#john deacon fic

[spreadyovrwings]

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it’s more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: obscene flirting... characters realising their life has more to it than their job? other characters learning other people aren't quite so scary and can be trusted? those two characters fancying each other like crazy? yeah.

//

Chapter Nine

Steam billowed from the kettle’s spout. You watched it swell and curl through the air, until it hit the low kitchen ceiling and dispersed. On the mantelpiece, your grandmother’s carriage clock chimed ten.

It was the longest you’d been able to sleep in in years. Though you’d been trying to cast your mind back all morning as you set about making breakfast, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d been able to go to bed without setting an alarm.

Though the days were growing steadily warmer as summer rolled in, mornings were still cold in your little flat. You tucked your chin under the collar of your thick woollen jumper and puffed out a breath to warm your body.

It had not been a good week.

It’s difficult to anticipate how one might react in a situation like yours. You thought if someone had asked you a few months ago what you might say if given life-altering news like the kind Gladys had given you, you probably would’ve said you’d rage and eff and blind until the problem righted itself. You’d go out fighting, at least. But when Gladys set off her grenade, you didn’t say a word. You just stared at her. You stared and stared, and stared some more.

It didn’t take long for you to find your voice, though. Not after Gladys started to describe the whole ordeal. She couldn’t seem to get the words out fast enough, it was like watching someone in confession. Her open mouth was like a gutter, gushing words and apologies and useless explanations until finally, you couldn’t take anymore.

“You selfish cow!”

John came into the room when the shouting started. Mickey was close behind. One of them put a hand on your shoulder, it must have been Mickey because the hand was heavy and solid like a slab of concrete.

“Skip…”

John slipped his fingers between yours, trying to bring you back down to Earth, but you barely felt him.

“How could you do this to us? To Mickey? To me?”

Gladys covered her face with her hands, her chunky rings glinting in the low lights.

“I’m sorry!”

“He’s just had a baby!”

“I know, I know-”

“This is my home!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t think in a million years he would-”

You stopped listening. John was murmuring close to your ear, telling you to stop now. His long fingers were wrapped tight around yours, keeping you grounded but only just.

“Sweetheart, leave her,” he murmured. “You should get some air. Just come with me and breathe for a second. Please.”

But that didn’t sound like a reasonable option either. You didn’t want to go outside. You didn’t want to keep having this conversation either. Standing here, shouting at Gladys, that was the only thing that made sense.

“How could you be so stupid.”

The words barely made it out from between your gritted teeth.

You felt John’s hand leave yours. Mickey too took a step back. They both seemed to realise this wasn’t their fight, this wasn’t something they had a right to be involved in, even though they were grieving too.

Gladys was the brightest, most joyous person you knew. She flitted from person to person like a hummingbird. With her brightly coloured hair and her clattering jewellery, she was as dazzling on the outside as she was on the inside. But right now, she seemed to have shrunk a few inches. Her colour had dulled. Her light had gone out.

“I just thought he was interested in me,” Gladys looked down at the floor, ashamed. “No one’s ever been interested in me. And he seemed so eager to learn about the bakery and I thought- I thought maybe he was just proud of me. For building this place. For doing something so amazing on my own. But I was wrong.”

You could still feel your pulse pounding in your neck and the base of your skull. You couldn’t recall ever feeling so angry and let down in all your life. Time seemed to be rushing by you, and all you wanted was for John to hold your hand again.

Gladys still couldn’t look at you. In a way, you were relieved. You didn’t think you’d be able to meet her gaze either.

It was difficult to order the feelings surging through you. You loved Gladys. You owed her so much. You’d do anything for her and until today, you would have sworn she’d always put you, or at least Oslo Square, above all else. Despite everything, she was a good person. You knew that. She was enticing and gregarious and too trusting and a fool. And she had let you down for the last time.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you said, then turned and walked into the kitchen, through the back door and out into the alley.

But you didn’t get far. You never would.

Sinking down on the bakery’s back step, you folded your knees up to your body and prayed the pressure would take the ache away. It didn’t. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sob that lay in wait in the back of your throat.

Sun filtered through into the alleyway, falling on the ground in puddles of light. Above you, the sky was so clear, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. And you just wanted to cry and cry and cry.

There was a sound behind you, the scuff of a boot against the cement steps. You pushed your face into your crossed arms, not ready to face anyone just yet.

“Skip?”

It was John. Of course it was. Who else would they send after you?

He called you by your nickname again, then as he came to sit beside you, your real name, softer, more intimate.

Finally, you raised your head.

He was looking at you closely, his clever eyes switching across your face. He was trying to work out how upset you were, how carefully he needed to tread around you. That was just his way, John was just being a good friend, but right now, you didn't want kindness and gentleness, you just wanted to be left alone.

“John, I think maybe…”

“It’s going to be alright.”

It wasn’t like him to interrupt. Usually, John weighed every word with care, as if each syllable would cost him a great deal, or he had a finite number at his disposal. You had always admired that about him; everyone else in your life spoke so carelessly, like it didn't matter at all.

“John…”

“C’mon,” he said, nodding now, like he’d made up his mind about something. “Let’s go upstairs. We’ll have a cuppa and we’ll-”

You wrapped a hand around his arm and squeezed gently, asking him to stop without a word. John looked so crestfallen, you couldn’t bear it.

You stood up, crossing your arms over your chest, as if it would help to keep the sickness sitting in your throat at bay.

“I think maybe you should go home,” you said as gently as you could. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

John looked surprised, then a little hurt. It shouldn’t have annoyed you but it did a little. He had no idea what you were going through, he should just listen and know that when you said you needed some time, you meant it.

But the small part of your brain that could still think clearly knew that wasn’t fair. If the roles were reversed, as they had been before, you knew you would badger John relentlessly until he was forced to talk about whatever was bothering him. But this wasn’t about an exam or a tiff with his band, this was your whole life, your whole future, and it had wrenched from your grasp without you even knowing it

“Okay.” John slowly rose to his feet, his hands awkwardly moving from his pockets to his hips, behind his back and then to his pockets again. “I’ll come see you. Later.”

You nodded, your lips pulled back in a grim smile.

“I’ll call you,” you said again firmly.

For a moment, John didn’t move, he didn’t even blink. Then finally, he seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just… Be careful with yourself, darling.”

Then he was gone and you were alone again.

That was two days ago. You hadn’t left your lonely flat since.

You poured boiling water into your favourite mug, waited a few minutes, then added the milk. Your movements were robotic, rehearsed, the habit of a lifetime that required no thought at all, and thank God, as you didn’t have the energy to think or feel much of anything.

The phone rang again but you didn’t even spare it a glance as you padded back to your bedroom and closed the door.

/

Life went on like this for a few more days before finally, you decided to pull yourself together. You got dressed, headed downstairs, and debated whether or not to turn on the ovens.

Mickey hadn’t come into work since the news. You couldn’t blame him, he had a baby at home and a wife to reassure. You had no one. Just an empty flat and a cold, silent bakery. But even that wasn’t yours anymore. Mickey phoned often enough though, asking if there were any updates and if he could do anything to help. You wished you had something to tell him.

You looked around at the old kitchen. The multicoloured tiles from renovation after renovation, the cookers and the ovens, all older than half the buildings on the road, the pots and pans, bowls and utensils, all lying unused. They seemed to stare at you, waiting for answers, just like Mickey, just like the customers you watched from your window, who passed by every day and soon left again, looking disappointed and confused.

Yeah, you thought, me too.

You grabbed some paper from behind the till, scribble a quick note, then sellotaped it to the door.

Closed until further notice.

You stared at the sign, letting the words truly sink in, then turned and went to go hide yourself away upstairs.

Then the door chimed.

“Skip?”

You looked up, heart pounding. It had only been a few days, but it was the longest you’d gone without seeing John for the best part of a year.

You’d somehow forgotten how tall he was, how lanky and gangly he looked standing in the bakery doorway, his perfect, long hair a striking contrast to his shabby clothes.

He smiled at you, shy and unsure, and you wished you could do more than stare back.

“Hi,” John said as he carefully pushed open the door all the way and finally stepped inside.

As the door rang shut again, you gritted your teeth. You thought if he’d asked, if he’d given you the choice, you probably would’ve said that now wasn’t a good time and he should come back later.

“Hi,” you said instead, and watched him pocket the key Gladys had given him on his first day.

John looked at you like he was waiting for you to say more. You couldn’t blame him for that. You’d led every conversation you’d ever shared, guiding him and teasing him, wheedling information out of him with a fine hook. Now, you couldn’t for the life of you think of anything to say.

“You haven’t been answering the phone,” John said eventually. “I was worried.”

He cautiously approached the desk. Perhaps he’d only just noticed the thick tension in the air, or maybe he was just having trouble pushing through it, but he seemed to take careful steps, his eyes fixed on you.

“Well,” You tried not to sound huffy but it came out all wrong. “I’m kind of dealing with something right now. I don’t have time for…”

“What?”

He was challenging you, daring you to say more. You clammed up, feeling chastised.

“Did you talk to Gladys?”

You nodded.

You’d spent the last few days in meetings with your boss, discussing what had happened, trying to figure a way out of this mess, going over the details and again and again until you were both exhausted and resigned to the idea that this place was no longer yours. Everything that Gladys had built, everything you’d worked for, was gone.

“What did she say? What’s going on?”

John came closer until he could rest his hands on the counter. You stared at them, following the outline of each of his long fingers.

He really did have such lovely hands. The round onyx ring he wore on his little finger, the silver one he always took off and pocketed when he was helping out, because it was Freddie’s and he didn’t want to ruin it. The little scars from his childhood and faded burns from mucking about with machines. You’d missed them.

“Did you fix it?”

You pressed your lips together and shook your head.

“No.”

At home, you blankly stared at the ceiling, at the television screen, into the mirror. It had slowly begun to dawn on you that outside of 64 Oslo Square, you had nothing. Friends you saw once in a blue moon, no hobbies, no interests, no idea of what the future would hold. Everything, you’d put everything into the bakery, your whole life. In just a few weeks, you’d even have to find a new flat. Everything was falling apart.

“There has to be something we can do. She’s made a mistake.”

“I know.”

“C’mon, love. We can sort this out.”

It was too much. It was just all too much. You didn’t want to hear positivity and hopefulness, you didn’t want anyone to be kind to you, especially John, not after the way you’d pushed him away. You didn’t want gentleness and softness, because it meant he thought something had happened to warrant that care, and you didn’t want to be someone who needed looking after. You didn’t want to be someone that had had something so awful happen to them.

“I can’t do this.”

You pushed away from the counter and moved into the kitchen, heading for the door to your flat. All you wanted was to crawl back into bed and shut out the world. Compartmentalism had got you nowhere, not when one of the best things about your job had turned up out of the blue asking you a million questions and caring about you far more than you deserved.

You didn’t expect John to follow you, but you heard his boots clunking against the kitchen floor, his voice soft and low as he called out again,

“Skip?”

You bit back a sob. You weren’t Skip anymore. You weren’t the captain of anything. You had no bakery, no business, no prospects, you were just- You were nothing.

“Leave me alone.”

You tried to sound forceful but the words got caught in your throat.

“Love, please-”

John was right behind you as you wrenched open the door up to your flat. You could hear his stupid boots on the stairs.

“John, I can’t-”

“Just talk to me.”

“You don’t understand!”

You stopped in the middle of the stairs and span around. It must have taken John by surprise because he staggered to a halt, one foot hanging in midair, as if he’d been in the middle of a step.

“In a month, I won’t have a home or a job, and this place will be packed up and turned into luxury flats or some half-arsed storefront selling overpriced street food to bastards like him, and I won’t have anything.”

It was as if someone else was doing the talking. You could almost believe you were standing beside yourself, watching as you shouted at John, your eyes shining and your jaw tight. You wanted to tell yourself to stop, that he didn’t deserve to be talked to like that, but you couldn’t close the floodgates.

“And you, you’ll swan off with your band or pack it in and become an engineer, and you’ll forget all about us and this place, and I’ll never see you again.”

John’s eyes flashed but his expression was as neutral and measured as ever.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said evenly. “You really think that little of me?”

“Oh, shut up, I was only-”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. You don’t get to decide how much I care about something. Alright?”

“Why would you care? You’re just the delivery boy. Some student Gladys took pity on cos she can’t resist strays.”

“I love this place too, you know I do. Things aren’t as easy for me as you think.”

You scoffed. It annoyed you that he could be so rational and calm at a time like this, when all you wanted to do was shout and accuse and lash out.

“Oh, poor John. It must be so hard for you, being a genius and having to choose between being rich and famous and being a bloody rocket scientist, or whatever the fuck it is you do. Life must be so difficult.”

Finally, John scowled. He moved closer, so now he was on the step just below yours, your faces level for the first time.

“You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Not for lack of trying!”

“You’re so- I’ve given you more of myself than I’ve ever given anyone!”

“Oh, well lucky me.”

“God, you’re-”

“What?”

“You’re…”

John trailed off. He seemed to realise, at the same time as you, just how close you were to each other.

You waited, hardly daring to breathe. John was maybe a few inches away, his chin tilted up ever so slightly so that he could meet your gaze. His pretty, silvery green eyes were fixed on yours, as if to make a point. You were fighting the same urge, to not look down at his lips, angled so perfectly up towards you, it was enough to make your chest lurch.

Slowly, so slowly it was almost painful, you watched as John’s gaze finally slipped and he glanced down at your mouth. Surrender. You followed immediately, and felt time speed up again. You caught your breath. Your heart was hammering so hard, you were sure John must’ve been able to hear it, feel it.

John’s gaze dropped again and stayed for longer this time, very obviously debating something that terrified and excited you all at once. It was just a matter of who would give in first.

“We’re not going to kiss,” you whispered, not trusting your voice. “Not like…”

You made the mistake of letting your eyes fall to his lips again, one last time. They parted ever so slightly, an invitation, like he was asking you to give in and take what you’d been wanting for so long. You pressed your lips together and immediately regretted it. You’d given yourself away.

The corner of John’s mouth twitched up into a little smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured. “You said some horrible things to me.”

You pulled in a lungful of air and closed your eyes. The moment was gone, but it still took you a second or two to get your feet back on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” You rubbed your tired eyes, feeling guilty and ashamed and dizzy all at once. “I was being stupid.”

John shrugged.

“Just because it was hurtful doesn’t mean it wasn’t accurate.”

“Still, I’m being an idiot. I’m sorry, John. It’s been a fucking awful week.”

He smiled to let you know he understood. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth again, just for a second, but you couldn’t have missed it.

“Not like what?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“You said ‘We’re not going to kiss. Not like…’. Not like what?” John raised his eyebrows. “Not like this, you mean?”

It hadn’t occurred to you that you’d spoken those words out loud. It was jarring to hear John repeat them back to you, and even more surprising to realise that’s exactly what you meant.

You nodded.

“Not like this.”

This wasn’t the right time, as much as it pained you. He was so close, looking up at you so sweetly, telling you how much he cared about you and that he just wanted to help. But John was right, you’d been horrible to him, and you were so sad you could barely breathe. When you did kiss him, you wanted it to be right, you wanted it to be good, you wanted to make the world stop turning.

John nodded, looking down at his ridiculous shoes. When he looked up again, his gaze still lingered antagonistically around your mouth. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

“When then?”

“What?”

“When can I kiss you?”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“When you get me my bakery back.”

John grinned. He had such a lovely smile, so bright and honest.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Promise?”

John crossed his index finger over his heart.

“Promise.”

You beamed at each other. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, like nothing was wrong, or could ever be wrong. Because John was here and he was smiling at you, and he wanted to kiss you and knew you wanted to kiss him. But then reality slowly seeped in, harsh and so cold, it made you shiver.

“It’s hopeless, John,” you murmured, and pressed your face into your palms.

John wrapped his long fingers around your forearms and squeezed gently. When he carefully pulled your hands away from your face, you saw he was smiling sweetly.

“Shall I stick the kettle on?” he asked.

You’d never heard anything more romantic in your life.

You led him up the stairs to your flat and let him make you a cup of tea, while you sat on the sofa and watched him move around in the kitchen.

It was only tiny. Even ‘kitchen’ was a generous word, it was just the two sideboards, the hob and some cupboards set into the wall, but John moved around them as if he’d lived there all his life, and you were, once again, assured that he was fated to be 64 Oslo Square’s delivery boy.

“I was thinking about finding a flat. For after uni.” John handed you a mug and sat down beside you. “You could, um… Maybe I could start looking now and… You know, obviously we don’t know when things will… But I could look and…”

You blinked at him.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

John’s cheeks were tinged pink.

“I just want you to know you have options. I know you’re going to figure this out, but I want you to know you have somewhere safe to stay.”

Your chest squeezed as a wave of affection washed over you. How did you ever get so lucky? It was a small relief, in a way, to know that no matter what happened, you had a friend in John. The idea of moving into a flat together felt unreal right now. The more you pondered on it, the more the severity of your situation seemed to settle in.

“There’s nothing to figure out, John.” You sighed. “Gladys signed the paperwork. You know, she didn’t even really understand what she was signing? He got her drunk then pushed the papers across the table and told her he wanted to invest in the bakery, she just had to sign. Daft cow.”

“How’s Mickey taking it?”

“He’s alright. He’s a fantastic baker, he could find a job anywhere.”

“So could you.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You’re joking. Everything you make is incredible! And you’re passionate and you’re dedicated… You could find somewhere else. Maybe start your own place someday.”

You laughed softly, embarrassed by the compliment. His faith in you was flattering. No one had ever said anything like that to you before.

You reached out and took John’s hand, folding your fingers between his and interlocking them, as if you’d done it a million times before.

“You’re so sweet. But I can’t.” You squeezed his hand gently. “I started working here when I was sixteen. Have I told you that?”

John shook his head.

“I used to pass by on my way to school. Me and my friends would come in every Friday. And every day, Gladys was there, behind the counter. And she was mad and funny and she let us stay all afternoon, even though we only had enough money for a cuppa and a cake. And when I left school, there was one place I wanted to work.”

You looked up at the photo of you, Gladys and Mickey on your mantelpiece. Your tiny, ridiculous, mismatched family.

“I was just behind the counter at first, like you. But it was fun, it was a living. Then Shaz, the head baker back then, she started letting me help out. I loved it so much. The time things took. The attention to detail. The warmth of the kitchen. And it’s stressful but it’s full of love. You know? Everything we make is…”

You squeezed John’s hand again.

“When you see people smiling because of the things you make… It’s the best feeling in the world. I asked if I could start working as a baker and Gladys agreed, and even knocked a bit off the price of this place.”

Together, you looked around at your tiny flat. It wasn’t much but it was home, it was yours. You’d never had anything that was just yours before, and you couldn’t stress it enough, the importance of having space, having ownership, a room of one’s own, especially for a working class woman in 1973, especially for someone making it on their own.

“This is my home, John. And these people, they’re my family. I had nothing and the bakery gave me a purpose. I can’t just find somewhere else. I can’t. I can’t. It’s Oslo Square or nothing.”

John watched you for a moment, and you wondered if maybe you’d bored him with your outpouring. You wouldn’t be shocked. But then he raised your interlocked hands and held them to his chest.

“I’ll get it back for you. I promise.”

You laughed softly. He’d surprised you yet again.

“Where did you come from, New Boy? You really are an angel, aren’t you.”

“I don’t know about that.” John shyly glanced away. “The bakery means a lot to me too now. I want to help. If I can.”

Was it too early to revise your ‘no kissing’ policy? You really wanted to kiss him. Actually, kissing John would probably fix most of your problems. Or, at the very least, make them much easier to deal with. God, you could probably make him moan with just a kiss, you could tell from looking at him that he’d be a noisy one. Or maybe he’d lay you back on the couch and run those stupidly big hands all over you, playing you like one of his instruments. You wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Skip?”

You blinked. John was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, sorry,” You gave him a wonky sort of a grin. “Just a bit tired, I think.”

John didn’t look like he believed you but he let you off the hook.

“I think you need to get out of the house.”

You had to agree. Aside from nipping to the shops for the essentials, you hadn’t left your flat since Gladys’ news.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Well, actually,” John said guiltily. “I have to meet the lads at three. I wondered if you wanted to come.”

“To watch you rehearse?”

“It’ll probably be really boring for you, but you’ll get to see a few arguments. And we can get lunch first or dinner after or… I don’t mind, I just want you with me.” John blushed. “But you can say no, I didn’t mean to-”

You laughed softly. He really was the sweetest boy alive.

“I’d love to, John.”

/

That afternoon, Queen were rehearsing in a studio space in South London. John was tempted to grab the tube but you convinced him onto the bus, remembering, as you handed over your change to the driver, that he’d once admitted he was nervous about travelling that way. If he was going to be a proper Londoner, you thought, he had to learn how to use the buses, and the 49 seemed as good a place to start as any.

You watched John watch the world go by. He really was so beautiful and he had no clue. He had some semblance of an idea that he was alright, you knew that. The way John preened in front of every passing mirror told you so. But he didn’t see the lovely slope of his strong nose, or the way his grey eyes shone every time he saw something that piqued his interest, or the way his lovely, funny mouth twitched at the corners just before he was about to murmur something to you in that lovely, funny voice.

You’d tell him, you decided. Soon. You’d tell him just how beautiful you thought he was.

It was only when you followed John through the quiet, carpeted corridors of the recording studios that you began to feel nervous. You’d never been anywhere like that before, it was a foreign land.

As you passed, you peered through the porthole windows of every door to catch glimpses of steely grey microphones and mixing desks in big glass boxes. It was like something out of a film, something you’d only ever seen in magazines and photographs.

John seemed totally at ease. You supposed you were seeing him in his world for the first time. He would protest, he was a scientist, an engineer, he wasn’t a rockstar, but he was a musician, through and through. This world of dials and crossfades and endless electric cables suited him very well.

Eventually, he pushed open a door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to go in first.

The room was only small, probably all he and his friends could afford to hire by the hour. In the corner sat a shiny, black grand piano. Freddie tapped on the keys, humming under his breath as if building a tune just from a few plaintive notes. Next to that, there was a row of guitars all standing to attention, and a drum kit, steadily being put together to just the right requirements by Roger.

He looked up when the door opened.

“Hi, John. We were just saying-” Roger stopped in his tracks and immediately brightened when he saw you come in. “Bakery girl!”

“Hiya, Rog.”

You laughed as he came over to give you a big hug. It had been a while since you’d seen John, so it had been even longer since you saw his friends. You were sure Roger was only sweet to you because he knew it annoyed John but you were more than happy to play along.

John waited until Roger had gone back to his drum kit to stop frowning.

“Brian not here yet?” he asked, a little gruffly.

Freddie scoffed.

“He’s late. Again. He’s teaching somewhere in Balham. He’ll probably be hours, you know how he likes to bang on. You don’t play guitar, do you, love?”

You smiled shyly as Freddie also came over to greet you.

“No, sorry. Just the recorder in Year 3.”

“Ah, you’ll fit right in.”

Freddie beamed.

You didn’t know him as well as Roger but every time you saw Freddie, you practically tripped over yourself to befriend him. He was just so cool, so beautiful, his voice soft and his mannerisms so enchanting. He drew you in, just as he did the crowds when he was on stage, like a siren beckoning in beguiled ships.

“How are you doing?” Freddie held you by the shoulders as his soft dark eyes searched yours. “We’ve heard about this awful business with that twat. Andrew, was it?”

“Alastair.”

“That’s the bastard.” Freddie shook his head. “I’m so sorry, love.”

You wondered how much John had told them. By all accounts, he wasn’t the most talkative of people. In fact, you were still getting used to how much he spoke now. If you compared the boy standing beside you to the boy who first anxiously walked into the bakery that cold January night, you would almost say they were completely different people.

“Thanks, Freddie.”

“Are you staying?” asked Roger.

You glanced at John and he shot you an encouraging smile.

“If it’s okay with you lot?”

“Make yourself at home!”

You found a seat off to the side, just behind John’s amp.

You couldn’t help staring, transfixed, as he got himself set up. You could watch his hands forever, the way his fingers slipped over the strings, how the instrument fit perfectly against his body. Even watching him plug in his bass was mesmerising. It all just seemed to come so naturally to John, as most things did. He really was wonderful.

Queen warmed up slowly, giving Brian more time to turn up, and as they did, they passed ideas back and forth to each other. It was like a foreign language. Musical terms, notes, lyrics, pacing, you didn’t understand any of it, though you loved to listen to the boys figure it all out together.

For the most part, Freddie and Roger talked back and forth, while John watched, thumbing pensively at the thickest string of his bass as he waited to play. But you noticed how they never decided anything without consulting John for the final say, and his word seemed to be gospel.

John looked back at you over his shoulder and shot you a rare confident smile. You just had time to blush before the door opened and Brian fell in, apologising and shaking his head so that his wild, dark curls danced.

Brian waved to you but didn’t waste any time chatting. He grabbed his guitar and struck up a chord that filled the room with that familiar, quintessentially them sound.

They were magic to watch. You couldn’t wait to see what they became.

Soon, Freddie started to complain that he needed a drink to soothe his raw voice, and Roger and Brian went with him. They asked if you and John wanted anything but you both declined quickly, eager to be alone together again.

As soon as the door shut behind them, John turned to you properly and smiled. He nodded down at his bass, asking wordlessly if you’d like to try.

Grinning, you nodded too, and tried not to look too pleased as he ducked out of the strap. John gently lifted it over your head, and you tried to keep still as he settled the bass against you. You’d never held a bass guitar before. You hadn’t expected it to be so heavy.

“Oof, wow.”

You rolled your shoulders back, adjusting your posture so that you could balance its weight better.

“I know,” John’s hands skirted over your shoulders, making sure the strap was sitting comfortably first before he came round to stand in front of you. “I’ll have a terrible back when I’m an old man, I’m sure of it.”

Trying to remember how his hands moved when you watched him play, you lifted your left hand and pressed the tip of your index finger against the first metal string. It was thick and strong, and indented your skin as you pressed down. You couldn’t imagine how he managed to play so quickly, so deftly. The instrument seemed ungainly and oversensitive to you.

“You make it look so easy.”

John just smiled.

It was nice to see him in his element, to see him confident and sure of himself. He’d had once told you that he only picked up the bass because his first band needed it. You found it hard to believe, John and the bass, they seemed made for each other.

“You’ve almost got it. Here.”

You held your breath as John moved to stand behind you again. His left hand came up to cover yours, gently twisting your wrist around so that it was positioned nicely under the neck. With his other hand, he plucked a few notes on the lowest string, then took your index finger between his and showed you how to curl it just right. You swallowed thickly, and hoped he wouldn’t be able to hear your shaky breaths.

“Feels funny,” John said as he watched you pluck out a few tentative notes. “Me teaching you something for once.”

Face hot, you just tried to concentrate on playing right.

“You’re a much better baker than I am a bassist.”

John moved closer to correct your left hand, and now his chest was pressed up against your back. You tensed, trying to keep as still as possible but it was difficult to concentrate with him so close. All questions about whether he was doing it on purpose left your head when he spoke softly by your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“I don’t know,” John let his hand slip down your forearm, just as it did the neck of his bass, and tentatively let it rest just above your waist. “Looks pretty good from where I’m standing.”

You stopped attempting to play, it was pointless. You couldn’t so much as hold a thought in your head, let alone carry a tune. You turned your head to the side until you could just see John out of the corner of your eye.

“You’ve taught me a lot, you know,” John went on. “Not just the baking. You’ve made me much braver.”

His big hand felt heavy against your side. You were suddenly hyper aware of the slightest movement of each of his fingers. While his other arm was slung across the body of the bass, his fingers tucked underneath it to support its weight, the fingers of his left hand pressed into your soft waist ever so slightly and you had to hold back a gasp. You were touching so much, it was insane, you could barely remember your own name.

“I think I just bullied you into talking more.”

Your voice was shaky and low. You knew John would catch it but you didn’t care. You were too busy thinking about how warm his chest felt against your back, and how if you angled your hips just right, you could sink back into him until his hips were fitted against your arse. Then John spoke again, so close now that it felt like his lips were close to brushing your neck

“I’m glad you did.”

You could practically feel him smile against your skin as he added,

“You’re good for me, I think.”

Slowly, carefully, you turned your head a little further, and John shifted around so that you could meet each other’s gaze properly.

His confidence seemed to slip the moment he knew you could see him, but the hand that rested heavily on your waist slipped down to your hip and squeezed.

“I think you’re good for me too,” you said, and smiled when John blushed under your gaze.

There was no space between you at all. Just one move, one inclination of your head, one press of John’s hand, and you’d be in his arms, your fingers in his lovely hair, your mouth pressed against his with only the bass between you, and suddenly the worst week of your life would be over.

You had just the wherewithal to realise how wrong you’d been. You thought you were alone, you thought you had no life outside of the bakery, but here you were, in the arms of the sweetest boy you’d ever known, listening to his band create some of the best music you’d ever heard, and John truly believed everything would be okay. Maybe you ought to trust him.

John let out a short breath, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, as if he too was nervous and excited and uncertain all at once. How sweet it was to know he felt exactly what you were feeling.

“What you said about, erm, no kissing till I’ve got your bakery back,” John murmured, his pretty eyes fixed unashamedly on your mouth. “Is that a… Is that a hard and fast rule? Or more like a suggestion?”

You smiled, and watched John’s adam’s apple bob in his lovely throat.

“What do you think, pretty boy?”

It was very clear from the look in John’s eyes what he thought about that. He bent his head, slowly and with great consideration, just like with everything he did, until the tip of his nose brushed yours. You felt your eyes close without you needing to think about it, your lips parting as you heard John say,

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting t-”

“Oh, have we got a new bassist? Lovely.”

Your eyes snapped open in time to see Freddie swoop into the room with a drink in his hand. He was smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am, love. You’ll look much better in the costumes.”

John begrudgingly moved away but he was smiling to himself. Caught. When his hands left you, it felt like all the air had come rushing back into the room.

The boys chatted as they filed back in, passing around ideas and thoughts on the next show, but you could barely hear them over the sound of your own heart thumping in your ears.

John stayed close. You couldn’t be more relieved. After today, after this week, you never wanted him to move out of arm’s reach again.

“Thanks for today,” you whispered to him, when you were sure the others wouldn’t hear you. “I needed this.”

John shrugged, then carefully helped you out from under his bass. He slipped it over his head, then swung the guitar round so that it wouldn’t bump against you as he took your hand in his.

“You’ve saved me enough times. It’s about time I returned the favour, Captain.”

“I’m still Captain, am I?”

“Of course! You’ll always be my captain.”

“I was worried… I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me anymore, now you don’t have to.”

John smiled.

“It wasn’t the bakery I was coming to see, love. I haven’t been getting up at the crack of dawn and peddling across half of London for the bakery. I didn’t suffer scraped knees and a daft helmet for Gladys and her bloody ancient coffee machine.”

You marvelled at this for a second, then you smiled.

“It’s Mickey, isn’t it.”

John laughed.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Can’t get enough of the bloke.”

“I knew it, I knew it.”

”It’s the arms.”

“Who can blame you.”

//

Master List

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

 72 Hours In Montreal

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. You are a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. You'll only ever have three short days in Montreal together…or will you??

Part I

Part II

Part III

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

[warriorteam1924]

The little things

featuring John Deacon

Author note : Hello my beauties. I'm back for a tiny piece for halloween ^^ ! I’ve been super busy lately and I’m aware it’s not my best piece, but  I hope some of you will enjoy it anyways. Thanks in advance to anyone who will be giving honest feedback, it’s always very appreciated. Also, I remind you English isn’t my mother tongue, apologies in advance for the mistakes.

Warnings : none really, just my awful writing

Summary : a nice moment for halloween for John

Words count : 950 words

Permanent taglist : @reavenedges-lies @thosequeenboys @orionis8689 (apologies people, i removed you from the list, since you don't interact.... i asked for communication....)

It was the end of October already and autumn had eventually settled down. It was about time, John thought. At the beginning of the month, he recalled being in the garden, wandering around his flowers, feeling the hot sun on his shoulders, feeling way too warm for the old man he was, merely wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

And of course, the end of October also meant Halloween. It was now a very common celebration, even in London now. Kids would dress up as celebrities or scary creatures and would knock on the neighborhood doors to trick or treat. When it came to adults, most of them were just picking up nice costumes, and would spend the evening together, giving them yet another opportunity to escape reality and have a party.

As for what would happen at the Deacon’s, the plan couldn’t be simpler.  Husband and wife had agreed. John would be in charge of answering at the door and give kids candies they would be asking for, preventing them from having a severe spell put on them.

As his wife was comfy and sat in the living room, John was making sure all would be ready for the late afternoon and evening. His plan was to have a large bowl and put it next to the front door so that he wouldn’t have to take it with him whenever someone would knock on the door.

He was putting the content of the large bag in the bowl he had prepared when something caught his attention. He spotted a candy he hadn’t eaten for what seemed to be forever. As a kid about to do something stupid, he looked around, making sure his crime would remain unnoticed. He picked the candy, took the wrapping paper off and very delicately put it in his mouth.

It was absolutely delicious. Of course, his adult mind perfectly knew candies weren’t very healthy, but he made the thought go away with an imaginary gesture of the hand.  

This candy he had put in his mouth was not the fanciest food he had ever eaten. But John suddenly realized despite how tiny this candy was, it was bringing him happiness at his very moment.

He had closed his eyes as he was letting the flavors of the candy invade his mouth and let his mind wander a bit on its own, a light genuine smile on his lips.

He started to think about all the little things in his life, like this candy, that was bringing him joy. He had been the bass player of Queen for something like two decades. He had traveled the world, seen so many things. He was married and was a proud father of six. One could say he had accomplished many things in his life.  

But what about the little things, the things that wouldn’t appear on his Wikipedia page, or that only the persons closest to him would talk about?

John thought about these little things. How he liked to wrap himself in his covers at night to feel comfy and cozy, as he was hearing his wife’s sleepy breathing. How he liked to receive a random picture from his kids or grandkids, letting him know about their lives now they had left the familial nest. How he liked to be in his garden, merely enjoying nature: the trees and their leaves, the psithurism, the flowers and their wonderful smell, the birds and their colorful feathers, singing here and there.

He also thought about a few memories he had with members of his family, his wife and kids of course, but also his mother and his sister. Even his father. Yes, his dad had died when he was still very young, but he was now making sure to recall nice moments, fragments of time before whatever had decided to take him from his family’s loving arms.

He also thought about his dear friends, his former band members, but also the roadies. How they had been laughing together to let the pressure down in between two concerts.

His mind then let him think about his dear dog who had passed away not that long ago. Again, trying to stick to positivity, he recalled the zoomies, her face when she didn’t get the present she had expected for Christmas – probably blaming Santa Claus for that – but eventually liking the toy, the walks in the nearby park, the smiles and the ear scratches….

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. John realized he had finished the candy for a long time and had been daydreaming in the kitchen for a good ten minutes.

He took the large bowl of candies with him and went to the front door. He put it on a high table that was in the corridor and opened the door. He let the kids say the now usual “trick or treat” and took time to compliment them about their costume. He noticed one of them was dressed as a zombie from the series and game The Last of Us, making him wonder if any of his grandkids would have picked such a costume….

He gave the kids their candies, all of them politely thanking him and rushing to the next house. John smiled at the sight of them happily running with their bags getting filled with sweets.

He closed the door and thought about suggesting tea to his wife. He started to walk towards the living room but stopped after two steps. He randomly picked another candy from the bowl and smiled like the kids he had seen a few minutes before.

Yes, it was good to enjoy the little things….

[john-paul-george-ring0]

'Love from John'

Read it here!

Summary: "This only has me worried now," Veronica joked. John frowned slightly, so she elaborated, "For your birthday. I mean, it must be coming up soon. We met towards the end of March last year, and I've known you every day since until now, and it's not been your birthday on any of those days, so I'm assuming it has to be this month or next."

When John didn't reply immediately, it was her turn to frown.

"Actually," he began, embarrassed, "My birthday's in August..."

[eileen-crys]

Down in the Dungeons

Ch.23: “Honey, you’re sparking something: this fire in me”

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22573960/chapters/97051533 (Words: +5k)  Warnings for this chapter: None.

“Since she was a child, Dominique had visited lots of cities with her parents. It was evening when their cart arrived in front of the city's gates, and the city stood before their eyes, submerged in the sunset's light that hit the mountains all around. Of all the cities she's seen in her life, Dom was sure this was one of the most beautiful.”

Eeeek how long has it been? 😭🥺 I’m sorry, had really big blocks one after the other and struggled to find the right ideas and inspirations for this chapter, but finally here it is! Lots of Roger and Dominique, a healthy dose of Johnica and a sprinkle of Jimercury and Branita, which will come back more prominently in the next chapter! After all I’ve enjoyed writing Rogerique again and I hope you’ll like this chapter as well! 🥰 And pleaseee don’t forget to leave a comment on AO3 and/or share this post if you’ve read and enjoyed the chapter, your comments are always the biggest boost for me to write more! 💕💕💕

Taglist: @warriorteam1924 @john-deacon-fucks @deakysgurl @kiainspace @the-world-of-erit @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes @kinole009x   @blossom-melina-burnickel @wilyserpent @annina-96 @john-paul-george-ring0  @idontknowhowthisworked @julescape @tiny-irish-warlock @finland-shoes (Please tell me if you want to be added/removed!)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12  | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | …

[freddie-mercury-rising]

A picture is worth a thousand words. So, let's allow some photos to inspire us!

The premise of this collection is to take photographs of Queen (Et al.) and use them as a starting-off point for creativity. Whether a photo inspires you to write a drabble, a ficlet, a vignette, a poem, a multi-chapter fic, a dialogue, a screenplay, etc. or to draw, sketch, or paint, then feel free to post the photograph that inspired you along with your creation into this collection.

The goal is to inspire each another to create!

[thegirlwiththeblush]

Drifter

Deacon St. John x Reader

1.5k words

Warnings: Language

Special thanks to my dearest @vorsdany for proof-reading and editing 😌🫶🏼

please excuse my lack of talent :D but i hope you enjoy

It had been months since I’d given up counting the time that had passed since the infection began. It had been at least two years, maybe even closer to three, but there was no point in keeping track of time anymore. Without a schedule to keep, every day was the same: wake up and maintain the very basics of staying alive.

I’d managed to stay hidden in my family’s cabin in the woods all this time, eating fruit and vegetables grown in our garden (it truly was a miracle – how I’d managed to keep any of it alive), and the occasional small game I could catch without attracting freakers and swarmers. I’d lost all my family to the freakers; somehow, I’d stayed hidden and escaped.

Some days I wished I hadn’t.

I’d had little to no contact with the outside world since, only taking in the occasional civilian or refugee, usually on their way to a camp nearby. Every one of those on their way to 'sanctuary’ would encourage me to join them, insisting that there was safety in numbers and that being a part of a community would be so much better for me. With every such statement, I’d refused adamantly; I had it good here, and I wasn’t about to risk that by joining a bunch of strangers in a post-apocalyptic world. I got by, and that was enough for me.

That was, until an Anarchist army finally stumbled across my hideaway. They’d burned it down without hesitation, and I’d barely woken in time to the smell of smoke and the sound of triumphant shouts. Sprinting away from their molotovs and sniper rifles, I’d escaped with nothing to call my own. I was alone, with no way to defend myself, and nowhere to call home.

So here I was, losing track of the days since the attack – who knew if it had been days, weeks, or more – and sleeping in bushes when I could. I was starving, scavenging berries and mushrooms that I knew to be harmless, drinking from reservoirs and praying that dysentery wouldn’t come to plague me along with the rest of the world. I knew there was a good chance I was losing my mind, but I struggled on, as if I had a fighting chance.

That was, until the day I met the Drifter.

I was searching an abandoned car, as I often did, hoping for medical supplies or something that could sustain me in any way. Clambering into the front passenger seat, I shut the door behind me, like a fool, as if it would protect me. Opening and shutting the glove box and center console, I heard the throaty screeches of freakers in the distance, but disregarded them without even glancing up, presuming that they were far off by the volume.

The sharp screech of claws on metal sounded above me, snatching my attention with a jolt. My gaze shot upwards as my heart raced in my chest, and the sight around me drew a choking sob from my throat. About a dozen freakers surrounded the vehicle, clambering to get inside to me, their grotesque bodies writhing in delight at the sight of fresh meat. Judging from the screams I’d heard earlier, there were most likely more coming, and there was no way I could hold off a horde from getting in. I’d been an idiot to think I could make it on my own, and now I was going to pay the price in the most terrifying way.

Over the howling of the freakers, I barely heard the roaring engine of a motorcycle approaching, drawing the gaze of about half of the swarm. I stole a glance over my shoulder and caught sight of a lone figure approaching on his battered vehicle, a pistol in one hand, which he was lining up to the closest creature. I winced as he fired, and didn’t quite catch his wisecrack as he slid off the bike and ran into the midst of the throng. He grabbed a baseball bat covered in nails from a collection of weapons strapped to his back, and swung it in all directions, giving a war cry with each kill.

One particularly burly freaker grabbed him from behind, stopping him in his warpath. His shouts of pain awoke me from my reverie, and I scrambled around in search of some kind of weapon. Scouring each compartment, I found an old flashlight in the driver’s side door, and turned back to my door, ready to assist.

Another freaker stood at my window staring me down, its blood-red eyes gazing down at me hungrily. It shrieked, temporarily deafening me, but before I could freeze up in panic, I grabbed the door handle. As I yanked it, I booted the door open with all my might, throwing the freaker back with a yelp. I clambered out of the car, gripping the flashlight tightly and heading for the Drifter and his attacker. Standing up to my full height, I swung the makeshift weapon at the freaker’s head, momentarily dazing him long enough for the drifter to get free and swing his bat round, carefully avoiding me. Clocking the hefty monster, he breathed a sigh of relief as it fell to the ground with a loud thump.

“Good riddance, motherfuckers,” he murmured to himself, before turning his attention to me. His voice was deep, somewhat husky, and now that I could fully take in his features, I was somewhat taken aback. He was roguishly handsome, a half-unkempt beard lining his round jawline. His hazel eyes were softer now that he wasn’t on guard, and his dark hair was covered by a backwards cap. He looked down at me, checking me for injury; a rather awkward task given his height. “Are you alright?” he asked gruffly. “You shouldn’t be alone out here in the shit.”

I blinked at this, the memories of the last few days hitting me like a brick wall. The anxiety I’d felt at being alone and unprotected slowly dissipated; this Drifter felt safe, trustworthy. I wondered if he’d let me stay with him.

“Um...” He stepped awkwardly from one foot to another, and I realized I’d been gazing at him in awe and avoiding the question.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I stammered. “Just a little shaken. I know I shouldn’t be, but...” I hung a hand from my neck shyly. “I kinda have nowhere else to go.”

“Listen, there are plenty of camps nearby that’ll take you in,” he explained, and I bit my lip at the familiar spiel. Given my circumstances, however, it was suddenly sounding a lot more appealing. “I can give you directions to any of them, but, you’d have to promise me you’ll go.”

I raised an eyebrow at this, squinting up at him. “Why so serious?”

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, do you not remember what happened just five minutes ago, when I came across you, helpless and alone and about to become freaker feed?”

I allowed myself a chuckle at this, and while he didn’t laugh, his eyes softened even more and the corners of his lips turned upwards in a cocky half-smile.

“Alright, alright, I promise,” I assured him, nodding in resignation. “Where’s the nearest one?”

“That’d be Lost Lake, about half a mile south of here,” he replied, gesturing vaguely in the direction. He hesitated before shuffling again on his feet. “I was actually on my way there myself, if you’d want a ride. Unless,” he waved his hands around dramatically, “you’re afraid of stranger danger and all that.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re strangers when you just saved my life,” I pointed out. “Besides, I’ve been walking non-stop for the last little while. My legs could use a break.”

I couldn’t believe those words had just come out of my mouth with such confidence. It was true, the Drifter seemed to pose the very opposite of a threat, but getting on a bike with a man I’d just met, and who I felt increasingly drawn to, did seem-

“Alright then, let’s get on the road,” he replied without hesitation, strolling back over to his bike and waving me over. I followed tentatively, glancing his bike over as if I knew anything about motor vehicle safety. It looked fairly sturdy. To my very limited knowledge.

He straddled the bike, settling down in the seat and raising his eyebrows as he looked up at me, waiting. His biceps flexed slightly as he gripped the handlebars, and I jerked my gaze away, a little too obvious, I assumed from his resultant small smirk. I climbed on behind him, and after he glanced back at me, wrapped my arms around his waist, my forearms pressed against his toned torso. I gulped back any possible accidental comments or vocal reactions and did my best to relax as he started up the engine.

“I never even asked,” he yelled as he kicked into gear and accelerated, “what’s your name?”

The wind began whipping my hair in my face as we sped up, and I introduced myself in as loud a voice as I could muster. “What about you?”

“Deacon St. John,” he replied, skidding around a corner and leading me to hold on to him tighter. “You can call me Deacon.”

I smiled. Deacon. It was a good name. And with that, I fully relaxed into him as he drove me away to safety.

[the-autistic-vulcan]

Rogerina

"oh, what a dreamy girl!" he thought, "to have an angel like her and call her my own"

[bijouxcarys]

𝑷𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏' 𝑮𝒖𝒚 - 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

Main Masterlist

𝐈. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑

𝐈𝐈. 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐈𝐕. 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

𝐒𝐈𝐗

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐄𝐍

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

[asmodeus-archives]

- I never did this my apologies -

I go by Asmo. Hence my user. I’m just a struggling college student of business who loves Queen and the gay ass stuff this fandom provides.

FIC LIST

This will get updated based on when a fic comes out or what not. Links are on the names.

Just For Tonight - [MAYLOR, - Fluffy to a T] short fic

Campside Rendezvous- [MAYLOR- Hutercury, Deazlaff] Multi Chapter- Mature/Innuendos] - on hold scrapped till 2025 summer (passion project- will update whenever other projects are done)

Sentimental Moments In Your Arms - [MAYLOR- Deacury] Mature in some aspects - short fic / one shot (?), Fluffy,Some sex talk, Romantics, Past/Present

[TITLE IS A WIP] - [MAYLOR, Deacury] Angst/Sad Fic/Slice Of Life/Romance/Dark Fic/Smut/- MATURE

——————————

After Rainbow [MAYLOR] EXPLICIT - straight up smut with someeeeee plot I guess but not really - TBA

Remembrance - [MAYLOR, Minor Deacury] EXPLICIT - PWP/Smut with plot - will post on : TBA

The Dragon Caretaker - HTTYD [MAYLOR, DEACURY] fluffy, - TBA f(scrapped till a much later date)

[johnica-weeks]

No more questions now, let’s enjoy tonight 💕

Rating: M 🔞 also very very fluffy

One evening Veronica was flipping through the pages of Music Life, a Japanese magazine that was full of photos and interviews. It showed a few pictures of the band from the previous year, in which John and Roger were wearing a kimono.

"You brought home this one last year, and you haven't blessed me by wearing it here yet, as well." She gave him a smirk and he felt his cheeks flushing a little.

"Want to wear them together, then?" He suggested and she nodded, her cheeks already warming up.

This has been sitting in my WIPs for ages but I'm honestly happy I managed to polish and post it 💕 It's also been a very long while since I posted anything "erotic" except for a lovemaking scene in Down in the Dungeons so I'm pretty nervous but I hope you'll like it! I wanted to post it also as a late birthday gift for @warriorteam1924 , but also a gift for all my friends Johnica lovers 🥰💖💕💜💖💕💜 love y'all so much!!!

[spreadyovrwings]

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: self… induced… smut…. and some more flirting

//

Chapter Eight

John leaned his weary body up against the door to his room after it clicked shut behind him. His digs had never felt more empty, more dark or unwelcoming.

The last of the day’s light was still filtering in through his tiny, square window, alighting on the scratchy old carpet and highlighting a pile of textbooks he’d forgotten to put away the night before.

With a sigh, John flung his bags down on the floor, then carefully propped up his bass in the corner of the room. He let his fingertips drag along the spine of its leather case, a sort of thank you for helping him play so well tonight. It had become a ritual, though John would rather die than admit that, to himself or to anyone else.

His stomach growled, a dog pawing at the back door, waiting impatiently to be let in. John thought about making some dinner but it was late, he didn’t want to disturb the others as he crashed around in the kitchen. A cup of tea could have been a reasonable substitute, but the process (another usually calming, nostalgic ritual) seemed exhausting and tedious. He just wanted to sleep.

Luckily, John had a good amount of leftover food from the bakery stashed away. He grabbed a couple of the white boxes from his shelf and dragged open their satiny scarlet ribbons. You’d saved him again.

Chewing gratefully on a flaky croissant, John flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes. He was so tired, they stung at first and he had to blink a couple of times so push away the pain.

He polished off the croissant, flicking his fingers over the side of the bed to get rid of any remaining pastry crumbs. He already felt a little better.

John drew in a long breath then slowly released it again, until all the muscles in his body had finally unwound and he had sunk further into the mattress.

“You sure you won’t come in? The sofa’s got your name on it. Or, you know…”

John opened his eyes and stared blankly up at his low, beige ceiling.

How could he have been so stupid. You had stood on your doorstep, asking him, plain as day, if he wanted to stay the night, and just when it mattered most, he’d chickened out.

“You were such a good boy for me.”

John groaned. What a moron. He turned and pressed his face into the pillow. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, he’d get lucky and suffocate.

He could still feel your soft skin against his palm. John found himself curling his hand around the ghost of your cheek, his eyes closing as he pictured you gazing up at him, smiling, always smiling.

“They need you, New Boy.”

“Don’t you need me?”

“I want you, that’s different.”

You got all shy after you said that. John didn’t think he’d ever seen you look so bashful. You wanted him. He knew it. And, God, he wanted you too.

It was late. He had an exam in the morning. He was still hungry and dehydrated after the show. He’d said ‘no’ to you like an idiot. He really shouldn’t do anything but sleep.

John unbuckled his belt with one hand.

He closed his eyes and pictured you laying beside him, the what-would-have-been if he hadn’t been such a colossal git. With a soft, relieved groan, he forced his hand down the front of his trousers, just as the you he’d conjured in his head kissed him hard enough to bruise.

/

Not too far away, you were also staring at the ceiling. Try as you might, you couldn’t sleep. You’d eaten late, you’d stayed up too long, you had a million things to worry about - you’d almost managed to convince yourself these were the reasons you couldn’t drop off. Almost.

With a sigh, you turned over onto your side.

You could still feel John’s big hands in yours. You loved those hands. Skilled in electronics and an expert at the bass. He’d probably play with you just as well, if not better.

You sighed dolefully.

Maybe if you’d been more insistent, if you’d asked again and maybe been more obvious about what you wanted, John would’ve followed you home and you wouldn’t be lying here, alone, pressing your thighs together and trying to ignore the ache between them.

You stared at the wall. You stared and stared and stared, willing sleep to claim you. Behind your closed eyes, images of John on stage awaited you, daring you to do something about how delicious he looked that night.

“Oh, fuck it.”

You stuck two fingers in your mouth and swirled your tongue around them, the way you’d been picturing John doing ever since his trick with the ring. His lovely, funny mouth. You’d give anything to have it between your legs right now.

Whispering softly to yourself, you closed your eyes and imagined how it might’ve started, what you might’ve done if you’d been brave enough to entice him in properly, and all the while you gently coaxed at your swollen clit

You’d have to sit in his lap again. You’d simply die if you didn't get the chance to do that again soon. John had felt so small beneath you but so warm and sturdy too. You could wrap his hair around your fingers as you lazily kissed him, whispering sweetly against his lips as he gasped and rocked his hips against yours.

So close to each other, you seemed to be sharing one breath, you imagined yourself breaking away to mouth down his neck, sinking your teeth in here, sucking a dark mark there, until John was whining and struggling to sit still.

/

His face burning, John pictured you under him, your arms wrapped around his middle, your lovely hands pressing into his back and keeping him close as you moaned into his mouth. He wanted to make you feel so good, just wanted to make you see how much he cared about you with his lips, his hands, his teeth and his tongue.

But it didn’t seem right. His very limited experience (and magazines he would rather die than you ever find out he read) were a guide, but those girls weren’t you. For some reason, John knew this wasn’t how it would go and something in the back of his head was telling him to flip the situation.

You, with your champagne smile and daggerish words. You weren’t going to let anyone push you around, especially not him, especially not when it came to sex. You’d back him up against the wall and push your knee between his thighs, your hands on his hips, squeezing tight as you whispered awful, naughty things against his lips that made his knees buckle.

John wriggled out of his trousers and pants, so desperate he didn’t even bother pushing them both all the way down. He raised his hand to his face, dragged his tongue across his palm, and immediately wrapped his hand around his cock again, squeezing and tugging desperately as he imagined you pushing him flat on his back and smiling down at him.

He moved his free hand so that it rested up by his head, just where he knew you’d place it, and tried to imagine your fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, your nails just beginning to sink into his skin.

“Fuck…” John hissed between his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut.

/

“Fuck- John…”

Your face flushed. You hadn’t meant for his name to slip out. But God, it felt good. It felt right. It felt perfect.

You drew your knee up then let it flop to the side, giving you better access, and all the while you thought about John’s lovely hands pushing your thighs apart so that he could bury his face between them.

“God, you’re so good, you’re so good…” you muttered to yourself, finding your own praises and moans turned you on even more as you rubbed at your clit.

Pictures flooded through your head. You couldn't settle on just one for very long. John’s tongue pressing inside you, his pretty mouth falling open as you slipped your hand around his throat and squeezed gently, the look in those clever grey eyes as he rocked his hips into yours. It was all so much, too much, and even though you felt a flash of guilt for thinking about John like that, it was soon drowned out by the soft little moans and grunts you knew he’d make as you sank down onto him and rode him within an inch of his life.

/

Sweat beaded John’s forehead as he twisted his wrist in just the right way, thumbing at the slit of his cock just to tease himself. His bottom lip clamped between his teeth, he fucked his hand, his eyes squeezing shut as warmth began to pool in the pit of his stomach.

It had been so long since he’d been able to get himself off. The stress of uni, coming home exhausted after gigs, never having much time on his own, it meant it had been weeks since he’d been able to touch himself like this. And now he had a million ideas he’d never allowed himself to entertain before, ideas about you.

Your knees pressing into his sides as you straddled him, the way you’d moan softly as you looked down at him, approving, studying him like you did your recipes, your lovely eyes switching back and forth across his face, his chest, his stomach - now much softer than when he started - and down and down and down.

John groaned, letting his wrist go limp as his hand slipped up and down his cock. He kept trying not to let his hips leave the bed, but it was too much, soon his back was arching like the girls in his magazines.

“Come on, sweet boy…” Your voice, so real he could almost believe you were murmuring by his ear, was soft and sweet and oh so in control. “Are you gonna cum for me, honey? Gonna cum just from being inside me at last?”

John bit his lip harder, trying not to make a sound, but the growing pressure pooling below his navel made it almost impossible. The hand he’d laid by his head made its way into his tangled hair, still damp with sweat from the gig. John wrapped his curls around his fingers and tugged, hard, a move that made him let out an embarrassingly reedy groan.

“That’s it, good boy. Good boy… You look so perfect like this, Johnny. Could cum just from watching you touch yourself. Come on, pretty boy, let me hear you…”

/

You were so wet, you could hear your fingers as they worked. It made your cheeks prickle. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel like this, so desperate and single-minded.

All you could think about was John, how he’d look beneath you, how he’d whine and gasp as you rode him, his hands up above his head, his pretty chest rising and falling raggedly as he tried to catch his breath, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat.

You knew he’d let you do anything you wanted. You knew he’d beg you to touch him, to look at him, to take him to places he didn’t think were possible, and wouldn’t stop until you were finished with him. Such a smart, enthusiastic boy.

You could picture him sitting up against the headboard, his face pressed between your breasts as you rocked your hips, his hands gripping your hips, your arse, as he mouthed at your flushed skin, leaving trails of kisses and bites and saliva in his wake.

/

He’d turn up at rehearsals the next day, covered from head to toe in love bites and bite marks, a map of your lips, and he’d wear them all with pride.

John huffed sharply through his nose, his eyes rolling back as he fucked his hand.

Come on, come on, come on, so close, so close, so close…

He pulled at his hair again, just as something began to tighten in his lower belly, and John’s back arched off the bed again, his eyes rolling shut as he whispered to himself.

“Please, please, please… Fuck- Ah!”

He came moaning your name, his mouth hanging open as pleasure rolled through his body. He bent double, folded like a deckchair, the hardest he’d ever cum in his life. John’s hips jerked out of rhythm but he didn’t stop moving his hand, because he knew you wouldn’t. He didn’t stop until it started to ache.

John let his body flop back onto the bed, completely spent. He’d never made that much noise before. He just prayed his neighbours hadn’t heard him.

/

Across the city, your fingers were starting to cramp but, determined, you kept your pace.

Always so obedient. Always so eager to do well. And not for just anyone, for you. Oh, you’d seen the way John preened every time you paid him the littlest compliment, how he beamed with pride whenever you were sweet to him and how eager he seemed to reassure you that you could do anything you wanted to him.

“You’re in charge, Captain.”

Maybe you could learn to like the nickname.

And maybe it wouldn’t take much convincing to get John to let you have him, his lovely hair strewn across the pillow, his back back arching off the bed as you slipped inside him. God, how he’d bounce and roll his hips, his moans rising higher and higher as he begged you to fuck him harder.

“Fu- Johnnn…”

The band across your belly snapped, and you came moaning the delivery boy’s name.

Exhausted, you let your body sink into the bed. Already, you could feel sleep beginning to overwhelm you. You just about had the wherewithal to pull your hand from the front of your pants before you turned over and fell right asleep, your body still pulsing and your mind still buzzing with the thought of John’s whines of pleasure, and the way his hands had felt in yours as he walked you home.

/

The next morning, you danced around the bakery’s shop floor, wiggling your hips and kicking up your heels as you tugged tables and their accompanying chairs into place. It did occur to you why you might’ve been in such a good mood but you chose to ignore that.

Cold, morning sunshine flooded in as you placed some of the goods you’d baked that morning in the window, then the rest behind the display counter. All the while, you sang along with the radio, waggling your head to T-Rex and smiling to yourself.

The world seemed at ease, just for a moment.

“Well, she ain't no witch and I love the way she twitch, uh-huh. I'm her two-penny prince and I give her hot love, uh-huh…”

A sharp knock at the door made you look up. It was about quarter past five, the bakery wouldn’t be open for more than an hour, so you immediately went into defensive mode. Thankfully, you recognised the face pressed up against the glass.

“Roger?”

You opened the door.

John’s drummer almost fell into the shop but he caught himself well.

“Alright, Bakery Girl?”

Roger grinned, wide and youthful, and clearly unaffected by the early hour. He was bundled up in a warm jacket, his shoulders drawn right up to his ears as he glanced over your shoulder into the dark, empty bakery.

You had to smile. This boy was even easier to read than John.

“I’m good, I’m good, yeah. It’s a nice mornin’, innit?” You nodded over your shoulder. “D’you wanna cuppa to take to work with you?”

Roger accepted your offer so eagerly, he almost tripped over his own feet getting through the door.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said, perching on one of the tables you’d set out.

You realised you were still humming to yourself. Try as you might, you couldn’t force down your smile.

“Just- You know.” You shrugged, trying not to look too sheepish. “How’s the market?”

“It’s fun! Hard but… We’re surviving. Barely make enough money to eat but it’s a good laugh.”

He spoke with such brevity, the soft corners of his pretty mouth tugged back into a toothy smile. Still, his words struck you. Roger and Freddie seemed so happy, so at ease in themselves, that you’d hardly believe they were struggling. You made a conscious decision to add them to your list of scrawny, ridiculous boys who needed looking after.

“Well, that’s all that matters, I s’pose,” you said, forcing a smile.

If Roger noticed your worry, he didn’t show it. He was too busy eyeing up the cakes and pastries behind the glass display case.

“Fred’s got this mate in Chiswick says he’s got a ton of swimwear and things for us. It’ll be summer soon, people’ll want stuff like that. Then maybe we can rent a bigger patch in the market. Maybe start selling LPs as well.”

“That’s the dream then, eh?”

“Oh, no,” Roger raised his head, his pretty eyes wide and soft in the low light. “No, the dream is… Walking out of EMI with a contract and my best mates… The whole world and our whole lives out in front of us. That’s the dream. Me and my mates, working together and seeing the world. I want to make things, you know? Be useful. Help people. Help someone.”

He couldn’t know it, but Roger had single-handedly unwound all your worries about your future with John. The way he spoke about it, it seemed so easy, like he was talking about any other job, and the warmth in his voice… Roger really believed it would happen for them. They were going to make it. Maybe you didn’t have to focus your energy on a plan you’d devised years ago. Maybe you could afford to have the same faith Roger did.

“Well,” you said, smiling too now. “When you put it like that.”

Roger sighed with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s just a dream, Bakery Girl. But that’s all I’ve got.”

“What about John? What’s his dream?”

“Something a lot more pedestrian, I think.” Roger raised his eyebrows. “You probably factor in somewhere.”

Face burning, you turned away to make his tea.

“Shu’ up.”

“Ahh, you know I’m right. I reckon he still thinks he’s gonna end up working in some lab or drawing up blueprints, or somethin’. We’re working on an album, you know. But I think he still thinks it’s just a laugh.”

“But it’s not?”

Roger smiled but his bright eyes, blue as the sea he grew up by, were serious and certain.

“No.”

You twisted your mouth.

“Rockstar or genius scientist.”

“I know. Leave some for the rest of us.”

You both took a moment to marvel at John’s seemingly unlimited potential. Then Roger smiled.

“Has he asked you out yet? I’ve been coaching him. Trying to make him act for once in his bloody life. Grab the bull by the horns.” He waved a hand. “So to speak.”

It proved too difficult to hide your smile, so you gave up trying. Instead, you passed him two steaming paper cups and warned him that they were still too hot to drink from just yet.

While the tea steeped, you set about putting together his breakfast.

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “I could ask him out.”

“Oh, I’d love to watch that.” Roger laughed and shook his head. “He’s great, isn’t he. I really like him. Most people just…”

He made an ineffectual sound and waved his hand again. It seemed Roger too had had his fair share of people letting him down, sadly just by being fundamentally people.

You followed his hand as it came to rest by his thigh again. His fingertips were bandaged. John’s fingers had felt a little coarse the few rare, wonderful times he’d brushed them against your skin. These boys wounded themselves, altered themselves for what they loved. You thought of your own scarred, roughened hands. There was a kinship there you never could have imagined.

“But John’s great. Always there when you need him. Brian bores me half to death most of the time but John’s clever in a nice way. You don’t feel like you’re being quizzed ‘n’ tested when you’re with him. You’re just… With him.”

Roger had the faraway look of someone realising just how lucky he was. You knew he wasn’t just talking up his friend, he really believed every word. You’d never seen someone so proud or so fond of his friends.

“Anyway, he’s a pain in my arse too, don’t get me wrong. But he’s great.”

Beaming, you passed Roger a bag filled with pastries, and a carrier for his and Freddie’s morning cuppas.

“I think so too.”

/

“New Boy!”

The shout was so sudden, John almost fell off his bike. He gripped the handles tight, wobbling dangerously as he stuck out his heels and dragged himself to a slow and graceless stop.

It was late in the afternoon. John had just finished his last round of deliveries and was looking forward to spending the rest of his day with you, helping out in the kitchen, and trying not to think about kissing you - the usual day to day.

You were standing in the bakery’s doorway, smiling so broadly, orbiting astronauts could probably see it. You were keeping the door propped open with one hand, the other was outstretched towards him.

“Mickey’s ‘ere! And he brought the baby!”

Before he knew it, John had been ushered inside. Your lovely hands switched dizzyingly between his hips and the small of his back as you guided him to the kitchen, where Mickey was waiting with a tiny bundle of pink cloth gathered up in his enormous arms.

“Oh, Mick…” John couldn’t help beaming as he leaned in to take a closer look. “She’s lovely.”

There had been photos posted up by the phone for weeks now, of little Dot just a few hours old, waving one tiny hand at the camera. You’d put up a few more recent pictures of Mickey and his family just the other day, all of the Caines squashed together to fit in frame. Nothing compared to seeing something so small and beautiful in person for the first time.

“She’s a righ’ terror,” Mickey beamed down at his little girl. “Drives her mother insane. An’ her old dad. Reckon she’s gonna be singer with the way she goes on. Maybe she could front your band one day, Johnny Boy.”

“She’d give Freddie a run for his money, I bet.”

John held out one finger and brushed it delicately across the back of one of Dot’s tiny fists.

“So, who does she look like more, d’you reckon? You or Rita?” he asked.

You snorted.

“You’re ‘avin a laugh. She’s perfect. She’s all Rita.”

“Ahhh, she’s got my charm. And my devilish good looks.”

Mickey finally tore his gaze away from his little girl to smile at John.

“Do you wanna hold her?”

“Me? Are you sure? I’ve never really…”

“Don’t be daft. C’mon, you’re part of the family now.”

With careful instructions on how to position his arms, Mickey gently passed Dot over, settling her against John’s chest.

The baby made a soft sound of disapproval, she never liked being far from her father’s warm, broad chest, but she soon settled. Her eyes closed, Dot sighed softly and went right back to sleep.

“There. You see?” Mickey patted John’s shoulder with a hand the size of a bear’s paw. “You’re a natural, mate. Won’t be long till you’ve got a few of your own.”

It took all John’s strength not to glance at you.

“She’s amazing, Mickey.”

John smiled as he ever so gently began to sway from side to side, trying to remember how his parents had soothed his little sister when she was just a baby.

He only looked up when he felt your hand on his arm. You were looking down at Dot, smiling gently, but your warm touch, the way your fingers pressed into him, that was a secret, just for the two of you.

“She’s so perfect. Shame you didn’t name her after me but…” You grinned. “Hang on, I have to take a photo. Stay right there, don’t move.”

John watched you go. He didn’t tear his gaze away until the door up to your flat had clicked shut behind you.

It was strange, but he already missed you. Just being near you set his whole body at ease. He could think clearer, his heart kept a regular pace, at least, until you smiled at him, or touched him, or looked in his general direction. When you were gone, it all came rushing back, like the pressure in the room had changed. He’d never needed to be near someone before.

John caught Mickey smiling at him and turned his attention back to the baby in his arms, hoping he didn’t look as he felt, like a love struck idiot who couldn’t concentrate whenever you weren’t around, let alone when you were.

“So,” Mickey was grinning now, much to John’s chagrin. “How’s things with you and the Captain?”

“They’re good.” John kept his eyes down, hoping in vain that it would obscure how red his face was getting. “We’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other but… No official date yet.”

“So you’re not goin’ together?”

John grimaced.

“I haven’t really asked her properly. It’s my fault,” he said sheepishly.

Dot began to fuss in John’s arms. She raised one of her little fists in the air, as if she too disapproved of his cowardliness.

Mickey reached over. John thought he might want to take his little girl back but he just brushed one finger across her clenched fist and whispered to her sweetly. Dot settled again, a look of contentment on her angelic face.

“She’s like her dad. Never ‘appy unless she’s complainin’.” Mickey smiled fondly. “So what’s keeping you? Last time I saw you, seemed like things were movin’ along a bit.”

“They were. They have.”

John thought about the night before, how soft and open your eyes had been as you gazed up at him. He had held your face, your hands, practically admitted everything he felt for you, and you’d smiled and said you wanted him too. God, why hadn’t he kissed you?

Because, John thought, because he was afraid. Even after everything you’d said, everything you’d done together, he was terrified that you didn’t actually care about him, and this was all a roll of the dice that would end with him losing the first place he’d felt safe in years, and a second family he didn’t want to ever say goodbye to. And he could lose you too. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” John said quietly. “Not like that?”

Mickey shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“She does.”

John huffed.

“She thinks I’m useless.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She thinks I’m quiet and funny-looking-”

“She thinks the world of you, you muppet-”

“And too skinny.”

“She loves you!”

The words hung in the air, like dust after a building collapses, crawling and curling their way through the kitchen, until they had filled John’s eyes, his lungs, his mind.

He blinked, heart sore, begging Mickey not to make fun of him with just a look. But Mickey nodded earnestly as he tucked Dot’s blanket under her back, as if promising her, or perhaps on her, that he would never joke about something so serious.

“She adores you, mate,” he said, just before the door opened again and you came bounding through, camera in hand.

“Okay, hold still. Say cheese!”

John tried his best to lower his head so that he and Dot would be in frame together without disturbing her. He felt Mickey wrap an arm around his shoulders and realised he was smiling without having to be told.

The camera clicked, flashed, then whirred as it spat out the polaroid.

“That’s one for the album,” you said as you stared at the photo, waiting for it to develop. “Shame Glad isn’t here. Where is she?”

Mickey scoffed.

“She ‘avin’ lunch with his nibs.”

“Well then,” You placed your free hand on your hip. “I’d say that’s lunch then, boys.”

You didn’t flip back the sign on the door. John tried not to look too surprised, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen you pass off an opportunity to keep the bakery open. Money was tight, this place was your whole world, you had a lot invested in 64 Oslo Square.

Perhaps you’d simply grown tired of working yourself to exhaustion when Gladys couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Perhaps it didn’t feel right to work when there was such an important visitor. John didn’t care what had driven this decision. He was just pleased to see you take some time for yourself. You’d more than earned an afternoon in the sun with your family.

/

You took John’s hand and led him across the road to the chippy, where you handed over loaves of bread, sweet pastries, and cups of tea in return for three bags of chips, cod for Mickey and a battered sausage for you and John. Michael’s Fish Bar had been kicking about for almost as long as the bakery; this bartering system had existed for far longer than you’d worked at 64 Oslo Square.

After dishing everything out, you pressed a plate into John’s hands and led him out through the kitchen doorway to the alley. You sat down together, side by side on the top step, your knees touching, and happily tucked into salty, hot chips that burnt the tongue and soothed the soul.

“So what’re you reading at the moment?” John asked, after a few minutes of comfortable silence had passed.

Beside you, Dot gurgled in her pram. You hadn’t had much experience around children, especially babies as tiny as her, but you knew enough to gingerly push the buggy’s back wheel with the toe of your shoe, gently rocking her back into her dreams.

“Oh, nothing at the moment. Been too busy,” you said through a mouthful of chips. “You got any recommendations?”

“Uni is so intense right now, all my suggestions would be written by Seymour Hammond.”

“Right,” you said, bewildered. “No, yeah. He’s fab.”

John picked up another chip and stared at it. He was chewing on his bottom lip, tugging the skin between his incisors as he thought.

You watched, mesmerised.

“You know, when I first moved here, I hated London. The smell, the crowds…”

“The price of fish and chips.”

That made John smile. He stopped worrying his lip and finally popped the chip into his mouth.

“But when I’m here, I see it.”

“See what?”

“Home, I suppose. This place feels like home. Or it’s starting to, at least. Does that make sense?”

In the ocean of your heart, something was stirring. Towering waves of fondness, warmth, and something you were beginning to seriously suspect might be love, rose up, crested, then broke, washing over your heart again and again, gently but firmly, undeniably.

“I think you’re a bit mental but… Yeah, it makes sense.”

You glanced over your shoulder. Mickey was on the phone to his wife, letting her know he’d be home soon and asking if she needed him to pick up anything on his way. You and John were alone.

You shrugged.

“Maybe it’s Gladys’ tea.”

John snorted.

“Or the free food.”

“Or the good company.”

“You do tend to make things a bit brighter, I’ve found.”

John looked at you, really looked at you. Gone were the days when he could hardly hold your gaze. Long gone. He had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

“I don’t fancy your drummer,” you said, cheeks beginning to burn at how abrupt you’d sounded.

John’s eyebrows pulled together, his nose wrinkling.

“I didn’t-”

“I know you think I do. He’s nice but he’s not my type.”

John didn’t look convinced but he was still smiling.

“I thought you liked pretty boys.”

“I do.” Heart pounding, you turned your body towards his. “Pretty boys with pretty hair and lovely eyes, cute noses and a funny mouth.”

“My mouth isn’t funny.”

“Then why are you smiling?” You grinned. “Very presumptuous of you, by the way, John.”

Pink dusted his cheeks. It was such a lovely sight, you could barely resist brushing your fingertips along the path laid out for you, across his cheek, down his neck, to his chest and beyond.

Then he moved, turning his body in towards yours, so now your knees were pressed against his upper leg. John was so tense, you could practically feel the muscles in his thigh jump at your touch.

He lowered his head, as if to whisper in your ear, but his eyes never left yours.

“Call it a theory,” John said. “One I’ve been mulling over for a while.”

You watched, hardly daring to breathe, as he leaned in closer. Your fingers itched to wrap around the collar of his shirt and pull him in, but the thought of moving right now seemed impossible.

“And have you managed to mull up a hypothesis?”

“Oh, definitely,” John’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “Trust me, I’ve had lots of thoughts about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m having one right now, actually.”

You wanted to respond with something clever. You wanted to take the next step in this dance you’d fallen into. You wanted to see if you could make John’s ears go as red as his cheeks. But you couldn’t think of anything to say. You couldn’t think at all.

You felt your hand move without your say so. It slipped over his knee and found a home on John’s thigh, keeping him close, keeping yourself grounded.

He was looking at you so intently, you could hardly breathe. Sunbeams filtered into the alley, light particles that had travelled hundreds of thousands of miles, just to get tangled in John’s lovely hair. The shadow cast by his aquiline nose, the tiny smile at the corner of his brilliant mouth, the softness of his gaze. How could you resist?

“John…”

Your heart was aching in your chest, pressing against your ribs, pushing you forward towards him. You had to draw in a breath to try and ease the pressure in your chest, but it shuddered through, and there was no way John couldn’t have noticed.

He smiled, sweet and reassuring, as he bent his head, murmuring your name under his breath.

Footsteps behind you made you straighten up. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d closed your eyes.

“‘Scuse me, lovebirds,” Mickey barged between you carrying two enormous black rubbish bags. “Bin man comes at seven.”

You weren’t violent by nature, but suddenly the idea of knocking Mickey’s lights out and shoving him into a dustbin seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.

John looked about as mortified as you felt. But he was still enticingly close. He hadn't moved away.

You were still squeezing his thigh. Part of your brain screamed at you to take your hand back, to apologise and pretend like it had never happened. But there was another voice, braver, softer, that told you it was alright, to just trust yourself, to trust John, and to never, ever let him go.

“John, I-”

The bakery door opened. You turned your head in the direction of the sound, frowning quizzically. That was odd, you thought, you’d definitely locked it.

Then you heard Gladys’ voice. She was calling out for you. Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t be sure why.

Squeezing John’s thigh reassuringly, you gave him a quick smile.

“Don’t move,” you said firmly, then scrambled to your feet before he could say any more.

You didn’t look back as you hurried through the kitchen. If you did, you feared you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from grabbing his face and having another go at kissing him senseless.

Heart still hammering, you made your way into the bakery where Gladys was standing in the centre of the shop floor. She looked pale, her usually lively eyes dull and almost unseeing.

For a moment, you worried that she was angry with you for shutting the shop. You tried to summon a smile, your hands automatically reaching out to make her a cup of tea.

“Gladys! I thought you were-” You cleared your throat, your mind still spinning from the dark, soft look in John’s eyes as he leaned in to kiss you. “Doesn’t matter. Mick’s here and he brought the little’un!”

“Where is everyone?”

Gladys’ voice was hollow. She was gripping a slip of paper in her hands so tightly, you could see it was beginning to tear.

“They’re outside having a fag. Well, Mickey’s having a fag and John’s got chips. We just stopped for a late lunch.”

When she didn’t say anything, you frowned.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“He’s taken it.”

“Taken..?” You shook your head, trying to ignore the sickening, churning dread in the pit of your belly. “Who, Glad? What’s going on?”

“Alastair,” she whispered the name like it was bad luck. And perhaps it was. “He’s taken the bakery.”

Time slowed, choked, before finally falling to its knees. An age passed. Civilisations came and went. Stars burned and died. And all you could do was stare. The bakery had never been so silent.

“What are you talking about?” you asked once you’d found your voice again, hoarse and reedy as it was.

Gladys’ face crumpled like the paper in her hands.

“I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have but he- The way he explained things, it… He had me change the names on the deeds. It felt like a good idea at the- It’s his. It’s all his.”

Tears filled Gladys’ eyes.

“It’s gone, love. It's gone. Alastair owns the bakery.

//

Master List

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave

Series Summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same…

Chapter 1: Needles And Fretboards

Chapter 2: Accept The Fucking Offer

Chapter 3: Signed In Blood

Chapter 4: City Of Dreams

Chapter 5: Don’t Even Think About It

Chapter 6: Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know

Chapter 8: The Light

Chapter 9: Follow The Rules

Chapter 10: Premonitions

Chapter 11: The Rush

Chapter 12: The Mirror

Chapter 13: Paper And Ink

Chapter 14: Fever

Chapter 15: Midnight Manhattan

Chapter 16: A Different Kind Of Life

Chapter 17: Shadows

Chapter 18: Summers In Florence

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

[warriorteam1924]

Your presence is wanted at this ghostly ball

John Deacon feat Miss T. 

Author’s note : Hi my beauties. This piece is very special because it will surely be one i got to write before things get incredibly busy in my life, leaving me with full prompts in mind that i’d actually have to write. It is halloween theme as you might guess, given the date. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks in advance for the feedback (honest and real feedback of course, otherwise this doesn’t make sense at all) Also, I remind you English is not my mother tongue, sorry for the mistakes…. i didn’t have time to make any gif, so i took the one showing from here (X)

Warnings : my style of course, mentions of death, mention of paranormal. 

Summary : a ball to prepare to see someone....

Words count : 2.775 words words

Permanent tag list : @reavenedges-lies​  @thosequeenboys​ @born-to-lose​ @orionis8689​ @queenlover05​​ (please communicate with me regarding your desire to be kept on this list or not ^^ thank you) 

It had been an exhausting day for John Deacon. He was supposed to attend this music conference, but of course, nothing went as planned.

 The organizers told him all would be very easy when he would arrive, that he would have nothing to worry about. How wrong had they been?

 His flight had been delayed, because of the fog. Of course, it was too simple to blame the fog, but still. It made him miss his connection so he had to book another seat for another flight. It was nothing lethal, but it was truly annoying.

 And of course, when he arrived, the organization was a real mess. And it seemed everyone who wanted to attend this conference knew this, because it seemed the rest of the population had a plan. The only issue John had was he didn’t have any.

 He thus left the conference center truly disappointed. He would only be able to attend the conference he was interested in within a few days and he had nowhere to stay for the night. Because, obviously, all the hotels and bed and breakfast were fully booked.

 He took his phone out of his pocket, prayed for his battery to last long enough and eventually found a place, a bit far from the main city, that was true, but at least, it seemed they had vacancies. John made a quick phone call and what appeared to be an old lady answered, reassuring him, letting him know he could stay there for as long as he needed.

 After what seemed to be an eternity, John eventually found a taxi and headed to the old lady’s place.

 As John expected it, it was a very old building, but he couldn’t care less. He only wanted a shower and a bed to sleep. He truly was exhausted.

 He paid the taxi, took his luggage out of the tuck and headed to the front door. He took time to stare at the place, but he supposed it was too late to run away now, even if the place appeared slightly gloomy.

 John knocked on the door and waited, trying to put a reassuring smile on his lips. He wasn’t sure who needed to be reassured, the old lady or himself.

 He heard footsteps behind the wooden door and what seemed to be several locks being unlocked. The door slowly opened and John supposed the old lady he had on the phone was standing before him.

 “Hello”, she said with her faint and old voice.

 “Hello, I’m John Deacon, I called in the afternoon for a room.”, John replied, maybe slightly too enthusiastically.

 “Oh, yes, I recall, I recall.”, the old lady nodded. “Please come in. May I take your luggage?”, she asked.

 John looked at her, frowning. She surely was willing to give her best to be a good hostess, but she looked like she was a million years old. John wondered how she would be able to take his bag upstairs.

 “Oh, no, please don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”, John eventually replied with a smile.

 “Please, come in then.”, she said again.

 John entered the house and felt reassured to notice the house didn’t smell weird. It was an old lady’s house, with too many knick-knacks on the shelves.

 “Everyone calls me Miss T., cause my name is actually unpronounceable….”, she introduced herself as she closed the door.

 “Alright, Miss T. it is then, and I’m John Deacon.”, John replied, giving her his hand to shake.

 She shyly took it and John shivered when he felt the coldness of her fingers on his. He tried not to shiver, hoping this unpleasant feeling would remain unnoticed.

 “Shall I show you your room?”, she showed him the way to the stairs.

 “Yes, please. I must confess I’m a bit tired.”, John replied.

 Miss T. headed to the stairs, walking quite slowly. Yet, it seemed she was a strong and proud woman, not really willing to ask for help, despite her age.

 “Don’t pay attention to the pranksters in the living room playing cards. If they’re too noisy though, just let me know, I’ll make sure they keep quiet.”, Miss T. said as they passed in front of the living room door that was open.

 John glanced at the room, noticing there was no one at all. It seemed he was the only customer. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if the lady still had all her marbles.

 He followed her all the same in the stairs, leading to the bedrooms. Who was he to state anything about an old woman he had just met? Maybe at her age, his mental state would be worse.

 She opened a door and John was surprised to see a neat and large room. Miss T. headed to the window to open the curtains, adding a natural light to the bedroom. It wasn’t that bad after all. The decoration was truly not modern and fancy, but the room was clean and the sheets seemed as soft as a woman’s skin.

 Miss T. opened another door and informed John it was his private bathroom. The man walked in to find a tub and the loo. Again, all was sparkling, giving the impression the place was extremely clean.

 The hostess also told John about the old wardrobe, letting him know the doors were a bit old but that it wouldn’t be a problem for a man with his strength.

 The old lady eventually took her leave, knowing John needed a bit of privacy.

 “Diner will be ready when you’re hungry. Just come downstairs and we will feast together.”, she said before closing the door.

 ‘Feast together’, John thought to himself. A bit awkward, he had to admit. He plugged his phone and noticed there was no network at all. He shrugged and left his phone on the bed. He headed to the bathroom, thinking he had deserved a hot bath after this long and boisterous day.

 The tub was so comfy he almost fell asleep. The place was also very quiet, adding to his sleepiness.

 As the water was getting colder, he eventually got out and dried himself. He put on cleaned clothes and headed downstairs. His stomach was starting to be slightly noisy.

 John looked around him, not sure where the old lady was, but a delicious smell guided his step to a large room where a big table was set. There were many plates and John wondered if Miss T. was actually expecting more company.

 “Miss T.?”, John quietly called.

 The old lady emerged from a door that seemed to be the separation between the dining room and the kitchen.

 “Oh, there you are. We were only waiting for you.”, she said with a smile.

 John was tempted to ask who she meant by we, but again, he kept quiet and replied with a smile. The old lady pointed at a chair and John sat. She disappeared behind the door and came back with a serving trolley. She put a few steaming dishes on the big table and eventually sat as well, right next to John.

 “You got a fair amount of trouble just for a diner, didn’t you?”, John politely asked, staring at the dishes before him.

 “Oh, don’t worry, I’m used to it. Please, help yourself while it’s hot.”, she said, giving him a large spoon and pointing at the dishes.

 John nodded and helped himself with what seemed to be some kind of stew. The man thought that given her age, the stews probably were delicious and he wasn’t wrong. His taste buds danced in delight with every spoon he was putting in his mouth.

 The lady was smiling and talking, as if she was replying to other guests. Again, John didn’t say a thing, not willing to be a burden.

 Miss T. eventually took the dishes back to the kitchen after making sure John had tasted a bit of everything. She came back with another serving trolley full of desserts and John couldn’t resist a slice of a lemon tart, that was also absolutely delicious.

 At the end of dinner, after the old lady had cleared the table, she suggested they could all play cards together.

 Again, John felt highly uncomfortable. It was obvious there was no one else but the hostess and his only guest. And again, John tried to remain polite and gently declined, letting her know he needed a good night’s sleep.

 As he expected it, the sheets were very soft and the mattress very comfy. It didn’t take him very long to fall asleep.

 John wasn’t really the type of guy to have vivid dreams, if ever he dreamt at all.

 And yet, this night, he had one of these dreams, the ones that felt extremely real and that gave one the impression that it truly had happened.

 John dreamt of this very place and this very bedroom. He recalled not being alone in this bed. There was a woman with him, so beautiful and so amazing that he wasn’t sure words could ever describe her. And in this dream, the two of them shared a moment of passion, a pure bliss leading to an intense ecstasy. It wasn’t vulgar, it wasn’t lust or giving the feeling it was something wrong. It was just love making and pleasure giving. A sensation John thought he would never know.

 He woke up in the morning, still sweating and hoping he hadn’t actually made a mess in the bed. Thankfully, it was all about his mind making things up.

 As the sun was starting to shine outside, warming the bedroom, John got ready and headed downstairs.

 He walked directly towards the room where he had shared his diner with his hostess. The large table was again set and John startled when Miss T. emerged from the kitchen, with her serving trolley.

 “Good morning, Mister Deacon. Right on time to share breakfast with us.”, she greeted him with a smile.

 “Good morning, Miss T. May I help you?”, John asked, getting closer to her.

 “No, no, please have a sit and enjoy.”, she kindly replied.

 Again, the dishes were full: sausages, eggs, toasts, cheese…. Anything anyone could eat for breakfast. And again, the old lady seemed to be talking to someone, but John couldn’t see anyone.

 “Ahh, I don’t know….”, she said with a mischievous smile, looking at John.

 “I’m sorry, what?”, John replied, his mouth full with cheese and toast.

 “Did you dream of the beautiful lady?”, the old lady asked with the same smile on her lips.

 “What?”, John started to cough as his food went down the wrong way.

 The old lady laughed and looked at the invisible guests around the table.

 “Seems like he had a nice time.”, Miss T. joked. “Don’t worry, Mister Deacon, no one here is judging you.”, she reassured him.

 There was an awkward silence and the old lady carried on eating a bit, nodding and staring at the empty seats around the table.

 Eventually, she got closer to John and whispered in his ear.

 “Now we’re alone. Did she come to see you last night?”, she asked.

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, John firmly replied.

 “Come on, Mister Deacon.”, she said with a nod.

 “How do you know that?”, John eventually surrendered, whispering as well.

 “Would you like to see her again?”, the old lady asked, still whispering.

 “What? How?”, John questioned her.

 “We’re going to have a little celebration tonight. Some kind of ball as we used to call it back then. I can make sure she’ll be here so that the two of you can meet again.”, Miss T said, very calmly.

 John had a million questions running in his head. How could she know? Was anything of this real? Was he still dreaming? What was going on?

 The old lady was still staring at him with a smile. John looked at her, trying to perceive any trace of anything that could indicate the lady couldn’t  be trusted.

 “Would you like to see her again? She’ll be here only if you’re willing to see her….”, the old lady eventually spoke again.

 John remained silent again. After all, what did he risk? If it was only fantasy, there was nothing wrong with it.

 “Okay. I’ll be there if she is.”, John nodded.

 “Excellent.”, the lady offered her hand for John to shake it.

 Again, her hand felt terribly cold, but John didn’t mind.

 “Yet, this time, I wouldn’t be refusing your help….”, Miss T. said. She seemed a bit annoyed to confess it.

 “Help?”, John asked.

 “Well, you surely did notice I’m no longer the woman I used to be. I’m old and my bones are sore. But I like to keep this place alive and this little celebration tonight is yet another opportunity to see it full of life. I’d need your help to make sure the place is ready for tonight. You know, move some furniture, clean a bit….”, the old lady said, lowering her voice.

 John looked at her and sighed. He felt bad for this old woman living on her own and having to do it all by herself in this big house.

 “Of course, Miss T. Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”, John said with a smile.

 The two of them thus carried on their day together, Miss T. indicating what needed to be done and John complying. The preparation was interrupted by another delicious meal and at the end of the afternoon, the old lady was beaming.

 “This is going to be such a great celebration….”, she said with sparkles in her eyes. “You should take a bath and get ready for tonight.”, she nodded, before gently pushing John towards the stairs.

 John laughed and headed upstairs, feeling as light as a feather. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he was truly hoping for the best.

 He took another long bath, and fell asleep this time, given all the energy he had burnt during the day with Miss T. He woke up to the sound of laughter and music and people chatting. The sound was coming from downstairs. John rushed out of the tub, got dried and made sure to choose a nice outfit. He took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

 The place was beautiful and the guests were smiling and some were dancing. John greeted them with a nod, looking here and there to see if the beautiful lady was there.

 A moment passed, but John couldn’t see her. Maybe it was all a dream after all. He joined a few conversations, but his mind couldn’t think about anything and anyone else but the lady he had dreamt of.

 Eventually, he spotted Miss T. who was staring at him with a smile. He walked towards her, hoping he wasn’t looking too impatient.

 “Your celebration is going well Miss T. I hope you’re enjoying this as well.”, John kindly said, not daring to go straight to the point.

 “You’ve been enjoying the others’ company I see….”, she replied with a smile.

 “Yes, your guests are very pleasant, Miss T.”, the man confessed.

 “But don’t you think I have forgotten about you Mister Deacon.”, the old lady said with a smile.

 John couldn’t help but have a hopeful smile on his lips.

 “I’ll be right back.”, Miss T. said, and slowly walked out of the room, leaving John alone with his thoughts.

 He didn’t have to remain with them for too long though, since the beautiful lady appeared in the room, her presence eclipsing all the others’ in the room.

 She walked directly towards John with a genuine smile on her lips. John didn’t know what he was doing but he instinctively took her hand and brought her closer to his body. And as couples did in such celebrations, they started to dance. They didn’t say a word, the world around them had ceased to be. They only were staring at each other’s eyes, dancing in the night, sparkles in the irises.

 John had the feeling this night was endless but he didn’t complain. He felt nothing but joy, love, warmth in his heart. He didn’t care about anything. There was only her, this beautiful lady in his arms, dancing with him. Her soft skin against his reminding him of the ecstasy he had felt the night before.

 Little did he know that only his spirit was with the other’s that night. Because his corpse had been lying in the cold water of the tub and Miss T. was now dragging it outside to burry it, amongst the others.

[pebblewritesj]

hello there I was wondering if you could write headcannons abt being one of queens little siblings it doesn't really matter and Dating John Deacon <3

LOVE this because I love sibling hcs and John Deacon is my all time fav and I never get requests for him DD:

YOU'RE FREDDIE'S SISTER

John is so scared of Freddie when it comes to how he views the two of you being together.

Like his worst fear when asking you out for the first time wasn't just what you'd say, but a big portion of his fear was just him being afraid that Freddie wouldn't approve.

But Freddie caught on to John liking you, so he thought he'd say something.

"What was it you needed, Fred?" "John." "...Yes??" "...I know you like Y/N."

POV the scariest moment of John's life ^

No but he had a reason to be scared at that point because his thoughts were 'literally who the fuck pulls someone into a corner with nobody else there and tells them that they know their deepest secret'

So, naturally, his response was;

"...What?"

He's a real smooth talker like that I guess idk.

"Don't 'what' me John, it's incredibly obvious."

John went silent.

"Why don't you ask her out?"

John's mouth opened to answer, but he was still scared!!

Freddie was kinda suspecting John just didn't think Freddie would like it or something like that but that sort of confirmed it for him, especially after John finally got the words out his mouth.

"I got scared." "Of what?" "Her...and you."

Basically Freddie gave John this whole little pep talk to ask you out, and it worked thank God.

Freddie would have been lowkey pissed off if you said no.

But ofc you didn't!!

The rest of the band thinks you're very cute, Freddie has titled himself to be your relationship's number one fan.

When you and the band are out at a bar together and you and or John get drunk, Freddie has to BEG the other members to keep you away from each other because he doesn't like that type of PDA.

Like in that situation he actually could throw up just watching John tug at the hem of your shirt or something.

But other than that he knows you're both the cutest couple on earth.

[eileen-crys]

A photo of John's back.

Small scene I wrote prompted by this photo taken by Ratty at Ridge Farm, trying to imagine a context around it. Nothing crazy, just for fun 🥰

Added to the collection Picture Perfect