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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)

Famous!y/n x Harry Styles

First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated

Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol

Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit

Fluff!

Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness

Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss

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Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!

You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.

The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.

Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?

Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?

Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.

You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.

Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.

Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.

The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.

One month later

You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.

You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.

You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.

The next Thursday evening

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.

Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.

You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.

He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.

You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.

He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.

Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.

You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.

It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.

After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.

At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”

Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.

Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.

This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.

“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”

You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.

part 2

@berrynarrybanana

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #har #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #I DID IT #I sat down and wrote it #and it took forever #and I need to write a second part but I made something coherent #one direction fanfiction #not my gifs #my writing #I love you h #you get me #my writings

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killerbaroness · 5 years

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Light of my Life (John Deacon x OC): Introduction

Relationship: John Deacon x OC Annie Boyd

Summary: Annie is a part-time bartender and meets John Deacon as his band plays, as they go through life changes, their relationship continues to develop alongside them.

Warnings: none for now, very slow burn

Word Count: 2,859

A/N: This is my first fan fiction ever. Let me know what you think! Also taking submissions for other one shots or series about Queen or Bohemian Rhapsody characters.

“Have a nice evening, sir!” The rotund man gives a courteous smile and a polite wave as he shuffles out of the bar. I smile as the last of the patrons have exited the pub. The lunch shift is now over, meaning a brief closing period before the pub reopens for the nightly entertainment.

Unwrapping myself from my tightly tied apron in the breakroom, I meander to the office where Hilly is counting registers and keeping financial records of the day. Hilly, the manager, is middle aged and hardened by this job. He has no issue stepping in when patrons choose to get mouthy with staff and has rejected quite a few customers in his day. But his employees were treated with utmost respect, especially those that were loyal in their positions. He understood the rigors of the customers’ behavior.

“Hilly, I’m headed out for a minute. Can I get you anything?” I ask peering through his office doorway.

He offers a simple shake of his head in response. I smile and begin to step out. “Wait!” he calls. I quickly return to hear him. “Would you mind checking the lineup for tonight? I’m not certain of who is coming in.” Nodding quickly, I return to the breakroom to check the monthly calendar.

Tonight calls for a headliner of Queen and The Weepers as a supporting act. I quickly grab scratch paper and jot down the bands before returning to Hilly’s office.

He looks up quickly to read the sheet. “Looks like you’ll be doing set-up tonight. Especially with Genevieve gone. Janice is here tonight, but since she’s new, I’d like her to keep working the bar.”

I nod, finding no trouble with the scenario. I typically filled in for Genevieve on her days off. But now that she has departed the bar for her after-university career, I’m beginning to fill in her old positions. “No problem, sir. I’ll be back in a few.”

My typical break from the bar, especially working doubles, includes a quick jog down to the café nearby. Lucille’s is a local shop. Not particularly known for anything, other than what I consider convenience. I smile and order a black coffee and a pastry to pick at on my walk back. Typically, after my quick rendezvous at Lucille’s, I take a stroll back to the bar and smoke a cigarette.

I take my time on my walk back. I rely on this time to just clear my head. To just walk and get lost in thought. Thinking about what the next shift will be like, what patrons will arrive, the joyous thought of getting to return to my bed once my shift completes.

I return to the bar, with my cigarette long gone, but not enough time to begin another. I return through the backdoor and put my belongings in my cubby. Checking the time, I have another forty-five minutes before the opening bands typically begin to show up and decide to continue this time by reading the paperback long retreated to the bottom of my handbag.

I’m returned to reality by Hilly rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. “I think you’re needed, darling. Looks like we’ve got some lost souls in the front room.”

I give a small smile to Hilly and ditch my reading materials before adjusting my apron and returning to the floor of the bar.

A threesome of people are staring big-eyed around Hilly’s establishment.

“Hello, can I help you?” I ask, afraid to startle this group of young boys, looking no older than eighteen.

One clears his throat, looking rather overwhelmed. “Hi, I’m Dave. We’re The Weepers. I know we’re a bit early, but this is our first performance that isn’t an open-mic night, and we just wanted to get everything right.”

I give a small smile. “That’s no problem. You lot get to go on first, anyways. Tell you what, if you could start bringing in your equipment, we’ll get you set up before anyone else gets here. See if we can do an early sound check.”

The boys look largely relieved. Offering big smiles to replace the anxious and confused faces of before.

“Also, if you guys have any questions, my name is Annie. I’d be happy to help you.”

They all mumble their thanks and quickly rush out of the bar. Hurriedly grabbing what they can to quickly get in a sound check and practice before other performers start arriving.

I watch the young boys, and smile as I’m cleaning up the taps and setting glasses out for Janice, our newest employee. I want to help her have a seamless evening. The boys are quite cheeky when onstage, and offer a good energy, that I hope translates once more people fill up the pub. Their sound is fun, and sure to entertain the large masses of university students that tend to fill the pub.

Shortly after the boys come up to the bar to collect their drinks and chat before our doors open.

My head snaps up as I see a foursome enter the pub. Assuming this is the other band, I go to greet them.

“Hey there, welcome in. I’m guessing you’re performing with us tonight.” I offer my sickly-sweet smile to the group.

“Hi there, we haven’t been here in a while. It’s quite good to be back. I’m Brian, and this is the rest of Queen,” the man offers. I am a little in shock as I attempt to crane my neck upwards to garner all his height.

“That’s no problem, would you guys like a little tour, then? Do you remember where our backstage and green room is?” I offer.

“I think we might be okay, most of us have been here and remember. But is it okay if we start unloading our things?” Brian asks.

“Of course! Just drop them off in our backstage room, and once this band finishes, we’ll get you set up.”

“Cool. Sounds good. We’ll be back in a moment,” a man with long blonde hair quickly says before sprinting out the door while the rest meander behind at a casual pace.

I return to the other band, offering words of encouragement, and continuing to make sure all the area is cleaned up for Janice tonight. Slowly I see a figure approaching the bar.

I turn to see one of the members from Queen come up.

“Hi there,” he says whilst fiddling with his fingers, “I’m new to the band and haven’t performed here before. Would you mind if I did get that brief tour? I’m not sure where to put some of the gear.”

“Oh well of course! My name’s Annie, and feel free to come to me with any questions tonight, regarding your performance or anything else for that matter.” I offer my hand out for a handshake, as I make my way around the bar

“John Deacon. Thank you, that’s very kind. I’m very new to all of this.”

“No worries. We get a lot of first-timers here. Being a smaller place, it’s easier to get people to pay attention. That band at the bar, this is one of their first shows. So, you’re in good company.”

“That’s a bit of a relief, if I’m honest. The rest of the band has been together for a little bit longer. But I’m still getting adjusted,” he admitted. He seemed very contemplative and a little on edge.

Unlocking the door to the green room, I shoved the door open to turn the light. “I promise you that you all will be great tonight. The people that come out to these shows are just happy to see a band is here. Nothing bad can happen. And when you guys are done performing, come and see me. I’d be more than happy to offer some celebratory drinks.”

John smiles brightly. “Okay. That’s good to hear. I could use a drink now,” he chuckles.

I smile at him, “Feel free to invite your friends, and we can arrange that. Green room is here, and the door backstage is across the hall. Feel free to set everything inside there. I’ll be at the bar should you need anything.”

“Thanks Annie. I’ll most likely take you up on that offer for a drink,” he grins.

Walking back to my station at the bar before the doors open to the public, I watch the rest of Queen come in with their equipment. Brian offers a small smile as he walks a case through the pub. And I notice the jumpy blonde-haired man wearing sunglasses and walking outside with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Following the opening to the public, The Weepers began to play. Their spritely singer had the audience smiling. Their fun lyrics made for an entertained crowd, as their once-nervous singer was now swaying with his guitar. He closed his eyes often and performed with what he could, even though he was in the smallest pub in town. The audience ate it up. And the band was evidently pleased as throughout their performance they made eyes to each other smiling as the set progressed.

As they ran offstage and came over to the bar, I had their beers ready at the three seats in front of me.

“You guys were amazing. They ate you up out there! I hope we’ll be seeing more of you guys soon,” I congratulated.

They nodded eagerly, sipping quickly, and watching Queen begin to set up. “Thanks for all your help tonight. We’ll be sure to talk to Hilly about coming back.”

Following a quick soundcheck, I approached the band asking if they needed anything before they began their set.

“I think we are all set on our end. We’re just ready to offer something more diverse to this crowd’s palette,” the lead singer offered.

“I’m sure they’d only be so lucky,” I chuckle. “Whenever you guys are ready, the stage is yours.”

The singer nodded and winked at me before taking the stage. His bandmates followed suit and were playing chords to prepare themselves.

“Good evening, we’re Queen. We’re happy to be back,” Brian said. He looked a little hesitant, but quickly overcame this as his bandmates nodded their heads in affirmation at his statement.

Quickly the long-haired drummer tapped his sticks to create a countdown before beginning. The song immediately rushed into an upbeat tempo. The sound demanding the room participate in some action. Whether listening or clapping. There was a necessary response needed. Queen was not a band to idly enjoy. Everyone began looking around at their table-mates, some with shocked looks on their faces, unsure of what to expect when they stepped on stage.

I stole a glance at John, who looked less nervous, but determined. His eyes were focused on the ground. But his hands were strategically plucking at the bass strings as deliberately as he could achieve his chords. Every now and then he would look up and offer a brief nod and some slight eye contact to his bandmates before returning to his focused state.

The band was energetic and had the crowd captivated. As the last chord was struck during their last song, the crowd applauded. A hearty reaction for a crowd of our size.

The band walked over following their set, still laden with sweat.

“I think I need a beer, darling,” the blonde said, looking slightly desperate.

Offering a small nod and a smile, I quickly poured from the tap and offered the drink as the man quietly sighed contently.

I filled all the orders for the four men, hearing them bicker about their performance. About what went well, what did not, when they should come back. During this conversation, John did not participate much, except for a few words here and there.

I offered him a small smile, which he caught and looked in my direction. “I think you were great tonight. They clearly loved you all. No reason to be nervous.”

“Thanks, Annie. I’m glad they participated the way they did, made it easier for me to ease up,” he said taking a sip of his drink.

“I bet, we haven’t had an audience interact like that the entire time I’ve worked here.”

John continued to smile back at me, about to speak when a he was cut off by the drummer, who I later learned was Roger, smacked his arm.

“Hey mate, we’re going to head out. Brian and I have to head back to the apartment. And as always, Freddie needs a ride.”

John quietly nods and wishes them all a good night, as they all depart and say their farewells.

“Perks of driving myself,” he mumbles. “I won’t die by Roger’s ancient van.”

I laugh under my breath as I clean up their glasses. Few patrons are left in the pub and we’re to close within the next half an hour. Janice is cleaning up on her end, looking a little flustered, but keeping up with her new position well. Most likely making lots of tips after this crowd.

“Janice, I’m headed out for a smoke break. You okay for a minute?” She quietly nods and picks up the used dishes to carry to the back. “Care to join?” I ask turning to John.

“Oh, umm. Okay, yeah,” he mumbles while grabbing his coat.

He follows me out back where I pull my cigarettes and lighter from my apron pocket, offering him one. He thanks me and begins to place it in his mouth.

“So when can we expect you lot back?” I ask after exhaling.

“Honestly, as soon as you want us back. The group talked about that crowd. While we’re used to bigger gigs, we love when they eat us up. Plus, we never come to the east side.”

“I mean, I’ll talk to Hilly, but we could do next week same time. The crowds love a routine. If you keep coming on Tuesday nights, so will they. Just call us and let us know.”

“Of course,” he smiles.

I’m realizing through the course of this conversation that John is riddled with boyish charm. While we seem to be the same age, he seems younger than me. I write that off as his shy nature presumably. But as the conversation continues, I think it’s equal parts shy, equal parts carefully deciding his words. He says little, but when he does it is impactful.

“So, what were you doing before Queen? You’re new to the band, right?”

“Well, I’m still at university. But had just started before I found these guys. They needed a bassist. Guess they had a few before me. But I auditioned, and I guess they liked what I had to offer. It’s been fun, but I worry that it’s just for the time being. I mean, we play pubs. We’re not doing much.”

“Who knows, maybe there is something more for you guys. But at the least, are you having fun?” He nods quietly. “Then that should be enough,” I say exhaling the last bit of my cigarette.

“You’re right. It’s nice to not just be in school. I have something to look forward to now.”

I nod, smiling at him recounting these experiences of his personal life.

“I have to head in, we’re closing soon. But I hope I’ll see you soon. You’re welcome to stay before we close out for the night.”

“No, I should head out. Don’t want to keep you guys busy, the sooner you clean up the sooner you leave, I bet,” he chucks his cigarette. “I’ll see you soon Annie, have a good night,” he smiles before walking to his car in the car park.

“You too,” I call with a wave.

I head in to the bar, to clean up tables of those that have left since I’ve been outside. I head to Janice to let her know she’s okay to head out.

“How are you feeling? Did you think tonight went okay for you?”

“Yeah, wasn’t too bad. Pretty busy, but everyone was nice,” she says wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

“That’s always good to hear, Hilly’s always here to deal with the not-so-nice, should you need him. But I honestly wouldn’t worry about that. I won’t keep you though. You need to go home, get some rest.”

“Thanks, Annie. I’ll see you on Thursday night,” she says as she hangs up her apron. “Oh wait,” she remembers reaching into her apron pocket. “Someone left this for you,” she says and smiles.

I open it up and see a phone number written with “John Deacon” written on the bottom. I can’t help but smile and slip it into my back pocket

#queen fanfic #John Deacon #john deacon fanfic #John Deaky #disco deaky #bohemian rhapsody #queen band #Queen

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