him.

“Oh, I’m sure they were just having fun with you,” you gently admonished, fixing the collar on his shirt as Rami continued on.

“I’ve never been more proud of an on-set prank in my life. It didn’t even require any effort. All I had to do was tell him one thing and it was like his life was over. So dramatic.”

“I’d imagine,” you agreed, Ben pursing his lips playfully and pinching your side, garnering a small yelp and a laugh from you. “Hey! Watch it.”

“I don’t appreciate being tag-team bullied by you all right now,” he groaned, letting his head fall back dramatically as Rami laughed. 

“Again, as I said, so dramatic!”

“Oh, shut up,” Ben grumbled, trying not to grin as he started ushering you away through the party’s crowd, sending a generous middle finger to a still-amused Rami before he was enveloped by the crowd once again. “All so mean to me.”

“Aw, don’t be sore, bubs. You wouldn’t survive without them teasing you,” you reminded him sweetly, making him chuckle and shake his head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, walking towards the bar with you.

“You’re so cute, I hate that. I want to disagree with you right now but it’s like yelling at a puppy.”