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adrenaline-roulette · 4 years

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A Permanent Deal

John Deacon x Reader

Warnings: None, just pure domestic Deaky fluff!

Preview: “Right, just promise me this isn’t going to become the new look for the band alright? I mean, Brian’s got enough hair already, and I’m not entirely sure Roger can even grow facial hair.” John shrugs.

“I don’t have that much hair.”

“Bri, we could shave you and have your hair turned into costumes for the entire cast of cats!”

The smell of chemicals filled John’s nose as he sat in a salon chair, a black smock draped over his shoulders and fastened securely at his neck. There was a brunette hair dresser stood behind him, attacking his hair with said chemicals, and Roger was sitting in the chair beside him, flipping through a cheap gossip magazine, occasionally grunting as he read an article. “It says here, that Brian is the most marriable…. And that I’m the most likely to die alone?!” Roger screeches, causing John to smirk. A hard tug at his hair quickly replaces the look with a frown though, as he curses the hairdresser under his breath.

“Why do you insist on reading articles about yourself? You know it’s all rubbish, right?” He sighs, watching Roger in the large mirror hanging before him. “What does it say about me? He asks, unable to keep his interest under wraps, these articles always made him laugh, because of their sheer stupidity.

Roger scans over the article quickly, before finding John’s name on the glossy paper, “Apparently you’re the most likely to have multiple girlfriends and never settle down.” He shrugs, wrinkling his nose at the words.

“Hm, well now that’s interesting. I’m sure (Y/N) and the kids would love to hear that.” John muses, as he watches his reflection, his hair being twisted up upon his scalp. “How do you think I should break the news that I have other women in my life? I could hire a skywriter?”

Roger scowls at him, placing the magazine down on his lap forcefully. “Deaky, I’m pretty sure that after you come home with a perm today, (Y/N) and your spawn won’t be at all surprised by anything that you say or do.”

John can’t help but nod in agreement, which causes the hairdresser to pull his hair harshly, to cease his movements. “She’s actually going to kill me when she sees this.” He sighs, drumming his long, calloused fingers against his jeans. Roger purses his lips as he mulls over his words, before nodding in agreement, and sign which doesn’t ease John’s nerves in the slightest.

“Excuse me Jane, your two o’clock is here.” Says a quiet voice of a blonde woman, who had suddenly appeared behind John’s stylist. She hums her acknowledgement, before turning towards the other woman.

“I’ll need you to finish Mr Deacon for me please, I don’t want to keep Mrs Gatten waiting.” The stylist, Jane, places her utensils down on her trolley, then looks back to John. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Lisa, she’ll get you all finished.” She smiles, before leaving for her next appointment.

Lisa sets up behind him, donning gloves to protect her skin from the chemicals that were required to perm John’s hair. She smiles happily at him, then turns her attention to Roger, biting her lip when he catches her eye, a blush flooding her cheeks rapidly. John rolls his eyes at the exchange, even married, Roger is still a flirt! “If you don’t mind me asking, why a perm? Out of all the styles you could’ve chosen, what made you pick this one?” Lisa asks gently, as she makes quick work of John’s hair.

“There was a bet.” John begins, before being interrupted by Roger. “Which he lost!” “Yes, thank you Rog. There was a bet, that I lost, and Roger decided that for my loss, I had to get a hair style of his choosing, and this is it.” He sighs, gesturing up to his half-permed head, a look of pure annoyance gracing his features.

“I would love to hear about the bet!” Lisa grins, focusing entirely on Roger, awaiting his explanation. He carefully folds the magazine, placing it down in the rack beside him, keeping the young woman in suspense.

**********************************************************************************

There was a deafening silence which had overtaken the usually bustling recording studio, which was shattered like glass when Brian coughed, causing everyone to be awoken from their trance like state. No one knew what to say, how could you possibly react to something like, like THAT? It was simple, John decided, you couldn’t. He would simply ignore the elephant in the room, that was the only thing for it.

Brian however, had other ideas entirely. “Freddie, you seem to have a caterpillar on your lip…” He chuckles, though even Brian can’t hide his surprise at the new look. It wasn’t objectionable per say, just highly unexpected.

“Well darlings, I figured it was time for a new look, and besides, I find I look rather dashing this way.” Freddie grins, his pearly white teeth showing as a sharp contrast between the dark bush of his moustache.

“Right, just promise me this isn’t going to become the new look for the band alright? I mean, Brian’s got enough hair already, and I’m not entirely sure Roger can even grow facial hair.” John shrugs, dodging with expert timing as Roger throws one of his drum sticks at his head. Freddie laughs joyfully at the exchange, while Brian folds his arms across his chest, blowing a stray curl away from his eyes.

“I don’t have that much hair.” Brian mutters, causing Freddie to fall into fits of laughter, practically rolling on the floor.

“Bri, we could shave you and have your hair turned into costumes for the entire cast of cats!” John smirks, as he picks up Roger’s thrown drum stick, twirling it between his fingers, as Roger had shown him years before. There’s a moment where it looks as if Brian was about to argue, though he quickly thinks better of doing so and turns back to his guitar, plucking at the strings aimlessly.

Roger looks across at John, his eyes trained on the drumstick held in his right hand, glaring slightly. John lifts his eyebrow in challenge back at the blonde man, “You can have it back, if you apologise for throwing it.” He smirks.

“I don’t have anything to apologies for! You’re the one who insulted me!” Roger cries out dramatically. John looks away, and catches Freddie rolling his eyes at the child like response.

“Children, please. Deaky, please return Roger’s drumstick, I would hate for him to start playing the bongos on this new track.” Freddie sighs, strolling his way over to the drum kit where the two men stood.

Begrudgingly, John hands Roger back the drumstick, both refusing to make eye contact. This was a frequent occurrence, with both men being far too stubborn for their own good. “Excellent, and now that the band is properly equipped again, we can record!” Freddie claps excitedly, rather like a school teacher who wanted the classes attention.

Freddie was the last to record for the new track, the bass, drums and guitar all having been laid down the previous few days, all that was required now were Freddie and Roger’s vocals to complete the track. As Freddie sang his heart out, the others gathered in the sound booth, watching him through the window, grinning as he hit every note perfectly. “So, what do we think of the moustache?” John asks quietly, as the recording technicians work their magic.

“I can’t lie, it’s starting to grow on me. I’m thinking that maybe I should grow a beard?” Roger chuckles, as Brian shoves his shoulder playfully, a wide grin spread across his lips.

“I suppose it isn’t one of his best looks, but he seems to love it…” Brian shrugs, as he lopes over to the well-worn couch at the back of the room, settling himself down on the green cushions.

John nods his agreement, turning his attention back to Freddie as the song comes to an end. “He always stands so close to the mic, I’m genuinely surprised he hasn’t eaten the thing yet.” Roger laughs deeply, gasping for breath just as Freddie enters the room, who casts a curious look at the gasping drummer.

“Roger darling, if you’re going to die, please do it quietly.” Freddie sighs, as he strides towards the sound desk, awaiting the playback to begin. One of the technicians starts the vocals, the booming voice of Mr Mercury pumping through the speakers. There’s an odd sound to the vocals however, a strange almost brushing noise sweeping across the mic. “What on earth is that?”

The band collectively turns their attention towards the technician. “I’m sorry Fred, but I think you were too close to the mic, and you kept brushing your moustache against it. We’re going to have to rerecord, this time with you a bit further away.”

Freddie looks shocked, and John is stuck between wanting to comfort his friend or laugh at his expense. Roger has already opted for the laugh option, while Brian seems to be facing the same decision as himself. John reaches a hand out, ready to place it upon Freddie’s shoulder, but just as he’s about to make contact, Freddie steps away, stomping back into the recording studio. “Well? Let’s bloody well do it darlings!” He calls.

John leans against the arm of the sofa where Brian had made himself comfortable, his long legs taking up the entire seat, leaving no room for anyone else. Roger doesn’t seem to find this an issue however, and promptly sits himself down atop Brian’s calves despite his protests. “Oh shut up will you Brian, I’m not that fucking heavy!” Roger grumbles, as he turns to John, taping him on the shoulder to get his attention. “So, about that moustache…”

“I’d be bloody surprised if it lasts a year at this rate! Especially if he has to keep rerecording everything because he can’t step back from the microphone!” John exclaims, gesturing wildly to the angry looking Freddie in the recording studio.

Roger’s eyes light up with glee, as he removes his ever-present sunglasses from his head, tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Wanna make a bet?”

John lifts an eyebrow down at the drummer, pursing his lips as he considers the offer, on the one hand, making bets with Roger could end in tears, though on the other hand, John felt he knew Freddie well enough to know the moustache wouldn’t be around for long. “You’re on. Winner gets to pick a new style for the loser.” He smirks, as their hands meet and shake twice. This was going to be good.

Roger grinned wickedly as their hands parted, Brian shaking his head softly at the look. “Deaky, you’re going to regret this I fear.” He sighed, as he opened the latest newspaper he could find, even that was a few weeks old though, flipping through the pages absent mindedly. John frowned slightly at Brian, he knew Freddie, this was just a phase, it wouldn’t last!

“I’d be bloody surprised if it lasts a year!” Was the phone call John had awoken to this morning, he was sure if he could see Roger, that he would be wearing a shit eating grin on the other end of the phone. He had been having a well needed sleep in, his arms wrapped securely around (Y/N)’s waist, her hair tickling his chin as she slept soundly in his embrace. Though now they were both wide awake, thanks to Roger’s phone call. Upon hearing the drummers voice on the line, John had promptly slammed the receiver down, cutting the conversation short, however he knew it wouldn’t be long before Roger either tried to call back, or better yet, showed up on John’s doorstep and forcefully dragged him out of the house.

A shrill cry from their young baby echoed through the house, causing both John and (Y/N) to grow more alert, as wakefulness overtook them. “Bloody Roger, I’ll kill him one day.” John hissed, as he rolled out of the duvet, shuffling his feet against the soft carpet, before pushing himself into a standing position. You rolled over onto your other side, watching as your husband stretched his arms above his head, exposing his midriff in the process.

“What did he want anyways? It’s unusual for someone as nocturnal as him to be conscious at this hour.” You laugh tiredly, sitting up against the headboard, pulling the sheet up to your chest to keep you warm. You recalled John mentioning something about being out with Roger today, though the details were fuzzy.

John turns back to look at you, a nervous smile tugging on his lips. “Just got some band stuff to do is all, he said he’d drive for a change. I guess he just wanted to see if I was awake yet?” He shrugged, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There was no real reason as to why he couldn’t tell you what he was doing, it was more the fact that he was too nervous to, you had always loved running your fingers through his hair, but with a perm, John feared those days may be over. “I’ll go and check on Joshua, see if it’s just the phone that woke him or something else.” John smiles, before leaving to go check on your young son.

You lack the energy to get out of bed and get moving for the day, however when your daughter Laura comes bouncing onto your bed, you find yourself eager to spend the day with her. “Come here you!” You laugh, as you wrap your arms around her torso, pulling her against your chest. She squeals as you do so, kicking her little legs as she flops against you.

“Can I help you make breakfast pretty please mommy?” Laura pleads, batting her long lashes up at you. You have no idea how she mastered that look, but you had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with her Uncle Roger.

You pretend to think over her request for a few moments, tapping your index finger to your chin. “Well, I suppose so.” You smile, as she launches herself off the bed, in a similar style to how she had arrived. Laura sings loudly as she skips out of your bedroom, and into the kitchen, knowing you wouldn’t be too far behind. Sliding out of bed, you wrap your nightgown around yourself, padding into the kitchen where your daughter was helping herself to a spoonful of peanut butter, she was definitely yours. You lift an eyebrow at her as you watch her clean off the spoon, carefully replacing the jar in the pantry, a cheeky grin on her round face. “We’ll pretend I didn’t see you do that, okay?”

Laura chuckles softly, following behind you as you move around the kitchen, collecting the necessary ingredients for pancakes. You would try and make them a little bit healthy, by adding on some fresh berries, though you knew both John and Laura would pick them off, opting for syrup instead. “Joshy!” Laura squeals, jumping up and down on the spot as John walks in carrying your son in his arms, using one hand to press his pacifier against his lips. The moment Joshua had been born, Laura had taken to him, spending as much time as humanly possible by his side. It was a lovely sight, though you did wonder how things would change as they grew older.

“Hey now, I thought you were helping me? How else am I supposed to transfer the pancakes when they’re cooked, without my little spatula holder?” You pout, watching the conflict cross Laura’s face. To stay with her brother, or help cook? That is the question.

“Go on, go help your mum. Josh will be right here when you’re finished.” John smiles, tilting his head in your direction for Laura to follow. Somewhat reluctantly, she returns to your side, though a large grin soon spreads over her face when you hand her back her prized spatula. She was far too young to help with the actual cooking, so instead Laura was given the very important task of moving each pancake from a plate you put them on, onto a plate for each individual person. Standing beside you, she wore the most serious face she could muster, holding her spatula in a death grip, waiting for the first pancake to be ready.

John moved around behind you in the dining room, strapping Josh into his high chair, and tying a bib around his neck. He was at the stage now, where he would eat bits and pieces of adult food, so long as they were soft, and in tiny pieces. Pancakes where one of his favourites, though even with nothing on them, he still managed to make a mess all over the place, making the bib more or less just for decoration. After getting Josh settled in his high chair, John headed back into the kitchen, to retrieve the maple syrup, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he passed you. His morning stubble scratched your face gently, causing you to scrunch up your face in protest. “Don’t worry. I’ll shave after breakfast.” He chuckled deeply, moving back into the dining room to keep Josh entertained.

It only took another fifteen minutes before all the batter had been turned into perfectly golden pancakes, with three on Laura’s plate, one on Josh’s, and the rest split between yourself and John. As you had predicted, the bowl of berries went mostly untouched, that was until you dumped a spoonful onto Laura’s plate, much to her distaste. Just as she’s about to protest, the front door bursts wide open, revealing a grinning Roger Taylor. “Morning Deaky, (Y/N)…”

“Uncle Roggie!” Laura screams, jumping out of her chair, and darting over to the blonde man before he can greet her. She wraps her arms around his legs, clinging to his jeans for dear life, as he leans down to pick her up, spinning her around in circles.

“Spawn of Deacon!” He chuckles, as your daughter laughs merrily, despite her growing dizziness.

“Careful there Rog, if you don’t stop spinning her, we’ll need to get out a mop.” You warn gently, feeding Josh a small bite of his pancake, grinning as he claps his pudgy hands together. John leans his chin against your shoulder, both watching your son with fond smiles.

Roger places Laura back on her feet, she grips his hand tightly as she attempts to stand still on the spot, waiting for the world to stop spinning around her. “Fair point, I’d rather not clean today thanks.” He shrugs, as he follows Laura further into the house, and into the dining room, stealing a pancake off of John’s plate.

“Um, excuse me? You break into my house, try to kidnap my daughter, then steal my food!” John grumbles, glaring at his bandmate as he bites into the stolen pancake.

“I didn’t break in, you gave me a key remember!” “A key that is only supposed to be used in emergencies!” John fights back, watching you from the corner of his eye. He could see you struggling not to laugh, your lower lip pressed between your teeth to fight against the smile threatening your features.

Roger rolls his eyes, licking the syrup off his fingers, before focusing intently on John. “This is an emergency Deaky, we have a deadline to meet remember?”

John wants to kill him, surely it wouldn’t be that hard to find a new drummer for Queen? “Roger, it’s our one day off before we’re back in the studio. Can’t you let me enjoy breakfast with my family? Just for ten minutes?”

The blonde considers his request for a moment, and for a split second, John thinks that maybe he’ll leave them be for a little while. “Nah mate, we’ve got places to be, people to see, and all that jazz.” Roger smirks, as he scoops a handful of berries into his palm. Laura watching him in fascination the entire time, she too leans across to scoop some berries into her own hand, though stops when you grab the spoon from her. It was rather frightening how much she idolised her Uncle Roger.

“Why don’t you just take the bloody bowl with you?” You muttered under your breath, it was just loud enough for Roger to hear however, and with a wink, he picks up the bowl, and walks to the front door with it.

“I’ll meet you at the car! Thanks for the bowl (Y/N)!” He yells, throwing a raspberry into the air, tilting his head back, then catching it in his mouth. “Bye spawn of Deacon!” He waves at Laura and Josh, your daughter waving back frantically.

John pushes himself away from the table, buttoning up a few buttons on his shirt, leaving the top few undone. “Sorry, it looks like I have to go now.” He sighs, leaning down and pressing soft kisses to your children’s cheeks. He kisses your lips gently, lingering slightly, both of you reluctant to part ways. The sound of Roger blasting his horn on the street is enough to make you part, both sighing deeply.

“Please make sure you get that bowl back. We’re down to five as it is, I really don’t want to go and get more just because Roger decided he wanted to keep one.”

“I’ll see what I can do, though I can’t make any promises.” John grins, pecking your lips once more, before leaving your home, heading out to Roger’s car, and sliding into the passenger seat. Roger was staring straight ahead, making no sign that he was aware of John’s presence. “(Y/N) Wants her bowl back.” Is all he says, causing Roger to break out into a grin.

“I love the fact that I steal her husband at nine in the morning, and all she’s worried about is a bloody bowl!” He howls with laughter, as he pulls out into the street, travelling down a route John was unfamiliar with. “What if I was about to murder you? Bet she would feel pretty bad about her last words to you being about a bowl.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows us well enough, to know that if you were going to murder me, you would do it on stage in front of millions of people, just so you could get your face on the front page one last time.” John shrugged, tapping his foot along to the beat of the music playing on the radio.

Roger remains silent for a few moments, mulling over John’s words. “You’re right, she does know us well.” He finally admits, before pulling up in front of a hair salon. “Alright then Deaky, time to get you looking beautiful!” Climbing out of the car, John swallows deeply as he looks at the images plastered on the windows of the salon. Women with brightly coloured hair, in varying degrees of length, pout on the posters, all advertising a product that could make you too look just like them. “Let’s go!”

**********************************************************************************

“And that’s how we ended up here.” Finishes Roger, who now had his feet propped up against the arm of John’s chair. During the retelling of their story, John had been moved over to a different section of the salon, to a seat where a large hair dryer had been lowered onto his head, allowing the chemicals to work their magic on his hair.

“You can come back over here now.” Lisa smiled, as she pulled the helmet off John, leading him back to his original seat. “Well it sounds like you all get up to a lot of mischief. On the plus side John, I think this is really going to suit you!” She smiled, as she began working her nimble fingers over his scalp, taking out the rollers that had been used to set his perm.

Roger watched eagerly, as John’s new hairdo slowly took shape. “See, I told you Deaky, you’re going to be a hit with all the ladies soon!” He grins, as he brushes his own hair away from his eyes, not wanting to obstruct his view in any way.

Twenty minutes later, Lisa removed the last roller, running her fingers through the tight ringlets that now bounced all around John’s head. They weren’t the same as Brian’s, though they were damned near similar, John finally understood why so many people accused Brian of having a perm. “So, they’ll stay quite tight for a few days, then they’ll loosen up a little bit and sit more naturally.” Lisa smiled, as she brushed his hair this way and that, until all the strands fell in a way, she deemed suitable.

“Thank you, I suppose. Now is this the time I ask about any rules when it comes to having hair like this?” John sighed softly, studying himself closely in the mirror, perhaps this style was growing on him? It didn’t look nearly as strange as he had thought it would, if anything, it rather suited him.

“Just make sure you don’t get it wet within the next seventy-two hours, otherwise all our hard work will be for naught.” She smiled, as she unclasped the smock from John’s neck, folding it neatly over her arm. Roger followed her up to the register, handing over a small bundle of notes.

“When news gets out about Deaky’s new look, reporters will be all over the place, looking for whoever styled him. Any chance you could maybe not mention anything about the bet?” Roger smiled, with what must be one of his only genuine smiles of the day.

Lisa smiled, taking the notes from Roger, placing some into the register, and a few into her pocket. “I’m sure I can remember to do that.” Was all she said, before Roger turned away to collect John. He groaned as he looked out the salon window, rain splattering heavily against the glass.

“Right then, Deaky come here.” Roger instructed, as John made his way over to him, resting his hands on his hips. “We can’t get your hair wet, so I’m going to walk behind you with a magazine over your head, alright?”

“You don’t trust me to protect my own hair?” John grumbled, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans.

Roger frowned at him, opening a magazine and creasing the spine to keep the pages open. “Do I trust you to not get your perm wet, thus rendering our time here pointless? Let me think about that…. Of course I bloody don’t!”

“We never said how long the style had to last. The bet was, that I just had to get the style. Technically I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal.” John shrugged, though he allows Roger to hold the magazine above his head as they make their way back to his car. Roger blasts the heater the moment he turns the key in the ignition, the car warming up in minutes, drying both men from their mad dash through the rain.

“Did your hair get wet?” Roger queries, as he pulls out into the main street again, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel despite their being no music, John just assumed he was working on another song. Carefully, John brushed his hands against his curled hair, feeling for any rain that may have made its way through his make shift umbrella.

“Sadly, I think it survived.” He smirked, watching as Roger gripped the steering wheel tighter, rolling his eyes.

“I paid good money for that perm Deaky, the least you can do is wear it with pride!”

John simply nodded along, opting to stare out the window, watching the scenery as it passed them by in a blur. There was no use in fighting about it, he had a perm now, that’s all there was to it. The drive home took far less time than John seemed to recall, and all too soon the car was parked out the front of Johns home. “I’m dead, I’m honest to God going to die today. She’s been home alone all day with the kids, she’ll be tired and stressed as it is, and then I walk in looking like this?” John mutters, gesturing to his hair wildly, as Roger resumes his position behind him, holding the magazine over his hair once more.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll love it.” Roger grins, using his emergency key to open their front door once again. Shoving John through the entry, causing him to stumble. In his effort to stop himself from falling over, he grabs onto the coat rack by the door, knocking the entire thing to the floor with a loud crash.

Your voice calls from down the hallway, echoing off the walls. “Who’s there?” There’s an edge of worry to your voice, and John is sure that you’ve grabbed both children, just on the off chance there was an intruder.

“It’s just me love!” John calls back, and he can almost hear you sigh in relief. Roger sweeps his hand before John, allowing him to enter the soon to be war zone first. “Oh, why thank you.” John hisses, his lip curling up into a snarl. Roger simply grins, running his hand through his blonde locks.

Each step seems to take John an hour to complete, bringing him closer to the lounge room where he had heard your voice. His heart races in his chest, pounding against his ribcage violently. Eventually he turns the corner, spotting you laying down, with Laura tucked into your side on the sofa, and Josh playing with his building blocks beside them on the rug. John’s shadow looms over his family, and your eyes snap up to look at him, a smile already tugging at your lips. It freezes the moment you see him though, your eyes widening at what you were looking at.

“Deacon spawn, come over here!” Roger yells abruptly, as he crashes in behind John, crouching down and opening his arms wide. Laura rolls off the sofa, leaving you behind, running into her uncle’s arms. He lifts her up, waltzing out of the room, and into the children’s play room.

“John Richard Deacon. What the hell have you done?” You bark out, leaping off the sofa, standing directly in front of your husband. John had the good dignity to look slightly guilty as you stared him down, shoving his hands into his pockets, his feet shuffling against the floor.

“Listen, (Y/N), I can explain!” John tries, but you hold your hand up in front of him, signalling him to stop talking.

“God, I can’t pay attention to anything else but you!” You sigh, looking directly at his perm, rather than his eyes. “What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?” You raise your voice, throwing your arms to your side in exasperation. You didn’t hate the look, you hated the fact that John hadn’t mentioned anything to you about doing it, and that Roger had clearly known what was happening long before you.

“Guys, your child is on fire!” Roger shrieks from the other end of the house, in his usual attempt at stopping you and John from bickering.

“Roger, shut up!” You both groan simultaneously, hearing Laura laugh loudly.

“One day, I’m going to say that, and your child really will be on fire, and you guys will look like the worst parents in the world!” He grumbles, though grins at Laura.

Laura doesn’t repay the look in kind, opting instead to fold her arms across her chest. “Is it me or Joshy going on fire?”

Roger looks down at the young child in surprise, not having expected her to ask such a question. “Why, neither of you of course! I mean another kid!”

Laura nods her head in earnest, grinning up at Roger. “Oh, so you mean maybe the baby in Mommy’s tummy will be on fire?”

Roger is, for the first time in a long while, completely lost for words. The sounds of his best mate, and his wife arguing in the kitchen are drowned out by the numerous thoughts running through his head. “What baby is that Laura?”

“Mommy told me to keep it a secret, but she won’t mind me telling you. She says I’m going to be a big sister two times!” Laura smiles, as she brushes the hair on her doll, handing one dressed as a princess to Roger. “You can be Giselle today.” And just like that, all baby talk is over, leaving Roger with far more questions than he started with.

John was leaning against the kitchen counter now, keeping his eyes on you as you paced around the tiled floor. “What next? First Freddie and his moustache, then Roger started bleaching his hair, now you get a perm! What’s the next step? Is Brian going to shave his head?”

As if on cue, Brian allows himself into their home, swinging the door shut behind himself, despite Freddie being right behind him. “What’s this about me now?” He calls, placing a bottle of wine down on the kitchen table as he passes it.

“Brian!” You cry, on the verge of tears, your emotions running on high. “Are you bald? Please tell me you’re not bald! Come take a look at what my bloody husband has done!” You shout in rapid fire succession.

John leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling, he didn’t expect you to get quite so worked up over this, and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe something else had occurred today, to make you so stressed. Brain waves as he enters the kitchen, grinning widely as he spots John’s hair, folding his arms across his chest as he leans beside the bassist. “Am I bald? No love, this is all me.” He grins widely, shaking his wild mane of curls over his shoulders.

“Oh, thank God.” You breathe out, though that doesn’t stop you from reaching out and tugging on one of his curls, sighing when his hair stays in place. John reaches out, taking your hand in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand soothingly. “Really though Brian, just look at this. How am I supposed to focus on anything when I’ve got this hanging around?”

“You make it sound like I’ve sprouted a second head. Besides, it’s really starting to grow on me.” John shrugs, pulling you into his side, and rubbing his curls against your cheek. You can’t help but giggle, the soft brush of his hair feeling rather pleasant.

For the fourth time that day, your front door slams open, and you make a mental note to take back all the emergency keys you had given to John’s band mates. Freddie struts through the hall, posing with his lips pouted as he enters the kitchen. “Well hello darlings, Roger said to meet him here, and dear lord! Deaky what have you done!” Freddie cries, the light leaving his usually sparkling eyes.

John sighs once again, pressing his palm to his forehead, causing Brian to chuckle deeply. “Freddie, calm down. I’ve already gone through this once. There was a bet Roger and I made, after you grew your moustache. I didn’t think it would last, Roger did. So we agreed that if it was still hanging around in a year then…”

Freddie holds his hand out, just as you had done earlier, and John stops mid-sentence. “I’m sorry Deaky, I love you. But I just can’t pay attention to anything that you’re saying! We’ll discuss your lack of faith in my moustache later.” And with that, Freddie turns on his heel, and glides back to the front door, shutting it firmly behind him.

“Well, that could have gone far better. With both of you.” John shrugs, staring at the spot where Freddie had been moments before, Brian nodding besides him.

“Hey, at least I didn’t leave!” You defend, resting a hand mindlessly over your stomach, scratching your nails against the material of your shirt.

“No, instead you just threatened to kill me! That’s so much better.” John huffed, lifting his hand away from his face, and looking over at you. You simply shrugged at his statement, at the end of the day, you hadn’t actually killed him.

Brian grins at your bickering, shaking his head at the sight of you both. You fought like children sometimes, yet always managed to make amends. “Is anyone else slightly concerned about how quiet Roger and Laura are being?” He queried, stepping through the kitchen and peering up the hall towards the playroom.

“Actually, yeah. I don’t like the silence.” John hummed, following behind Brian, you also followed, not wanting to be left behind. You knew they weren’t up to anything too horrible, generally when Laura and her uncle fell quiet, it was because they were drawing, a task which your daughter took very seriously.

As if they had heard you all wondering what they were up to, Roger came parading out with your giggling daughter on his shoulders, both with wide grins on their cheeky faces. “I know a secret about you.” Roger smirks, looking directly at you, his blue eyes shining brightly.

You roll your eyes at their antics, looking over at Josh as he clapped two blocks together, giggling at the clunking sound they made. “No you don’t Rog.” You sighed, shaking your head gently, curling your fingers around John’s. You felt his grip squeeze yours, his calloused fingers rough against your knuckles.

Roger turns his attention to John now, his canines poking over his lip as he grins, looking just like the Cheshire cat in that moment. “Hey John, I guarantee you that I know something about (Y/N) that you don’t.”

“Not likely mate, we’re practically joined at the hip. We know everything about each other.”

“Wanna make a bet?” Roger smirks darkly.

“Never again.”

My Masterlist

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