#deacy x reader

[bitchysoulwasteland]

Bucky Barnes X Reader

Never did you think that it would come to this. Lights flashed around you as Steve attempted to make a controlled decent to the ground. For the second time in his life, he was failing miserably.

'Why does no on ever let me pilot?! I was in the bloody RAF.' you thought before darkness took your vision at the impact.

You blinked a few times before your eyes adjusted to the light.

"You alright?!" you herd a British accent (belonging to your uncle, Brian May) shout as Bucky helped you up.

"Yes, thank you, sir." Steve said in his 'Captain America' voice.

"We would all be if a certain someone could fly a damn plane without crashing." you said bluntly as the person's eyes widened at your voice, a small child appearing from behind him.

"Auntie Y/n?!" the small child shrieked as you bent down to envelop her in a hug.

"How you doin' love?" You said as you pulled back to look at her.

"Granddad Freddie's been teaching me piano!"

"Which songs?" you asked as you picked her up and all followed your uncle to the huge farmhouse, Rockdale Farm.

"Bohemian Rhapsody. I'm not very, good though." you gently lifted her chin with your finger.

"I'm sure that you're absolutely amazing, my little rockstar." you smiled as she giggled at the nickname.

"Who's that man?" she questioned as she pointed at Bucky.

"That's Bucky." she quickly wriggled out of your grip to go and walk beside him, leaving you walking alone, whilst taking in the view.

Soon enough, you were at the farmhouse.

"Y/n?!" you herd various women shout as you walked in through the door. Before you stood your mother, your second father, Jim Hutton, your aunt Anita, your aunt Sarina, Tiger Lily, Lola, Rufus, Felix and Rory.

Before you could say anything, you were attacked in a five way hug from the Queen members.

You introduced everyone to the Avengers and vice versa before your mother suggested a barbeque. Everyone changed into more appropriate clothes before doing so.

Within this time, you managed to slip back into the house. Closing the door softly behind you, you made your way to the recording studio, where your father's white grand piano sat.

You couldn't help the smile that appeared on your lips as you sat on the stool, placing your hands on the aged ivory keys.

After a few moments, you began Bohemian Rhapsody, the first song that your father had taught you when you were young.

You herd the door creak as Bucky walked in, leaning against the piano as he watched you play. He began to sing with you.

As you were so focused on each other, you failed to notice that the Queen members and the Avengers had congregate in the sound booth.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Fred?" Deacy asked as your father pressed the record button.

"Trust me, darling, it will be." he spoke as Bucky picked up an electic guitar to play.

"So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?

So you think you can love me and leave me to die?

Ooh, baby, can't do this to me baby,

Just gotta get out, I just gotta get right out of here.."

Bucky played the solo as you watched him in awe. The times you had been teaching him, he had never played this well.

The song came to an end as you -rather flamboyantly- hit the gong.

Immediately, you whipped around when you herd clapping, your face turning red.

"How much of that did you guys see?" you spoke into the mic.

"Enough to have blackmail material, darling."

"C'mon dad, seriously?"

"Possibly, possibly not. But, really, you, my darlings should duet more often. I'm sure plenty of people would pay to see Y/n Mercury and Bucky Barnes, live in Madison Square Garden."

"Dad, we've discussed this, my performing days have ended." you said as everyone sat back outside.

"Well, darling, you say that, but, I, on the other hand know differently."

"Oh bloody hell." you muttered. Before mouthing 'help me' to Roger, who simply shrugged in return.

"Your father's got a point, lovie." your godfather answered.

"I thought you were meant to be on my side?" He didn't answer. "Fine. 'I'm in love with my car' is nowhere near as good as Bo-Rhap." you folded your arms as you smirked, mock hurt on the drummer's face.

"That's not even funny."

"That's why you should've sided with me." you stated smugly.

"You have got a really nice voice." Nat stated as everyone agreed, everyone's words mingling with each other as memories of being onstage flooded your mind. The cameras flashing everywhere, lighters being waved the roar of the crowd. It got too much and began to consume your senses.

You stood up quickly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "I'm not bloody well performing again, not after last time, so just bloody leave it alone" you snapped before running inside the house and to your room.

Bucky went to move, but Brian put his hand up to stop him. "I'll go." the guitarist said before walking inside.

You slammed the door before moving to sit on your bed, your hand gripping the bedframe, grounding you. Shakily, you pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of your bedside table. You managed to get it lit before taking a drag, throwing the closed lighter onto your bed, with the rest of the cigarettes. You lent your knees on you elbows as you hung your head.

The last time you were onstage, you had failed catastrophically. You were meant to play the closing song, 'We Are The Champions' on the guitar, but when it came to the guitar solo with Brian, you got majority of the notes wrong. No one particularly noticed, as Brian was playing louder than you were, but you still felt the shame.

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see the Queen guitarist closing the door. "Are you alright, Y/n?"

"No." you responded, taking another drag as he sat on your bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't want to go onstage again, cos I'll end up letting you all down, like I did last time with 'We Are The Champions'."

"Y/n, you didn't let anyone down. As far as we were all concerned, you played fantastically. I can't tell you the amount of times I've messed up in the middle of a concert."

"But, you're the best guitarist in the world. How's that even possible?" he smiled at this.

"I wouldn't say best in the world, but..." he said, his ego boosted "Everyone gets nervous before a show. It just means that you care about what you're going to do."

"Yeah, I know, I just don't want to screw up." you said as you stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.

"You just have to do your best." He spoke, walking to the door.

"Thank you." you said, notably feeling better. Your uncle could see this too.

"We had better get back down there. When I left, your father was trying to get that lad of yours to teach him to use a knife."

"That won't end well."

You walked out of the room with a smile. Maybe you would perform again after all.

[magickcandie]

Brian May x Fem!Reader

Brian May was a talented songwriter. He wrote many songs for Queen, but there was always something so melancholy and sad. That was until he met a woman that became his muse, his inspiration, the love of his life; Y/N L/N.

On many occasions, Brian wrote a song about you. The first time, he went to his band mates during the making of Sheer Heart Attack.

“I’ve written a new song!”

“Sing it for us!” Freddie said, eager to hear the music.

You were in the studio that day. He pulled out a guitar and started to sing.

I love she makes me She is my heart She is my love She is my love

I know you're jealous of her She makes me need She is my love She is my love

You overheard conversation about it yesterday among the rest of the band. Firstly, they decided Brian should sing the song on the record. Secondly, they were talking about interpretations.

“Sounds entirely fictional. Maybe some sad war story.” Roger shrugged.

“Sounds sad. Maybe it wrote it about death when he was in the hospital.” Freddie said.

“I think it’s about Y/N.” John said. You looked up at him. “Maybe he uses the death and war feel to make it about if he died and leaving her.”

You frowned but not at John’s statement which was beautiful. Just the thought of Brian dying was scary.

He had written the song when he had gotten Hepatitis, but the fear of Brian’s death was terrifying beyond measure.

In 1978, you had fought with Brian. It was really surface level, but you and Brian were both to stubborn to apologize. So you had broken up. But it didn’t change the fact that Brian still loves you and decided to write a sad (and slightly backhanded) song about you.

It was Roger that called you just to hand the phone to Brian. They all knew you’d hang up if you heard his voice first.

“Hey, Y/N.” He said ever so quietly.

You could imagine the frown and sad eyes he wore so comfortably. “Brian.” You didn’t mean to sound as exasperated as you did.

“I wrote a new song about you. It’s going to be on the Jazz record. If you decide to listen to it, it’ll be called Dreamer’s Ball.”

It took some time for Jazz to reach your record store but once you saw it, you were quick to purchase it. It was a lovely album.

I used to be your baby Used to be your pride and joy You used to take me dancing Just like any other boy But now you've found another partner You’ve left me like a broken toy

It's someone else you're taking Someone else you're playing to Honey, though I'm aching Just know what I have to do If I can't have you when I'm waking I'll go to sleep and dream I'm with you

So take me, take me, take me to the dreamer's ball I'll be right on time and I'll dress so fine You'll love me when you see me, I won't have to worry Take me, take me, promise not to wake me When I'm singing it's all been true

‘What d’you say about that, hey, honey? You got to take me to that dreamers ball I’d like that’

It was lovely. That next morning you were calling Brian, praising him for the song (and the album) and apologizing over and over and the same about him. Brian came over later and spoke of how the song came to be.

You enjoyed doing things with each Queen member. With John, you loved to go to discos with him. And what better than to drag Brian with you.

John had disappeared somewhere in the crowd, dancing. You swayed next to Brian who sat by the bar.

“Please, Bri. Come dance with me.”

“I’m not much of a dancer, love. Go find Deacy, and dance with him. I’m better off here, not spoiling your night.”

You tried to convince him with an opened mouth kiss, before taking his hands into yours and taking him to the dance floor.

You smiled wide at him, putting his own hands on your hips and dancing along with him. You kept him distracted by kissing him and whispering in his ear.

It was the next week that you stumbled across the song. You could tell if was still a work on progress but it was about your night out with him.

I'm not invited to the party Been sitting here all night I'm all alone at the party I don't feel alright Ain't got no black coat Ain't got no tie I gotta shape up now Come on baby you gotta know why

Take off! Dancer, dancer I can't live with it, I'm gonna die without it Dancer, dancer Ain't no doubt about it Dancer, dancer Why don't you kick off your dancing shoes And come and ride with me? Cool.

You're the life and soul of the 'funktion' It took me all night To get hold of the right introduction Blew me out of sight I taste your lipstick I look in your eyes You feel fantastic My body cries

What you didn’t expect was Brian to present the song to the band. John was just accepting that Brian was willing to write music for Hot Space in general. Roger just said “I like it.” Freddie went on to tease Brian and yourself.

“I love you, Y/N L/N. You’re my inspiration, my light, my life. I’d do anything for you.”

“And I you, Brian May.”

[emotionallydrainedtrash]

Can I request a Joe Mazzello x reader oneshot where reader and their toddler daughter come surprise visit Joe on the set of Bohemian Rhapsody?

A/N It's about damn time that I get to this, it's been sitting in my inbox for I don't know how long. My sincerest apologies my darling, I live in shame. Hopefully, this makes up for the wait!

My Best Girls

Masterlist

Joe Mazzello x fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluffy as s h i t. Slightly suggestive content at the end.

Joe turned off his phone, wishing he could jump right through it.

The boys were just over halfway through filming and he missed you more than ever. He'd just gotten off of a Facetime call with you and your daughter Lila, who had learned how to say Bohemian Rhapsody just for her dad. Watching you slowly coach her through it made his heart heavy and he turned away to blink back tears.

Homesickness sucked and right now Joseph Mazzello was painfully homesick and wallowed in it for the next 30 minutes. Rami knocked on the door to his trailer to let him know he was needed on set. Joe nodded, unable to conceal the look of upset on his face. Rami was privy to his best mate's struggles and gave him a hug. He was also privy, however, to the surprise that would be awaiting him outside.

Joe squared his shoulders and walked onto the set of Freddie's house and faltered when he saw someone who looked a lot like his wife wearing what looked a lot like his polo shirt chatting to Gwilym. Suddenly a tiny child with springy red hair sprinted up to you and leapt into your arms and Joe realised that that was his child with his wife and his polo shirt.

"Baby?"

You turned your head and saw your beloved husband standing there in Deacy attire and complete and utter shock.

"Daddy!"

Lila launched herself out of your arms and into Joe's where he buried his face in her curls and you knew he was crying. You speed over to your family and stood on tip-toe to kiss your husband's head as he cradled your daughter tightly.

Joe put Lila down and kissed you hard. You drowned out the wolf-whistles, the cheers, and the "Oi get a room!" from Ben. The only thing on your mind was the fact that you were in your man's arms again and you could kiss him properly and not through a cheesy kiss via facetime. You pulled away and rested your forehead against his, Cheshire grins on both of your faces.

Your friends were screaming in joy and even your daughter was clapping in her Auntie Lucy's arms. Rami had a self-satisfied, ear-to-ear smile on his face. You watched the pieces shift and click into place in Joe's brain.

"You brought them out here didn't you?"

Rami shrugged and mischief laced his words as he spoke.

"No idea what you're talking about man."

Joe rolled his eyes, albeit gratefully, and kissed you once again. Picking Lila up, your little family of three hugged tighter than ever before.

"My best girls are back. My best girls are back."

He rolled off of you, both of you panting slightly, only to pull you close to him again.

On the way back to the hotel, Joe listened with rapt attention to Lila as she droned on in scrambled English about her new teddy bear and he looked up and was smiling so big you thought his face would split. That night, while Gwil and Ben babysat her, you and Joe had some much-needed time alone.

"God I missed you."

"I would never have guessed."

- Sarah💛

[brian-roger-deaky-and-fred]

HCs for Deaky bringing his gf on tour

Warnings: Tiny bit of Angst and then MEGA Fluff

-So John knew he was going to be taking you with him on tour before it was even proposed.

-The band had done a tour about two years ago and John obviously loves performing and meeting fans and everything

-but he was absolutely miserable.

-He barely slept the entire time. He didn't feel like eating. He only spoke when it was to snap at the boys.

-It wasn't good.

-And maybe they should have seen it coming because John had always loved performing

- but he definitely didn't love being a rockstar.

-Sure he liked a good party and a bit of excitement

-But only if he could return to the people he loved at the end of the day.

-He can't truly thrive unless he's falling asleep next to you and making you tea each morning.

-So after a very dramatic night where a bass had been thrown onstage, Jim decided to call you in hopes of preventing further damage to equipment

-(or band members for that matter).

-You're heart absolutely broke when you got that call.

-He hadn't said a word to you about any of it. The lack of sleep and the loss of appetite and the home sickness.

-He hadn't wanted to worry you.

-He wanted you to think he was off having the time of his life and traveling the world

-because that's what would make you happy.

-You thanked Jim a million times and immediately drove to the airport to book a flight for that night

-12 hours later you were snuggled into his bunk on the tour bus with him, his arms around your waist and his head on your chest

-And he was sleeping well for the first time in four weeks.

-So this time, the band decides to save a little money on plane tickets and bring you along from the beginning :^)

-He always wakes you up with the tiniest little kisses all down your nose and across your cheeks.

-And if you wake up first you comb through his curls with your fingertips.

-He likes the feeling of your nails against his scalp and he always hums sweetly when you do it.

-The bunks are small so you have to squeeze in really close and that's 100% ok with both of you.

-You love admiring his lil freckles :^) Just the faintest softest little spatterings over his nose.

-You always have him sit down after the show so you can doctor his sore fingers and press gentle, tender kisses to each of his knuckles.

-You make sure he eats and you squeeze his hand when you can tell the boys' yelling is making him a little anxious.

-And after a while he realizes that no matter what country the band is in, it always feels like home.

-Because you're always there smiling at him from the wings of the stage :^)

[rovewritesit]

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.

[queenmylovely]

I accidentally deleted the ask, but the request was basically how Deaky and reader are adjusting to staying inside all the time. 

_

😅😂 Okay so I debated writing this, but it is real life and I do think it could be fun to think about, and you’re right a good daydream, so thanks for sending it in! Also, it’s a modern au, duh. 600 words, innuendo.

Masterlist

☆☆☆

You and John had only been living together for a month when the order to shelter in place went out. Taking a trip to the grocery store as soon as possible to try to beat the crowds (but only buying one of each thing, not panic buying), you got stuff so that when it was added to what you already had you would have enough for about two weeks.

That was one and a half weeks ago, and neither of you had left the apartment since. Each of you tried to find things to do throughout the day other than just watch TV, and also tried to find separate things so you wouldn’t be with each other literally 24/7. Well, of course you were within a 50 feet distance to each other 24/7, but not doing the same activity together all the time was helpful in making the time you did spend together feel nice and relaxing.

So John spent a lot of time in the second bedroom working on music, and you loved walking by and hearing the strum of one of his guitars or his bass accompanied by his soft voice. He didn’t like his voice, but you thought he was adorable and him singing softly to you was the best way for you to calm down and feel peaceful whenever the weight of what was happening started to overwhelm you.

You, on the other hand, did the work you could do from home, though there wasn’t a ton to do. Other than that, you read, tried your hand at painting, and got back to some writing projects you had put away a long time ago.

Meal times and the evenings were reserved for time together. You always tried to cook together because neither of you were great at it, but you were slowly getting the hang of it. If whatever you were making failed, you turned to the reliable cheese toasties that John had made sure to get supplies for.

After dinner you would watch TV or movies together. Sometimes they were your sole focus, but others they were background noise as you played cards or different board games or just talked about the day.

About everyday you received calls or facetimes from either of your families or the boys. It was good to check in and also to talk to other people. The two of you had had little tiffs, but they were more due to the fact that you were still in the process of unpacking than because of the isolation. No big arguments had come up, but a call from Freddie, Roger, or Brian was always sure to break the tension.

Sometimes the two of you elected not to watch anything and just cuddled on the couch. It switched off who was the big spoon or little spoon, but possibly the unanimous favorite was you lying against the armrest of the couch with a pillow behind your back and John lying between your legs on top of you facing you. It was comforting and made you feel secure, and John loved being able to see your face and resting his head on your warm tummy.

Also, maybe it was a favorite because more than once had it ended with John kissing down your stomach to your waistband, taking off your pants, then continuing down and down. The one thing that hadn’t changed at all was how much you wanted each other, and that was all the time.

★★★

[yournotsolocalcryptid]

6, 10, and 24 w/ Deaky please and thank you :^)

Prompt(s): 6. “Is that my shirt?”, 10. “Make me”, 24. “You’re so cute”

Pairing(s): John Deacon x GN!Reader

Warnings: fluff, implied smut? Poor writing. I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes.

Word count: 207

You were in the kitchen getting some food after a fun night in with Deaky when he appeared behind you.

“Is that my shirt?”

“Maybe”

“Can I have it back?”

“No”

“Y/N May I please have my shirt back?”

You mumbled a reply he couldn’t quite make out

“What?”

“Make me” you repeated, turning and leaning back on the counter

John walked across the room to you and trapped you between the counter and his body

“Y/N” he said in a low voice, “I would like my shirt back”

You reached down and unbottoned each button, slipped the shirt off, exposing yourself to him. You handed him the shirt and looked up at him. He was looking at you with a mix of surprise and awe, like he’d never seen you without your shirt on, like he hadn't seen you naked just a few hours ago, which made you giggle.

“What’s so funny?” He asked snapping out of his daze

“You’re so cute” you replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek and slipping around him towards the other room. When you reached the doorway you turned and asked “are you coming?” To which he replied by nodding profusely and following you to the bedroom.

[39-things-called-love]

You should do a head canon with the Queen boys taking a bath with the reader! Maybe something with a bath bomb involved?

Omg Of Course!!

Brian

Taking a bath with this one is always a challenge

First of all you’d barely fit together

Second of all you’d need lots and lots of water

So this only happens on special occasions

Especially if you go with him on tour and the hotel is really nice.

He’s always giving you a massage in the tub

Even though sometimes you’ll try to protest and give him a massage

But once he’s got his hands on your shoulders your done for

John

This happens a lot between the two of you

It’s one of the only times together where everything is quiet and you can just relax

Bath time is probably your favorite time together

One day you decide to spice it up a little

With a lavender bath bomb :)

He questions it at first

Just a little confused

But as soon as you put it in he loves it

The soothing lavender scent and the pretty color

A recipe for relaxation

You end up doing a bath bomb atleast once a week

And he makes one and puts a diamond ring inside

For a little proposal ;)

Roger

You always take showers together

But baths are a little less often

But when they do happen

Two words

Bubble

Baths

He’s just a little chaotic in the bath

He loves playing with the bubbles and putting them on your head

One day he makes a beard on himself

A little foreshadowing

And the both of you just act childish together

It’s not conventional relaxing

But it’s relaxing for the two of you

And it’s all that matters

[bubblydeaky]

SAME ENERGY

[chronicowboy]

can we talk about joe's acting in the scene where freddie tells them he has aids bc its so incredibly powerful even if we don't get much of it. john really comes through in that scene. he's so sad, terrified and shocked all at the same time and you see each emotion in different ways; in the clench of his jaw, the leaning back, the staring vacantly. but you also see his mind immediately begin to wonder what the band is without freddie and whats going to happen. and thats beautifully painful acting.

[crying-over-bucky]

JOE MAZZELLO WITH A VINE ACCOUNT REBLOG IF YOU AGREE

[bitchysoulwasteland]

No one but you.

Bucky Barnes X Vamp!Reader

A/n: my Queen obsession once again reveals itself, but, hey, I’m happy, so who cares?

You and Bucky had known each other back in the 1970s when you had been the front woman of Queen. Back then, of course, he was the Winter Soldier and you were an unknown singer when you met in 1968 with a struggling band desperate to find a frontman and a bassist. It was just you, Roger Taylor and Brian May back then. You were all still college students in your final year in the band ‘Smile’, which was before Freddie’s flamboyant changing of the band’s name.

You had met the Winter Solder at a pub in London. You had brought him a drink after you saw him outside, looking physically beaten up. From then, he hung out with you and the band. He had been there when Freddie and Deacy joined. When you had recorded your first song. When you had left Trident Studios and joined EMI.

But, he then disappeared. He was gone without a trace which left a gaping hole of longing within your soul itself.

This was when your songs started to be discarded from albums. They began to not even be recorded. You had lost your muse, seemingly your reason for life itself. The lads in the band noticed this before anyone else did.

It was a few years of heartbreak before everyone lost you. More than metaphorically, of course.

It was 1975 when you disappeared. You wrote a note to the band, apologising for your absence, resigned from the contract with EMI and moved to America.

You had given up with your life, so you were pray to those who would try to harm you. You were vulnerable and loved a good alcoholic drink, so it was easy for the sod that turned you into a vampire to do so. You didn’t really remember it, but you did know that you had been fending for yourself since then.

The only good thing to come of it, was that you no longer had to worry about how your soldier left you. You didn’t have to. You pushed it to the back of your mind and tried to forget about it.

You had your mansion, your alcohol and your memories of Queen to get you through. You had also befriended a vampire called Damon Salvatore and another called Stefan Salvatore who lived a few roads away from you.

It got to the point where you were basically living in their place more than your own. You and Damon often got blackout drunk and would go around Mystic Falls just for the hell of it, which would then result in Stefan having to clear up your mess.

Present day: Mystic Falls

The Quinjet landed in a field beside a mansion. There had been a system failure, so Steve had to land it. The Avengers walked out of the jet, Bucky at the back. They walked to the door and Steve knocked on the oak.

Inside, you got up from the sofa and answered the door, somewhat shocked the Captain America was there.

“Win?” You said, seeing the soldier behind Steve.

“Y/n? You’re alive?”

“Un-bloody-fortunately, yeah. Come in, all of you.” You said, letting them in.

“I thought you’d died, doll.”

“I couldn’t do it after you left.”

“Do what?”

“Queen, life, any of it. I gave up. I wrote the lads a note before I left…. It hurt Win. It hurt so fucking much.” You said as Bucky wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry, doll.” Bucky said, slightly tightening his embrace.

“It wasn’t your fault. With the whole Hydra and mind wipe thing I knew it would come eventually. Just maybe not so soon.”

A knock came from the door. “Y/n, I brought Jack Daniels.” It was Damon, there for the monthly drown your sorrows meeting you two would have.

“I guess you found someone else, huh doll?” Bucky said before letting go of you and walking into the living room as you answered the door, letting Damon in. You left the door open and vamp speeded to Bucky.

“It’s not like that, Win. It has never been like that. Not with him and not with anyone else, alright? And if you don’t believe me, you can ask him.”

Bucky looked you in your eyes. “You sure, doll?”

“There’s no one, Win. No one but you.”

Bucky smiled, embracing you once again. Damon stood in the doorway, happy that you had found Bucky again.

[queen-paladin]

White Queen (John Deacon x fem! Reader)

A/N Written for Laura’s extravaganza! Enjoy! From the prompt of the song “White Queen (As It Began).

Word Count: 2,000 Paring: John Deacon x fem! Reader, Freddie Mercury x Platonic! fem! Reader

Content Warnings: brief swearing, mentions of drugs/smoking/alcohol, a bit of angst, fairy gay godmother Freddie, liberties from the song inspired for this, and tooth-rotting fluff.

“Darling, you are going to my ball tonight or I will drag you by your hair!” Fred was declaring as his car was pulling up to Garden Lodge. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were looking down at your hands folded on your lap. Creamy, clean insides of cars were still something you had to get used to, being a close friend of none other than Mercury himself.

“Fred…It’s just…” you mumble.

“I know you don’t normally like to go to my parties, Y/N, but you can’t cower anymore!” he said with a little huff. The car was slowing to the front and Fred was saying his thanks to the driver.

To think that twenty minutes ago, you were canceling to Freddie via the phone. There was a click and you were preparing for a quiet evening. A limo outside honked with your whistling tea kettle. 

Now here you were. 

Thanks to Working early in the morning, you felt drowsy. The thought of being crowded in a room full of loud, obnoxious people lining up for crack buffets was unappealing. If you showed up tomorrow hungover you would have to kiss your job goodbye.

Besides, there was the matter of Fred’s friends altogether. You met the band members several times prior. The tall guitarist and the blonde drummer had their constant moments of explosion with Freddie joining in until it was a pure cacophony.

Then there was their bassist. He would only nod politely and gently strike the strings of his instrument. But he hardly said three words together. When with you especially he seemed especially shrunk and unwilling to speak.

What other sorts of wild guests would come to the party? Hosted by the only person you were close with? 

Exhausted misery was creeping inside you.

Fred dashed over to the other side of the car and led you out. Your arm looped around the dark leather of his jacket out into the cool air. Stepping up to the entrance, he opened the door courteously to show you into Garden Lodge.

“But Fred…what if I don’t like it?” you ask. Echoes of your voice drip around the front parlor.

“You’ve never been to one of my parties, how can you say if you don’t like it! Besides, it’s different this year-it’s a bloody costume ball! There will be dancing and champagne and everything you could dream!” Freddie cheered. He gave a smile that reached both of his cheekbones.

The clicks of your shoes against the tile floor kept the rhythm of your wandering. A delicate chandelier crinkled over you. Directly under it was a vase full of yellow roses beaming like beads of sunlight. What sunlight there was now began to fade through the wide windows of the house, dripping the place in orange light.

“It does…sound wonderful. Like a fairy tale” you coo.

“Well, I always wanted to be your fairy godmother, Y/N. You do so much for others. And me. I thought you deserved to have some fun. A shame if you missed the chance to live a fairy tale, darling Y/N.”   Freddie compliments.

You walk over and greet your hellos to the staff polishing the place spotless for tonight. In their white suits and dresses with black bows, they were like reverse penguins. Fred would shake their hands, call them by their first name and “darling” and occasionally pop out a little present from his pockets for them to open later.

You looked around at the extravagant house. In just mere hours, there would be an army of people dripping in jewels, satin, and lace all over them. Your formal dress from your high school prom was sighing in a bedroom closet under your parents’ roof.

Fred leads you to up his grand staircase. You glance down at your dark blue t-shirt and jeans. Your face gets hot.

“Freddie…” you start, stopping in between two steps. He turns his head back and takes a step back to be at your level.

“I…I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t think any of the nice shops are open now. They’ll all laugh at how…ugly I look” you mourn. You start to notice how muddy your sneakers have gotten compared to the crisp whites of Freddie’s.

Fred gasps a little with a large “What? Nonsense, Y/N, don’t you dare think like that. Did someone say that? They’re an idiot and I’ll hit them” he insisted.

You give a little smile. Leading you up to the top, you see a hallway with four doors. he points to the door at the end to the left.

“That’s the guest bedroom. Well, for tonight, it will be your room. You’re sleeping over here tonight, you and anyone else you bring upstairs. I provided condoms, too” he informed cheekily.

“Fred!” you exclaim.

“Just in case! I’d rather you be safe! And darling…” he leaned over to your ear. You could feel his giddy, childish excitement bubbling up, ready to burst any second.“I bought a gift for you. For tonight. It’s on the bed. You’ve been an angel to me these past few years, through everything. I thought I might do something in return. And you don’t owe me a penny” he affirmed.

 You walk to the guest bedroom and curiously opened the door. You saw a large white box, wrapped up in silk, silver ribbon laying on the large, pink canopy bed. It’s almost the size of three of the white, lace pillows. 

You undid the ribbon gingerly, opened the lid, and were speechless. 

You heard Fred’s fingers tapping against the doorframe in excitement.

“Darling, your stylist will come to help you in five minutes. As my bonus…” he gushed.

With the stroke of nine o clock, Freddie swept you in your gown among the guests down the stairway. It went a little quiet. You were wearing your gift from Freddie, a white ball gown with a crinolined, puffy skirt, a delicate sliver that puffed out from the sleeves dripping down to reveal your shoulders, collarbone, and neck in only little clouds and was dripping with small silver sparkles. There were endless layers on the skirt, and you had to ask Fred to help you put it on. It almost made a swish sound whenever you moved. Sparkling silver heels embraced your feet. There were also little star jewels that the stylist tucked into your half-updo.

Fred insisted you wait until he himself entered. You found out that you would be walking down the staircase together, looking almost like a couple in a melodramatic wedding. With Fred’s long, black cape, Victorian-era black suit, and black fedora, it pulled off seamlessly. In one hand he held a stick that placed a threatening white mask on the end. But his beaming face expressed otherwise.

You noticed there was a pair of green-brown ones tracing your every step. Familiar. Quiet. Soft. Ignoring those, Freddie indulged the gaping crowd by waving an arm and bowing down low enough to touch his toes to applause. The chatter continued and heads turned away.

“It wasn’t just for me they were silent for, darling” Freddie complimented with a wink.

You felt his arm tugging you across the heads of people, red, gold, silver, and blue bodies. Sometimes there were masks - some ranged from plague masks with daggers for noses to delicate lace masks that blended like veins into their skin. Crinkling skirts covered the hall. Violins and cellos plucked out complicated Mozart lines like breathing. Bodies pressed against your wide skirt. Cigar smoke drenched the air.

Greeting everyone by name, Freddie’s arm nearly strung you around until you saw the eyes you felt earlier. Taller than he looked in pictures, his eyes that crinkled despite his youth as he gave Fred a smile and stopped it midway when his fluffy reddish-brown head turned to you. He was decked in blue trousers and a puffy-sleeved blue shirt opened to reveal his pale chest and long pants the same color of blue. He had a silver vest too large for him kept barely straight with pins. A silver crown rested on his head. Freddie nudged you with him. 

“Deacy, this is Y/N. Y/N, Deacy-or just call him John, if you’d like”.

“I met you before! You’re the bassist!” you exclaim. As you offered your hand to shake his, he took it hesitantly. His hands were sweaty.

Freddie nudged John and said “start off with your thoughts on Flash Gordon! He’s an expert!”

A raspy voice suddenly shouted “Freddie!” and he turned, with a dramatic swish of his cape, with an excited “Rog!” and jogged off.

You two stared at each other. Deacy bit his lip.

“Y/N” he stuttered, his northern twang slipping out “who…where is the bathroom?”

“It’s down that hallway,” you said, pointing “to the right.”

He nodded at you and gave you a smile as thanks before walking away. Something about it, the gentle way he carried himself, the shyness of the nod, and his sweet smile made you feel a little dizzy.

It was ten minutes until you were already sweating. You couldn’t find the refreshment table, no one seemed to want to talk to you, and it was too loud to think. With the crowding and the heaviness of your gown, you needed air. You turned your head to see the glass door. 

You make your way to the entrance of the garden. You slide out, relieved for the bit of clear air. It was falling to night-time. The garden was filled with rose bushes of yellow, red, and white like luminescent gems. You bend down to see the tulips for a bit and sniff them. A lovely break from the stench of tobacco. Now there was only the faint sound of cars and the muffled sound of the party. You walked a bit, admiring the flowers.

“Bloody hell.” Someone sighed.

You let out a little yelp and in surprise, you tripped on your skirt and fell, your hands landing on the dirt and your nose grazing grass.

“Oh! Y/N! I’m so sorry!” John apologized. 

He had been right behind you and did not see anything until you screamed. Feet rushing over he helped you up. John noticed the sight of your hand grabbing his arm and immediately retracted. He bit his lip and kept his eyes down.

“Are you okay? And your dress?” he pondered. 

You turned over to a green stain on your white balloon of a skirt.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, you must…” he said. He began to hide his face in his hands.

“It’s alright, John” you insist…maybe you can fix it. 

You glance over to notice some red roses in full bloom.

“Could you get one of the roses and help me pin it over the stain, please?” You ask. You start to wheedle a pin from your special hairdo. 

“Of course!” John insisted.

He rushed over and plucked it out easily. The attachment of the rose over your grass stain was so tender you fought back a smile.

“I’m sorry…but earlier, I knew already where the bathroom was.” He confessed as he bent down to start pinning the flower.

“Really?” you ask.

“I…I always notice you around Freddie. I know we met a bit before. And, he talks about what a kind person you are. And… I thought, maybe you really fancied him and that there was a slight chance he fancied you back, so you were...I want to talk to you but…I’m pathetic, I’m sorry, I don’t even know how to approach you and tonight…well, it was especially hard because…. you really do look lovely” he said. 

His eyes kept down as if he was daring himself not to stare right at the sun.

The secret smile of yours wins.

“Fred and I are just friends, John, thank you… for the flower, and pinning it up too…and the compliment, I mean. It’s nice to talk to you” you say.

John finally looks up in your eyes. Electricity burns inside you.

“I…I’m afraid I never really knew what to say with you, I don’t like small talk” he blurts.

“Well, we could start with what our favorite colors are…or Flash Gordon, or Fred” you offer with a toothy grin.

You hear violins sweeping out a ¾ melody. People inside the building begin rushing over to the biggest room. You can even make out Fred’s cheer of “who doesn’t love a good waltz, darlings!”

You grab his hand, every bit as soft and sweet as you imagine. And a little less sweaty now.

“But first, can I have one dance with you?” you plead. 

He nods and you both run inside in time.

It would be a better night than you thought. You didn’t know how much time you would spend with him. Goodbyes would eventually be exchanged. Now you wanted to savor every second.

Tagged: @bensrhapsody​ @littledarlingwellaway​ and my angelic beta-reader @thosequeenboys​

[slutfordeacy-mazello]

writing something based off this video....stay tuned loveies <3

[brian-roger-deaky-and-fred]

I really truly do not understand it one bit when people act like Deaky was "forgettable" or "average". The man wore booty shorts and wrote songs about cum. I mean???

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 1) John Deacon x Reader Series

I’ve read so many fan fics in the past four months and I thought it was high time to try my hand at it. I’ve created this side blog so that I can 1) Express my love for Queen and 2) Not annoy the randos from high school and college who still follow my main. This’ll be a slow burn folks, so hold on to your hats.

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 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader (eventually)

Chapter Warnings: Lots o’ curses

Chapter Summary: This is basically just some set up for the series. No Deacy yet, but a meet-cute to happen very soon! I got the band name with the help of some random band name generator so be kind. I’m hoping to introduce in some songs readers may not have heard - I was thinking of “Heart of the Night” by Juice Newton while writing this, hence the single name and album.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

- - - - - - -

Days of Our Lives Documentary Shoot - 2010

(Brian May and Roger Taylor Joint Interview)

“The early 80s were huge for us, for sure. I believe we were at our biggest then, internationally speaking.” Brian states, glancing over to Roger.

“Yes, Another One Bites the Dust really set things a-flame I think. The traveling and playing were constant. The crowds getting bigger by the venue. Parties, hotels, girls, more parties. We were meeting just so many people.” Roger adds.

“And one of those being a certain American female rock singer.” The interviewer adds quietly from off-camera.

Roger glances over to him with a questioning look, but Brian catches on quick, like always.

“Ah yes, that particular rock goddess. We did meet her around then, I believe, yes. Maybe a few years after.” Brian says knowingly, still playing along.

Roger stares into space with a confused look on his face until the realization hits him. “Are we talking about Y/N?” Roger mutters to Brian. “Yes” Brian chuckles, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, what a spit-fire she is! Not back then though. Fred really worked some magic with that one. Almost inseparable those two were.” Roger laughs out, a wave of nostalgia washing over his face.

Brian raises his large eyebrows, “Deacy would beg to differ I think.”

Roger smirks, “Oh, well that’s a whole different story.”

- - - - - - -

1982 - MTV Studios, New York City

You run your hands up and down your thighs, trying to will your left knee to stop repeatedly bouncing up and down. The satin of your pants does nothing for the layer of sweat on your clammy hands. You fold them together in your lap and gaze around the studio instead, taking in the bustling of crew members as they ready for the pre-taped interview. The god-like VJ, Alan Hunter, sits in a chair off to the side as someone artfully pieces his blonde locks into place. He grins over at you with a small wave. You limply lift your hand in a greeting, pasting on a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

You catch your pained expression as you glimpse a monitor off-camera. A friendly woman backstage had painted your face to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Gone was the evidence under your eyes of the restless sleep you’d fought the previous night. They were wide and doed, rather than their normal crescent shape. Your lips full and vibrant, your hair bounced and fanned out around your face. And your skin seemed to be glowing, masking the spots that had popped up overnight from stress. You looked every bit the rock goddess the label hoped to paint you as, and the exact opposite of the nerves currently threatening to overtake your body.

“Y/N, I can feel you vibrating from here. Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be fine.” Rich commented from beside you. His legs were splayed out, his arms bent behind his head. Looking as relaxed as can be, as if he were on his couch at home catching a movie marathon, about to doze off.

“How can you be so calm right now?” You rush out. “Who knows how many people are going to see this interview. Do you know how many times a day I accidentally let the F word fly out of my mouth?”

Rich lets out a snort. “I happen to know exactly how much you curse, thank you. Yesterday you said fuck 3 times in one sentence. It was charming, my mom loved it.” He moves his right arm to squeeze around your shoulders. Usually, it would be a comforting display of friendship, but you shake it off.

“And look at those three. Already so at home, I see.” You nod to the three other members of the band. Steve is exuding energy like yourself, but it’s excitement that bubbles from him. His eyes flit around the room quickly as he taps out some unknown rhythm on his bent legs. A wide grin permanently fixed on his boyish features.

At the far end of the couch, Eddie and Lawrence are wrapped up in a not-so-silent game of knuckles.

“Son of a-- Will you take off those damn rings? It’s my turn and I’m still getting bruised.” Lawrence huffs. Eddie wiggles his long, skilled, silver-clad fingers in front of his face and raises his eyebrows. “It’s all about the look, baby. Gotta play the part of the guitar god.”

“Will you both knock it off.” You call over to them. “We need both those sets of hands in playing shape for tomorrow night.”

Eddie turns, probably to counter with some playful comment about how you mother them too much, but Alan approaches.

“Alright, guys. And girl.” He flashes his perfectly white teeth your way again. “We’re about 5 minutes out from going up. Anybody need anything? Water, vodka, beer…” He turns his gaze to Steve, who is still tapping lightly on his legs. “A Xanax, perhaps?”

“Waters all around would be great, thanks.” You offer. Alan nods to a twitchy PA waiting to his side and they hurry off.

“Oh wait up, a Bud Light too, if you have any!” Eddie calls after them. The other three boys echo the same as well.

“You can take the boys out of Long Island…” you mutter to yourself. Rich teasingly pokes your side. “And something stiff for the lady!” He shouts out.

“In all manner of ways” Steve giggles. You feign a shocked expression and reach over to place a gentle slap to the side of his head. He looks over with big apologetic eyes and you stifle a laugh.

In record time, the lanky PA rushes back over with a myriad of drinks, all threatening to topple over on the tray they were precariously balanced on. Another PA trails behind, handing you all water, which you’re in desperate need of. They hand the drinks out one by one and stop before you. “Your water, Miss. And I didn’t know what you liked so I have a jack and coke, a whiskey sour, and a gin and tonic.”

“The gin and tonic is great, thanks.” They hurriedly hand you the drink and go to turn away. “Love your hair by the way.” You tell them. “I’m absolute shit at styling mine. Guess I’ll have to learn now.” They smile back at you and run a hand through their short locks before disappearing amongst the rest of the crew.

“Okay, we’re ready to rock n’ roll!” Alan exclaims, getting the band’s attention as he sits down in a chair next to your side of the couch. “We’re going to start off with a few basics on the band. Your lower thirds will have your instruments labeled but feel free to explain how you guys started out, your influences, your process. I’ll prompt you in between and then we'll talk about the album and promote your upcoming tour towards the end. Should take 15 minutes tops, so keep your answers brief. But I won’t say no to any rowdy stories you want to throw in.” He finishes with a wink.

The band nods along as you gulp down a breath, your palms becoming even slicker. The stage manager’s high voice rings out around the studio. “Playback ready! Live to tape in 5.. 4...” Rich places a hand over your knee and gives a squeeze. “Light em’ up, Bun” he mutters in your ear.

“3.. 2..” She holds up a finger and then points it at Alan, a wide smile already set on his face. The camera light flicks red as the MTV open plays from speakers around the room. Alan beings as the song fades out.

“We’re here in the studio and boy, am I excited to get to know this next band. Over at MTV we’ve been watching the steady rise of their single “Heart of the Night” on the charts. And as an added surprise, they’re here to introduce their very first music video. I’m very pleased to welcome to the studio, Lo & The Limbs!”

You try to relax your face as a camera pans across the band and settles on a two-shot of you and Alan. You know your eyes are gleaming with anxiety so you glance down the couch, silently praying for one of the boys to take the lead.

“Thanks for having us Alan, it’s such a trip to be here.” Eddie says with ease, resting his forearms on his knees.

“So, I have to ask. Who is Lo? Is it you Lawerence?” Alan questions the piano player.

“Oh god, no.” Lawrence chuckles. “Our high school was affectionately called Lo High, for Long Island HighSchool of the Arts. So we sort of tacked that on while playing during those years to let people know where we were from. That and well, as you can see we’re all above 6 foot except for Y/N, so a lot of limbs going on here.”

Alan gives a short laugh. “You released your debut album, Quiet Lies, earlier this year to growing success. Why don’t you tell me how you all started out.”

“Well, the boys and I have been together for a few years. We’ve been friends since grade school and we always just used to jam about. As we got older we started playing local bars back on Long Island to mostly middle-aged crowds, trying to break in, but it wasn’t working. Then Rich had the idea to invite Y/N to join up and it’s all kind of all taken off from there.” Eddie explains.

“We needed a pretty face to balance out all these ugly mugs” Steve pipes up.

“It took a while for her to finally concede though. She was off being too studious for the likes of us.” Rich adds on with a smile and nudge to your side. Your eyes grow wide as you feel a question directed at you coming on.

“Is that true, Y/N?”

“I- I guess, I was at NYU studying documentary filmmaking.” You choke out, but continue on. “Love this lighting set up, by the way, it really hides all sins.” That gets a light chuckle out of the crew surrounding you.

“And these sins you’re hiding are…” Alan grins but quickly bounces to the next topic. “Certainly a good call, Rich. Heart of the Night is the only song off the album that Y/N is singing lead on and look how well it’s doing. How did that happen?”

“Most of our songs were already written from before when we finally got the money to record. We wanted Y/N to feel a part of it, so she went on and wrote Heart of the Night and we were all very pleasantly surprised that it’s become such a hit.” Steve explains. “She also directed the music video we’ll be debuting today. I can’t believe she let us do all the things we did in that… well, you’ll just have to see for yourselves. We can be a bit of a handful.” The boys all chuckle.

“That and she plays the weirdest collection of instruments. Rhythm guitar, any type of strings, the saxophone… She's a boss on the harmonica.” Eddie turns to you as he speaks. “You just need to get over those pesky little nerves about your singing, Bun!” He points in your direction.

You feel the heat rise behind your perfectly painted cheeks at the slip of your nickname. You cast your gaze down at your lap. Not liking how the conversation has turned directly onto you.

Alan quirks an eyebrow at you. “Bun?” He teases.

You have yet to lift your eyes when Rich answers for you. “Bunny, an affectionate nickname. It’s stuck around since grade school when she wandered into Lawrence's backyard in search of a rabbit she was chasing.”

“A rockstar called Bunny. There’s a first for everything.” Alan quips, but quickly notices your displeasure in the current topic. Sensing your growing panic, he addresses the rest of the group. “This has been quite the debut album, with more hits sure to come from it. Any bands you’ve taken inspiration from while writing and producing?”

Rich jumps at the question. “Fleetwood Mac would be a big one. The way they layer their sounds is just unmatchable. You catch something new with every listen of an album of theirs.”

“I can’t be a pianist from Long Island and not mention the granddaddy, Billy Joel.” Lawrence adds. “His songs take you on such a ride. They’re full stories, each one of them.”

“And you, Y/N?” Alan directs the next question. “Who will you be drawing inspiration from when you write your next hit single?”

You smile to yourself. “It’s gotta be Queen for me. I’ve loved every one of their albums. I mean, the way they’ve changed their sound just in the past few years alone. They’re always transcending. Never afraid to try out something new or weave a different genre into one of their songs. But you always know it’s a Queen song. I saw them 2 years ago when they played the Garden, and fu--” You catch yourself as you get more animated. “And they were all just so on. Perfectly in sync. There’s something so distinct about their sound, so practiced. I’d love to get to their level, to be able to experiment like that. To give joy in the way they’ve given it to me.” You finish. Realizing you’ve rambled for a bit, you turn your eyes downwards yet again.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk since you came into the studio!” Alan laughs. “Well, you heard it here first folks, Y/N L/N is a Queen fan, just like the rest of us. I’m sure you’re just as excited about their new album as well.” You nod quickly as Rich hides a smile. Knowing full well you’ll be first in line to purchase their new album, Hot Space when it drops.

“But before you get off to writing more hits, I believe you have a tour coming up!” Alan states, signaling that the interview is wrapping up.

“Yeah, we have a small American tour starting in February. But until then we’ll be opening up for Hall and Oates during their tour of the NorthEast next month.” Steve says excitedly, bouncing slightly in his seat.

“And with that, I think we’ll roll into the long-anticipated music video and directorial debut for the lovely Y/N L/N. Thank you all so much for coming in today and I can’t wait to see what’s next on the horizon for you. Here’s Lo & The Limbs with Heart of the Night!” Alan keeps his painted smile till the red light vanishes from above the lens on the large pedestal camera in front of him.

You breathe out the breath you’d been choking on as Rich puts an arm around your shoulders. He leans in and whispers lightly, “And only one hint of a fuck, ladies and gentlemen. She might just make it in this business after all.”

- - - - - - -

One Month Later - Veterans Memorial Coliseum - New Haven, Connecticut

The Limbs bound off the stage in full force, glistening with sweat and excitement. It was the largest crowd they’d played for by far. 10,000 people cheered from the audience as roadies and crew moved around them to set up for the main act, Hall and Oates. Rich spreads his long arms and huddles the rest of the group into a family hug, your skin sticking to one another, the smell of sweat filling your noses.

“I just want us to all remember this moment.” He speaks to the group, foreheads touching. “Even if nothing happens past this album. That was insane.”

“Absolutely bonkers, dude!” Steve says and he bounces up and down beside you. You all take a deep collective breath and squeeze.

“Alright, get off of me you fucks.” You laugh, untangling yourself from their vast expanse of limbs. “We all stink and I have to get out of all... this” You gesture to the skin-tight bodysuit your best friend, Dawn, had insisted you wear. Eddie presses a light kiss to your temple as he lets you into the dressing room first to change out of their view.

You close the door and sigh, glancing at yourself in the mirrors that line one wall of the room. Your eyes are bright, your hair is two times the size of when you went out on stage an hour before, and your makeup looks like you’d been in a fight. Grinning to yourself, you start to unlatch the halter top of the bodysuit, excited for the air to cool your skin.

Just as you are about to shimmy out of the rest of the ensemble, the door bursts open.

“Shit! Lawrence, what the hell?!” Scrambling to cover your top half.

Lawrence trains his eyes to the ceiling as he speaks. “Bunny, you gotta… just cover up and get your ass out here. You just... You gotta see, c’mon.”

Flustered, you hurry to redress your sticky body. After making sure everything is properly covered, you step out into the hallway backstage, already glaring at the boys. They’re all tight-lipped, staring at one another. “Okay, someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” You say loudly. “Shhhhh” Rich hisses as he gestures behind him with a shake of his head. You glance over his shoulder to see the backs of two men. John Hall and Daryl Oates.

“Yeah, okay... I don’t get it. We’ve hung out with them like 5 times. Why are we fangirling?”

Rich widens his eyes at you and you glance back at them again. This time they part and you can catch a glimpse of who they’ve been talking to.

The flash of a tight leather jacket, a mustache, and two front teeth shining while laughter erupts from behind them.

You gasp.

“Fucking, fuck. That’s Freddie fucking Mercury.” You say, a bit too loud.

The bold man in question locks eyes with you. Something mischievous dances behind them as he narrows his gaze. Daryl and John move to their roadies to get fixed up before heading out on stage and Freddie lets out a sharp burst of laughter as he makes his way over. Your stomach churns with embarrassment but you can’t tear your eyes from his.

“Quite the redundancy of expletives, my dear. All you had to do was say hello.” he grins at you, all teeth. You’re not one to get too clammy in front of other musicians, but your voice gets trapped in your throat. You pray to whatever gods are out there that your eyes don’t get any wider.

Eddie’s easy charm luckily saves you. “This beautiful songstress right here is Y/N L/N.” You barely lift your arms as Freddie pulls you in for a light hug and kiss on the cheek. “But you can call her Bunny.” Eddie grins. So much for easy charm you think as you stare daggers into the profile of his face.

“Ha! Bunny? Oh my, that is wonderful.” Freddie chuckles. “It sounds as if you’re a socialite... Or a stripper. I can’t tell.” He beams at you. You can’t help but beam right back.

“Come along. Let us watch the show and you can tell me which one it is.” He says with a wink. “And introduce me to these giants you call your band.” He grabs your arm and leads you off, the boys in tow. Bouncing with excitement for what’s to come.