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spreadyovrwings · 1 year

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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: None! Except like major flirting (gross)

Chapter Five

Two doors down from 64 Oslo Square, there was an Indian takeaway. John had been meaning to pop in a few times, but the emptiness of his pockets had always far outweighed the emptiness of his stomach.

He stopped and gazed at his own reflection in the glass shopfront, coldly cut off from the promise of good, warm food.

John would never admit it to anyone, but he did take quite a bit of pride in his appearance. He wasn’t vain, he hoped, he just liked to look nice. He dressed casually most of the time, but John never left the house without first making sure that he smelt great and his hair was perfectly set.

He frowned as he pulled at his long curls, then brushed his fingertips over his fringe, making sure he looked just right. Roger and Freddie would be dropping round today, the least he could do was look his best while they were antagonising him in front of you.

As John entered the bakery, he took in a deep breath. It had become a habit, filling his lungs with the incredible smells of fresh bread, vanilla speckled custard, and power-soft icing sugar. He’d never get tired of this place.

When he couldn't see you behind the counter, John began to relax. He was always disappointed when your paths failed to cross, but it was a bit of a relief. Perhaps you had taken a rare holiday? Freddie and Roger would, without a doubt, simply reschedule their plans to darken the bakery’s door, but it would buy John some more time, perhaps enough to properly warn you, make up some excuse, or die, whichever was easiest.

Laughter rang out from the kitchen, bright and pretty. John’s stomach flipped, then a moment later, his shoulders lowered. You were here after all.

His disappointment didn’t last very long at all. He saw you move past the kitchen doorway, soft and beautiful and warm, even at a glance. Then, you popped back into sight and waved at him, even though you had to prop the tray of croissants you were carrying up against the doorframe to do so.

Beaming, John waved back until you disappeared from sight again. As he lowered his hand, he realised his heart was pounding.

He wasn’t sure what would be more rude, to slip behind the counter and make himself a cup of tea or wait to be served. John didn’t want to give the impression that he’d made himself at home, but he didn’t want to be waited on by his friends either.

While he was dithering, he caught sight of Alastair, Gladys’ famed boyfriend. The bakery was, as usual, full of customers, but while they were all seated at the tables dotted around the room, sipping teas and coffees and munching happily on sweet treats, Alastair was standing by the kitchen doorway.

It made John frown. You certainly wouldn’t be happy if you knew about that. Alastair had carefully hidden himself away out of sight, tucked behind the corner so that you and Mickey couldn’t see him as you flitted about.

He watched on incredulously as he realised Alastair was using the bakery’s phone. John could just about hear his deep, impassive voice under the low hum of activity. As he spoke, Alastair turned his body away from the kitchen doorway and the other customers, the telephone cord pulled tight against his arm as he tried to move as far out of earshot as possible.

“Just off the high street. Yeah. Yeah, no. No, it’s closer to the park.”

Curious, John moved closer, keeping his gaze down so that anyone would think he was just having trouble deciding what to eat.

“Yeah. Three stories. There’s a flat above and a cellar. She said they had a flood a few years ago but that’s been sorted now. Yeah, no, shouldn’t be any trouble…”

Perhaps sensing he was being watched, Alastair looked round over his shoulder. When he caught John’s gaze, he gave him a quick, polite but cold smile. John did not smile back.

He wondered if he should say something, challenge what he’d overheard, but then you came out of the kitchen at last. You smiled at him so prettily that John completely forgot all about Alastair for now.

“Alright, New Boy?”

“How are you?”

“Good, good. Just trying to sort an order out for this bloke. Called last minute just before closing yesterday, asked if we could add a ‘few’ more things to his delivery. Of course, Gladys said yes. I keep telling her the cut-off is midday but-” You smiled. “Boring, sorry. How are you doing? Isn’t today your day off?”

“S’pose I just can’t get enough of you.”

You blinked.

John gawped. He had intended ‘you’ as a plural: you, Mickey, even Gladys. But that wasn’t what he said and both of you knew it wasn’t what he meant either. He really couldn’t get enough of you. It was as simple as that.

Luckily, a customer required your attention and you were both saved.

You put up one finger, holding him in place.

“Hang on,” you said, then went to serve the customer.

John let go of the breath he’d been holding.

He really was a shambles. He should just ask you to dinner and get it over with; his heart couldn’t take much more of this. It’s just that whenever he spoke to you, all his carefully prepared words went out the window, and even breathing became a struggle, let alone talking.

John watched you interact with the customer, how you smiled and waited patiently for them to choose a cake.

He liked the way you stood, with your weight on one hip, how you rested your hands on your waist, and how you spoke, confident and disarming with an edge that gave away that you were always two steps ahead.

Even if he could work up the courage to ask you out, where could he take you? John barely had enough money to feed and clothe himself, he wasn’t much of a catch. The thought sank like a stone to the pit of his stomach.

John’s gaze slid wearily back over to Alastair, who by now had hung up the phone and was blowing kisses through the kitchen doorway, presumably to Gladys since he didn’t think Mickey would appreciate the gesture.

Alastair dressed well: his shoes gleamed, his shirts were always neatly pressed, and he reeked of expensive cologne. Off-putting as he was to be around, he could afford to treat Gladys to dinners, dates, and opulent gifts, or so John had heard.

What did he have to offer you but an incomplete degree, a second-hand bass guitar, and so much social anxiety that he had to practice saying hello to you in the mirror for twenty minutes before he left his digs?

“Look at that!

John turned to find you lifting the glass dome from a cake stand. It was only after you’d boxed the last remaining slice and handed it over to the customer that he realised why you were smiling at him. John’s lips parted in surprise as he gazed at the now empty cake stand.

“Was that my..? People actually bought it?”

As Gladys bustled past, she reached over the counter and pinched his cheek.

“Of course they did!” She said. “It was lovely, John. You did a great job.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head at your boss as she swept past you.

John cupped his now smarting cheek with one hand, his other fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter. He feared if he let go, his weak knees wouldn’t support him for very long.

“Thank you. Is it…? Is it really all sold out?”

He spoke softly, raising his eyes to you. John would never know how his tender gaze made your heart melt, how the slight tilt of his head made you want to just throw away your dignity and kiss him.

For a moment, your gaze softened. He wished he knew what you were thinking, what it was that made you look at him so sweetly before your smile turned pointed again.

“I said it was for charity; it went in seconds,” you said, making Gladys laugh.

John pretended to look wounded, pressing his palm flat against his racing heart.

“Oof, you’re mean.”

Your smile relaxed into something more gentle, and John couldn’t help thinking how pretty you looked when you were pleased to see him.

“Just kidding, Johnny. People really liked it.”

John’s hand was still resting over his heart. The nickname made it thump against his palm. He had to look away, if he didn’t, he knew a bashful grin would spread across his face, and he would have a hard time explaining away his bright red cheeks.

“Well, you baked it. I just made it look nice.”

“You’re good at that. Why do you think we hired you?”

Gladys reached over and flapped her hand at you without taking her eyes off the tea she was steeping.

“Stop flirting in front of the customers.”

To John’s amusement, you rolled your eyes at her, but then you smiled, tired and pretty, and winked at him.

“Wait till I get you alone in that kitchen.”

You were only kidding. At least he thought so. Still, John couldn't help his mind wandering to what that might entail. Your gorgeous round hips under his hands. The soft gasps he might inspire as he parted your thighs. Your fingers wrapped around his jaw as you kissed him, deep and slow, in a dark, quiet corner of the kitchen where no one would see you.

While John all but melted, Gladys huffed and shook her head.

“You are shameless.” She gave John an apologetic look. “Cuppa?”

“Please.”

He got himself seated, then a few moments later, you came over with a steaming cup of tea and a couple of biscuits.

John hoped you would sit with him but the shop was full today and you just didn’t have the time. He watched your fingers wrap around the seat opposite his and knew you ached to stay. It must have been a busy morning, your eyes were clouded and soft, but even though you must be exhausted, you still made time for him. The thought warmed his chest.

“I’ve got some friends coming round.”

“To your digs?”

Your hair was down today. He thought he could smell your shampoo, something citrusy, sharp but sweet just like you.

“Here,” John suddenly panicked. “If that’s alright?”

You smiled, and his shoulders relaxed.

“Are these your mates from your band?”

“Yes, um…”

There was a streak of flour on your cheek. His fingers ached to brush it away for you, to cup your face and feel you sink into him as he kissed you.

“They’re, er…”

John could never hold your gaze for very long. He meekly glanced away, then back again, but there was something about you looking down at him from this angle that made his cheeks burn. His eyes felt heavy as they drifted down to your cheek again, then the safe, soft curve of your shoulder.

“I wanted to apologise in advance.”

If he’d been brave enough to meet your eyes, he would've seen understanding, then amusement flash across your face.

“Are they coming to embarrass you?”

“Yes,” John sighed, forcing himself to make eye contact again. “And I’ve talked about you a lot so they know your name and- Basically, they’re gonna drive you mad and I’m really sorry. You don’t have to talk to them.”

To his surprise and no small amount of relief, you reached over and rested your hand on his bare forearm. Warmth spread through his veins immediately, all the way up to his now burning cheeks.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” you said gently.

You are so beautiful.

The words almost slipped from his mouth but John clamped his lips together just in time.

You gave his arm a squeeze, then went back into the kitchen where Mickey was waiting to tease you about getting distracted.

John watched you walk away. He hoped you might turn back at the last moment and ask if he wanted another baking lesson, or simply catch his eye and wink at him again. But you didn’t.

Instead, he let his gaze drift down so that he might memorise the shape of your arse, your hips, and your thighs in those tight, dark blue flares. John turned his attention to his cup of tea, his face hot, feeling guilty and exhilarated all at once.

Roger and Freddie had warned John that they’d be dropping by about lunch time, so, of course, they rocked up just as the clock was ticking towards three.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of the bakery with his back to the door, John felt safe. No one looked his way, no one bothered him, and he had a perfect view through the kitchen doorway, where you were dusting cinnamon rolls with clouds of bright white icing sugar.

He heard them before he saw them. 64 Oslo Square’s peace was broken by the door being pushed open with gusto, then the clomp clomp clomp of chunky heels on the wooden floor.

“Sorry we’re late!”

A hand came down on John’s left shoulder. Freddie’s neatly manicured black fingernails shone, his bangles rattling in John’s ear as he shook him gently.

“Bloody hectic morning. You’d think the whole of London was in that market.”

“I am starving!”

Roger dropped into the seat across from John like a sack of potatoes. He immediately flopped over the table, resting his head on his forearms with a long groan.

“Deaky,” he complained. “I’m so cold. Can I hold your tea?”

Huffing softly, John pushed his mug across the table.

Roger unfolded his arms and wrapped his fingers around it, his forehead now pressed against the table. He yawned loudly, his back arching under his big coat.

“What a day, Deaks. It’s bloody freezing out there. I was wearing three furs by the end.”

“Oh, this place is lovely though,” said Freddie, scanning the room with a glint in his dark eyes. “Nice and cosy. Oh, for God’s sake, Roger. Move over!”

Roger had taken the outside seat, so Freddie had to squeeze behind him to reach the empty chair by the window. Muttering and swearing, he lifted one leg high and hopped the rest of the way. Roger didn’t raise his head from the table once but a few customers did look over in interest.

John shrank back into himself, hunching his shoulders with embarrassment. Freddie wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous of figures at the best of times, let alone when he was cursing Roger and making a big fuss.

He looked fearfully towards the kitchen doorway but thankfully, you didn't seem to notice the commotion over the rumble of the ovens and the notoriously ancient and unreliable whisk.

Freddie must have followed his gaze because he suddenly gasped.

“Is that her!”

John shot him a pained look. If he shrank back in his seat anymore, he would be in serious danger of slipping right under the table.

“Please, please don’t say anything.”

“What! When we came all the way here to meet her!”

“It’s a five minute walk from the market.”

“Yes,” Roger lifted his head. “But it’s raining.”

Freddie gestured emphatically, as if he’d made a salient point.

“Pouring. And I turned down lunch with Zandra for this.”

“She is pretty.”

Roger was gazing at you too now. He craned his neck, trying to get a better view, and nodded his head approvingly when he did. Something about the way he looked at you made John frown.

“Is she going with anyone?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” John sighed. “Mickey says she isn’t.”

Freddie frowned.

“Mickey?”

“The big lad in the kitchen,” Roger reminded him.

Freddie perked up.

“Oo?”

“He’s married.”

Disappointed, Freddie flopped dramatically back in his chair.

“Typical,” he muttered while Roger pulled a sympathetic face.

John couldn’t resist smiling. As embarrassing as they were, it was good to see his friends.

They were always teasing him, poking fun at each other and generally being a nuisance, but just because they could be silly didn’t mean they were unreliable. Roger, for example, might not care too much for his degree, but drumming was his life.

Passion, they had it by the bucketload, but they also had a wonderful habit of reminding John that he was still young, that he should be having fun, and that sometimes, it was alright to not take things too seriously.

Roger was already practically falling out of his seat with excitement, but when you left the kitchen to talk to Gladys, he slapped Freddie’s arm frantically.

“So how does it work?” he asked. “Do we go order at the counter or does she…?”

Freddie flung up his hand and waved it airily in your direction, his chin raised to the ceiling, reminiscent of a duke or a prince.

“Hello!” He called across the room and beamed when you looked over. “Hello, love!”

John saw the bewildered expression on your face and wanted to melt right into his shoes. The bakery didn’t do table service; hopefully you wouldn’t think they were being purposefully rude.

“Freddie, please,” he hissed.

“I’m just saying hello!”

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see you starting to make your way over.

“Oh, God.” He sat up straight. “Please be normal.”

Freddie just scoffed and waved him off.

Roger began to form what would probably have been a painfully acerbic response, but both he and Freddie looked up when you finally appeared by the table.

“You hollered?”

You sighed the words, resting your weight on one hip in a way John found frankly exhilarating.

You looked down at them, taking them all in, one by one. Your expression was flat, though thankfully, you didn’t seem to be genuinely irritated.

When your gaze finally landed on John, the corner of your mouth flickered, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

Freddie leaned right over the table, stretching out his hand towards you.

“Freddie Mercury, pleasure to meet you.”

As he reached over, he accidentally shoved his shoulder into Roger’s face, who complained and huffed and tried to push him away.

Amused, you shook Freddie’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You know, John hasn’t stopped talking about this place since he was hired,” Roger beamed up at you. “And now I see why.”

You shook his hand too, your eyes flicking towards John, perhaps to see how he felt about that last comment.

“He talks a lot about you too.” You smiled. “You must be Roger.”

“It’s great to meet you. You know, I’ve been past this place a hundred times and I keep meaning to come in.”

“Well, now you have, what can I get you?”

They ordered two cups of tea and two slices of cake, chocolate for Roger and coffee and walnut for Freddie.

You returned with their food quickly. If John didn’t know any better, he’d think you actually were excited to meet his friends.

When you’d expressed interest in them before, he thought you were only being polite. But no, he could see it in your face, you were practically fizzing. The others wouldn’t be able to tell but they didn’t know you like he did.

But why? Why were you so eager? To tease him? To eek more information about him out of his friends? Perhaps. There was a far more likely explanation, one that warmed his chest to even consider. You liked him, you wanted to meet his friends, you wanted to be a part of his life, as he’d become a part of yours.

You set two cups of tea down on the table in front of Roger and Freddie, as well as their slices of cake. To John’s amusement, you set another slice of chocolate cake down in front of him.

He opened his mouth to say something but to John’s surprise, you chucked him under the chin before he could protest.

“So, what’s the verdict?” You smiled down at them. “Are we good enough for John?”

“I think this place has done him the world of good,” said Freddie.

When you glanced at him, John offered you a brave little smile.

He thought it was rather obvious that this place, that you, had had a profound effect on his confidence. John wouldn’t be shouting the others down in an argument anytime soon, but he carried himself in a different way. Yes, you’d done him a lot of good.

“Is he as chatty with you lot as he is here?”

“Oh, Deaks? Can’t shut him up, can we Deaky?”

Roger stuck out his foot and nudged John’s under the table.

You turned your gaze to him. There was a small smile on your lips, soft and gentle. It lacked your usual snark. In fact, John thought it was the warmest look you’d ever sent his way.

“Deaky…”

You repeated the nickname, trying it out for the first time.

John would be the first to admit that he didn’t have the most exciting name. First, middle, and last, it was a title that did the job, a sensible, straightforward, boring old name that he sometimes wished his parents had put just a little more thought into.

He didn’t think his nickname was particularly exciting either, but neither his real name nor the one his friends had given him had ever sounded better than from your lovely, smiling mouth.

“A fantastic bassist,” Freddie was saying, while you and John gazed at each other. “Great head for business-”

“Great head. Ow!”

Roger yelped as Deaky’s boot connected with his shin.

“He’s brilliant,” Freddie went on. “You could hang your hat on him.”

“Especially when he’s talking about you.” Roger was faster this time and moved his leg away from John’s swinging platform. “Though, you’ve gotta watch the bruises on him, love.”

“Bruises?”

“Yeah, from all the girls pushing him away with barge poles.”

John looked up at you, hoping his exasperated expression would go some way to apologise for his friends. But you weren’t looking at him, you were watching Roger almost reproachfully. And there was that taut bowstring smile.

“And what do you do, Roger?”

The way you said his name, John had to hide his smile behind his mug. It was very different to the way you said his, always so warm and soft when you were pleased to see him, or staccato and electric when you were teasing him.

Roger didn’t seem to notice the acidity of your tone. He puffed out his chest.

“Oh, you know, I’m in the import/export business. Real premium merchandise.”

John rolled his eyes.

“They have a stall in Kensington Market.”

Your smile cut through Roger’s affronted response.

“I’ll leave you to it.” You waved airily at his friends. “Nice to meet you both.”

They tried to convince you to sit with them, but you politely declined. You were still on shift, you said, you had work to do, but John caught the glance you threw his way before you left. You were lying.

Concerned, he hoped they hadn’t bothered you too much. But that particular worry settled again almost as soon as it shook off its wings. His friends appeared to amuse you, the roll of your eyes told him that, and the little smile that was just for him.

Roger and Freddie watched you leave, grinning.

John hadn’t known him all that long really, but a stranger on the street could tell that Roger loved women, all women. And loved them genuinely too, not for sport but for the way they spoke, the way they walked and held themselves, he loved their nuances and their laughter, and he already seemed to adore you.

It should have made John nervous. It should have made him bristle with envy. Roger was clever and kind, handsome and beautiful all at once, easy to talk to and to get to know, something John just couldn’t seem to get the hang of. But it was him you kept smiling at, his mouth you were always watching, his shoulder you squeezed when you said goodbye.

“Oh, she is lovely,” Freddie watched you walk away with an almost fond smile. “Absolutely wonderful.”

“She is, isn’t she? She’s so…”

Roger grinned.

“Smart and funny and pretty, and bossy in a way that makes your knees weak…”

“All warm and delicious and soft, and you’d frankly let her do anything she wanted to you?” Freddie finished, raising a delicate eyebrow.

John nodded.

“That pretty much sums it up, yes. She’s just… Wow, you know? And I think she really likes me.”

“Ask her out then!”

John snorted.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“I’ll die.”

“Oh,” Roger scoffed and rolled his eyes in an almost motherly way. “Don’t be a twat. You like her. She likes you. What are you waiting for? I’ll die of old age at this rate.”

“I’m not- I’m not being a- It’s hard!”

“To ask out someone you like?”

“For me, yes!”

Freddie put a hand on Roger’s arm.

“John probably just wants to do it right. Is that it, Deaky?”

“Yes! Well, it- Yes, I want to make sure she actually likes me.”

“She looks at you like she wouldn’t mind bending you over one of these tables.”

“Roger!”

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind that myself. She’s gorgeous.”

“Please,” John pressed his fingertips against his closed eyelids. “Please shut up.”

“I hope those kitchen walls aren’t too thin,” Freddie smiled, sipping his tea regally. “You’ll give her ideas.”

“Like she hasn’t had them already. She’d definitely have you pinned up against the bread slicer if you gave her half a chance.”

“I want to do this right,” John pressed on gallantly, his voice a note or two higher than usual. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable and lose this job and my friends… I want to… I want to see her outside of work but I just can’t figure out how to… Nothing seems right. Everything I think of either seems boring or too much or… Oh, God, I don’t know.”

John took a bite of his chocolate cake, miserable.

While his mind raced, turning over and over like a sputtering engine as he tried to decide what to do, his friends exchanged a glance that said many things all at once.

Freddie’s twisted mouth suggested they should help John take the next step, while Roger’s raised eyebrows emphasised that they ought to act soon, as John looked like he was about to keel over.

They changed the subject, aiming to reel John back in with talks of their next gig, of a new song idea that Roger wanted to try, and some gossip about the girl Brian was seeing. They ate their cake and drained their tea, warmed by the bakery and its gifts.

At last, the rain began to ease and the staggered buildings that bracketed the street were backed by a rosy sky. The city was slowly turning its face towards the evening, soon the lamps that lined the roads would beckon them out into the dark.

A serious lack of funds and four conflicting schedules meant that the only time Queen managed to book a slot in any recording studio was around midnight, when every musician in their right mind was off having fun. Tonight, the boys were meeting across town, hoping inspiration might find them and bless them with a track or two.

John didn’t want to leave. The rain had almost stopped now but he knew the harsh wind would slip under his clothes until his muscles ached from trying to shake some life back into him. It was a long trudge to the studios in the north of the city, especially in the platforms he’d worn just in case you saw him and his friends standing together and it wasn’t obvious that he was tallest.

Distracted by thoughts of homework, a feeble dinner, and leaving the delicious warmth of the bakery, John didn’t notice Roger slip over to the counter to talk to you until it was too late.

You were chatting with Gladys, haggling over wages again, but stopped when Roger leaned right over the counter and waved at you.

“Here, love, what time do you finish?”

“We close at six?”

Too late, John realised his friend had gotten away from him and marched over to rescue you. He got there just in time to hear Roger ask,

“Perfect, are you free tomorrow night?”

John wrapped his fingers around the scruff of Roger’s shirt and pulled him away from the counter, shooting you an apologetic look at the same time.

While Freddie went up to pay for their drinks, John cornered Roger.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

“You’re meddling.”

Roger smiled, wide and unapologetic.

“No...”

“Roger Meddling Taylor.”

“I just thought I’d see if your gorgeous boss has plans this week!”

“Why would you..?”

“You know how I’m your favourite person in the whole wide world?” Roger grinned. “Well, after your lovely new friend.”

“Roger…”

“And how I would never steer you wrong?”

John only grimaced.

When he went up to say goodbye, you were there waiting for him with a soft smile.

“They seem nice.”

“They’re…” John huffed. “They’re a lot. They’re nice but they’re idiots.”

“They love you to bits.”

“You think?”

You just smiled again, then asked,

“You off, then?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah. I was um…” John glanced back over his shoulder to find his friends watching him with eager expressions. “We’ve got a gig. Tomorrow night. It’s not far from here, actually.”

“That’s ni-”

“Do you want to come?” It came out too quickly, too nervous. John winced. “Sorry, I- Sorry. It’s, uh, it’s the first one I’ve organised myself and I’m terrified no one’s going to show up. Or worse, only a couple do and- Doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, I’d really love for you to come.”

He watched your smile grow, but before it could meet your eyes, it changed shape, hollowed out, and turned downwards.

“Tomorrow night? I’ll be-”

“Working, I know.”

You were always working. In all the time that you’d known each other, John couldn’t recall you mentioning any friends, any hobbies, or any life outside of this bakery.

He knew all about loneliness, how you could sink so deep before you even noticed, and trying to break through the surface to catch your breath felt impossible. He thought you might be able to help each other.

Still, he didn’t mean that to come out quite so sharply. He saw something flicker across your face. John tried to soften his expression, hoping you’d see that he was trying, at last, to reach out, to make a connection.

“It’s at eight.” He placed his hand flat against the counter but was too cowardly to brush his fingertips against yours. “One night, that’s all I’m asking. My way of thanking you for helping me settle in. And, hey, there’ll be popcorn. Maybe even a beer if you’re lucky.”

For a moment, he thought you might decline. Between your uncertain gaze and the unmistakable sound of Freddie and Roger practically vibrating with anticipation behind him, John almost caved and told you not to worry. He was glad he waited. That one second meant all the difference, just one moment of bravery.

You moved your hand forward, so now the very tip of your middle finger was pressed against his.

“Okay, yeah. Alright, New Boy, you’re on. I’ll see you then.”

As you spoke, you slipped your hand over his, your index, middle and ring fingers now resting over his.

“Really?”

“Yeah! Yeah, no, that sounds like fun. I’ll be there.” You laughed. “I’ll even make a sign with your name on it, make sure everyone knows who I’m there to see. I’ll shout ‘that’s my delivery boy!’”

John smiled so wide it made his cheeks ache.

You glanced over his shoulder at Roger and Freddie, beaming away, and pulled your hand back.

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” John gave a little wiggle he’d want to punch himself for later. “And your dancing shoes.”

As he turned to go, Roger cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke loud enough for the whole bakery to hear.

“And preferably something revealing so Deaky has something to look at while he’s-”

John grabbed him by the shoulders, span Roger around, and pushed him out the door.

“See you later!”

Bedford College was a tall, imposing building, red-bricked and impressive, even in the half light of a blustery spring evening. You felt the eye of the clock tower follow you as you crossed the campus, following the signs sporting Queen’s scrawled logo.

You tugged at your velvet flares, then the front of your top. You looked good, hopefully, but not too good, like you’d made an effort but effortlessly. You didn’t want John to know how eager you were to see him outside of work, but you didn’t want him to think that you didn’t care about the gig, about him.

You found the sports hall with little trouble. Concerned, you realised you couldn’t hear any music. Perhaps you’d got the time wrong? You checked your watch. No, a few minutes before eight, you were right on time.

The sports hall doors were heavy, you had to lean your whole body against one to push it all the way open. When you stepped inside, the air was warm and close, the unmistakable odour of a school gymnasium.

For a moment, you thought you must have come to the wrong place. The room was practically empty. Through the low light, you could see six or so teenagers floating around near a makeshift stage, and a low drinks table dotted with paper cups and homemade bags of popcorn.

Finally, you saw John. He and his band mates were standing beside the stage. He looked decidedly nervous. Next to him, Roger and a tall man, who you knew must be Brian, seemed to be spatting at each other like alley cats. Even unshakeable Freddie was tugging at his silver bangles, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You moved slowly towards the stage, keeping an eye on the other attendees. Perhaps something had happened? Maybe rather than being late, you were actually too early?

The band moved onto the stage. They got into position with practice ease, though you were sure John’s restless fingers, Roger’s scowl, and the half-interest of the meagre crowd were not part of the act.

You watched John with such obvious interest, you couldn’t believe it took him several moments to notice your eyes on him. He seemed relieved to see you.

While Freddie introduced the band, John lifted his fingers from the sleek black body of his bass guitar and waved them at you. You smiled back in what you hoped was an encouraging way, but the four lads and two girls that made up the rest of the audience were beginning to grow restless.

John was just starting to mouth something to you, something you couldn’t make out in the low light of the sports hall, when suddenly, Brian swung his arm and a shriek shot across the room and hit the back wall.

The sound reverberated through you, then Roger threw up his arms and brought them down again hard, the sound of the toms smacking the crowd with such force it took your breath away.

Freddie ricocheted across the stage, a tightly coiled spring finally set free. He thumped his foot in time with Roger, his microphone angled downwards as he held the gaze of everyone in the audience, almost like he was daring you all to try and stop him.

And beneath it all, beneath Brian’s soulful guitar, beneath Roger’s pounding beat and Freddie’s glorious voice, was the steady, faithful, perfect thrum of John’s bass guitar, keeping everything tied together.

You watched him with tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You weren’t even sure why. The sound was just so warm, so safe. The others were unpredictable and fantastic, but John, standing there with his eyes almost closed, his head tipped down towards the neck of his guitar, his legs parted in a wide stance, he was the heart and soul of it all.

“You were right. They are good.”

You turned your head and saw two boys whispering to each other, smiling at the music washed over them. Their enjoyment made you smile. You couldn’t be more proud of your delivery boy.

You didn’t take your eyes off John for the whole performance, which, with its limited audience, the band seemed to be treating as more of a rehearsal. They chatted between songs, swapping notes and fiddling with their equipment. That didn’t mean they didn’t give it their all though.

You kept waiting for John to turn and chat to you, but he kept his voice low, only speaking to his bandmates when they spoke to him first. Whether it was the nerves of the low turnout or not wanting to break the barrier between audience and performance, you weren’t sure.

It wasn’t until the last song that you remembered what John had said. Bedford College had been booked under his recommendation, he’d organised the whole thing and only six paying punters had turned up.

“Oh, New Boy,” You murmured, as the last notes of this shambles of a gig circled your head. “This is gonna set you back.”

The boys took their bows, nodding gratefully when you all applauded, then gathered at the back of the stage to talk.

Unsure of what to do, you hovered vaguely in the direction of the drinks table. The rest of the audience were either chatting, glancing hopefully towards the band or stuffing bags of popcorn into their pockets, while you stood alone, off to the side, feeling so awkward it was almost painful.

You wished John would just come over and say hi. You were a couple of years older than everyone else here and the only one who’d come alone.

A small voice in your head wondered if it would be better to wait outside, away from their watchful eyes. Would it be cooler to catch John on his way out? Or would he think you didn’t care? You worried your bottom lip, torn and uncertain of yourself, a feeling you hated above all else.

As you poured yourself a cup of water, you watched the band out of the corner of your eye. The boys were discussing something important in hushed voices. You wouldn’t be surprised if John had completely forgotten you were there, seeing as the snatches of conversation you could hear seemed to be about the low turnout.

You saw John roll his eyes, his lips pressed together with thinly-veiled irritation. But then he caught your gaze and his expression brightened, as if with relief.

To your surprise and no small amount of delight, John jumped down from the stage, his heels clacking against the worn wooden floor as he hurried over.

“Hey! Hey, Skip!”

You smiled awkwardly at a gaggle of teenagers with clothes much cooler than yours as John clomped over to you. Thankfully, Roger and the others had hopped down from the stage too now, capturing the kids’ attention, so you and John were left alone.

“Hey, rockstar! You-”

He’d jumped down from the stage so quickly that he still had his bass slung around his neck. With a move that would have your heart racing whenever you thought about it in future, John swept the heavy guitar behind him so that he could wrap his arms around you.

“You came!”

He held you tight against his chest as he laughed, so soft and sweet that only you could hear it.

“It’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming.”

John’s narrow frame felt so small against your own, yet you seemed to fit together perfectly. His long hair tickled your nose as he bent his head and rested his chin on your shoulder, his heart hammering in time with your own.

He smelt like sweat and cheap aftershave, and to your delight, a little bit like the bakery. 64 Oslo Square had a way of embedding itself in all your clothes, your hair, even, it sometimes seemed, under your skin. It didn’t occur to you until then just how much John had come to feel like home to you.

The thunk in your chest when he moved away jarred you for a moment. You’d been toying with his bass behind his back, tugging at the thickest string to feel the reverberations. You wondered if he could feel them echo from the guitar through his spine.

“Wow, you look...” John shook his head, looking you up and down so unabashedly that it made your face heat up. “I mean, you’re… Do you always..? You look… I’m-”

You smiled.

“Hi, John.”

“Hi.” He shook his head again. “Wow.”

Blushing and lost for words, you shook your cup of water at him.

“I was promised a beer!”

He laughed.

“Well, I did say ‘if you’re lucky’.”

“I should’ve known you’d cheap out on me. You could always buy me a drink to make up for it?”

“Then I’d be the lucky one.” John’s smile faded as quickly as it appeared. “I’m sorry about tonight. I promise, next time there’s a gig it won’t be organised by me and the room will be… Well, it’ll be better.”

“I thought you were amazing.”

It was John’s turn to blush. His gaze dropped to the floor as if it suddenly weighed a ton, his forehead all scrunched up and serious.

“Well, we’ve been working really hard. We rehearse almost every day.”

“It shows. But I meant… John?” You slipped your fingers under his jaw and gently lifted his head. “I meant you were amazing.”

Slowly, he began to smile again.

“Yeah?”

You laughed and squeezed his hand, hoping he’d be able to feel just how proud you were of him, as if the words were written on your palm, now pressed against his, a secret message just for him.

It must have brought back some of John’s courage because suddenly he said,

“You look beautiful.”

Taken-aback, all you could do was smile, bemused.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not just tonight. Always. You’re beautiful.”

He pressed his lips together, almost like he wasn’t sure whether to say what he wanted, but then John huffed a tiny laugh, the battle in him an apparent surrender.

“I fancy you like mad.”

You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No! No, I’m just really, really nervous.” John pulled a face. “Actually, okay, yes, I might have had one little drink. Freddie says it’s good luck before a show.”

“Mm, Dutch courage.”

“I think his family’s from Zanzibar, actually.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Muppet.”

John grinned.

“Anyway, I- It’s mostly just- This’ll sound daft but I’m just really pleased to see you.”

You’d never seen a man so nervous. John could hardly hold your gaze. His skin, scattered with tiny beads of sweat, shone pale under the low lights, his fringe now plastered to his forehead from the exertion of the show. When he nervously swept at his hair, you could see that his hand was shaking. He looked like a dream.

“Not that daft,” you said, hoping he’d catch your meaning.

John’s usually impassive eyes softened just a little.

“No?”

Before you could respond, Roger appeared from nowhere and jumped on John’s back, clinging to him like a monkey as he laughed. When he saw you, Roger practically fell into you, his bandaged hands gripping the tops of your arms.

“You came!” Roger kissed both your cheeks with gusto, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew you would. Didn’t I say Johnny Boy? He was worried you weren’t going to show but I told him, I said to him, ‘Deaky,’ I said ‘That girl will be here front and centre and you won’t be able to string two notes together’. But didn’t he do well!”

Over Roger’s shoulder, John looked like he wanted to sink right into the floor.

You just laughed and gently peeled Roger off you. Lovely as he was, he was all sweaty too.

It was a nice glimpse into his character though, the others too, that even for a crowd you could count on two hands, they’d put everything they had into the show. You couldn’t imagine how John would look performing in front of hundreds, maybe even thousands one day.

“You all did brilliantly.”

As if he’d heard you thinking about him, John slipped his arm past Roger and hooked his fingers through yours. He dipped his head down so that he could speak by your ear, and though you were distracted by his warm breath on your skin and the knowledge that John’s fingers were so long, his fingertips brushed your wrist, you just about managed to catch him ask,

“Don’t suppose you wanna go for a walk?”

You ended up walking to the nearest tube station together. John simply slung his guitar case over his shoulder, waved goodbye to his friends, then led you from the sports hall with a hand pressed to your lower back.

You could still feel it now, even though he’d long since stopped touching you. It was like his handprint was seared onto your skin, warm and steady and surprisingly possessive in a way that made your heart pound. John was often so quiet and unsure of himself, the sudden surge of confidence was enough to make you dizzy as he guided you out into the night.

You wanted to ask why he didn’t say goodbye to his friends properly. You wanted to tell him again how wonderfully he played tonight. You wanted to tease him about the low turnout. But the hand that had felt so big and confident against your back kept brushing your own as you walked, and it was enough to stun you into reticence.

He surprised you again by breaking the comfortable silence first.

“No stars.”

John’s gaze was fixed on the dark sky. There were no clouds tonight for the first time in weeks, but still, the night was empty and lonely.

“No, it’s funny, innit. Completely black.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“C’mon, you’re hardly a country boy.”

“There are more stars in Oadby than in London.”

John pulled at his thin red jumper, squaring his shoulders against the cold night air.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked.

“Are you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

You laughed and tugged at your scarf.

“C’mere.”

As always, John did as he was told. He stopped and bent his head so that you could reach up and wrap your scarf around his neck.

John mumbled a thank you as he buried his nose in the soft material. It smelt like you, of sweet things and good dreams. He rearranged the scarf around his neck so the cold air wouldn’t sneak inside the collar of his jumper.

“Is it my colour?”

Beaming, you flipped one of the ends over his shoulder, unable to ignore how good it felt to see him wearing something of yours.

“You know, I think it might be.”

John’s gaze fell to the pavement as he smiled. You could practically see the gears turning in his head and knew he wanted to say something. Your heart hammered at the endless possibilities of such a bashful expression. Before you could prompt him to talk, he raised his head and surprised you yet again.

“I’m so glad you came tonight. I know it was rubbish. I promise it’s not usually that depressing. We usually pull a pretty good crowd, actually. I was hoping you’d see that side of the band.” John’s gaze slid away out of habit, just for a second, then he was back. “Of me.”

“I’m glad I came too, you really were brilliant, John... To be honest, I was a bit nervous. I almost called to say I couldn’t make it.”

“Why?”

The bluntness of his question caught you off guard. You didn’t mean to admit that, but something about John and his clever grey eyes made you want to say things aloud about yourself that you couldn’t imagine telling anyone else.

When you didn’t say anything, John tilted his head to the side.

“When was the last time you went out?”

You opened your mouth but no sound came out. You realised you had no answer.

“Gigs aren’t really my thing, usually,” you said instead.

The station was just a few steps away but there was no one around, and the little shops that lined the street were empty and dark. Every house had its curtains closed. Even the Thames seemed to be whispering as it slinked past behind you, it’s waters endless and ancient.

You stepped back and leaned against the brick wall behind you, subconsciously putting some space between you and John. You pulled your coat around you, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and hoped he would think it was just from the cold.

The tables had turned and now the spotlight was on you. It was fun teasing John, peeling back his layers and getting to know the parts of him he didn’t often show, but you hadn’t expected him to turn it back on you.

John followed you, keeping close, and as much as you hated yourself for it, the proximity made your chest flutter.

“Not just to a gig. To a club or out for dinner, or something?”

Again, you said nothing. You didn’t exactly feel interrogated but John’s sudden interest was surprising. If it had been anyone else, you would have fought back, but his expression was so earnest, his voice low and gentle. He was asking because he cared.

John sighed, and for a moment he looked conflicted. You wondered if he was alarmed by his own actions, if he too was surprised by how much he cared. Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe John just wasn’t used to expressing how he really felt. It was certainly interesting to watch.

“You work so hard. That bakery is going to be yours someday but it’s not right now.” John squeezed his eyes shut, like he always did when he was trying to think of the right words. “What I mean is, you’re young, you deserve time off, you deserve the chance to see your friends.”

“I don’t really have many friends.” Embarrassed, you quickly added, “Why do you care anyway?”

John took the tiniest step closer. He wasn’t quite invading your space yet but he was within arm’s reach. You had to raise your chin to meet his gaze now. It made you feel small, a feeling every instinct told you to challenge, but you held on, trusting John to know you and to understand your limits.

“Because I like you. I wanted to make you smile.”

John spoke matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious. Did he know what he was doing? Did he know that he was making your heart pound? Or was he just as uncertain as you, just as slow to fall and as quick to worry.

He sighed then, slipping his hands into his pockets. You thought you saw a little of his nerves slip away, as if he’d realised that he was asking for a lot of honesty from you without giving anything back.

“I know what it’s like to feel… Stuck,” he said.

“I’m not-”

“I know. I know. But you can miss a lot of living while you’re waiting for your life to start, you know? You’re… You’re kind, and beautiful, and you deserve to have some fun.”

He was right. You had been feeling lonely. The bakery was your whole life, you worked every day, you lived above it, socialised there… Now that he’d asked, you really couldn’t recall the last time you saw friends or went out and enjoyed yourself.

You let his words wash over you like warm water over golden sand. John cared. John saw you. John wanted to know you and help you and make everything better.

“That’s twice you’ve called me beautiful tonight,” you said.

For once, your forwardness didn’t make him retreat. John simply smiled.

“My turn.”

“Hm?”

“To flirt with you outrageously.”

“I don’t flirt with you!”

“Yes, you do! Outrageously! You’re a menace!”

“Is it working?”

John raised his eyebrows.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Pleased and blushing, you could only smile as you struggled to keep your eyes from drifting down to that intriguing mouth of his.

“You’re here because you just played an incredible gig to a heaving crowd.”

Even though it made John laugh, you couldn’t help feeling bad. You’d accidentally burst the bubble of tension building between you. Strangely, you missed it. You couldn’t help wondering what might have been, how much closer John might have stepped, how bravely you might have spoken if you’d let the moment go on just that little bit longer.

“Sorry about tonight.”

John shrugged.

“Something to learn from.”

“Are you always so..?”

“What?“

“I don’t know. ‘Easygoing’ doesn’t seem like the right word, but…”

“No point worrying about what you can’t change.”

“The others agree?”

“Rarely. On anything.” John looked down at the pavement again. “I think I’m different. From them, I mean. They all seem to slot together pretty well and I’m… I don’t know. The odd one out. I don’t really know who I am in the group.”

“Aren’t you the cute one?”

John huffed through his nose, shaking his head. You’d flustered him. With a smile, you realised you had the upper hand again.

“Have you seen Roger? He could charm a tortoise out of its shell.”

“Oh, he’s got nothing on you, New Boy.”

You pushed off the wall and stepped closer, and now you were invading his space. John didn’t move back though. He held his ground, his peculiar eyes fixed on yours.

“Mickey told me you said I was pretty,” he said eventually.

That stunned you for a second but you quickly recovered.

“Mickey’s an idiot.”

“So you don’t think I’m pretty?”

The street was completely empty, no cars, no people. There was only you and John, the only two people in the whole wide world. Under the amber light of a towering lamppost, you watched each other, waiting, daring, hoping.

At last, you said,

“I think you’re beautiful.”

John smiled, and you finally had an answer for him about where all those missing stars had disappeared to.

Feeling bold and drunk on the surreality of the evening, you asked,

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Mickey said you weren’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Gladys thought you might be.”

“I’m not, Skip.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Are you?”

“No!” You had to laugh. “No, no, I’m not. Not for ages. I mean, not ages. I have dated. But there’s not been anyone since- Not for ages.”

“Right.”

You watched each other again, just for a moment. John’s gaze dropped first. You knew to him it would feel like mere moments, but to you, the difference between his eyes on yours and his eyes on your mouth was staggering. It left you breathless.

When you stepped forward again, testing the waters, you were sure you saw John’s hand jump inside his pocket. What had its intended target been before he stopped himself? Had he felt cornered? Was it to press against his own racing heart? Did he itch to pull you in closer? You weren’t sure which option made you the most nervous.

His eyes were still fixed on yours though. John was a bundle of nerves but he was still here, he was still holding your gaze. What would happen if you took that final step closer?

It felt like an age before either of your moved again. It was John who finally surrendered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Breathless and brimming with every emotion under the sun, you forced a grin that slowly became more real as your heart began to settle again.

“Yeah, see ya. Don’t stay up too late, New Boy, you’ve got about a hundred orders to deliver in the morning.”

John laughed and rolled his eyes, muttering something like ‘great’ or ‘can’t wait’ under his breath, but you were still recovering and didn’t quite catch it.

You stepped into the warm, stark entrance to the tube station together. John had to take the Circle Line, so you parted ways after passing through the barriers. You waved goodbye to each other, both of you feeling suddenly very lonely.

You were just about to head towards the escalator down to your platform when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Almost forgot.” John slipped your scarf off and wrapped it around your neck, then bent down and kissed your cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

He said your name, your real name, so softly and so lovingly that you could hardly believe it. Then he was gone.

You stared after him, bewildered and flushed and fizzing with delight. It felt like every nerve in your body was alight, even your fingertips seemed to be tingling.

It wasn’t until the station guard sent you a warning look that you realised you were blocking the way. You hopped on the escalator, still feeling dizzy.

You pressed your fingers to the spot on your cheek where John had kissed you, then let them slip down to where his fingertips had grazed your neck as he tied your scarf for you. Though you weren’t sure why, you looked back up the length of the escalator, back to the spot where you’d said goodbye.

“Fuck,” you said, and laughed.

Master List

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

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johnlennonswifey · 9 months

Text

Since I haven’t been posting, I’ve decided I’ll make a little list of some of my favorite fics!!

🎸= All time fav

——

THE BEATLES-

John Lennon

70s!John x Reader 🎸

Mustache John x Reader

Paul McCartney

Paul x Reader (love letter) 🎸

Paul x Reader (Part 2 of 2)

George Harrison

Jealous!George x Reader 🎸(literally my fav fic ever)

Comfort!George x Reader

George x Reader (somewhat Friends to lovers?)

Ringo Starr

Teddy Boy!Ringo x Reader

Ringo x Assistant!Reader

Ringo x Reader (fluffy)

Ringo x Reader (Married, dinner with parents)🎸

QUEEN-

Roger Taylor

Roger x Reader (childhood friends to lovers)🎸

Roger x Reader (fluff)

Roger x Reader (fluff and more,(Roger gets hurt)) 🎸

John Deacon

John x Reader (John is readers handyman, I love this fic with all my heart pls read it)🎸

John x Reader (Series, 6/10 parts are out, I definitely recommend reading)🎸

Brian May

Brian x Reader (fluff)

Brian x Reader (Queen becomes a Hit)🎸

Brian x Reader (fluff)

Blurbs-

Beatles Blurb

#the beatles #the beatles x reader #john lennon x reader #ringo starr x reader #the beatles imagine #paul mccartney x reader #george harrison x reader #brian may x reader #john deacon x reader #roger taylor x reader #queen band

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nukaberries · 1 year

Note

Hey, could I have some reactions to the male companions *coughValentinecough* reactions to seeing a female Sole Survivor outside of their radiation suits for the first time?

This is actually a really cool idea!! and I'm loving the appreciation that Nick's getting right now (Bethesda make him romanceable NOW)

Male Companions React to Seeing Sole Outside Her Radiation Suit

(Includes: Danse, Deacon, Hancock, MacCready, Nick and Preston)

Paladin Danse He can relate to always wearing a suit that hides most of his appearance. However, Sole has seen Danse out of his power armour a fair few times while they've been travelling together, he's never seen Sole in anything but her radiation suit. He won't say anything at first, wanting to keep their relationship strictly professional, but Sole may catch him staring for a little too long from time to time, before snapping out of it and pretending nothing had happened.

Deacon He'd definitely already made his guesses on what Sole looks like outside of the suit. His personal favourite theory - that Glory and Tom got sick of hearing about - was that Sole had six heads and fourteen arms coming out of her stomach. Still, he can't deny that he's somewhat taken aback when Sole eventually does take her radiation suit off. He'll make a comment on how he's relieved she has a normal amount of limbs, to which he'll refuse to elaborate on. If they're in Railroad HQ, Glory will definitely smack him across the head.

Hancock While he never would've openly admitted, despite a few passing comments about Sole's 'interesting get up', Hancock was so curious about what Sole actually looked like under her suit. He would've never outright asked though, not wanting to come off as weird. When Sole does take her suit off around him, depending on how close they are, Hancock might mention how he prefers them without the suit. He won't want to make Sole feel uncomfortable though, especially if they're not very close, so he'll leave it at that.

MacCready He has no idea why Sole insists on wearing her radiation suit everywhere. The Glowing Sea, sure. Boston Commons, maybe. But Diamond City? If MacCready ever brings up Sole's suit, it'll be more about how he doesn't understand why they wear it everywhere. When Sole finally takes off her suit in his presence, he's initially just relieved it doesn't look like he's travelling the Commonwealth with an alien, then he realises how beautiful Sole actually is. It makes travelling with her afterwards a little more awkward - for him - often finding himself quite flustered around her. He just hopes that Sole hasn't caught on yet, or that she ever will.

Nick Valentine With his own get up being rather unconventional - how often do you see a synth detective? - Nick actually appreciates that Sole only ever goes around in a radiation suit. It somehow balances out how unusual they both appear alone and makes him feel just a little less abnormal. Admittedly, he is quite curious as to what Sole actually looks like, but he'd never outright ask or make her feel like she had to show him. When Sole does take her suit off, he's pleasantly surprised, but he won't mention it, wanting to avoid making her uncomfortable, even if he does think Sole's a sight for sore eyes. Whether Sole decides to keep the suit off or she puts it back on right after, Nick won't mind either way, he's just happy to have the company.

Preston Garvey When Preston first met Sole outside the Museum of Freedom, he was almost dead certain she was an alien, seeing her take down all those raiders in her radiation suit. He's only ever mentioned Sole's choice in clothing a few times, mainly wondering how she got into that power armour when she took on the Deathclaw. He'd never actually ask Sole to take her suit off, worrying she might not feel comfortable enough to, so when she finally does, he's relieved that she trusts him enough to take it off around him. Sure, her beauty is a bonus, but he decides to keep that part to himself for now.

#i tried to write extra for nick #but i think i wrote too much for mac by default #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout companions #fallout headcanons #fallout imagines #fallout x reader #paladin danse #fallout deacon #fallout hancock #john hancock #maccready #rj maccready #nick valentine #preston garvey

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fallrimxreader · 1 year

Text

Companions react to sole going AFK

Cait: Goes and leans against a tree or building. Keeping eyes open for anything alarming.

Curie: Stands by Sole and takes notes of what they do. (Nothing)

Codsworth: Begins to groom sole, cleaning them of dirt and brushing hair. Then checks the area for enemies.

Deacon: Depending on what sole is wearing, like a hat or jacket, Deacon will take it off sole and put it on himself. Then he will wait for sole to come back and notice.

Dogmeat: He sits in front of Sole, looking up to them whining, his head tilted.

Danse: Keeps his guard up and patrols the area for enemies.

Hancock: Checks sole out, admiring the view. (If romantically involved he makes a mental note to make love to that beautiful frame.) Then starts trying to move their limbs to put them into a funny position.

McCready: Sits against a tree, takes a drink, then a nap.

Piper: Looks around for a new story, taking notes, leaning against sole as they are more comfortable than a tree.

Preston: Sticks right next to sole assuming they will be back soon. He’ll sit when his legs get tired, but usually he’ll just walk circles around sole.

Strong: He nudges sole trying to get them to move. But when he realizes they are an immovable force he will leave. Just to get himself some food, then he comes back to munch it while watching sole.

Valentine: He takes a seat, pulls out a book, and reads until sole returns.

X6-88: Times exactly how long they go AFK for. As soon as sole gets back he lets them know how long they were gone for and tells sole all the things they could have done in that time.

#sole survivor #companions x reader #fallout 4 #fallout imagines #caitlyn siehl #codsworth #curie #paladin danse #Deacon #dogmeat #john hancock #maccready #valentine #Piper #preston garvey #Strong #x6-88

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 5 months

Note

could you please do a BoRhap request? Where she looks after the guys during recording since her family owns Rockfield Farm and they love her cooking? But the guys (minus Fred who has Mary) all fancy her too?

❤️

SOMEBODY TO LOVE

Pairings: John + Roger + Brian x Fem!reader Summary: ^^ Warnings: none, I don't think Note: I did my best guys, I'm sorry

a knock came to your door as you finished up breakfast

you left the kitchen and went to the front door

you opened the door to see a blonde with long hair with sunglasses on

he was wearing dark, slightly flared jeans, a yellow v neck shirt underneath a greeny grey jacket with fur

behind him was a short haired brunette with a mustache

he pushed the blonde out of the way and held out his hand

"hi, I'm paul, this is Roger, From Queen" he introduced

of course you knew Queen was coming to your family's farm, it wasn't like you didn't know who they were and wouldn't let them in, it's just that you felt Rogers gaze planted on you and it made you feel a little nervous

"you're not" Roger scoffed quietly

"yes, of course, come in, are the rest here too?" you asked, stepping out of the way to let them in

"they're sorting out their luggage" Roger answered, taking off his glasses

"well, I made breakfast..if you're hungry?" you smiled tightly

"depends what you're serving" Roger smirked and looked you up and down

"pancakes" you responded quickly

"yeah, I could eat"

he followed you to the kitchen and he took a seat, shovelling food onto the plate in front of him and started eating

a few minutes later Roger had finished his plate and went back for seconds

"ah there you are Freddie" Paul spoke up, noticing the other three band members by the door

"we're also here mate" the tall, long curly haired brunette said, seeming annoyed by Paul's presence

"should I show you boys to your rooms?" you wondered, breaking the silence that filled the room

The three boys standing at the door all turned to you

"didn't know the farm came with a pretty lady" the curly Brunette smiled

"oh I'm Y/n. this is my Family's Farm. I live in the building beside this one, I'm just here to show you around"

"are those pancakes for us?" the auburn haired one said

"oh, yes! you can have as many as you want" you pointed to the mountain of pancakes you had made on the counter

"they are delicious" Roger said with a mouthful of food

"well I'm Brian, This is Fred and John and I see you've already met Rog"

"it's a pleasure to meet you guys"

"pleasure's all ours darling" Freddie beamed

"well I'll show you your rooms then" you said taking off your apron and leading them upstairs

"it's probably not what you're used to but your manager said it was perfect to get away from distractions so" you shrugged

you turned to face the boys and see Roger first

"you're in here. mister Taylor" you looked to the first door

"right" he grunted, walking into the room with his heavy luggage

"and that's yours, Mister Mercury" you pointed to the room in the corner to the left

"thank you darling"

"Mister May, yours is right here" pointing to the right side next to the bathroom

Brian walked into the room and you noticed John still standing on the top of the stairs

"oh, sorry. mister Deacon, you're downstairs" he walks back down the stairs and you lead him down to the room.

"I know it's small but it doesn't get nearly as cold as the other rooms" you informed him

"okay..." he frowns as he steps down

"well I'll let you get settled then, i'll show you and the band around when you're ready" you smiled, starting to go up the stairs

"are there still pancakes?" he asked, putting his luggage down on the bed

"oh yeah, they'd probably still be warm too" you answered

he soon started following you up the stairs to the kitchen to find all the other members of the band eating the pancakes

"Rog really didn't lie, these pancakes are delicious" Brian hummed

"we need more syrup" Roger lifted up the empty bottle of maple syrup

"oh..ok" you walked over to the fridge as John took a seat and started eating the food

"here you go" you grinned, putting the syrup on the table in front of them

it's been a few days since they've arrived and much to your surprise, you've seen more of them then you expected

you didn't think you would see much of them, you thought thy would be very busy and you didn't have a problem with that

but Roger, Brian and John all seemed to want you around them

Roger would casually flirt with you

Brian would always start up a conversation or make you help with with a lyric

and John would subtly make eye contact and smile before coming up to you to ask for suggestions

and they would all ask if you could cook them up something when they got hungry and said they liked your cooking, so much so that there would be barely any left for Freddie or you.

Roger was currently helping you make breakfast while Brian and John sat and ate while they discussed songs

"i put my heart and soul into this song" Roger spoke up as they talked about his new song he made

"no one is disputing that" John smiled, lifting up his fork

"and you don't like it because you want your songs on the album" Roger fought

"it's not that Roger" John denied

"then what is it?" the blonde raised his eyebrows as he stopped cutting bread

"I'm in love with my car?" Brian spoke up

you fought back a laugh at the thought of the song

Brian and John both made a questionable face as silence filled the air

"maybe it's not strong enough?" Brian suggested

"what does that even mean 'not strong enough'?" Roger frowned

"I know I'm late. What did I miss?" Freddie came in and poured himself some tea

John straightened his back and looked at the singer "discussing Roger's car song"

"is it strong enough, that's all I'm asking. If I'm on my own here, then i apologise" Brian put his hands up defensively

"how does your new song go, then, hm?" Roger walked over and grabbed Brians lyrics

"you call me sweet.. like I'm some kind of cheese" the drummer read out

you stifled a laugh as you cooked bacon

"it's good" Brian defended, looking at the John who was eating a sausage with a smile and Freddie who was stirring his tea

"wow" Roger sighed sarcastically

"is that-, is that you know- when my hand's on your grease gun..That's very subtle isn't it?" Brian read Rogers back

"it's a metaphor, Brian" Roger argued

"it's just a bit weird Roger, what exactly are you doing with that car?" John spoke, waving his fork around

"what do you think, Y/n?" Roger turned to you, looking for backup

you put the now cooked bacon on a plate and turned to the boys

"don't turn to me, I'm not getting involved" you shook your head

"children please, we could all murder each other but then who would be left to record this album?" Freddie butted in

"statistically speaking, most bands don't fail, they break up" John stated mater-of-a-factly

"why the hell would you say something like that?" Freddie frowned

John shrugged and Freddie turned back to the Blonde

"Roger, there's only room in this band for one hysterical queen" Freddie informed the drummer before walking out

"you know why you're angry, Roger?" Brian began again

"...why?" Roger breathed out

"'cause you know you're song isn't strong enough" the curly headed man repeated

"boys I really don't think you should be-" you started to say but cut off by Roger throwing bacon at Brian's face

"is that strong enough?" Roger questioned

"ok" you mumbled, looking at John, who smiled at you amusingly

Roger pushed off plates and glasses off the table angrily

"what about that?!" he asked before going over to find something else

"Hey!" you yelled at Roger, who grabbed a pot of Coffee

he turned and began to swing it at the two boys before he stopped as they put their hands up

"Not the coffee machine!?" they both yelled

Roger put the coffee machine down and you sighed looking at the mess

"I'll clean this up" he sighed after a moment of silence

"you sure are" you nodded sternly

you sat in the recording room on the couch with John and Roger as Brian got ready to record his guitar

Roger slung his arm around your shoulder as Brian got set up

"so..how about we go get dinner later" he suggested

"pardon?" you wondered

"you, me, i'll take you out to dinner" he repeated

"I highly doubt she'll want to go out with you, Roger, she's too good for you" John sighed

"and what? you're better?" the drummer scoffed, looking over you to the auburn headed bassist

John stared at Roger for a moment

"how's katie? last time we saw her was right before we left to come here" the Deacon wondered

"shut it mate" Roger groaned

your thoughts were cut short as Brian started playing

you focused on the music but felt John's gaze on you, you slowly turned your head to see him staring at you, smiling

"so, do you have a boyfriend?" Roger asked

"I don't see how that's any of your business" you crossed your arms, looking back at Brian, who's still playing his solo

"what if I want to ask you out?" he shrugged

"how come you're the one that gets to ask her out?" John leans forward to argue with Roger

"because I can" the Taylor boy smirked

"Roger, do you have to be such a man whore?" John questioned, his accent become more defined and thick

"I think you're just jealous you don't get women chasing after you" Roger huffed, leaning back on the couch, seeming to be not fazed

"ah yes, because all i need is women to make me feel better about myself, all i need and want is women around me to fill a void of unfulfillment" John rolled his eyes

"oh yeah? let's see who she wants more then" Roger raises his eyebrows as he took off his glasses to look at you

John frowned "you can't pressure her into choosing either of us...that's not how relationships work, Roger"

Roger stifled a laugh "who said I wanted a relationship"

"my point exactly"

"all i'm saying" is that she's probably looking for somebody to love and i'm right here" Roger raised his hands in defense

"what makes you think she wants someone?" John glared

"children, children. leave the poor girl alone, she doesn't want either of you" Freddie butted in

you found yourself wondering how it came to this, two members of the band Queen almost practically fighting for your, to be with you

it made sense about Roger, seeing all of those tabloids of him with new girls around his shoulder almost every week

but John? he didn't really seem the type

you tuned out of the argument and soon wondered when Brian came back into the room as you looked up to find him sitting with Freddie

"I think whatever happens, it's up to her, you shouldn't be trying to force something she does not want" John fought

"what are you guys fighting about?"

"who gets to take this beautiful lady out" Roger smirked, nodding towards you

"who says either of you get to?" Brian spoke in a confused manner

"oh don't tell me you want her too?" Roger groaned

"what's so wrong about that?" the guitarist questioned

"I'm gonna go" you sighed, getting up

"are you still going to make us pasta tonight?" John perked up

you chuckled "I think you all need a break from my cooking"

"NO!!"

--------------------------------------------

#borhap #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #joe mazzello #ben hardy #gwilym lee #bohemian rhapsody #imagines #x fem!reader #freddie mercury #rami malek #bohrhap

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everysongineverykey · 8 months

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honestly it bugs me a little how 99% of the comments on the these are the days of our lives music video, one of my personal favorite queen mvs for pure aesthetics and mood, are people calling it "heartbreaking" and hand-wringing about how SICK and PALE and CLOSE TO DEATH freddie mercury looks. like. wooow the dying man looks like he's dying? really? well done, nancy drew! have a gold star! yes aids is an awful fucking disease and yes hiv positive people shouldn't be reduced to washed-out portraits of the words "inspirational" and "strong" by the media and they should have their pain acknowledged but guys. freddie, by all accounts, very much Did Not Want To Dwell On It. he told his friends he had aids and then immediately was like but i don't want to talk about it. i just want to spend the rest of my time making as much music as i can. and his bandmates accepted that and supported him! he wanted to spend the time he had doing what he loved with people he loved and who loved him and he did. he had, by all accounts, a great last year. that one person who took the days of our lives bts color footage and edited Sad Piano Music TM over the entire thing and intercut interviews with the rest of the band also with Sad Piano Music TM and made it so we could barely hear freddie even say anything... it makes my blood boil like he's literally just. like it's literally just footage of him walking and discussing a take with the director and standing waiting for the take to start like. normal video filming stuff. and all anyone can see is a tragedy because he's walking stiffly or whatever

#imagine you're dying and you just want to spend your last days making music that you love and that other people love #and you're in so much pain all the time but you make the effort to go into work #and record even though your voice is getting weaker by the day #and film a video. even though you have to spend hours in makeup so people don't realize you're sick #and it hurts to STAND but you do it anyway #and you request that certain takes be redone because you still want to make the video the best it can be! you don't care that you're hurtin #you really want to make something you're proud of that people will love #because you know it might well be your last video #and you want it to be a fitting sendoff #so that you avoid being remembered for your disease #and then thirty years later no one talks about the actual video #they're not like 'what an epic kimono!' or 'this pared-down set is so nice and really fits the song!'#or 'wow roger taylor's wearing one hell of a shirt!' or 'this is some of john deacon's best bass work!'#they do exactly what you did not want. they focus on how sick you look.#i literally saw a comment that was like 'you can see the sadness in roger and john's eyes🥺'#bitch no the fuck you can't. shut up. you have the benefit of hindsight. you KNOW freddie was sick at the time #but if you didn't know that i know you wouldn't suspect a thing #fuck off. you're making that up! they literally don't look sad they look fine #because this may come as a shock to you but they were also doing something they loved #and yes undoubtedly the mood was dampened by freddie's condition. but do you think they didn't enjoy it at all?#you can literally see roger smiling in a couple shots. please just appreciate the band's hard work. it's a really good fucking song #and a really good fucking video.#sorry. lot of tags. i just have strong feelings on this lol

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imagine-silk · 2 years

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Could I request the Fallout 4 companions' (if not all then at least John Nick Deeks and Mac) reaction to a male ss who has always had a beard but has to shave it for some reason and has a serious case of baby face?

I think your referring to Hancock when you say John, no prob bob. My brother actual has a super baby face when he accidentally shaves it off.

HANCOCK

He's going to touch your face every chance he gets and has the softest smile while doing it. "You have really smooth skin."

NICK

He softly chuckles and goes back to reading his case. To be completely fair he is a middle-aged man in a robots body. "I always forget how young you are."

DEACON

He doesn't outwardly react but he does comment on it with a shit-eating grin. "And I thought I was a shapeshifter."

MACCREADY

He will laugh in your face, aggressively. Is he throwing stones from a glass house? Yes. "I guess some people can't pull off a clean-shaven look."

#fallout 4 #fallout imagines #fallout x reader #male reader #deacon fo4 #john hancock #nick valentine #maccready #companions react #ask and you shall receive

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twotitsjohndecaon · 2 years

Text

In Only Seven Days

In honor of our man John Richard Deacon being born on August the 19th 1951, I got a little somethin happy birthday king

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: drinking, language I think, lil bit of drama but lots of cutesy stuff, and sexy times again not too bad but 18+ nonetheless

MONDAY

Interview Monday. Recording Tuesday. Clean the flat Wednesday. Record Thursday. Record Friday. Sit around and get nothing done in the studio Saturday. And then photoshoot and listen to Roger complain about his insipid “drum sound” Sunday.

John was stuck in a draining cycle. Of course, there were exciting moments of respite like a party or or concert every once in a while, but those had grown few and far between as of late, and John couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone and gotten a drink, or Hell, even smiled beyond the flash of a false nicety to the studio’s secretary every morning, and that was just so he wouldn’t seem like a complete dick.

It was a miserable, rainy, English Friday night when the sun had set unreasonably early and Brian’s whining about wanting more of a guitar solo had finally pushed John over the edge. The next morning he immediately looked for a flight in the phone book to the farthest place away possible, which seemingly just so happened to be the island of Bali. The cost was massive, but with buzzwords like “sun” and “far” John couldn’t find it in him to care. By Sunday evening, a suitcase was packed and a brief note was left on his bass guitar, leaving the others with not much beyond a simple “hasta la vista.”

And so, Monday, after a long but relaxing Freddie-less and Roger-lacking flight (with a touch of Brian-emptiness), and a simple taxi ride and check in to the resort (which he assumed was a result of the large sum he had thrown to some B-class travel agent) John felt something beautiful and serene: freedom, even if it was just for this one week. Eyes weighed heavy, body un-tensing upon a soft mattress, pillow chocolates tossed carelessly aside, and a balmy heat surrounding him, John finally allowed himself to relax.

***

You could hardly believe your luck. Every quarter, your work held a raffle for the employees where they gave away something nice to a winner chosen at random. Gift cards, a new TV set, and good department store discounts were the typical sort of prizes. But this time, the winnings were bigger. A weeks holiday for one at a resort in Bali. It was more expensive than the usual prizes, but you supposed since the holidays weren’t so far off it made sense that they’d bulk up the winnings. You hadn’t expected to win, really, you never had with any of the other items before. But here you were, one week later in Bali. You were quite happy. You didn’t know much about the island, but who were you to turn down a week of relaxation? A week of beach, sun, drinks, and massages were of no complaint, and you were sure you’d leave satisfied by the end of it all. Everything between traveling and checking in had gone smoothly, as per arranged by your work, and after a nice dinner in the hotel you sunk into bed. The vacation really would be nice. It had been a stressful quarter; you deserved it. It was easy to fall asleep dreaming about an upcoming week of nothing.

TUESDAY

It was all really nice. Relaxing, just like you’d thought. After a wonderful breakfast and glorious morning in the spa, you decided to soak up some sun, a rarity in November, and headed down to the beach. The hotel had its own reserved section of the beach with canopies and chairs set up, but you decided to go the more bohemian route of laying on your towel in the sand. You closed your eyes, soaking up the rays, feeling recharged already. You weren’t sure how long you had been lying there for before you opened your eyes, blinking harshly at the light reflecting upon the water as your vision returned to normal. Once you could see you lazily took. In your surroundings. Then you noticed him.

A man around your age, with perfect brown hair staring at you. Typically when men stared at you (especially older men and especially when you were in a bikini) it made you quite uncomfortable, a low predatory gaze directed your way, but this man’s eyes read the complete opposite, and there wasn’t any way you could know that except for that you just did. Maybe it was how his eyes weren’t raking over you like a possession, but rather like a fascination of a piece of art, how you’d look at the Mona Lisa. There wasn’t anything but genuine in his gaze, like he had known you fondly and forever. You couldn’t say you were reciprocating, maybe you were trying to, but you were a bit too transfixed. He was cute, handsome, and even if he had been looking your way in a more typically male fashion it wouldn’t have been an invitation you would have necessarily turned away. But it was more than that, and even though you could have sworn you had never seen this man in your life, he nearly could’ve convinced you that you had. The intensity, and unexpectedness of this moment had made you feel something, perhaps not a butterfly fluttering in your stomach, but maybe a chrysalis or a caterpillar at the very least. Then your eyes met, just for a second, and wanting to show that his gaze was welcome, you gave him a smile, a big one which flew onto your face on its own accord. He smiled back, a bit nervous but you could both understand that this was an uncommon but special moment for the both of you.

But then, moment over. Somebody’s kid ran past screaming, kicking sand all over the place, covering your hair which you had really wanted to stay clean. The moment was broken, and you sighed, quickly dusting yourself off before standing and shaking off your towel. You planned to give the man another smile, one that silently commented on the situation, but you couldn’t see him any longer when you looked again. It was still very bright, so you shaded your eyes, scanning the promenade left to right, and right to left, but nothing. He was gone, almost like a sweet figment of your imagination. You sighed and walked back to your room to take a shower before dinner.

***

Silence was a gift. A glorious gift that John had bought for himself through this trip. It was everything he needed. And he found himself on the beach minutes after his late breakfast (more brunch— he deserved to sleep in). Ensuring he was properly sun protected (thanks to his pasty British winter complexion, he was susceptible to burning), he headed down for a full day at the beach. He would poke around the hotel later; he had plenty of time for that. As he reclined in one of the chairs which the resort had set out, he only heard the deep and true push and pull of waves, and the calming distant chatter of others. In and out of dozing, he had to have been there for hours when he felt a bit parched, and intended to get up for a drink, something fancy, he had in mind. But then he saw her.

She was the most beautiful woman to ever exist, there was no doubt about it. A short circuit shot and fired in his brain, and his senses turned to mush from no result of being in the sun too long. She simply strolled out closer to the water and laid out her towel, perfectly, and laid down. It was effortless and eternal, her existence seemingly solely to captivate John. The quiet that had overtaken him earlier which he so desperately wanted was gone, replaced by a million screams of disbelief and yearning.

He felt like he knew her, that they were meant to be and connected. That the universe had perfectly designed this moment just for him for something wonderful he must have done. If that were the case, he would thank the universe every day of his life from now on. All thoughts of getting a drink were gone as he was glued to his chair, but in an upright position, looking at her, probably quite obviously and maybe creepily. But he couldn’t move or do anything but admire.

This had never happened to him before. There were people John had been attracted to before from fleeting looks, sure, but never one with such a physical and visceral reaction. He didn’t know why either; it’s like everything that needed to work, every box that could possibly need to be checked off simply was and beyond.

Then, she stood up, and somehow, looked at him. John froze further, somehow becoming liquid, frozen solid, and feeling light as air at the same time. She smiled. He smiled back, but not as good as hers was.

Then the moment was over. Everything came crashing back, reality, sense, and social awareness, and he realized how big of a fool of himself he must have just made. Before the sand could clear and the most recent wave could be pulled back out to sea, John panicked and scurried away. He couldn’t spare a glance back. Breaking out into a sweat unrelated to the tropical heat, he quickly ran back to his room, where maybe he would just spend the rest of the trip now.

But no, after a shower and cooling down and finally getting that drink (although he just ordered one to his room instead of going to the bar like he wanted) he came to his senses a bit.

Instant physical attraction, just a small crush, that’s all it was. This happened all the time to… everyone, really. John shook his head to himself, opening his balcony window to sit on the porch and enjoy the sunset with his drink. He was being silly. It was a bit strange he had such a reaction, but he had simply found a woman attractive. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, it had been a while for him. It was probably that, and a mixture of being tired from travel and the heat. He shouldn’t overthink it. This holiday was just for relaxing, so he closed his eyes once more, and that’s what he did.

WEDNESDAY

John somewhat shamefully admitted to himself by the end of the day that he had gone a bit out of his way to find her again. But no luck. He tried the beach, but she wasn’t there, but to be fair he went at a different time today than yesterday. Nothing in the restaurant, but maybe she ate dinner early, and nothing at the bar. And then the entire day had passed by and John realized how silly he had been searching for her all day instead of enjoying his vacation. So he booked a late night massage, ordered extra pillow chocolates to his room which he gorged upon while watching mindless TV, and then fell asleep. Relaxing like he wanted. But he couldn’t push the thought out of his head anymore once his head hit the pillow. He hoped that he would see her again, tomorrow, ever, he didn’t mind. He just needed to see her again, to confirm to himself that he had in fact just been acting silly and it was just a crush. That’s what he told himself. But really he knew deep down it’s because he needed to see her again. But that would have to wait for tomorrow.

***

Maybe he really had been a figment of your imagination. No luck at the beach, bar, or restaurant, or even in the spa, and you may have accidentally on purpose walked past the men’s pool changing room to peer in just in case (unfortunately for you that resulted in seeing way too much potential-naked-old-man). So you sighed and booked yourself a pedicure, which was soothing, and had your dinner, which was lovely, and headed down to the bar for a second time.

It wasn’t particularly crowded for a Wednesday evening, but you supposed that made sense. You had some nice drinks, mostly kept to yourself, talked to the bartender a bit, and then a nice man came up to you. He was attractive, and you’d normally entertain the both of you for at least a little bit before you decide to dive in or cut it off, but you didn’t even let it get that far this time. He was nice and good looking, but he wasn’t that other man. It seemed ridiculous of you to turn down advances like you were already in a relationship, but something didn’t feel right. The moment on the beach the other day felt too unresolved to have anything else happen with, well, anyone. So you gave stiff answers and turned away quickly from the man, and he got the message and wandered off. You finished your drinks and headed back to your room. Where was he? And why did you want to see him so badly again? You couldn’t answer, though, as your eyes grew heavy from all of the thinking, all of the running around looking for him, and from the tinge of alcohol coursing through your system.

THURSDAY

Another day of relaxation, or at least an attempt to. The encounter with the man still pervaded your thoughts, although maybe a little less as time went on. Good. Probably. No use dwelling over it. You thought to yourself in the morning why this was sticking with you so much. Maybe it was just the intensity. No one had ever looked at you so thoroughly before, and it made you feel hungry to be understood. It was a particular glance, something you’d remember fondly and mention to your friends a bit off hand and more casually than what was actually warranted. You’d leave out the part about obsessing over it for days, or maybe you’d add that in to the anecdote humorously, because classic Y/N, always creating an extreme romance-Disney-Princess-love-at-first-sight scenario in your head.

Or maybe you wouldn’t mention it, because it still felt too big and special to comprehend. You really couldn’t process why this was on your mind so harshly. You tried to put it aside a bit, still there in the back of your nagging conscious, but not at the forefront, which would have to do.

Since this was on your mind on some level, however, it made you too present to completely space out and mindlessly enjoy the pampering, so you were all too aware of the monotony of your vacation routine.

Not like there was much else to do. So you sucked it up and did the same stuff as you did the day before and before, and it was fine, and then you found yourself in the bar again, a mid-level conversation in with the bartender, and a few drinks down, enough for a bit of a buzz but nothing where you weren’t completely aware of your surroundings. The conversation died down with the bartender after a few more people came in and he had to take their orders, leaving you stirring your drink. You sighed, looking to see who had come in, and saw no one special. A middle aged couple, an elderly couple, another middle aged couple… there was certainly a type that the resort attracted. And it seemed like no one was there alone besides you either. Well, besides one other. But maybe he—, no, probably— he had a girlfriend too, she was just out of sight for the moment. Maybe you had confused the entire situation and were an idiot. You stirred your drink again. Took a sip. Looked up again. And there, right in front of you, he was.

***

John stupidly (he assumed) spent his entire day looking for you again while disguising it as taking part in a normal vacation. He didn’t look very much harder, or very well he suspected, as he simply checked the same spots (though he was on time for the beach today) and had no luck. Spa, beach, restaurant, beach, lobby, beach, nothing, until he called it quits and decided to finally get that drink at the bar he had been holding off since Tuesday. He freshened himself up a bit, making himself for presentable for the venue, and made his way down, giving up a little bit in his mind at finding you, which was deeply disappointing but a bit comforting as it was a load off of his mind.

But then everything was rushing back. He walked in, and saw you there, stirring your drink so brilliantly, and every seemingly ridiculous little desperation that had plagued him about you for the past couple of days came rushing back to him.

You sat in a perfect, casual yet formal warm weather dress, stirring what looked to be some extravagant fruit cocktail, looking a bit bored, definitely alone and with no one else. You couldn’t possibly be in a relationship if you were at the bar like this, right? John collected his mind the best that he could (physically however he was still stuck gaping in the entryway like an idiot). This was his chance. He normally wasn’t so forward. The girls after concerts usually came up to him and the others themselves, he never really had to make the initial approach. But it was for this reason with you standing all alone so perfectly that he decided to go for it, because if the way he had been kicking himself for running away for the past day and a half was a preview to how the rest of his life would be if he had never given it a chance, he was in for a long and painful ride. Finally collecting himself physically as well (luckily you hadn’t seemed to have seen him) he made his way over to you. He walked right up to you, up to your field of vision, and then you looked at each other again. It was the same as before, more so and better up close. At least it confirmed to him that he had made the correct decision in obsessing over you, that it wasn’t a complete loss, because he could see better now that you were definitely worth obsessing over. John had made a critical mistake however. He forgot to think of something to say to you once he got up here. Or anything at all.

***

You could see that he was having a hard time, that he was nervous, but you found it endearing that he could be so sheepish, and not just to be nice in social politics. You were very glad to see him again. While his problem seemed to be that he was (hopefully) so excited that he couldn’t say anything, yours was the opposite. Seeing him again made you giddy, like you could gab on for hours about how you felt, or maybe just giggle about it to yourself in amazement. But you decided to help him out.

“Hi,” you said softly, thinking that was a good place to start. The man gulped. You seemed to have successfully snapped him out of his stupor for the time being. He smiled, embarrassed, but it was so lovely. His cheeks rosed.

“Hi…” he drifted off, then realizing he was being an idiot again, “Sorry, I— I think I saw you at the beach the other day,” he said in a whimsy tone, struck by so much of you.

You nodded. “I think I saw you too. I’m Y/N.”

Y/N. It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard, an antidote in verbal form to any ailment he’d ever had. John didn’t believe in God necessarily but he believed there could be one now with that name, it was too divine otherwise. He was staring again.

“Would you like to sit down?” you asked, nodding your head to the empty seat he was near.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he smiled, but this time really smiled, and you were beyond delighted when you saw the adorable gap between his front teeth. “What are you having?”

“Just a spritz.”

“Oh, those are good.”

“Are you gonna get something?” you asked with a teasing smile, catching him become distracted again.

“Oh! Yes.” He ordered a Pilsner. Each of you took a sip contentedly. The silence wasn’t awkward, though it persisted, it felt necessary to drink everything in, quite literally.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Oh, sorry, John. It’s John,” he said, cursing himself for being so starstruck in a sense. You sipped again. He gulped. “This… may sound strange, but I feel like I’ve met you before, even though I’m almost sure I haven’t.” He paused. “Sorry. That’s silly.” You put your hand on his arm, and his skin burned wonderfully at the contact.

“No. I didn’t know how to bring it up, but I feel the same way,” you nodded.

“That’s part of why I was looking at you the other day. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.”

“No, you didn’t at all.”

“Good,” you both smiled, and sipped again, feet pointed towards each other in clear direct interest. “What brings you to Bali?” he asked. You stirred your drink and smiled excitedly.

“I won a week here from a raffle my company does. I didn’t expect to win! It was such a nice surprise. It’s been so nice too.”

“Isn’t it? It’s gorgeous here.”

“What brings you here then? All the way from… Leicestershire?” you said, trying to place his accent. John chuckled.

“Good ear. But I live in London now. And I’m escaping from the hooligans I have to unfortunately live and work with.” He said. You chuckled.

“Hooligans, hm? You’ll have to tell me more,” you prompted. John continued to tell you all about his band, the other boys, and all of the antics they got up to in their youth, and still today really. You thought it was charming how John took charge of his life and set his boundary when things got too intense at work, and took a trip to Bali. That, and you were grateful to be around him in general. You also graciously learned that the both of you were single, due to some stars aligning in the universe. The two of you hit it off, and talked nonstop. You had never felt such ease of conversation between someone. Lots of times in your life you didn’t know how to continue a person, like you couldn’t read or relate to people and the conversation would fizzle out, even if you enjoyed it, racking your brain for something more, but that never happened with John, or at least so far. He always managed to keep you engaged and excited to talk to him, and in the ways you least expected but was most pleased with. You felt alight and recharged for anything, really, once the bartender alerted you that the bar was soon closing for the night, and you realized you were just about the only two left. It had been like time stood still when you were with John. You turned back to him from the bartender after they’d warned you. You two were silent for a moment.

“What was the other part?” you enquired.

“Other part?”

“Earlier. You said when you were looking at me the other day, part of it was because you felt like you knew me. What was the other part?” John took a deep breath in. You could tell he was nervous, and grabbed his hand that was nearest to you and gave it a squeeze. That, and maybe the alcohol was making you a bit more willing to be more touchy with John.

“Because I’d never seen someone so beautiful before in my life,” he sighed, looking deep into your eyes, seeing you truly, uncensored.

“John…” you sighed happily. Usually you’d think this was some sort of trick to get you in bed, but you could tell, you just knew John meant it. And he was talking about the inside, too, and you felt so whole.

“I know, it’s cheesy, but I… can’t describe it. It just is. You just are.” You grabbed his other hand.

“I believe you John. And I think the same thing,” you said, fluttering your eyelashes a bit as you looked down at your hands. He squeezed them and your eyes met again.

The bartender gave the two of you a pleading look, and taking pity on him, understanding he wanted to finish his long day, you both glanced towards the door. You hopped off the stool and started to shuffle reluctantly towards the door with John by your side. Once you had exited the bar, standing outside the glass doors, the beautiful manicured garden of the resort behind you, the only sound coming from the trickling fountain put in as an outdoor centerpiece and the ocean softly in the distance, a sigh, a constant pushing of everything together. The only light a few small outside lamps no more than a minimal illumination for the footpath, and the moon shining down, as the lights to the bar shut off. John faced you and took your hands, everything shining in each other’s eyes. Your palms were held high as your fingers interwove.

“Can I see you again tomorrow?” John breathed, whispered. You nodded fervently.

“Of course. I have all day.” John looked at you intensely and kissed the back of one of your hands.

“Meet for breakfast? At the buffet?” he asked.

“Perfect,” you smiled. You managed to tear away for a moment, and parted in opposite directions to your own rooms. You didn’t need to look back, and neither did he, because you knew you’d see each other again.

FRIDAY

You met John right on time, and maybe you’d woken up a bit earlier to make sure you looked extra nice for breakfast. When you saw him, large smiles flew onto both of your faces and you walked directly to him, everything looking clean, fresh, bright, and wonderful in the morning sunlight. He was even more adorable with his slightly pillow-ruffled hair and wide awake eyes.

“Good morning,” you said, giggling a little, and you didn’t even know why.

“Morning,” John said happily back, also giggling a bit, just excited to see you again. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Amazing,” John smiled. “Shall we eat?” he said, gesturing to the food. You nodded. John handed you a plate and you each loaded up on the complimentary continental breakfast that was included for staying at the resort. You both sat down at a table with a fantastic beach view. You both seemed to take it in for a moment before turning to your food, and then each other. Neither of you could stop smiling.

“The weather’s been so nice here,” you said.

“Yeah, we really lucked out. I heard it rains quite often. Just like jolly ol’ England,” said John. You chuckled and agreed. “I feel I was a bit selfish last night. I only spoke about me,” he said, eyebrows furrowing for a moment.

“No! I enjoyed it. You’re fascinating, John!” you chuckled. He blushed at the compliment.

“But I do want to know more about you. Tell me about this job you work at, where you win trips to Bali.”

“You make it sound like I do this all the time,” you laughed again. You proceeded to tell him about your career, your studies to get you there, and just how passionate you were about the subject and lucky you felt to be working somewhere you loved. John loved seeing you light up about the things you were ardent about. “But I really do enjoy it. I could only dream about such a thing when I was a kid,” you finished, also taking the last bite of your food. “Look at me, now I’ve been the one talking all about myself,” you smiled sheepishly.

“Not at all. To quote someone I know, you’re fascinating,” he smiled. It was your turn to blush now. John took the final sip of the glass of milk he had gotten for himself. He stood up and cleared your plate without asking, ever the gentleman. You stood up to thank him.

“I’m sure I’ll gain a few pounds from these daily high sugar breakfast pancakes by the end of this trip,” he commented. You smiled at his quip. He began to say something else, but before he could you spoke over him.

“Would you like to come to the beach with me?” You said quickly, and then composing yourself a little and blushing at your eagerness. “I mean— I was going to spend most of the day lazing around there. Might take a dip. Only if you’re not busy,” you said softly. John beamed at how adorable you were. You could’ve then sworn your heart stopped when he suddenly brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’d love to,” he said.

You both agreed to change and then meet back at the private beach entrance in a few minutes. You met, and John looked perfectly handsome, all tan from the former days of sun, and John used all of his willpower to compose himself around you in your bikini, trying not to stare. You chuckled, noticing, but took his hand before he could feel bad about it (because it wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest) and led him towards the sand, towards two chairs that had been set up in front of an umbrella. After coating yourself in copious amounts of sunscreen and scolding John for not putting on enough (“John, it isn’t safe!”) and laughing again when he then smeared an exaggerated amount of lotion on his nose like a lifeguard before rubbing it in, the two of you settled down and talked more. The conversation eventually died out naturally and both of you soaked in the rays peacefully, and soaked in each other’s presence, each which had a glorious contented effect on the other. You were so relaxed, more so than any spa treatment or nap had made you feel in the days prior. You were so relaxed in fact, that you didn’t notice John had been gone until you sensed the light shift over your eyes, shading them further. You opened them, blinking to the sudden light, to see John smiling over you and holding out two ice creams, one for each of you. You gasped excitedly and took one, thanking him as you began to eat the delicious treat.

“How’d you know chocolate was my favorite?” you asked.

“Lucky guess,” he smiled. The two of you finished quickly, laughing as you each attempted to catch the drips before it made a mess, the ice cream melting fast in the sun. You both inevitably ended up, however, with sticky hands, and a few drops on your stomachs and legs, the heat too much for the frozen treat. You looked to each other and laughed at your states.

“Come on, let’s clean off,” you said, nodding towards the water. John began to stand up. “Race you?” you said, and took off before John could realize what you had said. But momentarily, you heard him scoff and accuse you of cheating, and then sand being kicked behind you. You squealed as the cool water reached your toes, and then even more so when John suddenly grabbed your waist and pushed the both of you further into the water. Both of you fell softly as the waves caught any impact you might have had, soaking you both, but you couldn’t seem to care as you both attempted to stand, hard to do with all of the laughter.

“I won,” said John, catching his breath.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call that winning,” you smiled. John retaliated by splashing a bit of water back at you, and you did so back. Before it got too ugly your breath hitched as John once again put a hand on your waist like he had moments before. He brushed now a wet strand of your hair behind your ear once more, and you placed a hand on his forearm. You both saw into each other’s eyes, understanding how special you were to each other in this moment. You each turned to the horizon, watching the sun glitter off of the waves as it began to descend into a gilded set. You both stood and watched for a few minutes, and you gasped excitedly as the sun gave off an emerald flash as it bent under the water’s horizon.

“That was so beautiful,” you whispered.

“It was,” said John, but he was looking more at you than anything else. You turned to him. “Meet me for dinner. Let’s clean up and meet for dinner,” he said. You nodded excitedly. You walked back to your rooms once more and agreed to meet at the reception area in an hour.

After a shower, singing to yourself happily the entire time, you decided on what to wear. You decided on a black sundress that you had brought, one you had meant to pass as casual but could definitely be more formal. It’s why you had bought it in the first place a while ago, it was good for switching from day to night when you didn’t have time to properly change. By some alignment of the stars, you had packed it with you. You gave yourself the best blowout you could with the small hairdryer included in your room’s amenities and touched your makeup up a bit before heading to the hotel’s reception. He was already there when you arrived. His eyes found yours and widened, taking in your form.

“Y/N…” he trailed off. “you look beautiful,” he said in a daze.

“Back at you,” you giggled, making John blush. He really did look extremely handsome. He also seemed to not have packed anything particularly formal, but looked incredible in some flares and a button down, which revealed his tanned chest underneath. “Shall we?” he asked. You nodded, and looped your arm into his.

You arrived to the restaurant, mutually deciding to try something outside of the resort for the first time all week for each of you, and decided on a nice looking place nearby. It was still relatively tourist-y, so there were still English menus, but it felt nice to get out. You each ordered drinks, a nice meat entree each, and shared a chocolate cake for desert as the conversation flowed easily between you two throughout the night. You felt like you were soaring around John, and he felt enlightened by you. Each of you felt like there was a motivational reason to wake up in the morning for each other. John, ever the gentleman, insisted on paying for the meal (though you forced him to let you pay for the drinks at least) and you were soon walking hand in hand through the quiet, dimly lit streets through the night. John additionally insisted on walking you to your room, and you were sure you’d never smiled so much by the time you’d arrived in front of your door. The conversation halted naturally as you turned around to face him, your hands still firmly in his. His breath hitched, and he felt choked nearly as you looked at him, your gazes so intense.

“I had the loveliest evening John,” you whispered.

“Me too.” He brought one of your hand up and gave it a kiss, and your heart just about melted. You couldn’t help but move closer to him a bit.

“Not just the dinner. The whole day has been amazing. One of the best I’ve ever had,” you started. He nodded firmly. “I know that seems strange to say. But it’s true.”

“Me too. I feel the same way. It feels a bit ridiculous to say, since I’ve only known you for so shortly, but everything feels so… right. And I hope you don’t think I’m too forward to say such a thing,” he confessed. He had confessed more than just his appreciation of the day in his speech, and you both knew it; it didn’t have to be said directly. John would normally never be this forward. He could be very blunt at times, but not in anything more genuine than annoyance at Brian. And the petty side of him typically made everyone around him figure everything out. He was usually the type sit back and watch, to laugh at the inevitable he could seemingly predict, but none of that seemed right here. All John could feel was genuine and good, and it was so overwhelming he had to say it out loud, in very plain terms. Never had he felt something so physical, so emotional. The two of you were simply understood and all of yourselves. You moved closer to each other. “Not at all. I’ve never felt so right in my life,” you finished. You moved even closer and your arms slid from John’s hand up to his arms, and then his shoulders. With a final look into each other’s eyes, John grabbed your face gently and pulled your lips to his. It was the sweetest kiss, the sweetest touch either of you had ever felt. His hands fell to your waist and you fell into each other further. Only when you couldn’t breath any more did either of you pull away. You smiled at each other, breathing in each other’s scents so close, and continued to hold each other. John once again brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and you immediately did the same to him, causing both of you to fall into a fit of giggles before you quieted each other in another kiss.

“See you tomorrow?” John asked hopefully as you pulled away again.

“Definitely,” you said, giving him a final peck before unlocking your room and giving him a smile as you closed the door.

You flopped down, extremely contented on your soft bed. You didn’t even bother to shower, do your skin care routine, change, or brush your teeth as you immediately fell into a wonderful slumber. You just couldn’t. You were too exhausted (in a good way) to move, and you wanted just some semblance of you to keep the night forever.

John had a little more of his wits as he managed to get ready for bed, but he also flopped quickly into the white, fluffy sheets. His mind was racing more nonstop. He kept trying to convince himself, that he must be crazy, There’s no way this could be happening to him. He hand only seen you a matter of days ago, let alone talked to you for less, and John struggled to convince himself he didn’t have feelings for you. He kept trying to find a reason that this was insane, absolutely crazy, but he simply couldn’t convince himself of that. He didn’t believe such a thing, because everything simply was so perfect with you. Outsiders would call him crazy, stupid, and he’d always wondered how some people got married after a matter of weeks of dating and had lasting relationships, but now he seemed to understand it more. He only had ever heard such stories in hushed tones about family gossip for some sort of distant uncle, and everyone had thought they were crazy, or the local storekeeper had done the same thing, and John had agreed that love at first sight was a type of insanity, and laughed at the thought. But none of it was funny now. It was all so beautiful, and he could really truly feel it.

John turned around in bed happily, and took a quick glance at the alarm clock near his bed. It had just turned midnight. Saturday. One day left.

SATURDAY

When John woke up, he was even more in a panic. All of the contentedness gone. He had only just begun to realize it last night, but it was truly setting in now. Just one day. 24 hours. Before he had to leave Bali, head back to England, into the miserable November weather and rain, and his insipid bandmates. One day until he had to leave you. How could he possibly do such a thing? He couldn’t imagine living a second without a promise of you. He felt sick, genuinely ill as he laid in bed, but again, the promise of you was the only thing to get him out. He felt shaky, in a blind panic, and couldn’t even eat as he made his way out for the day. This was probably silly as well, but John couldn’t help it. Did you know? Did you even realize that he was leaving so soon? How could you be alright with it? John couldn’t stand it.

The truth is, you had realized it. You didn’t know when John was leaving necessarily, but as for you it was tomorrow afternoon. But you had not panicked. You couldn’t, because you couldn’t bear to think of it at all. The second the thought had come into your mind, you shut it down, put it away. And besides, you weren’t going to let this poison your last day with John. This day was to be enjoyed.

It occurred to John only after he had left his room the two of you hadn’t agreed on a particular time or place to meet, and that sent his panic spiraling further for a moment, thinking back to how he’d looked for you a few days before to no avail. But it didn’t last long, as he soon found you by the pool, sitting in the already hot sun of the late morning. You had your eyes closed, not noticing John come up to you.

“Mind if I sit?” He smiled. You blinked open and smiled as John took a seat on the lounger next to you and sat up. He wasn’t worried anymore. His day was better now.

“Not at all,” you smiled, closing your eyes again. John relaxed and closed his eyes as well. “Sleep well?”

“Very,” he said.

“You’re a bit overdressed for the pool,” you pointed out, referring to his jeans and t-shirt.

“Maybe you’re a bit underdressed for the rest of the day,” he jested. You sat up further and looked at him.

“Oh yeah? And what’s happening for the rest of the day?” you asked.

“Lunch?” He offered. You nodded gratefully and moved to stand up, but gasped excitedly before you did.

“What?” he asked.

“I know just the place!” you said, pulling on a flowy sundress you had brought out with you over your bathing suit (one that made John’s heart race quite a bit). You slipped on your shoes and took his hand. “Picnic?” you offered. John smiled.

“Good plan.” The two of you made your way out of the resort, into a local shop, and bought yourselves some terrible little sandwiches and fruit, along with a couple of sodas, and insisted on paying yourself this time (“You bought me food last night!”) as John grabbed the plastic bag.

“Shall we eat on the beach?” he suggested, following you along, amused at how adorable you were, seemingly set out on a mission. The light in your eyes was contagious and filled his. You shook your head.

“I know some place better,” you said, grabbing his hand once more and leading him away.

***

“Wow,” you whispered to yourself as you reached the peak of the hill you had just trekked up. You turned around to look for John, only to find him nowhere to be found. “John?” you quickly looked back down the hill to see him huffing and puffing as he reached the top near you. He smiled when he saw you, despite being out of breath.

“How long’s this hiking trail again?” he breathed harshly. You giggled.

“We can stop here,” you said taking pity on him. “Look, it’s beautiful.”

“Incredible,” John said, eyes widening as he took in the truly magnificent view. He had to admit, he’d been skeptical about a hike in the Bali heat (especially when it was due to rain) but it had made you so happy, and it really was an amazing sight. It was all worth it. The air was so fresh.

“Shall we sit?” you said, snapping John out of his mild stupor. John nodded, and the two of you fell upon the grass and opened the lunch you had bought, talking, taking in the sights, and each other.

“Sorry for dragging you all the way up here,” you commented as you folded your napkin away and threw it in to the plastic bag to dispose of later. John shook his head.

“I couldn’t imagine a better lunch,” John said.

“What if there was a lift that took us straight up without the walking?” You laughed. John chuckled.

“Well, yes, then it would have been slightly better. But I don’t regret a thing,” said John, grabbing your hand and pulling you into a short kiss. You smiled into it. Every time you kissed, it felt like you were breathing properly for the first time, feeling so refreshed and enlivened, more than ever before.

***

After descending the hill and parting shortly to change out of your grass-stained clothes, you each met for dinner once more. It was lovely, incredible again in every way to be with you, but John felt an impending sense of doom. He became increasingly aware of the ticking time bomb, the hours, minutes, seconds, reducing too fast until he had to go back home, and there was nothing he could do. He felt so helpless, and didn’t know if you knew or felt the same, or if you were even aware at all. It was all he could do to hold your hand tight as you walked back to your room once more that night and turned to each other once more, just as you had before. You somehow were more beautiful now. John pulled you close without hesitation this time, and connected his lips to yours. You melted against him, in the best way. You felt his somberness in this moment, the same doom you had been holding off on all day. It seemed so real now, him in your arms, not knowing the next time it would be, or if there was a next time. All you had was him, fleeting, right now. Tears pricked your eyes as you stared deeply into his.

“John…” you started, choking up before you could even begin.

“I know,” he said, completely understanding, pulling you close. You fell into his shoulder, only knowing his sweet smell and gentle touch. John felt terrible seeing you upset, but partly relieved you had some semblance of your imminent parting. That way he wouldn’t have to spring it on you. God, how could he possibly tell you? Say such a thing? He could only hold you tight and kiss you again, using his thumbs to wipe at your glistening eyes, shushing you comfortingly.

“Can you come in?” you said smally, and John could have deceased right there.

“Of course.” He followed you in your room, the door closing softly, and the lights remaining low, the push and pull of the waves lightly in the ambience. The two of you held each other close, barely able to accept the majesty of each other. You brought John to your lips, and never disconnected. Gently, you unbuttoned his shirt and felt all along him, and all of it was perfect. John slid the straps of your dress down before reaching for the zipper in the back before lightly caressing your soft hair. John shrugged off his shirt, and your dress pooled to the floor, and you reached to unbutton his trousers. You walked back towards the bed and fell into the soft, soft sheets, and laid back against the middle, John always following, both of you only in your underpants now. John had never seen a sight so beautiful as all of you. Your lips were warm and sweet against each other’s as the final pieces of clothing were removed. John thrust in, and your eyes connected, never leaving, outpouring pure affection. It felt so good, so perfect, all of it, and he gently held your face. The speed picked up, but with grace and subtly as you both soon reached your highs, never leaving each other’s gaze. John, still inside you, fell slightly on top of you as you grabbed on to his back tightly, melding yourselves to each other forever, shaking and breathing together, synchronized almost. John kissed you hard, and you tried your best to give every feeling you had in reciprocation. Finally, John pulled out and flipped you over, pulling you into his chest, and you’d never felt safer or more content.

“I love you,” he said, admitted to himself and professed to you. You fell into his eyes.

“I love you too,” you said, as you both drifted off perfectly.

SUNDAY

John glanced over, tired, exhausted to see that the clock read 5:45. Just in time to make his morning flight. You were bundled up so peacefully in his arms. The sun barely graced the sky, it being only a tinge lighter than night. John took you in. How soft you fit into him. How mesmerizing your scent was. How gorgeous you looked. How wonderful your deep breaths sounded in your peaceful sleep. He couldn’t possibly wake you up, not like this. John knew if he were to leave you, which he must, despite it feeling impossible, he must do so now. He moved slowly at first, not wanting to wake you, but as soon as he sat up, you stirred, turning over and reaching for John.

“Whe’r’r you going?” you mumbled sleepy. John’s heart melted. He rolled back over to you, sitting up against the pillows and holding you close.

“My flight’s soon,” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“I… I have to go, sweetheart.” That woke you up. You figured to had to as well, but your flight wasn’t until later. He couldn’t leave now, he just couldn’t. This wasn’t supposed to happen, none of it was, finding him, loving him, leaving him. You sat up, looking at him, fighting back tears. You wanted to yell at him, make him stop at all costs. But you couldn’t do that. He wanted you to beg him to stay just as much, because he would. But you couldn’t do that. So instead, you began to cry and held you close, and he did the same. You sniffled.

“I can’t believe this has happened. That I love you. And I love you so much,” you cried.

“I love you too, darling. I never thought this could happen.” You cried together for what seemed like an eternity. You were torn away, bound by moral and social discrepancies, and watched as he pulled his clothes back on, and held you close, giving you the deepest kiss either of you had ever felt. He didn’t say anything as he closed the door. There’s nothing he could say, that either of you could.

And so, that morning, and you later that day, John went back home alone, as he had started.

ONE WEEK LATER

You had tried to get him out of your mind, you thought that you’d snap back into your senses or your normal life, but you couldn’t you must be sick, and your friends and coworkers all noticed that you hadn’t been the same. They’d expected a bubbly you, refreshed from a week of relaxation, but was met with a you which could barely function. You cried seemingly all the time, nothing was right without him, the world was strange and confusing. This couldn’t go on.

***

John was absolutely miserable. Dodging the nosy questions from his band mates, his week of getting away from them made them more annoying upon his return, him more irritable, so much so that the others forced him home early after one recording, not wanting to be around him. He was consumed by this, nothing was alright, everything had changed and nothing at all, and nobody seemed to care or do anything about it. How could they? Nothing was the same and everything was wrong. After endless pestering, John broke, and spilled all (after a couple of drinks as well) and fell apart. His friends were annoyingly understanding, not even bothering to tease him. Roger, usually with an innuendo at the go, and Brian with his endless la-dee-da prose, and Freddie, the self proclaimed love expert (“You’ve only been in about two relationships, Fred,”) could even sense John’s despair that this was something deeper, nothing to joke about. And while John hated to admit it, it was them who encouraged him one day. He had to find you. They nearly shoved a phonebook into his hands as he began to scour.

But it wasn’t long. Because you had come to your senses just a bit before John, and he wasn’t too hard to find. The receptionist at the terrible little miserable studio informed John he had a guest. Coming out into the lobby, just holding back the others like a pair of rabid chihuahuas wanting to see who you were, there you were.

And you grabbed each other close. And you were together again. John cried.

“Never. Never again,” said John, kissing your hair and breathing you in once more.

“Is this crazy?” you asked for being so hung up on him.

“Yes. But I don’t care. And I’m never leaving you, ever,” he said, your lips falling together.

It was crazy. It was absolutely insane that you managed to find each other over and over again, but none of it was complicated. It was only simple, nothing purer than true love. And you never let go of each other.

ONE YEAR LATER

You giggled as John carried you over the threshold. Everything about the day, about the wedding had been perfect, and you melted into him. But John had been keeping something for you, and you had to know, you had a right as his wife.

“Mr. Deacon, will you ever tell me where we’ll be going on our honeymoon?” you asked. When you suggested different destinations in the wedding planning stage, John shot all of them down, promising he’d work it all out. As you were apparently leaving tomorrow, you had to know. John, barely tearing himself apart from your lips, hummed, and reached into his coat pocket.

“How does Bali sound?” He laughed handing you the plane tickets.

“I had a suspicion,” you smirked.

“I am very mischievous,” he contended. You kissed once more. “You wanna go, or not?” he teased.

“Only if you come back with me.”

“Well, good thing I bought roundtrip tickets. You’re stuck with me, before, during, and after.”

“Good,” you smiled. And you always had each other, always now.

#john deacon #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #queen #my writing

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warriorteam1924 · 6 months

Text

The little things

featuring John Deacon

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

Warnings : none really, just my awful writing

Summary : a nice moment for halloween for John

Words count : 950 words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#warriorteam1924 writes #the little things #2023 halloween from warriorteam1924 #queen #john deacon #john deacon fanfiction #john deacon fanfic #john deacon imagine #john deacon fiction #john deacon fic #i'm not sure i remember all the tags lol #well enjoy anyways #love you lovely people

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rogertaylorsgirl · 5 months

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imagine being roger’s first real girlfriend. the members of the band would be so shocked at seeing him so committed to someone. of course, they would try and piss him off, talking about how much he’s whipped for you. but are they wrong? absolutely not.

this man would do anything for you. you could ask him the entire universe and he would make sure you had it. every time you would walk in the studio, he would leave the drums so fast and come to hug you, while the others complain about finishing the damn song.

you made him softer, sometimes he hated that, but he couldn’t do anything about it. you helped him calm down during one of his famous tantrums and you also made him romantic. he wasn’t the type to cuddle or show too much affection before, since the girls he dated were nothing serious, but now with you it was all different. you had changed him for the better.

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littleflower-426 · 8 months

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#john deacon imagine #queen band

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spreadyovrwings · 2 years

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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: None!

Chapter Four

John was never late. It was part of what endeared him to Roger when they were first introduced. Everyone else just sort of turned up when they happened to, but not John. He was always reliable, a rare quality in students and musicians.

Well, Roger supposed, John had so many commitments, it made sense. He didn’t want to be midway through a show or cycling across town and realise he should be sitting an exam; though Roger was fairly sure Deaky would still write mental checklists and plan his days to the minute even if he had nowhere to be.

It was an admirable quality. Roger knew if it was anyone else, such rigid punctuality might have aggravated him. He was young! He was the drummer in a rock ‘n’ roll band! Life was supposed to be fun. But he liked John, and their new bassist never lectured them when they turned up late, aside from the odd, very cautious jibe. His good timing was for his own benefit and that suited Roger just fine.

It was good for the band too. They needed someone sensible to keep them grounded, and John was the most down-to-earth person Roger had ever met. If he and Freddie were the imagination, then John was the direction, and Brian fell somewhere in-between.

It was Thursday night and the clock in the changing room was ticking towards eight.

Roger surprised everyone (though nobody more than himself) by arriving first.

He’d spent the day sleeping, shattered after a long morning at the market. While Freddie went off to lunch with a few of his college friends, Roger collapsed on the sofa. When he finally awoke hours later, it was dark outside and the sandwich he’d made for himself was still lying on his chest with a single bite taken out of it.

Brian was next to arrive. His long winter coat swung about his spindly legs as he apologised for being late, even though he’d only arrived two minutes after their agreed time.

He’d been teaching today. Roger could tell from the chalk dust on his shirt cuffs and the stacks of paper stuffed into his leather bag, along with miles and miles of guitar cables.

They chatted quietly as they settled into the space, waiting for their bandmates to arrive. They were just laughing at a note one of Brian’s kids had slipped into his pocket (a comment on his substitute teacher’s wild hair) when the changing room door opened again and their frontman swept in.

“Everyone, stop panicking,” Freddie beamed. “I have arrived.”

He never wasted time on ‘hellos’ and ‘good evenings’. They’d all been friends for long enough now that he didn’t see the need.

Freddie dumped his bag down on the nearest flat surface, then shrugged off his enormous fur coat, moaning about the rain all the while.

Perhaps to compensate for being horrendously late, he was already partly dressed in his stage costume, though it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that he’d worn black satin trousers to lunch.

Brian watched him with a faint smile.

It never mattered how late Freddie was, or how outrageously he acted when he did, eventually, arrive. It was worth it, just for the fact that he always made the room a little brighter wherever he went. Still, that didn’t mean they were ever going to take it easy on him.

“How gracious of you to bless us with your presence, Fred.”

“Yeah, s’ not often we mere mortals are so privileged,” Roger chimed in.

He peered curiously at the label in Freddie’s fur coat, wondering where he’d got it, until Freddie pulled it away.

“Ha,” He moved away. “Ha,” Hung up his coat. “Ha.” Then turned back to face his friends with his hands planted firmly on his black satin hips.

Further arguments were snuffed out when the door opened again for the fourth and final time. It let in a gust of wind that swept around the room, toying with Brian’s curly hair and sending a shiver over Roger’s skin.

Tonight’s gale was so strong, John had to throw all of his inconsiderable weight against the door to get it closed. When the door finally clicked shut, he almost sank to the floor in relief.

“You’re late.”

John looked up at Roger.

He was staring at him with something akin to curiosity. Roger’s words rang with astonishment rather than ridicule, as if he genuinely couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of John being, as he’d feared, the last to arrive.

Roger couldn’t help smiling when John’s mouth settled into a deep, firm line.

“I know.”

Not wanting to waste any more time, or be the subject of further derision, John swayed to his feet with a sigh, then pressed his palm flat against the nearest wall so that he could kick off his tatty trainers.

He hated being late. New places and people only made the tough roots of his anxiety sink deeper into the earth of his chest, so John always tried to arrive at least half an hour early, wherever he was going. That way, he could get his bearings and attempt to settle his nerves before he was expected to be sociable. Plus, it was just polite.

John thought he’d left the bakery with more than enough time to swing by his digs first but packed trains, bad weather, and even worse luck meant that it took him longer to get home than he’d anticipated.

He must have looked a peculiar sight with his new stage clothes stuffed into a bag from 64 Oslo Square, his long hair wild from the humidity, and his expression as grim as the grave.

Still, he was here now, even if he could still taste copper on his tongue from his frantic run towards their venue for tonight, a small college in Kensington.

Before John could move to get changed, Freddie took him by the shoulders and gently tugged at him until he had turned around.

“Why’re you all covered in..?”

Freddie frowned, holding him at arm’s length so that none of the detritus could spoil his ensemble.

John looked down and realised that he’d taken half the bakery home with him. His clothes were covered in a fine white powder, his dark jeans, his thin red T-shirt, it was even sprinkled in his hair.

God, he thought, as he shook flour from his fringe, how embarrassing. No wonder he got so many funny looks on the District Line.

“It’s from work.”

“They’ve got you baking now, have they? Chef Deacon?” Brian teased.

John only grunted in response.

Freddie kept turning him around until he spotted what looked suspiciously like a handprint at the base of his spine. He met Roger’s gaze then pointed at the mark.

Roger grinned so wide it almost made his cheeks ache.

“Do you have to wear one of those funny hats?” He asked, waving one hand above his golden hair as John broke free of Freddie’s grasp. “A toupee.”

Brian snorted.

“A taupe, Roger.”

“That’s what I said.”

John huffed, batting Freddie’s hands away when he tried to pull at him again.

“Can I get changed now? Is that alright with you lot?”

They were always encouraging him to speak up, so John thought his friends would appreciate him standing up for himself for once. To his dismay, the boys only gave a chorus of ‘ooo’s, and John turned away to get changed, feeling defeated.

He raised his gangly arms above his head and caught hold of the scruff of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth movement. He felt the cold immediately, his pale skin speckling, and John grimaced as he reached for his bag.

“So, you’re enjoying it then? Your new job?”

Brian had been so busy with school, he hadn’t been able to catch up with any of his band mates in quite a while.

Before John could even begin to answer, Roger scoffed.

“Oh, is he ever.” He laughed. “You haven’t heard him? ‘Oh, the bakery is so much fun. Oh, have you seen my new bike? Oh, my new mates are so nice.’”

John just stayed quiet.

He supposed he had been talking about work a lot. A lot for him, anyway. It was just all so exciting. He liked that he got to spend his mornings alone with his thoughts as he cycled through the city. Then he got to spend his afternoons with Mickey and you, learning to bake and making tea for the customers.

Still, he didn’t appreciate the implication that he’d been prattling on about it incessantly, especially from someone as loquacious as Roger, who was always encouraging him to talk more anyway. He certainly didn’t think his clunky attempt at John’s accent was necessary either.

Freddie seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He reached over and flicked his fingers close to Roger’s nose, like he was shooing one of his cats away from his antique furniture.

“Don’t be an arse, Roger,” he said, then smiled at John. “Are they paying you well enough?”

John shot him a grateful look as he pulled on his new shirt. It was bright white and glowed, pearly and clean, under the spotlights, especially against the deep black of his suit. The shirt was made of the softest silk John had ever felt. It was the finest thing he owned by a mile. When he found it in the bargain bin at Granny Takes A Trip on the King’s Road, he could hardly believe his luck.

“They pay me as much as they can,” John said with a quirk of his mouth. “It’s enough.”

He didn’t mean to talk badly about the bakery, he knew they could hardly afford him and John was very grateful that they had risked hiring him. Still, uni would be over soon. He needed a home, food in the cupboards, and maybe, if he was lucky, a rickety old radiator to get him through the winter.

“That’s good,” said Brian. He was twiddling with the tuners of his beloved guitar. “We need some new gear.”

John’s already flagging mood soured. He didn’t like the assumption that what little extra cash he managed to scrounge would go towards the band. For the moment, Queen was just as much a part-time job as 64 Oslo Square.

Thankfully, Roger piped up again before John could say anything that would inevitably lead to an argument.

“Have you asked that girl out yet?”

John was so surprised, it took a moment or two for Roger’s question to process.

Unfortunately, not everyone was as slow on the uptake. The effect was instantaneous.

“There’s a girl?”

Freddie had been in the middle of changing his shoes when Roger brought you up, and was so thrilled by the prospect of romance that he almost tripped over his platforms in his rush to grab John by the shoulders again.

John flushed as pink as Roger’s sparkly trainers as all eyes turned to him, excited and full of questions.

“She’s a woman, actually,” he said, feeling oddly defensive.

He wasn’t sure why that was the first thing to pop into his head but it was too late now.

Freddie was grinning.

“God, I can see her now. Hair all swept back from her forehead. Sleeves rolled up. Apron pulled tight. Ever so enticing and ever so delicious.”

John laughed, his shyness giving way to something else, something new.

As embarrassing as it was to be teased about you, it was exciting too. He wasn’t the chattiest person but John thought he might be able to talk about you for hours.

Images of you swept through his head like a slideshow, snapshot after snapshot of your warm eyes, your inviting, soft body, the look on your face when you were about to tease him, the certainty in your movements as you moved around the kitchen.

“Something like that,” John said quietly.

He had to look down at his shoes to hide his smile.

“Does she call you Johnny?” Roger was grinning too. “I bet she does. ‘Oh, Johnny, your hands are so big, come and knead this dough for me, oh…’”

John thought back to that afternoon, when you had laid your hands over his and together, you rolled out the pastry. The look in your eyes had sent a thrill down his spine. Now he thought about it, your apron strings were always pulled tight, emphasising your waist, pressing into your soft body just as his fingers ached to.

“She’s nice,” John managed to choke out, his mind clouded with thoughts of you backing him up against the kitchen counter. “Kind.”

That made Brian snort.

“Blimey, don’t go on about her.”

“We’re going round next week sometime to get a good look at her,” Roger told Freddie, who seemed delighted by the idea.

Roger shot John a pointed grin.

“I fancy something sweet myself.”

“Oh,” John huffed, slapping Roger’s shoulder with his discarded trousers. “Leave me alone. Pair of-”

The changing room door opened

They looked around to find a woman staring at them, clearly surprised by their appearance.

She seemed to think better of commenting on Freddie’s ensemble and the make-up Brian was prodding around his eyes.

“You’re on in ten minutes. Are you ready?”

They were not. Or rather, the band was ready. The boys practiced as often as they could, several times a week, in fact. They rehearsed and rehearsed until they were completely literate in each other’s mannerisms and they had their set list memorised, inside-out and back-to-front.

It was just a shame the kids didn’t like it.

“You had us here at the last bloody minute and now you don’t even want us to play?”

“Listen, you were fine. The kids just want to dance, is all!”

Roger, Brian and Freddie had been arguing with the headmaster for several minutes, and John had been miserable for all of it.

The kids really seemed to enjoy their set. John had felt quite pleased when he saw their smiling faces in the crowd. But after their quick fifteen break, Queen headed back to the stage, only to find that the kids had requested to keep the disco for the rest of the night.

The headmaster had the unlucky job of breaking the bad news. He’d been very apologetic at first but Roger was so outraged by the whole thing, he’d been arguing with Mr. Galbridger all the way back to the changing rooms and his patience was clearly wearing thin.

“You’ll get your money, alright? What’re you so upset about?”

“I’m not upset, you-” Roger huffed as he shoved his drumsticks into his bag. “It’s the principle of the thing!”

“He’s the principle,” Freddie put in, which no one was in the mood to find funny.

“It’s fine,” Brian said, trying to placate his bristling friend and get their money. “Just give us what we’re owed and we’ll get on our way.”

The headmaster grumbled under his breath but acquiesced. He slipped his hand into his suit pocket and brought out a thick leather wallet.

As the rest of the boys packed up their things, Brian held out his hand while the headmaster placed note after note in his palm. He was quick to count the money.

“Hang on,” Brian shook his head. “There’s only £5 here.”

The headmaster cleared his throat uncomfortably as four angry faces turned to him.

“You’ll be taking half, of course.”

Roger was aghast.

“We’ll be what?”

“Well, you only played half a show.”

“Only because you stopped us! We agreed 10.”

“You're lucky to be getting that,” The headmaster wrinkled his nose. “If I knew your stuff was going to be so… Odd…”

Freddie raised a delicate eyebrow.

“Well, that’s not very nice at all.”

Roger was fuming. John could practically see the steam pouring from his ears.

“You're bloody right, it’s not!”

The headmaster’s practiced professionalism finally snapped.

“Listen here, you little sod,” He slapped another note in Brian’s hand, then jabbed a finger towards Roger. “Take six and get out. There’s no need to be a twat about it.”

At that, Freddie and Brian reared up, and John started packing his equipment away faster, sensing the need for a quick escape.

“Oi,” Brian said, bringing himself to his full height. “Roger may be a twat but he’s my twat.”

“He’s our twat,” Freddie chimed in.

Behind them, John put his head in his hands.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Just give us what you owe us, you tight old git!”

The headmaster, clearly tired of arguing, shoved a few more notes in their direction, then showed them the door.

Outside, the cold air was quick to settle their tempers. Money split evenly between them and safely stored away, they decided to call it a night.

Roger swirled his keys around his index finger.

“Alright then, you ‘orrible lot. Car’s round the corner. Who wants a lift?”

“Only if you’ve remembered your glasses,” Brian grunted, raising his hand.

“Thanks, I think I’ll walk,” John said.

“You sure?” Freddie hefted his heavy fur coat further up onto his shoulders, wrapping it tight around his waist to save himself from the cold. “It’s a long walk back. Do you even know the way?”

Annoyance made John’s body tense and he had to fight the urge to frown. They were always trying to look after him. It was getting rather tiresome. But he couldn’t worry that they didn’t like him one minute and be frustrated by how much they cared the next, so John just kept his mouth shut, as usual.

“I’ll be alright,” he said instead. “I know this part of town like the back of my hand now.”

“Ohh, that bloody bike,” Freddie grinned. “We’re definitely coming round next week, aren’t we Rog? I wanna see those skinny legs pedalling away.”

John elected not to say anything, apart from ‘goodnight’ and ‘see you in the week’.

The thought of Roger and Freddie camping out in the bakery all day, poking fun at him and trying to catch a glimpse of you, made his stomach lurch.

They were only being friendly. John knew they only teased him because they cared and because they were genuinely interested in his new job.

Secretly, John was quite pleased that they were curious. He liked the boys a lot, he wanted them to like him too, so it was nice that they were interested in his life.

But then again, what if they said something in front of you, something that made you go back to just calling him ‘new boy’. Or worse, what if you took one look at Roger and…

John tripped over an uneven paving slab and swore under his breath. He nearly buckled under the weight of his bass on his back but managed to grab onto a nearby lamppost before he met the ground.

Some lads across the road jeered at him, whistling and hollering as John righted himself. They thought he was drunk. Embarrassed, John hurried on by, keeping his eyes down.

He turned a corner and found himself on a road he knew well. The shops were all dark, their shutters pulled down and their customers all gone. The air still smelt of perfumes and incense, of exotic foods and car exhausts. Beneath it all, John caught the oh-so familiar scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and custard.

He smiled to himself.

He knew, realistically, that it was the shop that always smelt so wonderful, but John would be kidding himself if he didn’t associate the scents of baking, of warmth and good food, with you.

He turned his head the other way, down the high street towards Hyde Park. 64 Olso Square peered back at him from the last corner. Like the other shops, the lights were all off inside, apart from the one in the flat above. A figure passed behind the closed curtains, the only sign of life.

It was late, the bakery would have been closed for a few hours now. You would definitely be finished packing up. In fact, you’d probably be halfway home now. Unless… Well, he could always check.

Adjusting his bass, John figured it would probably be a little much to drop by now.

What would he even say? That he was passing by and thought he might pop in and see how you were? That it had only been a couple of hours since he last saw you but he missed you, that he’d thought about you all night, even when he was playing. That he liked the way you said his name and the feeling he got in his chest when you smiled at him?

John grimaced, embarrassed by his own eagerness.

He did miss you. It was a feeling he wasn’t entirely used to, but even though John was more than a little alarmed by the ache he felt in his chest when he thought about you, he couldn’t wait to see you again tomorrow.

Alone in your room, you settled by the window with your last cup of tea of the day. The book propped up on your knees was almost enough to distract your thoughts from the boy with the green-grey eyes.

Almost.

If you’d looked up, right then, and peered down at the street below, you would’ve seen him making his way back to his own tiny, quiet room, kept company by thoughts of you.

The bakery has been open for ten minutes, and you’d been stressed for nine of them.

The Friday morning rush was no less intense than any other day. In fact, the grey sky seemed to have made people want to treat themselves, and the drizzly weather had driven them towards 64 Oslo Square’s open doors.

Thankfully, you and Mickey weren’t alone today. Gladys had deigned to grace you with her company for the first time all week.

As annoyed as you were with her for leaving you on your own so often, you had to admit it was rather comforting to hear Gladys’ mad plastic jewellery clinking as she bustled about behind the counter, fetching cups of tea and chatting with the customers.

You could smell her sweet perfume from the kitchen. It cut through the scents of flaky pastry and vanilla essence, making your nose wrinkle as you flitted between the ovens and the counters, like a hummingbird between flowers. Still, it was good to have Gladys back where she belonged.

Mickey seemed relieved too. With your boss behind the counter, it meant you didn’t have to split your time and could actually do what you were paid to do.

Together, you created Victoria Sponges, lemon drizzles, Chelsea Buns, Bakewell Tarts, and enough Viennese Slices to feed an army.

As the morning wore on, you fell into a rhythm. You and Mickey moved around the kitchen like bees in a hive, a rehearsed dance that meant you could often communicate without words.

It felt good to be productive, to do what you were actually hired to do. You’d loved baking ever since you were a child, and even though it was stressful, and always boiling hot in the tiny kitchen, it felt natural to you.

As you swept a wooden spoon around a large bowl of sponge mixture, you realised you’d even missed the ache in your upper arm and the way Mickey shouted to you across the room.

The only problem was, you hadn’t been able to say good morning to John.

You caught a glance of him when you restocked the counter around ten. All the tables and chairs that usually sat outside had been brought in to keep them and the customers out of the rain, so John was sat in the very corner by the window, looking out at the grey sky as he sipped a steaming mug of tea.

You stopped dead when you saw him, which was a bit embarrassing. Gladys definitely noticed. Hell, the man she was serving must have noticed how you came to an abrupt halt, halfway through a sentence.

You were just so surprised to see him, you couldn’t help it. John usually came into the kitchen to say good morning when he arrived. Gladys must have intercepted him and warned him that you and Mickey were rushed off your feet.

Disappointment sank like a cold stone in your chest. You’d been looking forward to seeing John all day. In fact, the prospect of getting to talk to him had kept you going through your hectic morning.

You kept stealing glances at him as you refilled the counter trays, hoping and hoping that he’d look over at you and smile, but John seemed lost in thought as he twirled a biro between his long fingers.

When you were done, you hovered in the kitchen doorway, one last ditch attempt at catching his eye. In the end, the only attention you managed to capture was that of the young woman next in the queue. She pulled a sympathetic face at you as you undraped yourself from the doorway, and you headed back into the kitchen, defeated.

Your humiliation didn’t last long.

When there was finally a lull in customers, Gladys bustled into the kitchen, talking a million miles an hour about absolutely nothing. You’d never met someone who could talk so much without saying anything. Still, it made you smile. It was good to have her back.

That was until Gladys sidled up beside you, knocking her hip into yours while you were trying to roll out pastry.

“Oi,” she whispered, a little too close to your ear.

You pulled a face, drawing up your shoulder to stop her tickling you again.

“Oi?”

“Go say ‘hi’ to John.”

You had to force yourself not to smile at the sound of his name. Putting down your rolling pin, you faked an exasperated sigh.

“Can’t you see the poor boy’s tryin’ to work?”

“Doesn’t look like it. He’s been starin’ out the window all mornin’. He looks a bi’ moony to me.” Gladys wagged a finger like a detective concluding her findings. “Maybe he’s got girlfriend trouble.”

That wiped the smile from your face.

John hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend. Then again, some boys were like that, keeping relationships quiet in front of potential better offers. John didn’t seem the type but the thought still made your chest pang.

Just because he hadn’t mentioned dating anyone didn’t mean that he wasn’t. John rarely offered up anything about himself. In fact, he didn’t talk very much at all. You never gave him the chance. Maybe Mickey was right, perhaps you should leave him alone.

“‘e’s probably just puzzlin’ over somethin’. You know those universi’y types,” You waved your hand by your head. “Always away with the fairies.”

You were trying to convince yourself just as much as you were Gladys. In your chest, you shut the drawer full of feelings for John with a grim ‘thunk’.

“e’s shy,” Gladys wore an almost motherly pout. “e’s barely said a word to me since he started here. Ah ah! Shut it.”

You closed your mouth, smiling. Your pointed remark about Gladys’ absence vanished on your tongue.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with shy, Glad.”

“I know but we’re a family, ‘ent we? I wan’ ‘im to feel welcome. Poor bless needs someone to be nice to ‘im. He’s sa’ out there all on his own.”

“He’s revising, Glad.” You laughed. “And we’re quite good mates, actually. You’re just never around to see it.”

“Oh…” Gladys dug her sharp elbow into your ribs. “Shut it, will you?”

You made a show of grabbing your side in pain, grinning from ear to ear.

“That your guil’y conscience talking, Glad?”

“Since when did you have such an ant’s nest up your arse? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You rubbed your side again.

“And how lovely it is to see you.”

Gladys scoffed and flapped her hands at you, but you could tell you’d almost pushed things too far.

There was an unspoken line, rarely crossed. Gladys was a good boss despite her absences, and wasn’t half as daft as she looked. Behind the big hair and bright clothes was a good brain for business and a steely determination. Gladys was tough, she’d been through a lot, and she’d given you your whole life.

After twenty years, she’d earned respect from you, from Mickey, from the customers that knew her by name. You could tease her, talk back, and you had a big role and voice in the business, but there was always that line.

You squeezed Gladys’ shoulder, a silent apology, but true to character, she just brushed you off. You were forgiven.

You thought she might leave you alone after that. The bakery had its lulls but no one could leave the shopfront alone for more than a few minutes. It was a rule Gladys had for security reasons but you were also, fortunately, never short of customers.

Gladys made a show of peering round the kitchen doorway, then nodded her head towards where John was sitting.

“And?”

It didn’t take long for you to grasp what she was getting at. Subtlety wasn’t something Gladys was known for.

You glanced that way too, then grinned.

“Very nice.”

Gladys rolled her eyes.

“Oh, gawd. You do make my teeth itch, you know.”

She went back to stand behind the counter, pointing one bony finger at you before she disappeared from sight.

“Don’t break him.”

Turning back to the pastry you’d been rolling out, you smiled to yourself. The drawer in your chest opened again, just a little.

Now there was a thought.

In all honesty, you weren’t sure what to make of John. He was sweet, clever, and so gorgeous, it made you all stupid and fluttery whenever he met your gaze.

You liked that he was always early, and that he genuinely seemed interested in your work and listened when you talked. Most of all, you loved his funny little mouth and the clever spark in his eyes, and the way his face scrunched up when he was thinking.

In the few weeks since you met, you’d found that getting to know John was like squeezing blood from a stone. But you kept trying, because although he was reserved, John always seemed to want to stand close to you. He often had this look on his face like he wanted to say something but couldn’t work up the courage.

Yes, you would keep trying.

Across the kitchen, Mickey was warbling along to the radio.

You’d had a productive morning together. Perhaps you could allow yourself a small break.

All the tables inside the bakery were taken, filling the room with the low hum of chatter. The smell of coffee hung heavy in the air, the lights low and warm. You let your fingers graze across the counter as you moved behind it. You really loved this little shop.

You could feel Gladys’ eyes on your back as you made your way over to the corner where John was sitting.

He didn’t look up as you approached. John’s gaze was fixed firmly on the rain pouring outside, his nose pressed so close to the window, he was sure to feel the cold seeping in. His chin was propped up on the heel of his palm and he was completely still, no tapping fingers, no bouncing leg.

He was so deep in thought, John didn’t notice you were there until you wrapped your hands around the back of the scarlet chair opposite his. He started, making his elbow slip off the table. He scrambled to sit upright, apologising softly.

You felt terrible for making him jump but you couldn’t help smiling. He really was very sweet.

“Mornin’, new boy.”

John recovered quickly. He smiled up at you.

“Morning, Captain.”

It wasn’t a proper smile. It seemed artificial, as if he’d taught himself how to do it, a mask he could slip on for social situations.

You’d seen his real smile, the one that showed off the little gap in his teeth and made his eyes wrinkle until he seemed to almost squint at you. This was practiced politeness.

You felt your excitement deflate just a little. Perhaps you really did bother him.

Your waning confidence caught your tongue for a moment but you recovered just as quickly as he had.

“How’s school?”

“Good, how’s things here?”

With an easy grin, you found your footing again.

“Better now.”

At last, there it was. John huffed a little laugh and bashfully looked down at the table. As he shook his head, his pretty hair moved about his shoulders, and when he looked up at you again, his smile finally reached his eyes.

You felt your body relax. He really did have a lovely smile. It bunched up his cheeks, softening the sharper angles of his face.

It had taken a while but John did seem a little more relaxed at work this than he used to be. The average person might not have been able to tell the difference, but you had been watching him with curiosity from day one and had been quietly monitoring his progress.

He still only spoke when spoken to and held himself so rigidly, you’d think someone was pulling his strings too tight, but John was smilier now and his personality was beginning to eke through. The bakery’s routine seemed to help, and it was hard not to fall in love with the place and its people.

He seemed most at ease around Mickey, which was to be expected. The boys were bound to gravitate towards each other, they both liked football and cars, but Mickey also seemed to be a comforting figure. He may have been built like a brick outhouse but he was sweet and gentle, and you often found him and John chatting quietly by the back door of the kitchen, sharing stories and slices of fresh buttered bread.

You couldn’t help noticing he wasn’t quite so relaxed around you, something you were determined to change.

John opened his mouth to speak but words seemed to fail him. There was that face again, like he wanted to tell you something but couldn’t quite get there.

John looked pained for a moment, and you weren’t sure whether to give him time or to try and help him. Before you could make up your mind, he seemed to change tack, and asked,

“Are you at..?”

John gestured to the book lying open in front of him.

The pages were full of calculations, shapes and squiggles that wouldn’t have meant anything to you even if the textbook had been facing the right way up.

“Ohh, I’ve got this place to look after, dun’ I.” You smiled and shook your head. “Too busy for all that.”

You watched, perhaps too closely, as John’s mouth twisted apologetically.

“Gladys isn’t around much, is she.”

“Oh, well, you know,” You matched his wry smile. “She’s allowed some fun.”

John nodded, half-heartedly agreeing with you.

The bakery was quiet. After lunch, there was always a lull, and it would only be the odd customer until the next rush in a few hours.

Sensing you hadn’t yet outstayed your welcome, you pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

Keeping your eyes on John, you carefully placed your feet so that they wouldn’t accidentally bump against his. He was still so nervous, you could practically feel his muscles aching from how tense he was.

As you settled down, you noticed him straighten up so that he wouldn’t be leaning towards you over the table. He was so tightly wound, you thought if your knee accidentally bumped his, he might jump as if electrocuted.

To your delight, John closed his book. You had his full attention.

“So, how long have you worked here?”

“Three years. It was supposed to be something part-time while I figured out what I was gonna do.”

“I better be careful then.”

John tucked his feet behind his chair legs, keeping out of your way. He could feel your warmth even from here. It was deliciously distracting.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Mm, or you’ll be stuck here too, you mean?”

“No!” John shook his head. “I was only-”

“I know, John. It’s alright.”

You raised your arm, realising too late that he might not be comfortable with you placing your hand over his as you had planned.

You faltered, your hand freezing in mid-air for a moment before you pulled back. Embarrassed, you tucked some of the hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear, as if that had been your intention the whole time.

Very smooth.

“But, yeah, you should be careful,” You went on, shuffling awkwardly in your seat. “Gladys loves you. You’ll be helping us in the kitchen before too long.”

John shrugged, smiling as he sipped his tea.

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“How’re your focaccia skills?”

“My what?”

You laughed.

Pleasantly bewildered, John sipped his tea again.

You contemplated fetching your own cup but you were far too comfortable. The bakery’s chairs were squashy and wide, almost like small armchairs. It was always difficult to drag yourself out of them, especially when the weather outside was so dismal, which is exactly why Gladys bought them.

You glanced over at the counter. There were still no customers but Gladys was bustling around, making herself look busy by fiddling with the coffee machine and snapping the pastry tongs together. If you got up, she’d most likely try and rope you into cleaning too.

No, better to stay put. Tea would be lovely but here you could rest your aching feet, you could try and winkle more information out of John, and perhaps most importantly, you could get out of work for a couple of minutes.

In any case, if you did get up, you might accidentally bump into John, and you were sure that would make him fall right out of his chair.

“What did you say you were studyin’ again?”

“Electrical engineering.”

You had to laugh. The poor boy. He had no idea what he was getting himself in for when he walked in off the street.

“Don’t let Glad hear you. You’ll be up a ladder in a heartbeat. This place is so ancient, we’re all held together with sticky tape and hope. I’m sure we’ll find lots to keep you busy if you’re not too careful.”

John snorted.

“As if I don’t have enough on.”

He gave you a little smile to make sure you knew he was only kidding.

You tried not to look too thrilled.

“Busy with the band? That’s good, isn’t it? You must be doing alright.”

John’s expression grew serious again.

“Mm.”

His thin lips twitched, and you cursed yourself for broaching what was clearly a sore topic.

John didn’t talk much about his band. You knew their name was Queen and that it was a bunch of boys who were either finishing uni, like John, or had already graduated. They seemed to cause him all sorts of worry. Perhaps you shouldn’t have laughed when John griped about having a lot on his plate right now.

You desperately wanted to see him perform. The thought was certainly intriguing. You thought John might finally look in his element. The bass was the steady heartbeat of any band and that seemed to suit him perfectly. You could only imagine how his long, nimble fingers looked tugging at those thick strings.

Under the table, you crossed your legs.

“I can just see you bopping about onstage,” You said, smiling. “Not in the spotlight but having the most fun.”

John snorted.

“I don’t know about that, you haven’t met Freddie.”

“Is he your drummer?”

“The singer. Roger’s the drummer. They’re all a bit mad, really.”

He looked down at the table. The empty cup he’d been spinning between his hands was finally still.

You wondered if John had given away more than he’d intended.

It was something you saw in him often. He so rarely gave out his opinion, only speaking when he felt it was necessary, a nice change from the other men in your life. Sometimes he seemed to forget himself. He would visibly relax, his slim shoulders lowering, his clever grey-green eyes softening. It was lovely to see, and although you couldn’t be sure, you hoped it was because of you.

But then John would say something that seemed to make his own heart trip, or you’d ask a question that made him clam up again.

It had gotten better. After all the time John had spent with you, and Mickey and Gladys, he’d relaxed considerably. That didn’t mean his little quiet moments and pregnant pauses no longer made you falter, but you were getting used to them, just as, you supposed, John was getting used to you.

You waited, patiently and quietly, for John to raise his head again. It was agony, but when he did finally look up, that honest, open softness in his eyes had returned, and it almost took your breath away.

“You should come and see us sometime,” he said, then nodded once or twice, sure of his invitation.

You felt your heart flutter in your chest.

“I’m not sure if Mickey will be up for any gigs at the moment.”

You had only heard the news last week. Mickey’s wife, Rita, was pregnant. She was only a few months along but Mickey was already fussing and planning, and would be unavailable for nights out for the foreseeable future.

John shrugged.

“Well, that’s alright. I wasn’t inviting him.”

Stunned, you blinked at him.

His confidence retreated a little.

“I mean, he’s welcome to come if he likes but I wanted to ask- You, I was asking you. I want you to come.” John blushed. “To the show,” he added quickly.

It was like someone had lit a box of fireworks in your chest. You tried to keep your face straight but you could feel your cheeks aching from the width of your smile.

“I’d love that. I’d really love that.”

John smiled bashfully, then looked down at the table again.

You watched him spin his empty mug around his hands against for a second, then asked,

“Do you play any ABBA?”

John laughed, long and loud, and didn’t seem embarrassed about it.

You beamed, thrilled and endeared and oh, so infatuated.

The spell was broken when the front door opened behind you, letting in a customer and a gust of frigid air. The cold shot down the back of your shirt, sending goosebumps across your skin and making you shudder. That was your cue.

You stood and placed your fingertips on the page open in front of John. You could feel the weight of his gaze as you turned the book around to face you. Your eyes flicked over the numbers, letters and symbols for all of three seconds before you gave in with a laugh.

Gladys was seeing to the man at the counter, so you had time to ask,

“Can I get you something to eat? Another drink?”

John’s smile was knowing but gentle.

“You’re determined aren’t you.”

“I worry about you! All that cycling.” You nodded towards the counter. “And you know what they say, you can’t trust a skinny baker. You’re bad for business, new boy.”

John looked unconvinced.

“You’re just trying to fatten me up.”

You didn’t mean to, it shouldn’t have made you stall, but you flinched slightly. You just hadn’t been expecting that word - especially from John, someone you were starting to really like - and what would usually have glanced off you slipped through the plates of your armour.

“Oi, where are my meringues?”

You felt Mickey looming over you before you turned to face him.

“The whisk overheated again!” You gently pushed his broad chest. He didn’t move an inch. “I’m waiting for it to cool down so I can start!”

“My nan says ‘‘tis a bad workman what blames his tools’,” Mickey grumbled.

“Your nan’s from Spitalfields, no she bloody doesn’t.”

“I could take a look at it for you?” John piped up. “If you like?”

You and Mickey shared a look.

It was very sweet of John to offer but all your kitchen equipment was older than you cared to think about. If someone started meddling with it all, it could only spell disaster.

“Oh, I think it’s well past help.” You smiled. “Thanks anyway, new boy.”

You thought you had let him down gently but John sank back in his chair as if scolded. He looked almost wounded, and it was only then that you realised he was trying to make up for what had just happened between you.

Huffily, Mickey went back into the kitchen, his mind on his meringues.

As soon as he was out of sight, John reached out and brushed the very tips of his index and middle fingers against your wrist.

You told yourself it was just to get your attention but you couldn’t ignore the electricity that shot up your arm, or how with just the smallest of touches, John had drawn you closer to him. His skin was cold, you could still feel him against your wrist.

It was the first time he’d touched you.

“I didn’t mean to- I hope I didn’t…”

He was trying to apologise without even being sure that he’d done anything wrong. You wanted to smile and tease him about it but John’s worried expression garnered pity in you.

Heart pounding, you squeezed his narrow shoulder. For once, he didn’t tense up.

“I’ll find you something to eat,” you said.

Realising you weren’t upset with him, John grinned, and you saw his confidence grow before your eyes again.

“You’re so bossy.”

You weren’t sure why you said it, perhaps you were still on a high from John touching you, tiny as it was, but you were so pleased, your mouth decided to speak without consulting your head first.

“And you bend over for me so easily.”

John’s usually impassive expression slipped. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open for just a second before he caught himself.

Dignity in tatters, you decided to make a quick exit. Your face hot with embarrassment, you wrapped your fingers around his empty mug and lifted it from his hands.

“I’ll get you that tea.”

You turned away before he had a chance to say anything, so you missed John looking down to hide his own burning cheeks.

When you came back a few minutes later, with a cuppa and two hot cross buns in your hands, John appeared to have recovered. That made one of you.

To your delight, he pushed your chair out from under the table with the toe of his battered trainer, inviting you to sit down.

“Gladys was telling me about her date,” John said, once you were seated again.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mm, me too. And Mickey. And the milkman this morning. Half the bloody market’s heard.”

“She was very excited.” John glanced in Glady’s direction. “You don’t think much of him?”

“I try not to think about him at all.”

You pulled a face. Alastair was a sore topic, but you’d push through if it meant getting to talk to John more.

“If he makes her happy then that’s nice but I don’t have to like him. She’s not my mum, much as she likes to think so, and he’s not mine and Mickey’s new step-dad. Just wish she didn’t spend so much time away from the bakery.”

“It seems to be doing alright.” John picked at his hot cross bun thoughtfully. “Maybe you should take over.”

That surprised you.

“Run the bakery?”

John nodded. He slipped his long fingers around his mug of tea and you forced yourself to keep your eyes up.

“Isn’t that what you said yesterday? Or Mickey? That one day you wanted to run the bakery?”

Quiet but observant, you had been right about this boy from the start.

“It’s the dream. Gladys doesn’t have any kids so she’s always said one day, this place is mine.”

You paused.

Something about John made it very easy to talk to him, even though you weren’t always guaranteed to get a lot back. He had an open, friendly face (and the prettiest eyes you’d ever seen). You knew you could trust him. You knew he was safe.

“I love it so much, John. And I have so many ideas, I know I can keep us afloat.”

Times changed. Someday, the bakery would be gone, replaced by disgustingly overpriced flats or a chain restaurant. If 64 Oslo Square did manage to survive, in fifty years time, it would be some little oddity on the corner of the street, a relic.

But you had plans, you had ideas, and you had love for this place. All the bakery needed was someone who cared.

You knew John probably didn’t, which was understandable. This was just a job for him. You were surprised he was even listening, but you had never spoken the words out loud before. It felt good. Right.

“Just gotta wait and see what happens, I suppose.” You laughed, hoping to dispel some of the tension from your tone. “My life is in the hands of a batty old lady.”

John’s gaze softened.

“I think you’d be brilliant.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

The sincerity of his tone, his earnest gaze, you knew John wasn’t just being kind. For whatever reason, he really believed in you.

Despite every rational thought telling you to slow down, to not get ahead of yourself, you could feel the final tumblers of your heart clicking into place.

You sipped your coffee, giving yourself a chance to collect yourself. John was still smiling at you and it was inconveniently diverting.

“Ah, but all my free time would go out the window,” You smirked. “My sparklin’ social life would definitely suffer.”

“How’s that book coming along?”

“Fine, thanks. Almost finished.”

“What is it now?”

“The Great Gatsby.”

“Enjoying it?”

“God, no. Rich people and their problems. Couldn’t care less, honestly.”

John laughed softly, then set about halving and buttering his hot cross bun.

“I really do think you’d be good. You practically run the place already, don’t you?”

When you rolled your eyes, John grew more insistent.

“Oh, come on. You know how everything works, you bake, you handle the money, the customers know you… You might not be the boss but everyone does what you tell them.” He pointed at you with his knife. “You’re in charge here, Captain.”

A slow smile slipped across your face.

“What about you?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. “Are you mine to command too?”

Your tone was playful but your eyes were steady and still, holding him in place. To your delight, John held your gaze. That was new. He really did have such lovely eyes, so clear and clever, and completely unreadable.

John was the first to look away but only when he lowered his head to take a bite out of his hot cross bun.

“I think that’s fairly obvious,” he said quietly.

You just stared. What else could you do? John hadn’t just pulled the drawer open again, he’d yanked it so hard, all its contents had gone sprawling across the floor, and suddenly the urge to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless was overwhelming.

Instead, you bit back a pleased smile and asked,

“You finished for today?”

John looked down at his open textbook. He hadn’t got very far at all. The bakery, its smells and sounds, you, were all far too distracting.

You nodded your head towards the kitchen.

“You want another lesson?”

John beamed.

Though most of the food, such as the bread, croissants and other pastries, were baked early in the morning, ready for when the doors opened at eight, the kitchens were busy throughout the day. This meant you didn’t get a lot of downtime, apart from when you were waiting for things to finish baking. Like right now.

You lead John through the kitchens he was slowly becoming well-acquainted with, until you were both wrapped up in warm smells and the comforting heat of the ovens.

“You can try anythin’ you like. But maybe keep away from the bread slicer. Hard to play the bass without…”

You wiggled your fingers and John laughed.

As if on cue, one of the ancient ovens chirped for attention like a baby bird, and you hurried over to switch off the timer.

You could feel John’s eyes on your back as you carefully reached inside the oven and pulled out a series of round sponge cakes. Placing them on the cooling rack, you shook off your thick oven gloves and peered closer to inspect them.

“I was a bit worried about these when they went in,” You explained. “But they’ve risen well. We had big problems when we first started makin’ the Victoria Sponge. They were comin’ out so huge, we couldn’t fit the covers over them. Mickey wasn’t allowed to decorate them so you can only imagine the whining.”

“They look great.”

John leaned in close to inspect them, copying you, even though he had no idea what he was supposed to be look for.

“My mum makes Victoria Sponge all the time. I always had one for my birthday.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“19th August.”

“Mm,” You smiled. “We’re a li’le early but I’ll sing for you anyway if you like.”

“No thanks, I’ve heard your singing.”

You gasped and dug your elbow into his ribs.

“Cheeky git.”

Rubbing his side, smiling, John asked,

“Can I help?”

“It’s not the most excitin’ thing to make. All that’s left to do is the jam and the buttercream.”

“That’s pretty much my skill level, I’d say,” John said, then laughed.

The sound made your heart lift in your chest. How could you say no?

You found John a nice place to stand where he would have enough room to decorate but he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, then found him the right ingredients. It was a very simple recipe but you were still slightly apprehensive as you watched him turn the jars over in his hands.

“Did you help your mum bake?”

John nodded faintly. As he rolled up the sleeves of his thin red jumper, his eyes seemed glazed, as if lost in memory.

“Sometimes. She would always shoo me and my sister away after a while, when we started making a mess.”

You had never heard him talk about his family before. You couldn't help wondering what they were like, what his sister’s name was, what his father did for a living, where he had grown up, but although you itched to press John further, you held back.

Another time. Right now, John just wanted to learn and be distracted from his classes, and you were going to help him as best you could.

“Like I said, it’s a very easy recipe. You just have to mix butter, icing sugar, and maybe a bit of milk. You wanna start weighing out the sugar? And then we sieve it into this bowl, here.”

John was not a natural baker. Although measurements and recipes appealed to his nature, he was also prone to getting boyishly messy in a way that was almost painfully endearing.

When you teased him about it, he ducked and hid his pink cheeks behind his long hair. He was already covered in icing sugar and he’d only been sieving for a few moments.

You went to grab him an apron. Before you handed it to him, John pulled off his thin jumper to reveal an equally threadbare yellow shirt. You wondered if all his clothes were like this, worn until they were falling to pieces, and whether John was economic, sentimental, or a mix of the two.

To your great delight, instead of taking the apron from you, John bowed down so that you could slip it over his head, just as you had a few weeks ago.

Trying not to look too pleased with yourself, as Mickey was sat reading the newspaper not too far away, you looped the apron over John’s head. Your hand instinctively fell to his waist, pressing in with just enough pressure that he knew to turn around.

You hardly breathed as you stepped closer and reached around his waist to grab the strings hanging by his hips.

Your gaze was heavy as led, too heavy for you to resist dragging your eyes down his spine, to the small of his back, then finally to his backside.

Guilt made your face burn as you dragged your eyes up again and you quickly finished tying him up.

Tying up his apron.

Jesus Christ.

You managed to give him a quick walk-through of the instructions before you were called back to the front of the shop.

When you returned, John had made surprising progress. He was sat down now - Mickey must have offered up his stool while he went to see to his croissants - and leaning very close to the cake.

John’s lips were parted. You could see his tongue pressing against the gap in his teeth as he concentrated.

“Oh, that’s lovely, John.”

He looked up at you, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s a little wonky.”

Your chest warmed.

The cake was a little lopsided. John had slathered a good wedge of buttercream over the base of the sponge, just as instructed, but perhaps with more exuberance than necessary, then a layer of fresh strawberry jam.

“Not bad for your first try.”

You handed him the icing sugar and a sieve, and showed him how to pat his hand against its side.

His clever eyes fixed intently on the cake, John showered icing sugar over his creation, then sat back to admire his work.

“It doesn’t look too bad does it,” he said, his chest puffed out with pride.

John looked up at you again, and you laughed when you saw he had a dab of jam at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s nice isn’t it,” You tapped your own mouth. “The lady who makes it only lives round the corner.”

You grinned when John wryly brushed at his lips, caught red-mouthed.

“Quality control,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

You just laughed.

“She says she wanders into her garden and just picks whatever’s ripe, and makes jam from it. How lovely is that?“

“Do you have a garden?”

“I wish. Maybe one day, hey? What about you, what are your digs like?”

John pulled a face.

“Not exactly a palace?”

“Why do you think I like it here so much?”

“The sparklin’ company,” You grinned. “And the lessons. Let’s see, so that's cinnamon whirls and now Victoria Sponge. What do you want to learn next?”

“You know, when I started here, I didn’t expect to get a free crash course.”

“You’re right, I should be chargin’ you.”

John laughed at that, smiling so wide that his eyes squeezed shut. It was so painfully adorable you almost stopped breathing.

Today was lovely. Getting to know John a little more, spending time with him, hearing his lovely voice and seeing his lovely eyes light up whenever he looked at you.

But that nagging feeling, of being a bother, of forcing John into conversations and situations that he wasn’t comfortable with, it had yet to leave you. He didn’t seem unhappy. In fact, John was still smiling to himself as he happily hooked more jam out of the jar.

“Mickey told me to stop bothering you,” you said, unable to help yourself.

John looked at you for a moment, his index finger still in his mouth. It was more than a little distracting, especially when he pulled it back again to speak with a slight ‘pop’.

“You don’t bother me?”

“I mean,” You sighed, wishing you hadn't said anything. “He told me to stop trying to get you to talk.”

To your relief, John only smiled.

“I didn’t realise that’s what you were doing.”

“Ah, well, I’m very sneaky.”

You leaned your hip against the worktop and folded your arms, trying to appear more relaxed than you felt.

“Sorry if I’ve ever been too much.”

John firmly shook his head.

“You haven’t. You’re lovely. I just don’t always feel like talking.”

“That’s fine by me,” you said, barely recovering from being called ‘lovely’ before you spoke again. “I just like talking to you.”

You paused a moment, weighing your options carefully, while John noisily snaffled some more jam. Decision made, you gave him a slow, somewhat pointed smile.

“Easy to get addicted to things you like.”

John seemed surprised by your forwardness. To your relief, he mirrored your smile, then lost his nerve and looked down at the tabletop.

“I like talking to you too,” John said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When he looked back up, his cheeks were tinged pink.

“You’re a bit weird but I like you.”

You scoffed.

“I’m a bit weird?”

“In a nice way!”

“I think you’ll find people find me very humorous.”

“Is that what they say? Or do they say ‘a bit funny’.”

“Oh, look who feels like talking now!”

“Like I said, I like talking to you,” John said, and now the pink had spread to his ears. “Even if you are a bit weird.”

Smiling, you poked his chest gently with the tip of your index finger.

“Even if you are a bit weird, Captain.”

John swayed backwards a little, then forwards again, grinning so prettily, it almost made you sigh when he said,

“Aye, Captain.”

John went back to his books after that; he’d procrastinated enough.

You let him go, trying not to pout. Although it had been fun to distract him for a little while, there was a nervousness behind his pretty eyes, like his mind was somewhere else. He had exams in just a few weeks, you didn’t want to be the reason John failed at something for the first time in his life.

Feeling moony, you gazed at the cake he’d decorated, spinning it slowly around on its turntable.

It was, admittedly, a little skew-whiff, but you couldn’t get John’s proud smile out of your mind.

He really did seem to like it here. Maybe he really liked you too.

“I could ice that for you, if you like.”

You weren’t sure how long Mickey had been watching you but when you shot him a dark look, he seemed very pleased with himself.

“Could write ‘Mrs. Deacon’ in nice swirly letters? Pipe a couple of roses? Hearts?”

“You and I both know he’d take my name.”

“Amongst other things.”

“Haven’t you got madeleines to make, Michael?”

“Haven’t you got meringues to whisk?”

That shut you up. You’d completely forgotten about the stupid meringues. The egg whites you’d separated earlier would be completely ruined, you’d have to start all over again.

“Shit,” You muttered. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

You rolled your eyes, huffed, and went to grab some more eggs from the fridge, but Mickey held out an enormous arm to block your way.

“Leave it now. That whisk is definitely kaput and I think Gladys needs help out front.”

That made you pause.

You and Mickey shared management of the kitchen. Neither of you was the boss of the other, though your… Imperious personality tended to overpower Mickey’s more casual approach to life. It wasn’t like him to tell you what to do.

“What are you up to, Caine?”

“Up to? Me?”

“Mickey…”

He sighed, exasperated, but Mickey was smiling.

“I just thought you might like to stare at lover boy some more.”

You flushed, tripping over your words.

“Since when did- I don’t stare.”

“You definitely do. But it’s okay, so does John.”

That made your heart stumble in your chest.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He does.”

“He doesn’t!”

“Yes, he bloody does. You don’t see him when he comes in, all smiley and stupid cos he’s spotted you. And you don’t have to listen to the endless bloody questions. How long has she worked here? Does she like going to the pictures? Does she get much time off? It’d be annoying if it wasn’t so cute.”

Words failed you again. You thought you’d been able to keep your cards fairly close to your chest. It wasn’t like you to get flustered over a boy but John was so different, so sweet and sincere and new, you could hardly think around him sometimes.

Mickey had been teasing you about it for weeks, but this was the first time he’d mentioned John showing any interest in you too.

You tried to be cool, tried to take a deep breath and nonchalantly change the subject, but self-restraint slipped through your fingers and before you knew it, you asked,

“Has he… Said anything… About me?“

Mickey levelled you with a weary look that almost made you tell him to forget about it, but then he said,

“He asked if you were seeing anyone.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Shut up.”

“I wish I had.”

You bit your lip, trying not to look too pleased.

“That’s…” You forced down your smile but it was like stuffing a sleeping bag back into its sack. “That’s very interesting.”

Mickey sighed again and went to start preparing tomorrow’s batch of lemon madeleines.

“Just don’t come on too strong. He’s good at his job, don’t wanna scare him off.”

You tutted and told him to shut up again, but Mickey was already across the kitchen, loudly singing along to the radio to drown you out.

The electric whisk still sat abandoned on the side. It would probably have cooled down enough now for you to make some last minute meringues before things started to wind down.

Your mind drifted to John’s long fingers, and the way his hair fell around his shoulders as he leaned over his textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You went to join Gladys behind the counter where you did, in fact, stare at John for the rest of the afternoon.

Funnily enough, it turns out Mickey was right. John did stare back.

You caught him, just once, but you thought about it for the rest of the day.

It happened by chance.

The bakery door swung open as someone else sought shelter from the rain, dragging your attention away from the tea you were making for a different customer. Sluggish with exhaustion after a long day, you let your gaze drift across the shop until you locked eyes with John’s.

He had propped his chin up on the heel of his palm, his long fingers cupping his cheek in such a way that, for a moment, you felt a stab of jealousy. His position pushed his lips together into a tempting pout, snagged in one corner by a soft, quiet smile.

When you smiled back, John quickly straightened his back. Disappointed, you watched as he gave you a faint smile in response then forced his attention back to his textbook, hiding behind his long hair.

Dismay turned to delight. He was blushing.

The rest of the day passed considerably better after that. You sliced bread, wiped down tables, swept pastries into little paper bags, and watched the rain fall.

It seemed endless. There were no little grey clouds, no shining pavement. Instead, the sky was dark and purple like a mottled bruise, and the rain fell straight down as if each droplet weighed a ton. It was the kind of rain that seeped through your clothes and your skin, right to the marrow.

As you watched the roads turn into streams and the sky roll and split, you felt a shiver trickle over your skin. You were very glad you were inside looking out.

When the clock finally struck six and all the customers had braved the rain to head home, you wandered over to John’s table with one of the bakery’s signature white bags in hand.

“That’s closing,” you said, though you hated to say goodbye to him. “Might wanna scarper before you get roped into helping.”

John closed his textbook with a look of relief, as if he couldn't be more pleased you’d interrupted him. His face was drawn, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You could practically see all the calculations and equations he’d been memorising swirling around his head like a cloud, so it surprised you when he asked,

“Can I help?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“It’s not much fun. There’s a lot to do and it’s not exactly glamorous.” You smirked. “Not very befitting of a rock star.”

John was too tired to argue. He just gave you a sleepy smile that almost had you reaching out to cup his face.

You thought about running your thumb across his cheek until John was leaning into your hand, humming happily.

Instead, you did the only thing you could do to express your affection for the moment, and placed the bag on the table beside John’s books.

He immediately shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“It’s yesterday’s bread and a couple of pastries. It’ll just get chucked, John.”

“Don’t you have a..? A place you can donate to?”

“Most of it goes to the neighbours and the restaurants on the high street. I take some, so does Mickey. Most shelters don’t take fresh food so we just try and give it away where we can.”

Finally, John smiled.

“So I’m a charity case?”

You grinned.

“You’re a special case.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. But he was still smiling.

You watched him curiously reach into the bag. You might have lied a little. There were actually two loaves of bread and at least three bags of pastries, but in your defence, it had been a slow day because of the rain.

“I’m not gonna fit into my jeans,” John grumbled, though he seemed pleased with his haul.

“My cunning plan. Softening you up.”

It wasn’t just that John seemed a little on the thin side. Times were hard, not least for a student far from home, trying to juggle studying, a band, and a part-time job. If you could help John out, even a little, how could you resist?

John looked at you like he wanted to say something. It actually made you a little flustered as you watched his mind whirr behind his pretty eyes, but then he seemed to either lose his nerve or think better of it and he turned to pack his things away.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, once all his books were back in his bag and he’d slung his thin jacket on.

You watched him nervously, wondering if you should suggest he stay until the rain slowed some more, but it was getting late and John had been hard at work all day.

“Don’t forget your bread.”

You grinned as you handed him the bag.

John laughed softly, but when he took it from you, his fingers got all tangled with yours. Blushing, he managed to shuffle the handles up his wrist and then wrapped his long fingers around yours in the most painfully awkward handshake either of you had ever been a part of.

John had flustered himself into silence, you could see he wanted to just disappear, so you let him go, trying hard not to laugh.

He gave you one last wave then turned to leave.

You glanced down. You couldn’t help it, it was second nature by now. You were only human.

For some reason, the backside of his jeans was completely covered in icing sugar. There must have been some on the stool he’d perched on while decorating.

“Oh, John you’ve got-”

You reached forward without thinking, aiming to brush it off for him, but a much larger hand came down on top of yours, slapping you away.

“Steady,” Mickey said, then tutted and pretended to smack your arm. “Bloody animal.”

John sat cross-legged on his bed. His digs were unusually quiet that evening. Everyone was trying to get their heads down and study, he thought. At last.

He reached for the plate by his feet and picked up one of the slices of toast he’d made for his tea. The rest of the loaf you’d given him was on his desk, along with a couple of brownies and some vanilla slices. The rest had been spread out in the kitchen in the hopes that the other borders would make good use of it.

Munching happily, John plucked out a few notes on his guitar. It had travelled all the way down from Leicester with him but had been rather neglected over the last few weeks. His friends were always encouraging him to write something, and John was feeling good tonight, safe and warm and happy.

He wondered how he might tell you that it was all because of you.

John’s fingers still tingled from where your hands had touched. It was stupid, really. He didn’t think he’d ever been so giddy over a girl before, but here you were, occupying his thoughts, as always.

It had been a long time since anyone touched him. Well, he supposed, that wasn’t exactly true. Roger often squeezed his shoulder and Freddie was always clapping him on the back encouragingly. Mickey, too, was friendly and always shook John’s hand vigorously when he came into the kitchen in the morning.

Handshakes, brief hugs, brushing shoulders, these touches always left him feeling tensed up, like a snail trying to squeeze back into its shell. John could feel their hands on him long after they’d gone. It was almost painful.

But you. When you touched him, it felt like his heart would beat out of his chest, but he was smiling. The difference, John thought, was that he wanted you to touch him, an entirely new and completely terrifying prospect. One he would consider at greater length tomorrow.

John drifted off that night, his thoughts then his dreams heavy with thoughts of you, your soft smile, and your fingers as they danced across his shoulder, his waist, his hip, down his back, until you were pulling him into your arms, that smile still shining as you wrapped those lovely fingers around the front of his shirt, and he fell into a breath-taking kiss.

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

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