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rovewritesit · 4 years

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Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 3) John Deacon x Reader Series

Meant to get this out last night but I’m on call 24/7 for my job so ya know, life.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, you know the deal. Feelings of anxiety. Slightly sexual dialogue. Reader is kinda horny? Misogynistic comments towards reader.

Chapter Notes: I may have written out an ENTIRE episode of Pop Quiz before realizing that shoving music facts down your throats isn’t the best use of our time. Apologies if it got a bit disjointed in the trimming process. I work in TV so I just had to add in a cliche meet-cute. Sorry not sorry.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye

April 1982 - BBC Studios, London

“It’s not funny, Y/N! Stop laughing. You’re gonna ruin all my hard work!” Dawn chastises you as she sweeps a pale blue eye shadow across your lids, trying her best to complete your request to tone down your usual stage look.

You try to muffle your laughter, teetering on your chair set up in the spacious green room. It comes out as a wheeze, a soft whistle escaping through your nose. “I’m sorry, you said what!?”

“I kid you not, I took one look at his penis and said ‘What the fuck is that?”

A sharp laugh escapes from your mouth once again, failing miserably to prevent tears from leaking out of the corners of your eyes.

“I feel awful! It’s just that I had never seen one before,” Dawn whines.

“Okay, I know for a fact that’s not the first dick you’ve seen. Hell, even I’ve seen some of those. Like ships passing in the night as they raced out of your dorm bed,” you giggle.

“You know what I mean. I’ve never been with one that’s… intact.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Oh c’mon. Uncircumcised can’t be that different.”

“It wasn’t! I was just drunk and got spooked, I guess. It was actually kinda cute. Like it was wearing a little turtleneck or something.”

You lose it, yet again. Laughter falls freely from your lips, helping to alleviate the dreaded stress that has now become your constant companion these days. Appearing on a game show alone was not something you thought you’d have to tackle on your third day in London. You’re sure the boys were off exploring the sprawling city that none of you had stepped foot in prior to the trip.

Pop Quiz was apparently a big hit for the BBC, featuring a bevy of famous musicians battling out their knowledge of the industry. You’d never had the chance to watch, obviously not readily available to viewers back home, but a harried man had come in earlier to give you a basic rundown of the format. You were somewhat confident in your knowledge of music, having been a regular at your hometown’s local record shop, you just hoped it would be enough to keep you from making a fool out of yourself in front of an entire country. But your anxiety mostly stemmed from your upcoming appearance in front of the camera without the boys there to play off of.

“How was it, though? I heard they’re supposed to “feel better” or something like that,” your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ooo, was it curved? Sometimes that can be a great thing. Except for one I encountered that was going in the opposite way then you’d think. Like even it knew it should be running away from the dude.”

Dawn’s face screws into a pinch, “Was that Tyler... Wait, don’t tell me. Ew. And I wouldn’t know! The poor guy was so embarrassed he couldn’t even keep it up after that!”

“What a waste,” you sigh. “I thought I’d be at least getting some field research out of your antics. What did I even bring you to London for?” you joke as she holds a tissue out to blot your lips.

“Uh-huh. The day you do some “field research” of your own is the day I chop off my own hair,” she quips, narrowing her eyes at you.

You casually raise your right hand to flip her off. She wasn’t wrong; it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, let alone entertained the fact of jumping into a relationship. There were partners in the past, of course. A few geeky high school boys, a woman who worked at said hometown record store, and the occasional pretentious film kid while at NYU, who spoke condescendingly of women working in film but scratched an itch when needed.

“And there’s no time like the present! You know what they say. When in Britain…” Dawn trails off, failing to finish her bit.

You left eyebrow quirks, “Throw dental hygiene standards out the window?”

Her face twists in disgust again as she uncaps a can of Aqua Net. “Gross. Now close your eyes and shut up so I can be done with you.”

The spray sputters, emitting little from it. “Dammnit,” she curses, turning to rummage around her sprawling kit. “Of course, I didn’t pack a spare. I’ll be right back. Hopefully, their hair department has one we can borrow.”

She rushes from the room in a sweeping motion, knocking over a coffee that was precariously placed on your chair’s armrest in the process.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, jumping up, your white blouse now doused in caffeine.

You hurry to jog out of the room, trying to catch up with her. “Daw- Shit!”

Your face collides with a hard chest.

Two large hands grip your shoulders to stop your momentum. “Oh! Apologies,” comes a light voice from above, muffled by your full head of ringlets. You jerk your head away quickly, and your gaze lands on a pair of startled greyish, green eyes.

“S-sorry,” you stutter out. “Completely my fault.” You glance down to the hands that still rest on your shoulders for a moment before looking back up. The pair of eyes go wide, and the hands quickly retreat back to the man’s side.

The man being the bassist of Queen, John Deacon. You scold yourself for only having glanced at the day’s detailed itinerary this morning before heading out. How did I miss that one? Sweat begins to gather on your palms immediately.

“John Deacon,” he hesitantly smiles at you while extending a hand.

“Y/N L/N,” you squeak out as his hand engulfs yours, inwardly cringing at how moist it must feel. You hold it for a bit too long. “I’m one of the contestants on Team A today,” you yank your hand back to your side.

His brow knit together. “Oh? I was told I’d be with Nick Rhodes and Jon Moss today.”

You shift your weight uncomfortably from side to side, having yet to meet his eyes again. “Nick had to cancel, I believe. I’m a last-minute replacement.”

“Okay,” he replies with a tight smile. “Well, good then. I hope you’re ready,” he glances down, noticing the stain splashed across your top. “Or, at least close to it...”

“Huh?” you blurt out before realizing, looking down at your shirt. “Oh, yes. The reason I so rudely ran into you. I should go-” your eye catches something as they finally travel back up to his. “Aw, fuck.”

“Pardon?”

You grimace, pointing directly at his chest. Right to the giant imprint on his tight blue shirt. One that had been left by your bright red lipstick.

He follows your finger. “Ah! Will you look at that.”

“I am so, so sorry,” you rush out, absolute mortification seeping into your voice.

He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “Not to worry. That’s what jackets are for,” he says, zipping up the oversized grey jacket slung around his shoulders. “And at least now I know this shade of red really isn’t my colour.”

You smile up at him, not really knowing what else to say—the full weight of your not-so-smooth first encounter with this man hitting you fast, as people squeezed around you two in the tight hallway. “I should go get fixed up,” you tell him, pointing your thumb back over your shoulder towards your dressing room, ready to make a quick exit.

“Alright. I’ll see you out there then. Cheers!” he smiles back with a wave of his hand, turning to find his own space to get ready.

You stand there watching him in a daze, mentally berating yourself for now having had two inappropriate run-ins with a member of Queen.

Dawn materializes into your field of vision, hands-on-hips.

“Honestly, what the hell. I left you alone for two minutes!”

- - - - - - -

20 minutes later, you follow a stagehand through the back of the soundstage, fidgeting with your outfit while trying not to crash into anyone else. Dawn’s top that she quickly switched with your own was cut much lower than you would’ve liked and left you feeling even more exposed than your current bout of nerves did.

You’re dumped onto the set with the point of a finger over to a tall man. Mike Read, the host of Pop Quiz, stands by a large desk, crew members bustling around him. You stick to your spot out of the way, not sure if to interrupt the conversation he’s currently having to introduce yourself.

You take in the spacious stage, never having been on a show of this size before. A wave of longing suddenly washes over you, yearning for days on set where you were a part of the crew that moved around you. While at school, you’d worked on several student films, usually as a 1st Assistant Director or Line Producer. You loved the pace of production. Keeping everyone on time, on budget. It was where you felt most confident. While there were a variety of different types of personalities on set, you found it exhilarating to be the one to settle disputes and help everyone stay on track. Your subtle superpower of putting out little fires everywhere you went. Never had it crossed your mind that you’d be on the other side of the camera one day.

“A change of wardrobe, I see,” a voice says from behind you, pulling you out of your daydream. You turn to catch John’s smirk, his eyes trained intentionally on your own.

“It would appear so,” you reply, glancing down at yourself quickly.

“Have you been introduced to Mike yet?”

“Nope. I was working up the courage,” you admit.

“C’mon,” he gestures for you to follow him as he strolls towards the man. “He doesn’t bite.” You follow, trailing behind his long strides as he daintily weaves between the many bodies in your path.

“John!” Mike exclaims as you both approach. “Good to see you, mate,” he claps him on the back.

“You too. Thanks for having me back,” John greets him cheerily. “And look, I brought a present. All the way from America, I’m assuming. Mike, this is--”

“Y/N L/N!” Mike says, a genuine smile forming. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that we fit you in.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m excited to be here,” you mumble as he brings you in for a hug.

“Can I just say, your video for Heart of the Night is absolutely outrageous. I thought my eyes were going to pop out my head when I’d learnt that MTV in the States had aired it,” he laughs. “Daring stuff, really.”

You feel a heat creeping up your neck as you try to accept the compliment. “Yeah, thanks. Glad to hear that you’re all a bit more relaxed in terms of watching the explicit murder of a teenage girl on your screens.” You immediately wince at your own bluntness.

You can’t help but peek over at John, curious if he’d seen the violent clip now making its rounds across UK television sets everywhere. He’s staring at you with eyebrows raised and his mouth hanging open slightly.

Great. He thinks I’m a lunatic.

“We certainly are!” Mike chuckles. “Have you been briefed on the logistics of how the taping will go?”

“Mhmm, I got the rundown from one of your producers.”

“Excellent. Well, you’ll be in good hands with John here heading your team,” he says, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders and adjusting his large glasses with the other.

Good hands indeed, you think to yourself, remembering how large they felt when they gripped your shoulders earlier. No, stop that, you scold yourself.

“We’ll be getting started in just a few minutes if you’d both like to find your seats. And you’ll have to regale me with the gory details from that shoot of yours afterward,” he winks, gesturing towards your spots for the show. You turn to follow John to your side of the set.

“Oh, and Y/N!” Mike calls out. “I do hope you’re good. Deacon got absolutely spanked last time he was on.” You bring your hand up to your face to stifle your giggle. John makes a show of rolling his eyes but keeps walking. You notice his face is now tinged a lovely shade of pink.

“You must think I’m daft,” he says, turning to you slightly.

“Me? Oh no, I’m sure we’ll do great!” you reply, a bit too happily.

“No, no, not that,” he laughs lightly, his hand finding the back of his neck. “For not recognizing you during our... colourful meeting in the hallway. It seems you and your band left quite the impression on our dear Freddie.”

“Oh! That’s nice to hear. You can tell him he left quite the impression on us as well, but I’m sure he makes an impression on most everyone,” you shrug. “And don’t worry about it, please. It’s not as if I’m a part of the biggest band in Britain or anything,” you tease. He smiles shyly. You catch the crinkles on the outer corners of his eyes before he turns them downwards.

You reach the long table on your designated side of the studio. There’s one on the other side mirroring it, with three somewhat familiar faces already sitting behind it. You glance at the empty seats before you, moving hesitantly towards them until John pulls out the closest chair, gesturing for you to sit. He gingerly pushes it under you as you lower yourself down.

“Thanks,” you mumble. He nods and moves to sit beside you.

There’s a loud bang to your right, causing you both to jump and look to the source; a large Grip gingerly picks up the c-stand he’s knocked over. John hovers above his chair, watching on as a producer shouts at the poor man, his waist now at your eye line.

You had never understood the fascination with men’s butts. That is, until now. The tight jeans John had on left little to the imagination. As if that would stop you. You shake your head back and forth as if to clear your thoughts. All of Dawn’s talk earlier must have you seriously whacked out.

“Are you alright?” John asks, now situated in his seat.

“Hm?” you break out of your daze. “Yes, fine. It’s just- I haven’t done anything like this,” you gesture to the large room teeming with various crew and a studio audience, “before, on my own. Usually we’re all together, and I’m slightly less charismatic than the rest of them, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I would tell you that it’ll get easier, but I still feel like I’m rubbish without my lot as well,” he sympathies. “And I happen to find you quite charismatic as you are,” he adds softly. “You certainly had Mike going back there.”

“Oh boy,” a voice huffs from the other end of the table, drawing away John’s attention. You’re thankful for the distraction, finding yourself at a loss for words due to his comment, coupled with your previous thoughts.

“I see you two actually arrived on time, ya goodie-two-shoes,” the flamboyant man complains as he plops into the third and final seat at the table.

“Jon, welcome. Good to see you,” John acknowledges, shaking the man’s hand.

“And who’s this little thing at the end, then?” he points at you.

John’s expression turns slightly sour at the informal greeting directed towards you. “This is Y/N L/N of Lo & The…” he struggles to remember, “Legs?”

You bark out a laugh. “The Limbs. But The Legs sounds better actually.” You share a smile, holding onto John’s eyes even though it makes your insides flip.

An outstretched hand is shoved past his body. “Jon Norris. Drummer. Culture Club.” You accidentally brush John’s arm as you move to return the handshake, not missing how he jumps a bit at the contact. “Pleasure,” reply, tearing your eyes away.

The drummer retracts his hand, settling back to swing his shoes up onto the table. “I’m glad to have a bird on the team, actually. Maybe we’ll get a few extra points thrown our way for that tiny top of yours,” he smirks, not even glancing over in your direction.

You look down at your slightly exposed chest, but the color red quickly clouds your vision. John sucks in a breath as he sits up straight in his chair. “That’s a bit ru-,” he starts in an annoyed tone.

But you’re quick to cut in, leaning your body forward on the table to lock eyes with Jon, “Actually, we might get docked a few for that obnoxious suit you’ve got on. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that stripes bleed on camera, sweetheart?” you seeth.

He glances down at his bright pink and green striped suit, clearly taken aback by your quick comeback. “N-no…” he falters, shutting up for the moment.

You catch John’s expression, a mixture of confusion and awe while he gapes at you. You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. Luckily you don’t have much time to stew over the misogynistic comment as the stage manager’s voice rings out a 10-minute warning.

“Just try not to show me up too much, would you?” John whispers, leaning in closer to you. Obviously, trying to lighten your mood.

You give in. “You, sir, are lucky to have me on your team,” you point at him. “Tell me, what’s more important? The scoreboard or your fragile ego?” You’re not sure where your sudden wave of confidence is coming from.

He brings his hand to his chest. “You caught me,” he says, trying to hide his smile. “One could say I’m overcompensating, given who my bandmates are. Roger’s won this twice already, and it only started airing last year. I’ll never hear the end of it if I muck it up again.”

“Well then, I’ll do my best to save your sorry ass, and maybe that one down there too, if he’s lucky,” you tease.

Great. Now I’m thinking about his ass again. Fuck you, Dawn.

“If you’d be so kind,” he says before turning his attention elsewhere, content to watch the happenings around him until the show’s start. You hear him start to softly hum to himself, not able to place what the tune is.

You try not to watch him out of your peripherals for the next few minutes, hardly even noticing your lack of nerves as the studio audience starts cheering.

- - - - - - -

“And to end out round one, we have Adam Ant’s team with 3 points. And with a slight lead, John Deacon’s team with 4.” The studio audience erupts in a deafening cheer. “That’ll bring us into round two, which will be a team question. John, your team to go first,” Mike directs from his desk in the center of the set.

John lightly taps his pencil against the notepad in front of him, the current tight score starting to bring about his competitive side. He peeks over to check on his teammates. Y/N looks like a radiating ball of energy. Her feet are tucked up under her on the chair as she hunches forward, pencil already hovering while her teeth chew on the eraser. To his right, Jon doodles away, drawing exaggerated characachers of select members of the studio audience.

“Right, question coming to you in a moment, but first here’s the band, The Band.”

A large monitor towards the front of the set comes to life with a clip from their concert film, The Last Waltz. The chair to his left gives a loud squeak as Y/N begins to scribble furiously as if already knowing the question before it’s been given.

“Here’s a clip from The Last Waltz, The Band’s famous taped last concert. Please name 10 of the 20 rock legends that joined them on stage that night.”

John’s face scrunches in concentration, trying to recall the recording of it that he’d listened to many times before. He writes down the first few that come to mind, struggling to get past 6 names that he’s sure were present.

“Bloody American bands and they’re American friends,” Jon says, shoving his own piece of paper into John’s view. It has 4 names on it, 3 of which John already has down.

“They’re Canadian,” John replies, transferring the extra name to his paper.

“What?”

“The Band. They’re from Canada, I believe. At least most of them are.” Jon shrugs as the clip fades out, their minute of deliberation up.

“Alright, that was The Band with a famous clip from The Last Waltz. If you’d please, John, name 10 of the acts that accompanied them that night.”

A sheet of paper smoothly glides in front of his, Y/N’s messy scrawl covering it with 10 names hastily jotted down. He raises his eyebrows to her, but she just nods at the paper, urging him to read it.

He starts, completely disregarding his own list. “Erm, yes, we have Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Dr. John, Van Morrison, Ronnie Hawkins, Neil Young, Bobby Charles” he struggles to read the small scribbling, almost illegible. “Um, Muddy Waters? Yes. And Neil Diamond.”

John lets out a breath, silently praying that the young girl beside him is as bright as she seems.

“Right you are! 10/10,” Mike exclaims. “For a bonus point, can you name the two artists that recorded pre-taped performances with them for the film as well?”

“Uh…” John glances at Y/N for support. She shoves another scrap of paper to him. Emmylou and Staples the only thing written on it.

“Emmylou Harris and The Staples Singers?” he answers, more like a question.

“Wonderful, a full 4 points to you all.”

He watches as a deep grin breaks onto Y/N’s face as she finally reclines. She looks over to him, a bit proud of herself, he thinks, as the other team begins their own round of questioning.

He’s quite intimidated by the American next to him if he’s being honest with himself. Her anxious demeanor seemed to have vanished into thin air once the game started, tackling each question thrown at their team with a hungry reverence. But her laugh is what keeps him on edge the most. It’s brash and full, consistently breaking him from his determined concentration to send a confusing jolt through his body each time.

“While your knowledge reigns superior, your handwriting leaves something to be desired,” he whispers in jest, not being able to help himself. She simulates a shocked expression as she leans over to look at her own paper that sits in front of him.

Her accent is thicker as she returns his whisper, “What ya tawking about?” She moves her eyes closer to examine, her shoulder bumping his. “That clearly says Muddy Waters.” Her hair hovers below his chin, almost tickling his stubble. It smells of something citrusy and light.

“Y’ smell lovely,” he sighs, almost inaudibly.

“Hm?” she questions, bringing her body back into her own seat.

“E-ever-ly,” He stumbles out, still quietly. “I thought it read it as the Everly Brothers at first,” hoping to god his bad save is enough.

She snorts. “You sure you didn’t leave your glasses at home? Would’ve thought you’d bring them to something like this.”

He quickly fixes the flustered look on his face, “Hm, glasses aren’t conducive to my rockstar type of lifestyle. Take Rog, for instance. Always wearing those bloody prescription sunglasses indoors, looking like an absolute git.”

She lets out that sharp laugh again, immediately covering her mouth, embarrassed at the thought of interrupting the other team. “I’ll have to watch out for that. Eat my carrots, all that nonsense,” she answers softly. If Brian were here, he’d ramble on about how there’s no scientific evidence of that or some bollocks, he thinks to himself.

“Let us hope my ears are in far better condition. Then you won’t have to keep, how did you put it, saving our sorry asses?” She smiles down into her lap and bites her lip. Oh hell, don’t do that.

Mike is now wrapping up with the other team. “No, I’m sorry. Their other top 10 hit was “So You Win Again. 3 points it is.” He once again turns his attention back over to John’s team. “Moving on to our third round, we have individual questions. Y/N, we’ll start with you. Here’s the hit Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye. Please name the artists you hear in order.”

The sound bites begin, and Y/N is once again bent over her paper as she listens, brow furrowing. John identifies the first two singers instantly but is at a loss for the third, making him grateful the question isn’t his. The clips fade out.

“Y/N?”

“I think it was Glen Campbell.”

“Correct.”

“Johnny Nash.”

“Good. Last one?”

“And... Bettye Swann?”

“Yes, top job! Known for her R&B hit Make Me Yours. I’ll give you a bonus if you can tell me who the song was sung by originally,” Mike counters.

“The Casino’s,” she says confidently.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ll give you one more chance.”

John realizes she was probably too young or not even born yet when the original was released. He slyly slides closer to her. “Don Cherry,” he mumbles lowly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Don Cherry?” she shouts as if to cover up his assistance.

“Yes, John Deacon, you’re right. It is Don Cherry. The point is yours for at least attempting to be subtle,” Mike laughs. Y/N shyly smiles over at him, silently thanking him for his help.

John and Jon mostly breeze through their questions with ease, racking up a hefty amount of points in favor of their team before turning over to the others. He takes a sip of water as he smugly watches on.

“Glad to know my own ass is in good hands if it’s ever in need of saving again,” Y/N quietly comments. He chokes lightly on his water as an image flashes quickly through his mind. John racks his brain for a reply, but only overtly cheeky responses come to mind.

“Anytime,” he manages, afraid to catch her eyes. She lets out a light giggle, starkly different from her usual roar. It sends a warmth of color to his cheeks.

Intriguing, he thinks, silently hoping that he’ll get the chance to hear it again.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deacy fic #deacy x reader #deaky x reader #angelofmydreams

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blushy-monkey-blog · 5 years

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Neighbors (A Short Deacy x Reader Fic)

A/N: Okay so blame @rogerscupboard for this - I just scrolled almost all the way through her gorgeous Deacy Tag and now I’m obsessed. I’m just supposed to be a Roger bitch but here I am in love with all our boys. Fuck! So anyway here’s just a goofy little Deacy fic because I thought he’d be perfect for this situation (also I really want more fics about Chaotic!Deacy haha).

It was one a.m. and the fire alarm was going off in the apartment next to yours. Again. You would usually have been more concerned, but this was the third night in a row that this had happened. Yesterday and the day before, you’d frantically evacuated the building, worried the fire would spread, but it had been a false alarm both times. So you just rolled over, smashing your pillow down over your ears. A few minutes later, the alarm still hadn’t stopped and you groaned, dragging yourself out of bed. You slipped some shoes on, opening your door to the sound of a man’s annoyed shout. The hallway smelled like burnt food, and the door to the apartment next to yours was pushed open by a man with a ridiculous amount of hair. You’d seen him a few times before, usually amidst a group of boys. Sometimes you heard them laughing through the walls of your apartment.

You never would’ve guessed this man would have been the cause of so much disturbance, yet there he was. Holding a pan of what you could only assume had once been food. Now it was just the remnants of a fire, still smoking a little. You coughed, the stench of burnt meat settling into your lungs.

“So sorry!” He said, clearly embarrassed as he stood frozen in his doorway, seeming unsure of what to do with his burned meal.

“ ‘s okay,” You replied, wondering if you should help. “You trying to learn how to cook?” You asked lightheartedly.

“Something like that.” He said sheepishly.

Something about the way his hair looked like a cloud of smoke made your heart soften a little bit, and made you willing to ignore that this was the man who’d set off the fire alarm in the middle of the night.

“Need help?” You asked, hoping you wouldn’t regret it.

He bit his lip, hesitating. Clearly he didn’t want to be more of a bother, but he knew he could use some help.

“I don’t mind,” You found yourself saying, and somehow you meant it.

He nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. That would actually be really nice.”

You followed him a little uncertainly into his apartment and watched as he finally got the fire alarm to stop screeching. “Why were you cooking at 1 a.m. anyway?” You asked, catching sight of a hastily discarded bass on the floor.

He gestured to it. “Was trying to work on a song and then I got hungry, but then I had a breakthrough for one of the chords. And then the food started burning.”

“Again.” You teased.

He winced. “Sorry.”

The apartment still smelled like smoke, so you pushed the window open, breathing in the cold air that greeted you. “You’re in a band?” You asked. “Can I hear?”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling gently around the edges. “Yeah, this is what I was working on, before...” He trailed off, picking the bass off the floor. He plucked the strings so intimately, you suddenly felt uncomfortable watching, like you’d walked in on something private.

To ease the tension, you opened his fridge, looking for food that wouldn’t burn. “PB&J?” You called over your shoulder.

“Hmm?” He asked. “Oh, yeah, that would be great.”

So you quickly made him one, hoisting yourself on the counter when you were done so you could watch him play. He’d begun to hum under his breath, just a quiet melody. When he finished playing the song, he grabbed a paper and scribbled a few notes to himself, a little crease forming between his eyebrows as he concentrated.

“It’s good,” You said when he was done writing, then clarified, “The song.”

He smiled at you again, warm and genuine. “Thanks. It’s not quite where I want it just yet, but thank you.”

You handed him the plate with the sandwich, and said, “Just don’t burn the building down, yeah?” He laughed.

#my.work #deacy fic #john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #john deacon queen

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yournotsolocalcryptid · 3 years

Note

27 + Deaky! (For the Halloween prompts)

2021 Halloween party tags: @killer-qu33n-of-disaster @transeliot @queen-paladin @benders-diamond-earring

writing tags: @mentallyunstablebish @sarah0687 @cjand10 @rogerfuckintaylor

if you'd like to be added to my writing tags or the tags for everything 2021 halloween party just let me know!

Prompt: "Is this a bad idea?" "probably"

Pairing: John deacon x afab!reader

Word Count: 755ish

Warnings: mature themes and mentions of sexual activities (18+ minors dni) poor writing skills + no proofreading, apologies in advance for any mistakes.

You and the boys had decided to spend halloween in at your place since they just got back from touring and even Freddie and Roger had no interest in partying or going out but you had insisted on doing something because as you has exasperatedly put it, “it’s halloween, we have to do something”, so they caved and agreed to come to yours for a lowkey night of spooky festivities.

You had dim lighting, candy, popcorn, a bunch of films lined up and pizza on the way when the boys showed up. First Rog and Bri, then Deaky, then Fred. You all joked around and ate as the scary movies played in the background. You asked them about their tour and three of the four talked your ear off, telling you story after story with john not saying much till Roger pulled you into him from your seated positions on the floor and said said how much they missed you (with which the other two agreed) to which John followed with “we really did”, in such a tone that made you look up at him, your eyes locked as he took a swig of his beer.

You’d always had a thing for deaky, and you knew he used to have a thing for you because the first night you met at one of their early gigs a few years earlier, the two of you had made out behind the pub until you had been interrupted before you could do much more by a drunken man stumbling through the alley. None of the other boys knew about this and whether he was still into you was anyones guess. You broke eye contact as Roger nearly jumped out of his skin next to you, causing every one to burst out laughing. You’d missed your boys dearly and as much as you’d hoped your feelings for deaky were subsiding, as you watched him laugh at rogers expense, you knew you were in as deep as ever.

Brian headed out not long after, followed by Rog and Fred a few hours later leaving you alone with john, who had moved to sit next to you on your sofa not long after you’d moved up there post Brians exit. “You’ve been awfully quiet this evening” you said eyes on the tv screen. He turned to look at you but didn't say anything. It was unusual for him to be this quiet around you, but then again he wasn't the most talkative guy so maybe it meant nothing and he was just tired or something and you were just reading to far into it.

After a long pause and still looking at you he said, “do you remember the night we met?”

You shifted and crossed your legs so you were fully facing him on the couch. “How could I forget” you said remembering the number of times you’d thought about that night and about what could have happened had that drunk not ruined the moment.

John opened his mouth as is to speaks, closed it again and then dipped in, his hand resting on your cheek as your lips connected. Your eyes fluttered shut, savoring what you’d been wanting since that night, then he pulled away. You could see that even the you’d reciprocated the kiss, he was nervous about how you’d react, so you did what your heart, lips and… other areas of your body were urging you to do, you reconnected his lips and yours. The kiss was deeper this time and before long you’d swung your leg over his lap and were straddling him as his hands ghosted over your body as if they couldn't decide where to land or what to touch. Your fingers went to the buttons on his shirt as you felt his growing beneath you. His hands finally landed on the hem of your shirt and fiddling with it. You broke away from him momentarily and he tugged the shirt over your head. His hands then went straight for the soft swell of your breast as your lips reconnected and your hands went for his belt buckle. You unbuttoned and un zipped his pants and were reaching for his cock when he flipped you over on to you back on the sofa, undid your pants and slid them down your legs. He was going for your panties when he stopped looked at you and said “is this a bad idea?”

“Probably”

He grinned, pulled them down and dove his face between your legs.

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bohemiansweede · 2 years

Text

Unwrapped

Fanfic

Pairing John Deacon & Reader

Warnings 🔞

A/N First Christmas story with John hope you will like it

Please like and reblog or leave a comment thank you ❤️

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁

Looking back, I remember before last years Christmas party

She came over to my place a little earlier, because she needed to change her clothes

Brians girlfriend Chrissie had helped her with both shopping and even provided with a few of her own clothes

I looked at her trying out one dress after the other

She giggled, sang Christmas songs, danced and swirled around in front of the mirror while sipping on her champagne

She was so incredibly beautiful, Y/N

Her smile was amazing it always made her eyes sparkle even more

But she was just a friend, that was a stated fact.

She even dated my old friend from college and I knew they were madly in love

I wished them the best in the world

Now, 1 year later, she was here again

She had a little less sparkle in her eyes because of her broken heart

But still so b....

- A penny for your thoughts John

- Ohh... Eh mmm..

- Are you thinking about Veronica again? I'm so sorry it didn't work out for you in the end, I really believed in you two

- Mmmm.. Yeah, it didn't work

I looked down on my fiddling fingers

Desperately trying to correct my tie

The taxi would pick us up in one hour. We had been looking forward to this party for the whole year

When I looked up again she stood in front of me

Turning her back to the mirror and watched herself over the shoulder

She scrunched her nose

- Can I wear this tonight?

I almost dropped my jaw on the floor

- Ohh bless you John, let me help you with the tie

She smiled big and walked over to me

Like she never done anything else in her entire life she made a perfect knot on the tie

She was so close that I noticed her perfume that I always loved.. It was her

Her eyelashes fluttered and she wetened her lips

- Do you want to help me John?

She winked and turned to the mirror again

I stod behind her and felt my legs wobble, my hands were sweaty and I could not stop to shake

I saw the dress follow her soft curves perfectly

Carefully so it didn't get stuck, I took the zipper upwards

My let my fingers follow her spine up towards her neck

It was so loaded in the room, like electricity

My fingertips nudged the piece of hair in her neck

She whimpered

That was like a lightswitch

I pressed my lips against her soft skin on her shoulder and took down the zipper quickly

It was like I unwrapped a gift

- J.. John.. Wh.. Ohhh

I took a grip around her and made her turn to me

Before she could even blink I kissed her

I could finally feel her lips against mine

Her dress fell to the floor

She wrapped her arms around my neck and let her tounge stroke mine

I could not help but moan loudly

- Mmmm... Ohhh God Y/N.. I want you.. I want you so bad

She smiled while kissing me

I felt she wanted the same

Our kisses were needy, hungry

We were unstoppable

With desperate hands we managed to take of the remaining clothes

I touched her breast and bent down to kiss it, I swirled my tongue eagerly around her nipple

- Ohhh John.. Please

Hearing her moaning out my name spurred me even more

I gaved her a slight push so she landed on the couch

She giggled and spread her legs

I saw her glistening heat and my leaking member twitched in my hand

I stroked slowly while watching her

So many times before that I had done it in frustration knowing that I couldn't have her... But now

I bit the side of my thumb and went down on my knees between her legs

I took my fingers and separated her folds

My tounge followed her slit up and down

It was just like I imagined.. She was perfect

My hands pulled her closer to me and she spread wide open like a flower

- AHHHHHH

I began to be impatient, licked faster and faster around her clit

Her juice dripped down my fingers as I entered her

Sweet increasing slick sounds came from her

My fingers came deeper and I curled them slightly while I sucked on her folds

- Mmmm... Hunnie.. You taste so fuckin good

She arched under me and began to tremble

- D.. Don't stop.. OHHH GOD AHHH

She came with intense contractions

I kissed her innerthigh and looked up

She was blushing red from her orgasm, almost ashamed and I wanted her even more

I crawled up and placed my cock in her entrance

My eyes locked with hers

I kissed her passionately while entering her

- AHHHH

Still looking at her I started to move my hips, first slowly and sensual, but soon it became faster and faster

She clenched around me like there was no tomorrow

We moved together as one

I took up her leg and pressed it against my chest

Her fingers tangled in my hair and pulled me closer

She bent back and exposed her neck at me

I kissed it and let my tounge cirkle her soft skin under her ear

My legs started to shake and I felt that I was soon entering my climax

As she knew, her walls began to tighten up yet again.. She was close

- OHHHH FUCK Y/N.. SHIT... AHHHH

- John... Omg please.. Please come inside me

That was it

I almost lifted her pelvic from the couch and pounded myself into her even faster than before

Sheer drops of sweat landed on her burning skin

I took a grip around the back of the couch and pumped my cock a few more times before I emptied myself inside her

It became silent

It was almost that I could hear our own heartbeats

We clinged our limbs together

We just knew

We didn't need any fancy Christmas party

We just needed each other

I had already unwrapped my gift

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁

#queen #queen band #john deacon #John deacon smut #Deacy #John deacon & reader #fanfic #Smut #Novel #christmas smut #christmas edition #friends #xmas smut #xmas fic #Xmas

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eileen-crys · 7 months

Text

Thumbelina and John 💕

This is a little fanart of the beautiful fanfic "The Tiny Girl And The Tiny Fairy" by @pumpkinlilyao3 on AO3, which is a reimagination of the story of Thumbelina with John, Veronica, and a bit of Jimercury 🥺🥰

"Once upon a time lived Veronica, a young girl born from a tulip and no taller than a thumb. Smiling and carefree, she shared a happy life with her two fathers and her two cat sisters. The house's great garden filled with flowers was her whole world to explore and play in, and where she stumbled upon, one day, an injured fairy by the name of John.

A fateful meeting for the two of them, which sparks a great friendship and the signs of a coming up adventure..."

I loved this fic so much that I really wanted to draw them, and I recommend it for a heartwarming but also adventurous read 🥰💖💕💜💖💕💜 and don't forget to leave a comment and kudos!

If you like my art please consider giving support with a comment and a share, it'd mean so much! 🥺💕

#rachelb's art #john deacon #queen #queen band #queen fanart #johnica #john deacon queen #john deacon fanart #veronica tetzlaff #johnica fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon x veronica tetzlaff #john x veronica #thumbelina #queen fantasy au #queen fandom #deacy #deaky

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painandpleasure86 · 2 years

Text

Joger Week 2022 - The Masterlist

Here's the whole list of contributions of the event!! (updated to 2/8/22). If it has late contributions during this month, I'll update the individual masterlists, so check it up regularly!

Day 1 (1/31)

Day 2 (2/1)

Day 3 (2/2)

Day 4 (2/3)

Day 5 & 6 (2/4 & 2/5)

Day 7 (2/6)

Thanks again for all the effort you made to write stuff for the week and also thanks for the support. It counts a lot!!! <3 It was so fun. I hope we can have Joger Week next year <3

#JogerWeek2022 #john deacon #deaky #deacy #roger taylor #roger meddows taylor #queen #dealor #joger #queen fandom #queen fanfiction #queen fic #painandpleasure86 posts #painandpleasure86 scheduled posts

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jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels · 3 years

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Sneak Peek - Don’t You Hear My Call Though Your Many Years Away

I haven’t abandoned this story, I’m still writing! And now that my busy season is over, I’ve got more time to dedicate to it! Here’s a snippet from a later chapter. Have a tissue handy, this one hurts.

“Thank you, Deacy.” I said, moving back into the room.

“You’re welcome. Goodnight sweetheart” he responded, his hand brushing my cheek, before turning back to leave.

He made his way back to the elevator, and stood there with his hands in his pockets. When the doors opened he looked back towards my door, and just like the first night he walked me to my room, I was peeking out watching him, he waved and stepped inside the elevator.

I closed the door, leaned my back against the wall and slid down, ignoring my elegant surroundings. My legs collapsing under me. I curled myself around my knees and the tears and sobs came in full force. Uncontrollable, loud and violent.

The man I loved was still there, still the same though time had changed his physical features. His softness, gentleness and kindness were all there.

I cried for the loss of time with him, I grieved having missed out on so much of his life and I lamented out of jealousy. I always wanted him to be happy, with me or not, but I still mourned what I would never, and could never, have.

@queensdivas @liliah39 @leah-halliwell92 @painkiller80 @painandpleasure86 @deakys-chesthair @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @heybuddy-drabbles @queenwouldyourathers @mirkwoodshewolf @ixchel-9275 @johndeaconstoothgap @deakysmisfire @thosequeenboys @tryin-her-best @bus-jackson @deacyspatronusisacheesetoastie @johndeaconshands @apailana @cowparsleys @januarycolor @madamsixx @amethyst-serenade @mazzell-ro @deakysgurl @hellysthings @lady-artemis27 @john-deacon-fucks @johndeaky @deacydisco @eileen-crys

#don’t you hear my call #sneak peek #preview #John Deacon #john deacon fanfiction #fan fic #my fic #dyhmc #john deacon x female reader #john deacon x y/n #john deacon x reader #time travel #traveling back in time #Deacy #deaky

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

Starstruck: Prologue

Brian May x Fem!Reader

Masterpost / Part 1

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: none, except for the fact that I write John Deacon’s nickname as ‘Deacy’ (don’t yell at me; that’s how Brian spells it)

Word Count: 1.6k

‧⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧

RIDGE FARM, JULY 1975

“It’s been so very nice of you all to have us here,” said Freddie earnestly, enveloping your mum in a hug.

She laughed. “It was a pleasure.” She stood back and smiled at them all. “You’re such lovely boys.”

“Indeed, you’re welcome back anytime,” said your dad. “I’m going to need a rematch in tennis, eh John?”

John chuckled. “Of course, Mr. Andrews, but that’s not to say you’re going to win it.”

“Sebastian, please,” your dad shook hands with Deacy. “And I’ll be practicing in the meantime, mind you. Don’t suppose you can do that up in London.”

Roger hugged your mum. “I have a funny feeling,” he said, “that we won’t be only in London from now on.”

“This album is going to light it all up,” agreed Freddie.

“Thanks for introducing us to this place, Y/N,” Roger smiled to you, then ruffled your hair. You wrinkled your nose; you and he were the same age, but still he liked to think of you as his kid sister.

“You’re very welcome, Rog,” you replied, reaching up and ruffling his hair in payback.

“Oh, you ruined it!” he whined.

Freddie patted Roger’s shoulder, then pushed him aside. “Grouchy baby. You ruined her hair first.” He hugged you tightly and kissed the air at your cheeks. “Bye, darling,” he said.

“Bye, Freddie,” you said with heavy sorrow. You were going to miss the lot of them for the remainder of summer, because in staying with your family, you were leaving Queen.

“Shush, dearie. It’s not like it’s forever. And you know it’s only an hour from Surrey to London.”

“I know,” you said. “But I don’t have a car. Train’s expensive.”

“Maybe we’ll just have to come pick you up,” Deacy chimed in, winking and then hugging you goodbye.

“Please! It’ll be so dull here without you all,” you said truthfully.

“Y/N!” your brother Frank shoved you.

You pouted at him. “You’re just not good enough, Frank.”

Your brother mock-scowled at you, and you laughed at the contortion of his face.

“Think I’ll go start the car,” Roger said. He gave you all a cheery wave and was out the door.

“You’re in love with that car,” Brian, who had hung back quietly until now, sighed heavily.

“BETTER THAN WITH YOU, you nErD!” Roger shouted back, and you stifled a laugh, a hand lightly covering your mouth.

Brian smiled at you, and his eyes glittered; you found yourself gazing.

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get up to other things out there,” Freddie muttered, and followed Roger’s path out of the house. “Au revoir, darlings!”

“Au revoir,” your parents chorused back in good humour.

As though taking some sort of cue, John smiled and left too.

“Thank you again for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews,” said Brian, stepping forward and shaking hands with your dad and your brother, before quickly embracing your mum. You had noticed, in the brief year and a half you’d known Bri, that he seemed to keep his distance from everyone, never hugging closely, always standing a few steps back. It wasn’t that he purposely acted detached, aloof and arrogant and that sort of thing, but he was quite often very distant— his mind was up in the sky with those twinkling stars he loved so dearly.

“Anna, dear. Please call me Anna,” your mum beamed up at the long-legged guitarist who towered above her by several inches. “It was so lovely to have you here.” And by you, you felt she meant him personally; there was something in her tone that suggested so, and besides, she had taken rather a liking to the soft intellectual conversation that Brian had held at the dinner table every evening, talking of stars and planets and faraway things.

“And I’m Sebastian to you, son,” your dad told Brian. “You’re in good company. No need for formalities.”

“Well, thank you Mr.— Sebastian,” Brian corrected himself with a slight blush.

“Brian,” your brother nodded to him.

“Frank,” Brian returned good-naturedly.

Your mum patted your dad’s shoulder and said something you couldn’t hear. Frank heard it, though, and the three of them departed the living room for the kitchen.

The colour rose to your cheeks as you realised they’d left you and Brian alone on purpose.

Your eyes trailed from the door where your family had left, to the centre of the room, accidentally meeting Bri’s eyes in the process.

He had opened his mouth as though to speak, but then shut it immediately and looked down at the toes of his white clogs as you smiled at him.

“Time to go, I suppose,” you said, a little sadness slipping into the happy demeanour you were attempting to maintain.

Brian fiddled with the hem of his jacket. “Yeah, I suppose,” he mirrored your words with a small smile.

He stood motionless a while, tall and willowy and somehow heart-breakingly far away, though he watched you with soft doe-eyes right in front of you.

You stepped closer. He angled his head to accomodate for your proximity and the height difference between the two of you. He did this often, tilting his head so that his hazel eyes met the light, wherever that light may have been, a pout forming on his lips, his shoulders sinking. He stared right at you, in a way no one ever looked at anyone these days, with such genuine emotion that you almost forgot how much your brain believed that no one would miss you if you were gone. Wide-eyed and forever radiating warmth, he looked lost for words, the innocence of youth embodied in his being and reflected in yours.

“You’re the reason why I play, you know,” you said.

“What?” he asked softly.

“Guitar. I never would’ve kept going if I hadn’t seen you perform. I was so close to giving up,” you confessed. “But, and sorry to be sappy, you inspired me.”

“Did I really?” there was amusement in his eyes, as though he did not quite believe you, as though your words were a little too fantastical.

You scoffed. “You’re too modest, Brian, and you’re insanely talented. I’ll never be that good, even if I were to practice every minute of every day.”

“If you keep playing,” Bri paused, “I have no doubt you will be better than me. Easily, in fact. I’m not exactly the world’s most technical guitar player.”

You tilted your head to one side, looking up at his pink cheeks and the curls that gently framed his face.

He suddenly reached for you, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, the strands falling from his fingers as his touch lingered on your skin. Your breath caught, and you could barely move.

“Brian—”

He stepped back as quickly as he’d stepped forward. “Until next time, Y/N.” He flashed you that shy, out-of-character smile once more, then turned to go.

You couldn’t stand it, that after all those weeks in each other’s company, after everything, he would just leave without… well, without anything.

“Oh, dammit, Bri. Come here,” your hand brushed his shoulder and he spun around immediately, wrapping his arms around you with an unmistakable fervour you couldn’t have blamed your imagination for conjuring.

You were on your toes, he was slightly bent over so as to hold you. His curls tickled your cheek, and he sighed into your hair.

Your eyes were jammed shut, and he rocked you gently back and forth. He held you close, unlike everybody else. As though you were special.

“I don’t think I can stand an entire summer without you,” Brian murmured, and the sharp edge of his honestly sent shivers coursing through you. You held onto him more tightly.

“Not an entire summer,” you responded. “Just half.” You had no idea who it was you were trying to reassure, but it was making you never want to let him go. You’d rather have stayed ever-so-slightly up on your toes, your arms folded around his neck for your fingers to sweep the shoulders of his velvet jacket— the same one he always wore— his arms wrapped around your waist, though this you barely noticed, because all of your being was focused on not letting him go— and oh, how you didn’t want to let him go.

He let out a pitiful sound, something between a groan and a whimper. “Y/N…”

“Bri,” you said, the name muffled by the owner’s shoulder.

“May I come see you? Just me?”

He was asking for permission, you could tell as much. He didn’t want to push you, and for that you were grateful. He was different, as opposed to men in your past who had waltzed about and taken from you and other women what they pleased, when they pleased.

“Or let me take you out,” he went on, and you realised you hadn’t answered.

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Anywhere?” you whispered.

“Anywhere,” he answered conspiratorially.

“I’d love that,” you said. “Soon?”

His arms loosened and you dropped back to your feet. He held you still, but from where he could see you better.

“Soon,” he promised. He kissed your cheek fleetingly, his lips warm and petal-soft against your skin.

It was brief. You could’ve blinked and missed it. You wished he’d have lingered.

“Bri,” you sighed, hands finding his.

“It’s difficult,” he said, and you had not even the slightest idea as to what he was referring to.

He squeezed your hands and slipped away, stopping only to stand in the doorway as the last of the day’s sunlight caught on his hair.

“Goodbye, beautiful.”

You touched your cheek.

He was gone.

‧⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧

A/N: shoot me a reply or an ask if you’d like to be tagged for future parts of this fic!! much love to you all <3

Masterpost / Part 1

#tina’s writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #rog #john deacon #deacy #queen fanfiction #1970s #1975 #fic

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