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spreadyovrwings · 20 days

Text

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: the knowledge that i started this FIVE YEARS AGO FFS

Chapter Ten

It was late afternoon on Sunday, the tail-end of a painfully uneventful weekend. But then again, these days, ‘uneventful’ was something of a relief. Boring meant safe. Dull meant no more horrible surprises or eviction notices. You were just happy to have a few hours where the world didn’t feel like it had been completely turned on its head.

You weren’t the only one enjoying the peace and quiet. Even Gladys seemed a little cheerier when you bumped into her on your way back from the shops. She was busy in the office, sorting papers and getting everything tidy, though you struggled to ignore why she was getting herself organised.

Despite her effulgent greeting and the gorgeous sunshine, the bakery kitchens still felt eerily quiet. The ovens hadn’t been switched on in weeks. Once gleaming jars of ingredients sat gathering dust on the sides, even though you often came down just to give everything a quick clean when you were feeling restless. Just because the bakery wasn’t yours anymore, that didn’t mean you should let it fade away.

The old equipment - mixers, utensils, recipes - watched you, almost accusingly, as you walked through the kitchen. The whole room seemed to hold its breath whenever you entered, as if it blamed you for what had happened, as if it was waiting for you to promise you’d fight back, that you weren’t just giving up.

You placed your palm flat against the tiled wall, letting the cold seep into your skin. An apology.

In her office, Gladys was muttering away to herself. It wasn’t her usual warbling, it was much sharper. Behind her faux smile, she was angry with herself. You knew it, but couldn’t bring yourself to talk to her about it yet. You supposed you were still angry with her too.

Pressing your cooled hand to your forehead, you pulled in a breath deep enough to settle the tightness in your chest, then headed upstairs with your bags and bags of shopping.

Mickey was supposed to pop round later with Rita and the baby. Gladys had offered to buy you all dinner, an apology for what had happened and a thank you for years of hard work. Again, you struggled not to think about the reasons for the dinner. It would just be nice to see Mickey and to have a family dinner.

Tucking your hair back behind your ears for the umpteenth time, you twisted your wrist and curved a rubber spatula around the inside of the mixing bowl. It was a bit of a busman’s holiday for you, you could admit that, but you’d spent most of the week packing up your tiny and it was starting to weigh in your chest.

That morning, you had awoken with a renewed sense of determination, but when it finally came to packing up your poky kitchen, you had found the cupboards stuffed with ingredients. Rather than waste them all, you’d popped to the shops for what little else you needed and had been baking all morning, throwing together last minute gifts for your work family.

You’d just divvied up the mixture into identical tins when the phone rang. Swearing under your breath, you brushed your hands against the front of your old work apron, streaking the dark coffee-brown material with streaks of pale cake batter.

The phone continued to trill brightly as you picked your way through the living room, carefully skirting around cardboard boxes and stacks of books, magazines, records, and Lord knows what else. You checked your palm, grimaced, then gingerly picked up the phone.

“4531?”

“Come look out your window in… Ten seconds.”

“John?” You wrinkled your nose, confused, and pressed the receiver closer to your ear. “What d’you- Which window? Front or back?”

“Er… Back.”

You glanced towards your kitchen. Set into the wall, just beside the sink, was a small square window that looked out onto the alleyway outside. It offered a lovely view of the bins and the graffiti-covered flank of the building next door.

“John, don’t you ‘ave an exam tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be revisin’?”

“Nah, I never really revise for anything.”

“That kinda makes me wanna hit you a bit.”

“That’s fair. Y’know, they called me “Easy Deacon” at school.”

“What, because you-”

“Nope. Exams and things are just… Easy for me.”

“Kinda wanna hit you a bit more now.”

“Just come to the window.”

The line went dead with a faint clunk. Shaking your head fondly, you replaced the receiver then went to the window, as instructed.

It was almost insufferably hot in your flat. London in July was always awful. The buildings, built for keeping the heat in, left the air inside uncomfortably claggy and close, so you had all the windows flung open already.

Sticking your head out of the one in your kitchen, you peered down into the alley, just in time to catch John jogging round the corner, travelling far faster than you would have thought possible or safe considering his chunky platform boots.

For the first time in days - in fact, for the first time since you last saw him - you laughed.

“You’re daft, y’know that?” you shouted down.

Panting and grinning, John tilted his chin up to see you better.

“Good afternoon, Skip!”

The warm, yellow sunlight lit up his face, catching in his hair and making his eyes shine. John’s tiny T-shirt hugged his slim frame. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder, his bony elbow sticking straight up in the air, like a model on the cover of a magazine. To call it a ‘bicep’ was generous, but his upper arm looked so good tensed like that, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Are you comin’ up?” you asked hopefully, letting your gaze slip up and down his body a few more times.

John smiled sheepishly.

“If that’s alright? I’ve got some work to do and there’s a big party tonight, so halls are a nightmare.”

“You’re not goin’?”

“Where?”

You laughed.

“To the disco!”

“Oh, right.”

John shrugged, then tilted his chin back even further, so now you could catch every angle of his lovely jaw and pale throat.

“I know where I’d rather be.”

Pressing down a charmed smile, you huffed and shook your head.

It turned out, you were right. When John walked into the bakery just before closing on that drizzly January night, you knew that there was more to that anxious, fidgety boy with the daft hair and shabby clothes. You knew instinctively that if you just got him to relax, to smile and feel at home, he’d show a side of him that very few were lucky to know. Cheeky, silly, and divertingly charming. And it was just for you.

“Well,” You nodded your head back over your shoulder, gesturing to your living room. “You better come in then.”

John grinned.

In a blink, he had disappeared inside the back door to the bakery, then you could hear his heavy-booted footsteps on the stairs.

You wasted no time getting him comfortable. With only four weeks left till Alastair officially took hold of the bakery for good, you had begrudgingly, painfully begun sorting your things.

There were boxes piled up everywhere, some brimming with clothes for the charity shop, some packed full of bric-a-brac you’d collected over the years and couldn’t bear to part with, an all manner of books and records, teapots and cutlery, posters and jewellery. Some of it had managed to spill out from your living room into your bedroom, crowding the kitchen table and making it difficult to tread anywhere without toppling a pile of tat over.

You scooped up a stack of bills and letters from the coffee table and dumped them on the kitchen counter instead - a feeble solution but the only one you had.

“Here you are,” you said, brushing off imaginary dust from the low table so that John could place his rucksack down.

“Thanks, love. Erm, you know…” John chewed at the corner of his thumb, his gaze struggling valiantly to hold yours. “If you did wanna go out tonight, you still owe me a dance.”

“I do, don’t I.” You glanced in the direction of the boxes piled high against the doorframe of your bedroom. “I don’t think ‘ave any clothes, though.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitched. As he sank to his knees beside the table, he opened his bag and took out a few tedious looking books.

“Sounds fine to me.”

You rolled your eyes and gently hit his arm with a stray magazine you scooped up from the coffee table.

“Nice clothes.”

“You’ll look beautiful in anything.” Rubbing his arm dramatically, John smiled so broadly, it made his cheeks bunch up and his eyes shine. “I just wanna go out with you.”

It was unbearably tempting. The thought of being pressed up against John in a dark nightclub, the music thudding in your ears and his hands in yours, or on your hips, your back, wherever they wanted to be.

You could see it, John’s little curls sticking to his damp forehead and temples, his tight clothes clinging to his tiny frame, his funny mouth by your ear as he shouted over the music, asking if you wanted to get out of here.

You’d end up back at yours, falling onto your bed or even the sofa, if you couldn’t wait another second. You honestly couldn’t care less. You just wanted, needed John’s mouth on yours, on your neck, his big clumsy hands mapping your body and his pretty eyes gazing up at you, so dark and full.

He’d been on your mind since you met him, everyone knew it, even John. Dancing with him, letting him pull you into him, sinking your teeth into his neck and grabbing his hips tight - it sounded like heaven.

You smiled.

“I’d love that.”

“Yeah? Really?”

John looked so pleased, you could’ve kissed him. Instead, you thought about it, and pushed his books towards him across the table.

“Go on, you be’er get started.”

Turning away towards the kitchen, you bowed your head, tucking your chin into your chest to hide your broad, excited grin.

Your life had been turned upside down, the cardboard boxes littering your poky flat were a reminder of that, but John still managed to make you feel several stories high. Somehow, despite everything, he made you feel like the world wasn’t ending. Just having him near made you forget about life outside these four walls for a while. It was just you and him, safe in a sanctuary just for two.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

“Have you had lunch?”

You barely glanced over your shoulder. You could guess the sheepish expression on his face without needing to look.

“Stupid question,” You lifted the kettle from the stove and held it under the tap. “I’ll make us somethin’. Any preferences?”

When he didn’t respond, you frowned.

“John?”

You flipped off the tap and settled the kettle back on the stove. You twisted your wrist, igniting the hob, then turned to find John peering out of your front window. His bag and his books lay ignored on the coffee table.

“Johnny? You alright?”

He still didn’t seem to hear you.

Before you could ask what was wrong, John pressed nearer to the window, so close now that the tip of his nose was practically bent up against the glass.

“Er, Skip?”

You watched his brow furrow in the reflection of the window.

“Did you know he was coming over today?”

Bewildered, you went to join him at the window.

It was a busy day. The high street was always packed with brightly coloured people, rushing to work or flitting from shop to shop like butterflies between meadow flowers. Scarlet buses streaked past, and between them, dark cars slotted into place. They moved together, like bees in a hive, individuals all moving in one great dance.

But there was one figure unlike the others, and your heart sank to see him. He moved like a shark towards the bakery, steady and focused, his dark suit setting him unnervingly out of place amongst the sweet wrapper colours all around him. Alastair.

“What’s that bastard doing back ‘ere?”

Your teeth clenched, your jaw compressing so tightly, it began to ache. As you watched, he pushed open the door to the bakery and disappeared inside. Your hands balled into fists.

Without thinking, you immediately stormed back into the kitchen and wrenched the hob’s dial back to ‘off’.

“I can’t believe he’d-”

You couldn’t think straight. All your ideas and plans for a nice afternoon with John had slipped from your mind, as well as all reasonable and rational thought. You couldn’t remember ever being so angry in all your life.

“I can’t believe- ‘Asn’t he caused enough- He can’t just-”

You fizzled and sparked like a dying firework, your mind in a million different places. Finally, you caught John glancing towards the door. You seemed to have the same idea at the same time.

Heart racing, you thundered down the stairs, taking them two at a time. You were moving so quickly, you practically fell into the door at the bottom, with John picking his way much more carefully behind you.

“Wait, love,” he whispered, just a step behind you. “What are you going to-”

You took a deep breath, then placed both hands flat against the door and shoved.

You found Alastair leaning over Gladys, her cheek cradled in his hand. She was sitting in Mickey’s chair, her eyes closed, but her mouth was drawn into a thin line, like she was trying hard not to cry.

Alastair lazily turned his head in your direction, as if annoyed that you’d interrupted him. His dark eyes switched over your face, the way he always did, like he was assessing you, calculating your worth. This was as a man who saw the world in percentages and figures; people were just another commodity. You should never have let him into your bakery.

“Ah, the cavalry,” he drawled, already turning back to Gladys.

Alastair didn’t remove his hand, not immediately. Not until he’d dragged one long, angular thumb across Gladys’ painted cheek.

Her shoulders tensed, her eyes still squeezed shut, as if trying to take herself away from him, to somewhere safer. Gladys was clutching a bundle of folded papers, her fingers wrapped so tight around them that the paper was starting to audibly crease and bend.

“Glad, you don’t ‘ave to let ‘im in,” you said quietly.

You didn’t take your eyes off Alastair as he finally drew back his hand and slipped it into his pocket.

“Actually, she does.”

He pulled out a familiar set of keys. They twinkled and shone in the low light of the kitchen.

Beside you, John tensed.

Gladys’ spare lipgloss, a piece of pink ribbon from a dress she kept telling herself she’d fix, her own spare house key, painted purple with nail varnish, they glinted from the keyring hanging carelessly from the tip of Alastair’s bony index finger.

“This is my building,” he said, swinging Gladys’ keys back into the pocket of his immaculate jacket. “I own the lock.”

“Righ’, exactly,” You glanced at Gladys, trying to gauge if she was alright. “You already ‘ave everythin’ you want, why can’t you just leave us alone?”

“Well, I came to see my best girl.”

Alastair smiled coldly down at Gladys, who finally opened her eyes. They shone with tears.

“We have lunch plans. Don’t we, darling?”

“You’re joking,” John scoffed. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

He was standing close behind you, his chest almost pressed against your shoulder blade. It felt good to know he was close by and just as angry as you. Keeping your eyes on Gladys, you reached back and gently took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” Alastair’s nose wrinkled as he looked John up and down. “Why is the delivery boy talking to me?”

John’s hand tightened in yours. You could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off him, but Gladys rose to her feet before either of you could speak.

She reached out a hand, as if to place it on Alastair’s arm, then seemed to think better of it.

For the first time, you thought about what it must be like for her. Forty-seven years old, a business owner for twenty-five of those, a valued member of her community, and beneath the veneer of her brightly coloured clothes and wild hair, quietly and incredibly lonely.

You, Mickey, and now John were all she had. If a handsome, rich, seemingly kind man like Alastair had come along and swept you off your feet, you probably would’ve fallen for it too.

And now it was all gone, and she was alone again. And worse than that, the man who’d broken Gladys’ heart had taken everything she’d built away too, her business, her little family.

You hadn’t spoken to her about it, not really. You’d been so wrapped up in your own selfish anger, you just hadn’t thought. But as Gladys rose up and levelled Alastair’s gaze, you couldn’t help being immensely proud of your boss.

“You should go, Alastair,” she said, quietly yet firmly. “And don’t come back again. We don’t want you ‘ere.”

Alastair seemed unbothered, though perhaps a little surprised. He chewed the inside of his cheek, as if debating whether he should try to sweet talk her round, one last deception, but eventually, he raised his smooth hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. Fair enough. We’ve said everything we need to say, haven’t we, dear?”

He smiled wolfishly at Gladys.

She just stared at the centre of chest, unblinking, her mind probably a million miles away, somewhere better.

The bakery door swished open with a bright chime.

You looked round to see Mickey in the doorway. When he saw Alastair in the kitchen, his warm face immediately sank into anger and he stopped mid-stride, his palm still pressed against the glass in the door.

Mickey was a good half a foot taller than Alastair, and one of Mickey’s biceps was about the same size as his head. Worst of all, Alastair had upset Gladys, and you, and worried Mickey’s family. There wasn’t a safe place to stand.

Alastair seemed to realise this too. It was the first time you’d seen him look even remotely flustered.

“Well, you all have a lot to discuss. I’ll leave you to it. Have a good weekend, everyone.”

He squeezed Gladys’ shoulder, making John huff and your fists clench. Then he edged towards the door, ducking under Mickey’s enormous arm, and hurried around the road.

As soon as he was out of sight, Mickey let the door swing shut with a bang.

“What was that twat doing ‘ere?”

You ignored him, choosing instead to take Gladys’ hands. They felt cold in yours, like all the life had been drained from her just by being near to Alastair again.

“Gladys, what did ‘e say to you?”

“Nothin’, nothin’.” She sniffed and blinked away tears, turning her face to the ceiling. “He just came for the paperwork and to let me know that the builders will be in next week. And to drop off this.”

She chucked the stack of papers Alastair had given her onto the nearest counter, letting them spill out and flutter. Some even fell to the floor.

You watched Gladys, waiting for a ‘but’, waiting for her to say it was all going to be alright. Slowly, then all at once in a sickening rush, her words finally sank in.

“Next… Next week?”

You felt your stomach twist and knot, your throat so tight, you couldn’t speak. The kitchen seemed to darken at the corners.

This place that had been home to you, this place that had housed you, fed you, given you purpose, led you to your new family, to John, it was being pulled from your grasp and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

You looked back at Mickey.

For such a big man, he suddenly seemed like a lost little boy. How broad shoulders were low, his gaze fixed on the floor, his huge hands bunched at his sides. His second home had been taken from him too, the place that let him do the work he loved, the place that supported his wife and daughter, the two loves of his life.

Finally, you looked at John, only to find him already gazing at you.

You knew what 64 Oslo Square meant to him, what it had given him. The bakery had been an escape, from uni, from his lonely halls, from worrying where his next meal would be coming from. Oslo Square had been a warm embrace, a place to grow and learn, and a reminder that there was more to life than exams, dingy tube rides, and lugging a heavy bass guitar around.

His expression, as always, remained fairly impassive. But when you met his eyes, John softened, only a touch, but you caught it. He was just as heartbroken, and for once, logic and reason wouldn’t give him a distraction or a way out.

The ringing in your ears grew louder and louder as the kitchen began to spin around you, and all that really registered was the deep bass drum of your heart.

You were faintly aware of Gladys talking as tears streaked down her face, carving dark mascara lines into her bright pink cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, love.” She took your hand, then Mickey’s. “Both of you, I’m so sorry. I thought I’d be able to think of a way out of this but ‘e’s- ‘E’s got it all there in black and white, darlin’s .”

John’s sharp eyes fell to the papers Gladys had discarded on the counter.

“It’s alright,” Mickey tried to summon a smile as he squeezed Gladys’ hand. “Don’t upset yourself, love. C’mon, now. It’s alrigh’, Glad. We’ll be okay.”

“But what am I gonna do with myself? Eh? Without the shop I’m… I’m just a li’le old lady.”

Gladys brushed away her tears, smearing black smudges across the back of her hand.

From behind you, John held out a tissue he must’ve silently gone to grab.

Gladys took it gratefully.

“And you,” She patted Mickey’s broad chest. “You’ve got your family. And you, sweetheart, you’re-”

You looked back at John. He gave you the tiniest smile, so faint you barely caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t soft, but it was full of promise, and when he nodded quickly, his hazy grey eyes switching nervously between yours and somewhere near your collar, you knew what he was trying to say.

“I’ll be okay, Glad,” you said, grabbing her another tissue.

“Oh,” Gladys sobbed. “And it’s nearly your birthday!”

You exhaled sharply, taken-aback.

“Well, that’s- That’s very sweet of you, Gladys, but that’s the least of me worries, right now.”

“It’s nearly your birthday?” John asked.

You nodded.

“At the end of the month.”

“You never told me.”

“Well, it didn’t seem very important, considering...”

“And it was gonna be such a special one, too,” Gladys wailed.

You frowned, glancing at Mickey for help.

“Was it?”

Gladys sighed as she dabbed at her eyes, pressing blue eyeshadow into the creases by her nose and right up to her painted eyebrows.

“I was gonna to surprise you. Well, I- It was always gonna be- It would’ve been for your birthday or for your anniversary here, whichever came first and now…”

You have a hollow laugh, hardly listening now.

“It’s fine, Gladys. Don’ worry.”

But John frowned

“What was?”

Gladys looked up.

“Hm?”

“What was the surprise?”

“Well, I went to the- Oh, what d’you call it? Henry sor’ed it for me a few months ago.”

“Henry?”

“Her uncle,” Mickey put in helpfully. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Really?”

“Well, not legally, I s’pose.”

“Anyway, he sorted it with Companies House and…” Gladys sighed again and sank back down into Mickey’s chair, her hands folded and shaking slightly in her lap. “I’m sorry, love. I had him add your name to the deed. I thought it would be a nice present. Wan’ed to show my appreciation for all your ‘ard work over the years, y’know.”

Silence fell in the kitchen. All eyes turned to you.

“You added…”

You tried to speak but found you couldn’t actually say the words out loud.

Mickey looked gobsmacked, like he too couldn’t believe what he’d heard. You’d worked together for years, he’d heard you harping on about your dream for longer than he’d known his own wife, about how you would own 64 Oslo Square one day and how wonderful it would feel, to be your own boss, to be in control for once in your life, to make decisions and create something that you and your community could be proud of.

You glanced sideways at John. Beside you, always right beside you. He never gave much away, not when it wasn’t just you and him, so his expression remained flat. But there, there in the outer corners of his eyes, in the slightest dip of his eyebrows, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, you knew he was thinking exactly what you were.

How cruel. How cruel to give you what you’d always wanted, but give it too late. How cruel to give only to take away again.

“When did this happen?” John asked, ever the pragmatist, needing all the information before making a decision.

“Oh,” Gladys flapped an airy hand, not seeming to realise the gravity of her news. “Months ago. Who can keep track of that sort of- Before you started ‘ere, New Boy. At least.”

“So,” John looked at you, his eyebrows pushed together. “You’re part-owner?”

You opened your mouth to respond but Gladys grabbed your hand.

“You’ve just always been so wonderful and this place is practically half yours anyway, I thought, y’know, in a couple of years, I could retire and you could take over. It’s always been the plan.”

“Oh, Glad…” You forced a smile though it barely touched your eyes. “That’s really sweet of you.”

John pointed at the papers Gladys had carelessly discarded on the counter.

“Is that the contract you signed with Alastair?”

You frowned at him in consternation but his expression gave nothing away.

Gladys had barely begun to nod when John grabbed for the papers, gathering them up in his hands almost frantically. He scanned the pages, his clever eyes rapidly darting back and forth.

“Look, it doesn’t ma’er now,” Mickey said gently. “We’re not just gonna let you fade away, Glad, I promise. When I find a new job, I’ll see if they’ve got something for you too, eh? We’ll look after you. I promise. Won’t we, Captain?”

The idea stunned you even more than Mickey’s optimism, but Gladys looked up at you so helplessly, you couldn’t find it in you to be realistic with them.

“‘Course,” you said, forcing a smile. “We’ll sort somethin’ out.”

“She could always move in with you.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Mickey smiled genuinely for the first time that day. Beside him, still wiping away tears and trying her best to catch her breath, Gladys was starting to smile too.

“You mean you don’t want me kippin’ on your sofa?”

“I don’t even have a flat!”

“I thought you was movin’ in with ‘andsome over there.”

“I haven’t decided y- ‘Ang on, how do you know about that?”

“Walls ‘ave ears.”

“You two, I swear to-”

“He doesn’t have it.”

You all stopped bickering. One by one, you looked round to find John still staring at the contract.

His gaze was still, his lips slightly parted. His fingers were tight around the paper, just as Gladys’ had been, like he was terrified someone might take them from him.

“He-” You blinked, trying to figure out what he meant, but nothing sparked. “What?”

Finally, John raised his head.

“He doesn’t have the bakery,” he said slowly, steadily, as if he could hardly believe it himself. “Skip, you’re part-owner. Gladys put your name on the deed. She signed this contract but you didn’t. He doesn’t have anything, this is-”

For the first time in weeks, you heart began to beat again.

“Worthless,” you whispered.

John raised the papers for you to see but couldn’t take your eyes off him. If you looked, it meant everything would change, and you weren’t sure if you could take any more life-altering news.

Either he was wrong, and your broken heart would only grow heavier. Or John was right, and the world would be turned on its axis yet again. It was safer just to keep looking at John, keep your eyes fixed on his, and find your answer there.

“Wait,” Mickey shook his head, stunned. “So you’re sayin’-”

“I’m saying 64 Oslo Square is yours, Skip.” John pushed the contract firmly into your waiting hands. “Not Alastair’s.”

There was a pause, just a beat of silence, and then the bakery erupted.

Gladys shrieked as she leapt up from her chair, pumping her two fists above her head, like her team had just scored before the final whistle. She practically fell into you as she threw her arms around your neck in a hug tight enough to bruise.

Mickey grabbed John by the waist and heaved him up over his shoulder, hollering at the top of his lungs.

“Oh, you beauty!”

John gripped Mickey’s broad shoulders as they span around and around.

“Well, hang on. You’ll need a lawyer to confirm-”

“Oh, shu’ up, New Boy. You’re a fuckin’ diamond!”

You clapped your hand over your mouth as you watched the boys but your smile was far too wide to cover. You realised you were laughing with Gladys, with Mickey, laughing so loudly and jubilantly that you were sure passersby would be able to hear you outside on the road.

When Mickey finally put John down, he staggered in his heels, his head probably spinning, but you reached out and caught his hand before he could trip.

John beamed as you pulled him into you, his eyes bright and shining.

“I thought I might kiss you,” you said, just loud enough for John to hear.

His expression hardly changed. He just smiled at you, warm and gentle, but his eyes were alight. John inclined his head, his long hair falling around his face as he let you pull him in even closer.

“Yes, please,” he said softly, his smile growing wider.

“You proper little-” Gladys stuck her hands between you and grabbed John’s face, pulling him towards her instead. “Bobby-dazzler!”

Pulling him down to her height, Gladys peppered John’s face in kisses, leaving his cheeks stained with pink lipstick. She was so much shorter than him, John was practically bent in half, his face all screwed up as she pressed kiss after noisy kiss to his skin.

“Looks like Gladys has taken care of that for me,” you laughed.

John managed to shoot you a crooked grin before Gladys held him at arm’s length again.

“You,” she practically squeaked. “You are getting a pay-rise, New Boy. And another kiss, c’mere.”

Gladys pulled him down again, kissing all over his face while John laughed softly and let her.

Finally, when she had released him and John could breathe again, Gladys threw her arms around you, then Mickey.

“C’mon, pub,” she said. “I’m buyin’ everyone a drink and I’m not takin’ no for an answer.”

Her words washed over you like water on the shore. You were faintly aware of your family talking, still giggling and clutching each other tightly as they moved to the door, but you couldn’t focus properly.

Heart still thrumming in your chest, you couldn’t figure out how to make your mouth move. You wanted to call out to the others, to laugh, to cry, anything, but you felt numb in the very best way.

It was yours. 64 Oslo Square was yours.

When you finally managed to get your tongue working again, you leaned your body against the doorframe, catching the door with your foot so that you could lean out and say,

“You lot go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Mickey and Gladys hardly seemed to hear you. They were practically skipping down the road, singing an old drinking song as they swayed in the direction of The Gardener’s Arms.

Only John hesitated. He looked like he might protest but seemed to understand what you meant. Against the late afternoon sun, he seemed to glow as he glanced back over his shoulder. Finally, he gave you a small smile, then followed after the others.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stood in the centre of the shop floor, waiting for the door to close behind you. The July heat didn’t seem quite so harsh anymore. In fact, everything seemed to have shifted slightly. The world was as it was, as it had always been, but the lead-like weight in your chest and on your shoulders was gone. You hadn’t felt so light in years.

Slowly, you turned on the spot, taking in what was now all yours.

The dark wooden shelves lined with tins and jars, bags of coffee, and photos of Gladys’ proud parents. The pinboard on the far wall, the step you tripped over every morning, the till that tried to bite your fingers every time it closed. The counter painted bright scarlet, just like the writing over the door, a door enrobed in bright summer flowers, lighting up the whole road. All yours.

Slipping your hands round to rest on your hips, you walked into the kitchen.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth at the sight of the familiar, bottle-green stove. It seemed to smile back at you. The whole kitchen did. Battered old pots and pans, mosaic tiles that remembered the Blitz, the bins out the back. It was all so ordinary, all so completely conventional and prosaic.

You pulled in a long breath, filling up your lungs until you felt your chest rise. Yours.

The bakery’s front door opened with a bright chime. You heard quick footsteps cross the wooden floor, unfaltering, sure of their destination. With no one around, they echoed so unnaturally, it set your heart on edge.

You turned, smiling, and felt two hands slip around your jaw to cup your face, then John was kissing you. You knew it would be him. He’d promised you. John always kept his promises.

Your chest lurched as you pressed your palms against the backs of his hands, keeping them against your cheeks as his mouth moved against yours. A sob sat in your throat, half relief, half joy. You knew if you pulled away it would rise up, so you pressed closer, keeping your mouth against John’s.

He groaned softly against your lips, the sound starting in his throat and ending up in yours, and all the while he kissed you so sweetly, you could hardly believe you weren’t dreaming.

You grabbed handfuls of John’s shirt, keeping his narrow little body pressed tight against yours until you could almost feel his heart thumping against your chest. His hands slipped up into your hair, sending shivers over your skin as his blunt nails grazed your skin, then travelled down your back to your waist, where they found a home and squeezed softly.

It was simple, sweet, and when he pulled back to catch his breath, you could feel John’s hands were shaking slightly.

You half expected him to look worried, like he always did, so anxious and cautious, he could barely move a muscle. But there was no fear in John’s eyes. There was vulnerability and uncertainty, but only about what to do next, not of his actions, not about you.

“Oh, New Boy.” You smiled, lips tingling from the force of his kisses. “I said you’d be good for business, didn’t I.”

When John smiled back, something warm writhed in the pit of your belly. This stupid, lovely, gorgeous boy.

“Anything for you, love,” John said softly as he reached up and tucked some of your hair behind your ear. “You know me. Always anything for you.”

The next thing you knew, you had him pinned against the kitchen counter. He gasped sharply as the metal dug into his hip, but you were kissing him again before he had a chance to speak.

John’s hips fit so perfectly in your hands, you were sure he must’ve been made for you. His chest was warm and firm against yours as you leaned your body into his, and when one of his slim legs slipped between yours, you smiled, dragging your lips around the outline of his mouth.

“Easy, honey…”

John felt all the air squeeze from his lungs, his belly clenching. The edge of the counter was digging into his back, the metal cold even through his clothes, but he couldn’t care less. In fact, he liked it, liked how you kept him pinned against it, how little force you needed to get his body to comply, how your fingertips pressed into the tops of his thighs as you kissed him and kissed him.

You angled your head, catching his bottom lip with a playful flick of your tongue, and sucked, gently first, testing the waters, then again, harder.

John whimpered against your mouth as you kept him in his place but he never once made an attempt to move. In fact, his big hands slipped around your waist, holding your body against his, and when you pushed your knee between his thighs, you were certain you felt his hips rock towards yours.

He kissed like he needed it, needed you, like he’d been longing for this for a lifetime and could finally breathe. It had been a long, patient wait, but you were glad of it. Feeling John moan softly against your mouth, his needy hands grabbing at you, the culmination of months of craving, aching, hungry love, it was unlike anything you’d ever known, and when he pressed even closer, until his nose was crammed against your cheek and you couldn’t tell where you ended and John began, you knew he felt it too.

John whined pitifully when you finally pulled away. You hadn’t expected him to be quite so vocal but it made your chest heave.

John blinked down at you, panting, dizzy. Your face was flushed, and when his eyes dropped down to watch your tongue swipe his taste off your lips, his knees nearly gave out. His breath caught in his throat when he realised he could still feel you smiling against his mouth.

You were torn in several different directions. Mickey and Gladys would be expecting you in the pub. There were countless boxes, all waiting to be unpacked, sat upstairs for you. The cake batter you’d been about to bake still sat, abandoned, on the side, and you had a nice boy to kiss and kiss and kiss. The choice as easy.

Grinning, you took John’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the stairs.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You pulled open the door up to your flat and shot him a bright smile.

“Dancin’.”

Master List

#john deacon #queen #john deacon x reader #queen fic #john deacon reader

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wings-n-bees · 1 year

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SWAN UPON LEDA

Summary: At just sixteen years old, Roger's world comes to a crashing halt. Rating: E Relationship: Brian/Roger Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape, Mentions of Stillbirth, Mentions of Pregnancy Other Tags: Found Family, Trauma & Healing, Hurt/Comfort

Read Chapter 1 Here >> On AO3

The biggest thanks to @abootfullofclogs! Without you there would be no fic.

!! PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS LISTED !!

#wnb writes #queen fic #brian/roger #maylor #rating: e #multi-chapter #fic: swan upon leda

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acciotwinz · 2 years

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Roger Taylor blurb

Roger is enjoying the buzz of a show well played. Freddie is basking in the attention and love from the patrons of the bar, Brian enjoying his beer and Deacy chatting with Veronica.

It’s a perfect evening, until he notices his best friend across the bar. He had watched her dance and sing her heart out while they were playing and as per their tradition, Y/N heads to the bar to get the first round of drinks for them all as they chat with some of the fans.

Roger watches Y/N leans against the bar, waiting for the bartender to acknowledge her. She waits patiently as she drums her fingers on the sleek surface. She must feel his eyes on her because she’s suddenly turning and making eye contact. She makes a face at him and Roger can’t help but grin.

Y/N suddenly turns when the bartender stands in front of her. He frowns when a man slides up to her, placing a hand on her back. Roger watches as she shrugs off his arm and moves a bit to the side but the man doesn’t seem to get the memo.

Roger stands and makes his way to the bar, ignoring some of the fans calling his name.

“Really, I’m fine and with my friends. Please leave me alone.”

The man doesn’t falter, crowding Y/N against the bar, and leaning into her face, “C’mon gorgeous, someone like you shouldn’t be all alone. I promise you’ll have fun with me.”

Roger grabs the man by the shoulders, roughly pulling him away from Y/N. Without turning towards her, he asks if she’s okay but before he can hear the answer, the man shoves him. “What’s your problem?!”

Roger glares at him, gearing himself up for a good fist fight. “My problem is you. The lady said no.”

“Roger,” Y/N says softly, slipping her arms around his waist, “it’s okay. Leave it, please.”

Roger glare doesn’t soften but he does catch the bartender’s eye and nods toward the man. “Piss off.”

The man glares back, “Fuck off, prick! You -“ The bartender cuts him off, yanking on his arm as he starts shoving him towards the exit.

“My hero!” Y/N laughs in his ear, planting a kiss on his neck. “What would I do without you?”

Rog grins, turning and gathering her in a hug, “Get harassed more often.”

Y/N grins, “Probably, but luckily you’re always here when I need you.”

“And I always will be,” he promises, squeezing her before releasing her and grabbing some of the drinks. “Now c’mon, love. Time to celebrate a good gig!”

Y/N grins, lifting a beer and screaming “Long live Queen!”

The crowd echoes the call and Roger thinks that maybe the night is even better than he initially thought.

#JJ writes #JJ gets back into writing #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #queen fic #queen blurbs #Roger Taylor x reader #Roger taylor imagine #roger taylor reader insert #roger taylor x y/n #roger taylor blurb

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belladonnic-haze · 1 year

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ENGLISH COUNTRY GARDENS

Queen | Brian May/Roger Taylor/John Deacon Mature | Hanahaki Disease | Chaptered Fic | Ongoing

How many gentle flowers grow in an English country garden? I'll tell you now of some I know, and those I miss I hope you'll pardon...

After being diagnosed with Hanahaki Disease, John Deacon elects to take part in the human trials for a possible cure, afraid of losing his ability to love forever should he opt for removal surgery.

In which John pines for his best friend, Brian loves a beautiful stranger from afar, Roger's mystery love keeps him relapsing, and somehow, they manage to fall in love.

My contribution for @queenpolyweek

Start Reading!

#haze fic #maylor #breaky #dealor #maylor fic #breaky fic #dealor fic #queen fic #english country gardens #QueenPolyWeek2023

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 1 year

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Title

Fandom: RPF, British RPF, Queen

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Characters: Roger Taylor, Brian May, John Deacon, Freddie Mercury, Reader, You

Word Count: 3139 // Rating: Teen & Up

Summary: I know you think I'm cool but I ain't one of the boys, No, don't be scared that I'm gon' tie you down, I need a little more

Tags/ Warnings: My Writing, Halloween Challenge, Writing Challenge, Songfics, Queen, Queen Band, Love, Friends To Lovers, Admitting Feelings, Hangover, Mild Swearing, Defining the Relationship, Hugging, Performing, Queen On Tour, Touring, Title // Meghan Trainor

Notes: This is part of my writing Challenge for Halloween 2022. All fics are based off of songs I love. The aim is to write one fic a day for 15 days straight. I’m doing a similar thing for Christmas but they will all be headcanons [requests welcome for that] Enjoy x

15 DAYS OF SONGFICS FOR HALLOWEEN (OCT 15TH - OCT 31ST)

The air was electric as the guys came off stage. The crowd was still screaming and clapping as they appeared around me each of them doused in sweat, congratulating one another on yet another successful show. As Freddie took the bottle of water I handed out to him and put it to his lips, chugging it down quickly, I offered Brian a towel so he could wipe his sweaty brow whilst the roadies took his and John’s guitars away from them.Then I held my hand out for Roger’s drumsticks and he handed them to me as he always did.

‘What did you think?’ he asked as I took them out of his hand. ‘Brilliant,’ I said with a smile. Since I was their personal assistant I had to be on the sidelines every night in case they needed anything. The bonus was that I was able to see them perform over and over again. ‘I don’t know,’ Freddie said as we started to walk towards the dressing room. ‘What Fred?’ Brian asked, his towel was wrapped around his neck now, though shrouded by the mass of black curls from above. ‘I think I went a little pitchy in that last couple of songs,’ he said, ‘might be coming down with something.’ ‘Want me to pick you something up?’ I asked as we walked through the long narrow corridor that led us to a large dressing room. It wasn’t cosy. It was merely a room made of breezeblocks and a hard stone floor but the boys had made it their own despite only being there for a few hours. A large rack of eccentric outfits hung in the corner that was partitioned from the room by a thin curtain. A table stocked with all kinds of booze and glasses was in another corner and a couple of beat-up couches surrounded a coffee table full of snacks.

‘No, it’s alright,’ Freddie said, ‘think I probably just need to rest a little.’ ‘So we’re not going out?’ Roger asked. He was standing by the mirror, now shirtless, running his fingers through his hair as he attempted to style it. Freddie flopped down onto one of the couches and sighed, ‘of course, we’re still going out.’ ‘What happened to resting?’ Brian said as he sat down opposite him. As Freddie and Brian started to discuss vocal rest Roger disappeared behind the curtain that separated the room from the ‘changing area’. Though as he disappeared I realised he had left his t-shirt on the dressing table. I had been hovering, perched on the arm of the couch so I stood up and wandered to the vanity, picking it up and slipping behind the curtain to where Roger was. He looked up as I entered, pulling the curtain back quietly, but then his focus went back to the pants he had been shimmying on. After a second or so he was just shirtless and I extended the t-shirt out to him which he took gratefully. Anyone else would blush or run out after seeing their boss half naked but my working life wasn’t exactly a normal one and over the past couple of months, Roger and I had fallen into something more than just friendship.

‘Hey,’ I said as I leaned against the wall, watching him. ‘Hey,’ he said with a small smile. ‘You played a good show today,’ I said. ‘Yeah it felt like a good one,’ he said as he slipped his t-shirt on. The chatter outside the curtains had gotten louder as more friends and family had come into the room and someone had put some music on and I could hear the sound of drinks being poured. So, feeling a little brave I pushed up off the wall and slid my arms around Roger’s waist. He smiled a little as I did but when I tried to lean up to kiss him he turned away. ‘People,’ he mumbled, pulling away from me. My arms dropped to my sides as embarrassment flooded through me. He looked away from me sheepishly though I doubted he was as embarrassed as I was at the rejection. Before I could beg for the ground to swallow me whole the curtain pulled back and John stood there, watching us.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t realise you were both in here.’ ‘Rog forgot his shirt,’ I said quickly. John nodded at the information though his gaze was laced with an air of suspicion, but before he could say anything else I slipped past him trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks. I took a seat next to Freddie and Roger came out a couple of seconds after me and slipped down onto the couch next to Brian, not meeting my gaze. Instead, he took a beer bottle off the table and cracked it open, chugging it down after a couple of seconds.

My embarrassment quickly turned to irritation like it had been doing a lot recently. Roger and I weren’t a couple but we weren’t just friends either. Truth was I wasn’t really sure what we were. Our ‘relationship’ had occurred entirely by accident towards the start of this tour.

‘Jesus Fred you weigh a ton,’ Roger said as we shuffled a very pie-eyed Freddie through the hotel room door. ‘Can barely hold him up,’ I panted as we stumbled into the room. As we neared the bed Roger pulled him off me and dumped him onto it ungracefully. ‘Well at least we got him home for the night,’ he chuckled as we watched Freddie spread eagle on the mattress still fully clothed. ‘I think we did more than enough don’t you?’ I giggled making im smile as he headed to the door. I leant down and slipped Freddie’s shoes off, dumping them by the foot of the bed and then I placed his key card on the nightstand and headed to where Roger was waiting for me. We slipped out of the room quietly as we walked down the hall to our rooms. Our rooms were directly opposite one another so we lingered in the hall to say goodbye.

‘Thanks for helping me,’ I said. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said with a dismissive wave. ‘Honestly, there’s no way I would’ve got him back here,’ I said but he cut me off. ‘Y/N honestly it’s not a problem,’ he said with a smile. He watched me closely, looking down at me with such intensity I felt my heart rate quicken. He looked good. His blonde shaggy locks were sticking out in all directions from where he’d been dancing or running his fingers through it and his eyes sparkled in the fluorescent hotel lighting. Then he murmured, ‘I had a good night tonight.’ ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘You looked nice tonight,’ he said casually. I could feel my cheeks burning up at the compliment. ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled before turning on my heel and mumbling a, ‘well night then.’

But as I reached for my door I felt his hand on my arm, spinning me around into his arms. He grabbed my face and pulled me to him kissing me with a ferocity I didn’t know he had. I could taste ale and cigarettes but I didn’t care. I melted into him, allowing him to kiss me as he wanted his hands all over as he pulled me to him and walked us into my room.

Our relationship from then on had been pretty much that. Whenever we were alone it was like we couldn’t stop ourselves from tearing the other’s clothes off. Every night without fail one of us would succumb to getting up and going across the hall to slip into the other’s room. But then in front of people, it was entirely different. He was entirely different. He’d talk to me and laugh with me like we were nothing more than friends.

As if he didn’t spend his nights fucking me senseless.

As if his mornings weren’t taken up by us lying in bed together, cuddling and talking about anything and everything.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when I heard my name mentioned and looked up to find everyone looking at me.

‘Sorry?’ I asked looking for some clue as to what I was missing.

‘We were just wondering if you were coming out tonight?’ he asked. I looked between them, my gaze flicking to Roger for a split second. He was watching me carefully as if trying to figure out how his night was going to be impacted. I felt anger flood through me forcing my answer out my mouth, ‘yeah, count me in.’

✵✵✵

Ring….Ring….Ring

My hand fumbled around on the nightstand looking for the source of the noise. I knocked the receiver off of its holder clumsily though I managed to grab it and put it to my ear as I mumbled, ‘Hello?’ ‘Hi is this Miss Y/L/N?’ a sweet voice said on the other end of the line. ‘Yeah,’ I yawned rolling onto my back as she continued. ‘This is your wake-up call as requested,’ she said. ‘What time is it?’ I grumbled. ‘8 am as you asked,’ she replied. ‘Right, thanks,’ I said cursing my sober self for being so organised that now hungover me was suffering. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said and then the line disconnected.

As I lay on my back and opened my eyes I tried to ignore just how beaten my body was feeling at this moment in time. Being so annoyed at Roger meant that I had gone a little overboard. Now I was feeling the brunt of my stupidity. My stomach churned as I climbed out of bed feeling sticky from the stale sweat I had been lying in. My head thumped as I rifled around my bag to find some painkillers. I threw them down, thankful that drunk me had been so kind as to leave out a glass of water, and then I headed to the bathroom to get ready.

I spent a little longer than normal in the shower, allowing the warm water to try and make me feel human again. Then I climbed out, threw on some jeans and a T-shirt, and left my room. I woke the boys one by one, knocking on their doors to make sure they were up. Brian was already up and told me he’d be downstairs for breakfast in a minute. John took a knock or two but he opened his door and told me he too would be joining me soon. Freddie was awake but still in bed which meant I had to force my way inside to make sure. He was laying against the headboard watching TV.

‘Why didn’t you open the door?’ I grumbled throwing myself onto his bed. ‘Because I knew you’d save me the trouble and come in,’ he chuckled taking a drag of his cigarette. ‘At least I get to take a cat nap on your bed,’ I said with a sigh as I rested my head on my folded arms. ‘Feeling a little delicate this morning huh?’ he said. ‘You’re a bad influence,’ I grumbled. ‘Oh last night was all you princess,’ he replied. I looked up at him with a scowl. ‘Well I’m feeling it now,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing a spot of breakfast can’t fix,’ he said. My stomach churned again, ‘I think it’s just going to be toast for me.’ ‘Well I’m coming now,’ he said climbing out of bed, ‘am I your last wake-up call?’ ‘No,’ I said quietly as he started gathering some belongings so he could head to the bathroom. He didn’t seem to notice my hesitation I said, ‘just Rog left. Bri and John should be down there by now.’

‘Okay, well I’m just going to shower and I’ll meet you down there,’ he said as he lingered by the bathroom door. ‘Alright,’ I said peeling myself off of the bed. ‘Probably a good job you left him till last,’ he said. ‘Why?’ I asked my curiosity piquing. ‘He only got back late,’ he said. ‘Oh?’ I asked trying to remember if I knew the details of last night. Unfortunately, they weren’t there for me to remember. ‘Yeah,’ he said with a smirk, ‘we came back together but he put you to bed. I left him trying to herd you up the stairs.’ ‘Oh,’ I grimaced, the embarrassment of last night returning. ‘Looked about as easy as plaiting fog,’ he chuckled and then he ducked into the bathroom and shut the door. I walked out of the room and headed a door down. Roger’s room.

I knocked gently and listened as I heard movement behind the door which opened a minute later revealing a tired-looking Roger. He was wearing pants but no shirt and I had to admit he looked good.

‘Hey,’ I mumbled. He nodded but didn’t speak as he ducked back into the room. I followed him, shutting the door quietly as I tried to keep the noise to a minimum so as to not aggravate my headache. I sat down on the bed as he put on his clothes, ignoring me. ‘Freddie said you helped me get to bed last night,’ I said after a moment, ‘thank you.’ ‘Yeah well better that than you embarrassing yourself again,’ he said as he angrily pulled his T-shirt over his head. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Last night,’ he said folding his arms across his chest, ‘you couldn’t have been more obvious.’ ‘And what exactly was I doing?’ I said folding my own arms across my chest as I stood up. ‘You don’t remember?’ he scoffed. ‘Please enlighten me,’ I said. ‘Throwing yourself at that guy right in front of everyone,’ he said loudly. His words hit me like a ton of bricks as I tried to remember my own actions but found myself coming up short, but my lack of recall didn’t mean his words hadn’t sparked anger in me.

‘And?’ I said huffily. ‘And?’ he repeated, ‘it’s embarrassing. Trying to get me to bite because I wouldn’t kiss you.’ ‘Maybe I’m just sick of being your sort of girlfriend. Of being someone who’s good enough for a quick shag but you daren’t be seen out in public with,’ I sneered, ‘did you ever think about that?’ ‘Y/N,’ he sighed, ‘we’ve talked about it-’ ‘Have we?’ I spat, ‘because all I ever remember is you acting like we’re the only two people in the world until there’s actually other people around then it’s like you can’t stand to be with me-’ ‘That’s not how it is?’ ‘Tell me then,’ I said. ‘Tell you what?’ he asked angrily. ‘Tell me how it is. Do you even like me? Or am I just someone who’s there when you want to get your leg over?’ I shouted standing up. I panicked for a second. The irony that we were arguing about us not going exclusive when everyone important to us was within earshot wasn’t lost on me. ‘Of course, I do,’ he sighed, ‘I’m just not ready.’ ‘For what?’ I said, ‘I’m not asking you to marry me, Roger. I’m just asking that we at least acknowledge there’s something between us.’ ‘But we work together you’re part of the team what if I fuck it up?’ he asked quietly sinking down onto his bed. I sighed and took a seat next to him though I didn’t look at him. My gaze fixed on the wall, ‘people split up and still work together Rog. It’s not the end of the world.’ ‘It might be,’ he said quietly. That got my attention, I looked to my right and found him watching me with a worried look.

‘Why?’ I asked quietly. ‘Because…’ he mumbled dropping his gaze to his lap, ‘because I think I might sorta really like you.’ ‘Really?’ I asked cursing myself at the amount of hope my voice dripped with. ‘Yeah,’ he said glancing up at me, ‘so why do we have to label it?’ ‘What just be friends who fuck on occasion?’ I smirked. He looked up at me with a bashful expression, ‘is that what you want?’ ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘And what happens if I wanna see someone else huh? Or if you meet some pretty fan on this tour? Do we just pretend that it’s not bothering us?’ I said, ‘because I don’t think I could be okay about that. And I don’t think you are either…if you were I’d have woken up in that guy’s bed this morning.’ ‘Yeah I guess you’re right,’ he said, ‘I just worry that if we…you know become a couple and it doesn’t work out I’ll lose you completely…at least this way we get all those moments together…no pressure. Why can’t we just enjoy it?’ ‘Because it’s not enough for me Rog,’ I whispered, ‘I can’t hang on hoping one day you’ll want to be with me completely. Because if I do I’ll always be stuck. I either need you to take the chance on us or let me go.’

He nodded and I stood up not looking at him. I wandered to the door and opened it, closing it gently behind me. I could feel tears in my eyes but I blinked them away as I headed downstairs to breakfast. The boys were sitting around a dining table, members of the crew dotted at various other tables. I sat down beside Freddie.

‘How are you feeling darling?’ he asked as he poured me a cup of tea. ‘Alright,’ I lied. ‘Well you look less grey now,’ Brian chuckled, ‘so I guess that’s a good sign.’ ‘Well I’m never drinking again,’ I smiled though it felt stiff and forced on my face. ‘Oh I bet,’ John chuckled. ‘Yeah a tenner she breaks the bet by the end of the week,’ Freddie said. ‘There’s what? Three shows this week?’ Brian said calculating the odds in his head, ‘I bet by Wednesday.’ ‘Deal,’ Freddie said offering his hand out to Brian who shook it gracefully. ‘My life is not a thing to be gambled on,’ I pouted as the waitress put toast on my table. ‘I beg to differ,’ Freddie said. ‘You know you’re really underestimating the spite factor in this,’ I said sipping my tea, ‘I’ll hold out all damn year if I have to.’

There were some chuckles around the table but as they started planning my downfall Roger appeared at the table sitting down beside me. As they greeted him he threw his arm around my shoulder and pressed a kiss to my temple. I was stunned. The boys shared a glance but they carried on talking as if nothing had happened. I looked at him and he shrugged as he took a piece of toast off my plate.

I smiled.

I guess that was my answer.

#my writing #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor!ben hardy x reader #roger taylor fic #roger taylor ben hardy #queen band #queen fic #queen #Halloween #halloween writing challenge #title

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kamildawww · 9 months

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Maylor Week 2023!! day 5. @maylor-week

5 things that annoy Brian about Roger and one he loves.

rating: explicit. relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor; Brian May & Roger Taylor. characters: Brian May; Roger Taylor (Queen). tags: Dirty Talk, 5+1 Things, Voyeurism, hickeys / bites, Clothed Sex, Semi-Public Sex, i guess??, handjob, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Frottage, elements of psychology, Maylor Week (Queen), maylorweek2023. summary: five things that annoy Brian about Roger and one that he loves.

#queen #queen band #brian may #roger taylor #maylor #brian may x roger taylor #queen fic #maylor fanfiction #maylor fic #maylor week #maylor week 2023

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queenhurtcomfort · 2 years

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Hurt: Comfort:

Day 1:

☁️ phobia ⚡️ touch

☁️ cut off ⚡️ tea

☁️ knights au ⚡️ coping rituals

☁️ poisoning ⚡️ safe space

☁️ hidden illness/injury ⚡️ therapy

☁️ wreckage ⚡️ carrying bridal style

Day 2:

🍀 phantom pains 🌏 gifts

🍀 overworked 🌏 bed sharing

🍀 drowning 🌏 cooking

🍀 emergency services au 🌏 art/music

🍀 pregnancy complications 🌏 bath

🍀 grief 🌏 quality time

Day 3:

💔 hospitalization 🌈 aftercare

💔 scars 🌈 boundaries

💔 undiagnosed 🌈 orgasm

💔 hypothermia 🌈 reading

💔 blood/voice/vision loss 🌈 affection

💔 hostage 🌈 medical help

Queen hurt/comfort weekend is open to all ships, friendships, and to all creators. It runs from July 1st to July 3rd

Tag @queenhurtcomfort in your posts for a reblog. Use the collection: queen_hurt_comfort

Moderate comments and delete all hate. Message the organizers if you need assistance

Stick to the prompts, but feel free to combine and mix them up

Don’t forget to balance the hurt with plenty of comfort. The concept of the genre is that the comfort always follows the hurt

#queen #fic #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #queen fic #fandom event #hurt/comfort #maylor #joger #froger #poly!queen #maycury #jimercury

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queen-hospitality · 9 months

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I've written something for @fem-queen-week !

It's not very polished (let's call it a draft) but I had another look at the Day 2 prompts yesterday and was suddenly inspired so I wrote a short fem!joger thing overnight. This might end up on ao3 eventually, we'll see!

Details: Roger = Rose/Rosie, John = Jane/Jen/Jenny. (Freddie and Brian are still boyz.) Adult themes between the lines. Approx 940 words.

Prompts: "New Skill" & "Second-Hand Embarrassment" (Day 2)

Summary: Brian has come to Rose for help mending his clothes, but an appearance from Jane means he might find out more than he bargained for. A ficlet in two styles, starting with Brian's description-heavy point of view (help him).

NB. This is actually a follow-up to something else I've written, which is rated mature and can be found on ao3 here, but is not essential reading for the ficlet below.

"Right, okay, yeah I see your problem. You've done a nice running stitch here – really very nice, these stitches are tiny..." Rose squinted, nose twitching as she held the fabric almost comically close to her face.

Brian sighed. "But...? What's the problem then?"

"What you want is a backstitch – much stronger." She plonked the jacket back in its owner's lap.

"Grand. Marvellous. I'll just stitch backwards next time then, shall I?" Brian grumbled.

"Er, no actually, you'll backstitch it forwards – and you'll do it this time," said Rose, reaching for her sewing basket.

Brian pulled a face at his bandmate's back. 'Do it this time,' he mimed silently, indulging in a bit of childishness to offset his annoyance.

There was quiet but wicked cackle from across the room and Brian jumped, whipping his head towards the sound.

"When did-? Where the hell did you come from?! Bloody hell, Jane don't do that to me. Lord. I didn't know you were here!"

Jane – who it seems had been leaning against the doorframe for goodness-knows how long – had the courtesy to at least look a little sheepish, ducking her head and pressing a hand to her lips. It did nothing to hide her grin, but she did try to apologise all the same. "Sorry, Brian. Sorry," she said. "I was... around, you know, just..." she waved in the direction of another doorway, "in the bathroom."

Brian nodded, still a little bewildered.

He was not, however, too shaken to notice that the doorway Jane had been gesticulating towards was certainly not the bathroom.

There were three doors at the top of the staircase on the tiny landing which comprised Rose's bedsit. One led to the shared not-quite-kitchen, where he was currently seated, increasingly uncomfortable and about to receive a sewing lesson, apparently. Another door did lead to the toilet – he had staggered in there many a time after a night out, taking the opportunity for a comfort break before continuing his journey home. This left the third door, the one to which Jane had waved, the one he hadn't ventured through himself since helping Rose to move in last year.

So, unless there had been a swift, radical and completely inexplicable change of layout in the flat, Brian could be fairly certain that the third and final door led to Rose's bedroom. He could assume, then, that from some point prior to his arrival with a poorly-patched jacket bundled into his satchel, all the way up until a few moments before he'd had his life expectancy shortened for him by such a sudden appearance, Jane had been in the small bedroom – Rose's room. Combining this information with the fact that these two bandmates had each said they didn't feel like a trip to the pub that evening, Brian felt his cheeks begin to heat up as he considered the very real possibility that Freddie had been right after all and that it might actually be the case that Rose and Jane really had in fact been f–

"Ow!"

Rose had prodded him in the leg with the blunt end of a sewing needle. "Brian, mate, I haven't got all day. You recovered yet? We okay to continue?"

"Hm?"

Jane giggled again. "Oh dear, I have given him a fright haven't I? Here, I think you'd better have some water."

She moved to the sink. Rose watched her. Brian watched Rose watch her.

"Have you finished distracting my pupil?" Asked Rose as Jane placed two glasses atop a stack of magazines.

Jane nodded, still smiling widely. Very widely. "I'll go to the shop – you're out of milk."

"Thank you Jenny," Rose sang after her.

Very domestic.

Brian pouted in thought. He'd always been pleased with the bashful, contented smiles he received when a woman left his bedroom, but the way Jane had been beaming? He felt somewhat put to shame.

Soon, Rose shoved his leg.

Brian tried desperately to close the door on the line of thinking he'd started going down, and forced himself to make eye contact with his friend. "Hm?"

"Do you want to know how it works or not?"

"How it... works?"

Rose gave him a hard stare. He was really testing her. She picked up the scrap of fabric and sighed. "Look, backstitch is quite simple, really..."

"So," Jane began, "Brian was weird today."

"Yeah," Rose pulled her close. "I think it was mostly– well, I reckon he knows."

"What, really?"

"Well, I think so. He kept using backstitch as an analogy for–"

"Stop! I don't want to know."

"No, no, I mean, 'doing things differently from what he'd assumed'? Or something... and about there being a garment you think you know, then finding there's other layers to it..."

"...But I thought he already knew you're into women?"

"Yeah he knew about me – you're the garment, silly."

Jane laughed. "Oh I'm the garment, okay I'm with you."

...

"His face when he saw you though..."

"I know, I thought I'd short-circuited him!"

"Well you do have that effect on me, so it's not hard to imagine the same happening to him."

"Please, we do not need to imagine that happening–"

"No," Rose snorted, "no you're right... because we know you'd blow his mind."

"You've got a funny way of flirting with me, Ms Taylor. You know that?"

"Oh, like I ever need to flirt with you anymore. I bet you didn't even bother putting your knickers back on earlier."

"...Yeah okay you're right," Jane grinned, radiant. She flopped back onto Rose's bed once again. "Come on!" She said, "get your kit off and let's finish what you started."

-- 💫 --

Thanks for reading! Comments welcome, but no pressure. I know my pacing is a bit off, but I hope it still hangs together!

The main story/'part one' is here:

#queen fic #fem queen #fem!queen #fem queen week #joger

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pebblewritesj · 2 years

Note

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.

#john deacon x reader #john deacon hc #john deacon imagines #queen x reader #queen fic #freddie mercury x reader #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

Text

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! 💜

#john deacon fic #john deacon x reader #queen fic

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nana-41175 · 5 months

Text

Teaser for Promised ch 14 (Maylor/Queen Omegaverse Regency AU

Author's Notes: So the Muse has been having fun writing at Brian and Roger's expense. XD Freddie's having a ball, as we can see. Enjoy!

Read the fic here.

Excerpt:

“And as for you lot!” cried Count Freddie. “One of you has seen and read all the wrong stuff, and the other one has seen and read nothing at all!”

“Stop exaggerating, Freddie,” growled Roger.

“That is quite an exaggeration,” agreed Brian, lips tight with affront. “If you must know—”

“If you must know, virgin Alphas have no business being anywhere near their Omegas’ necks when performing bonding bites,” Count Freddie cut in. “’Tis too risky! Everybody knows that!”

“That is completely ridiculous!” Roger exclaimed.

“Says you, until he gets overexcited and punctures a hole right through your carotid or jugular,” Count Freddie countered. “See if it’s erotic, exsanguinating in bed. It’s happened countless times even with seasoned couples, believe you me. But if Brian is looking to be without a partner in no time, do be my guest.”

That managed to stem the flood of arguments as Brian glanced uncertainly at a scowling Roger.

“I would stick to the nape if I were you, Brian, regardless of what the rubbish novels would say,” advised Count Freddie. “’Roger should have known better than to encourage you so. Position-wise, it’s so much more rewarding as well.”

Buy the Muse some ko-fi to show her some love (and to make her write faster!) ^_~

#maylor fic #queen fic #omegaverse #regency au #teaser #promised

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spreadyovrwings · 3 months

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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

#john deacon #queen #john deacon x reader #john deacon reader #john deacon fic #queen fic #john deacon x you

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