Haze
John Deacon X Reader Series: Part One
A/N: Alright. Here is part one, of most likely a 3-5 part series. I hope you like it. I genuinely put a lot of effort into this piece. I’ve been stressing over it for days, as I have basically already written out the entire series. I just keep re-editing. Please, please leave feedback. If you want to be tagged, it’s easiest to just send an ask or a message. You can comment on this post, but I can’t promise I will find it when posting Part Two.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 2.7K
Tag List: @herewegoagainniall @i-got-no-rhythm @radio-ha-ha @lapofthemusicgods @brianharoldmaysguitar @hodgepodge-of-rog @deakysgurl @princessleiaqueen @smile-nine @sunnygubler @wonderfullyridiculous @josephhmazzello
The rain drizzled down the window of the cab and you watched intently as two drops of water seemingly raced to reach the windows end. Your bets were on the left. Leaning against the window, you hoped the dampness of the night would be able to put you in a better mood. The glass was cool against your forehead, and as if by reflex, you pulled your jean jacket closer to your body. Rainy days were far from uncommon in London, but today was cooler than most. You sighed as the right, pebble-sized droplet, reached the end of the window before the left. Figures. You thought to yourself. It had been one of those day’s, after all. One of those weeks really. Well, months. You hadn’t seen your best friend in ages. Well, one month, but it had been ages. Now, you were nearly twenty minutes late to see him, and you could not be any more peeved. The cab pulled over to the curb, with a sudden jerk, throwing you further into the window. You cursed under your breath, before slipping out a note for the driver. He grumbled a thank you, and you ducked out of the vehicle, racing against the rainfall to the canopy that covered the entryway of the pub.
Pubs had never really been your scene, they weren’t exactly your best friend’s scene, either. The two of you would much rather go to a dance club, than a dingy old building such as this, but this was John’s big night. You’d be damned if you were going to miss it. As you entered the smoke-laden basement, you heard the familiar strumming of the bass line.
“Shit.” You mumbled, knowing you were late. You scanned the make-shift stage at the opposing end of the room, and just the sight of him, relieved your sour mood. He flashed you a quick grin, before looking back down at his hands, as they graced his guitar. You shuffled through the score of people, finding a pathway to the bar, and quickly stealing a seat. You ordered your usual and turned back to watch in admiration as John played his heart out. Along with him was another tall slender man, playing guitar, equally as well as John had been. In between, stood a very ostentatious man, who was absolutely nailing his vocals, while slapping a tambourine against his thigh. From his looks, you could distinguish he was foreign, but his voice was suffused with British muster. Hidden in the background was a blonde drummer, wildly banging away, driving the girls around you absolutely mad. You rolled your eyes at the sight of them, but you were very proud. You knew Deacon was good, really good. You just never would have imagined he’d really join a band. Let alone, a band as well known around the city, as Queen. Being the tried and true friend you were, you had encouraged him to audition and found yourself elated when he told you the good news. He had spun you around in a tight hug, that left you weak in the knees. John often had that effect on you. You’d be a damned fool to let him know, however.
They played a few more songs, and you had downed a few more drinks. Well, more than a few. By the time John made his way through the sea of people, you were swaying in your seat.
“Steady, now.” His voice was warm, as he rested a palm on your back. You looked up at him with such adornment.
“Johnny!” You squealed, and he laughed boldly before ordering a lager. “So this is what you’ve been up to, yeah?” You waved a hand towards the stage, grinning from ear to ear like a mad woman.
“Yeah, it’s just a bit of fun. I’m glad you made it. I thought I’d never see you again.” He teased, taking a long sip from the foamy brim. You nodded at him.
“It has been too long, hasn’t it?” Your words were slurred, and you leaned into his side slightly. More than happy to breathe in his scent, again. You had missed so much about John. Everything from his voice to his smell, to the way his lips twitched before pulling up into a smile, and well, those hands. You could get lost in the thoughts of his hands forever. They were your favorite daydream.
“Y/N?” John waved his hand as if on cue with your imagination, pulling you from your trance.
“Hmm, yes?” You leaned back against the bar stool and took note of the new presence around you.
“This is Roger, the drummer,” Deacy stated, with a side smile. You turned your body to face the glowing man before you. Your eyes grew wider, and you stuck your hand out to meet his own. He was very handsome, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to pursue him, but, he wasn’t John. However, it’s not like you hadn’t replaced John with another before. Surely, you could do it again. You had needs after all.
“Nice to meet you.” His voice was low, and his eyes were already undressing you, but quickly stopped, when John coughed.
“You too.” You whispered. The three of you drank and talked for a long while, and you had decided right then, that you would be taking Roger Taylor home with you that night. When John, excused himself to use the restroom, you made your move.
“So, Roger,” You began. The alcohol giving you the ego boost you so desperately needed. “If you want, we can go back to mine tonight?” The words fought to leave your tongue in a drunken dance, but eventually, they made their way, stumbling through your lips. You were, however, sober enough to wish they were being said to someone else. John.
“Oh, erm, no thank you. I can’t.” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. You squinted your eyes at him, but before you could edge the embarrassing conversation further, Deacy returned.
“Y/N, it’s quite late, need a ride home?” He asked, rubbing your shoulder gently. You both knew you were drunk, and if John didn’t get you home, there’s no telling where the night would take you. You nodded, feeling the room spin as you planted your feet on the ground. Of course, he was quick to steady you and led you through the bar to his own car parked out back.
He, after a bit of struggle, managed to get you strapped into the passenger seat, before making his way round to the driver's side. The car rumbled to life, and to your stomach's dismay, the ride was long and bumpy.
“If you’re going to be sick, you’d better tell me.” He warned, studying your face quickly. You just grumbled in response, feeling your eyelids cave in on themselves. When you opened them again, the car was parked, and John was already holding your door open.
“‘M not carrying you.” He rolled his eyes. You shot him a look, before hauling yourself from the vehicle. Even in his annoyed state, he helped you into his flat. He even took your heels off for you, and for a moment, you almost believed it was real. For a split second, you could almost picture John, swooping you off your feet, carrying you down the hallway and laying next to you in bed. He’d kiss you slowly to start before things would undoubtedly grow more passionate. You could see him, sliding your dress down your body, exposing yourself before him; wild-eyed and hungry for more-
“Y/N? Cmon dear, I need you conscious.” His voice was soft, as he rubbed your arms gently. Your eyes fluttered open and your cheeks burned red.
“S-sorry.” You stammered, rubbing your finger against your temple. If only.
“Do you want a cuppa?” John was already making his way to the kitchen, and like the loyal lapdog you were, you followed, mumbling a soft ‘yes’ along the way. The tiled kitchen floor was cool and brought a sense of relief to your aching heels as you padded into the small space. John set the kettle on, and you leaned against the counter, observing his every move. You couldn’t exactly remember when you fell for him. You had been friends for ages, always a tight-knit crew. All you really knew, is it happened somewhere along the timeline before college. As you had grown older together, things with John had changed. Physically, yes, you were very attracted to him. Mentally, he astounded you. Putting your own wisdom to shame. What truly got to you, was his compassion, and empathy. He was so much softer than the other men you had known in your life. Although yes John did put up a bit of a forefront around others, with you he was different. With people who truly knew him, he was different. He was so perfect, plain. Even now, standing in his lackluster kitchen, he was perfect. You watched him, as the thoughts so easily spilled through you. The skin around his eyes crinkled, with his forming smile, as he caught you staring.
“What?” His voice was lower, as he set two mugs down on the countertop next to you.
“Nothin’” You stared at your painted toes, feeling the need to confess. Don’t. You warned yourself. But alas, a devil and an angel were so happily perched on your shoulder blades, making a mockery out of you. He is your best friend. The angel scolded.
“I’ve known you for how long? What’s on your mind.” It wasn’t a question, really. He wasn’t giving you the option to not spill whatever was clouding over your mind. In a moment of either bravery or sheer stupidity, you placed your hand over his. Of course, he, however, was not phased by the movement. It’s not like in your sixteen years of knowing one another, you’d never held his hand. The movement did not stop there. Slowly you grazed your fingertips along the skin of his arms. Goose pimples formed, and his eyes darted to your polished tips. He never moved his gaze from them, as you made your way to the bottom sleeve of his shirt. You toyed with the material for but a moment, before continuing your journey up his shoulders. Were you seeing how far he’d let you go? Or how far you’d let yourself go? Your tips padded along his defined collar bone, and for a moment, you glanced up at him. His eyes locked on your arm. The deadpan expression on his face had you flustered, but his orbs spoke volumes. He craved more. You brushed past his long locks, and up the nape of his neck. That’s when you stopped.
“John.” Barely a whisper. He only nodded. In response, you moved your body forward, no longer needing to rely on the counter for support. Your bodies were suddenly close, and your mouth had become unspeakably dry.
“I-I want to kiss you.” You managed to get the words out, but you wouldn’t dare look him in the eyes. The sudden feeling of his large hands on your waist made you jump. You had now only realized the kettle was steaming and whistling a song of madness in the distance. You both chose to ignore this. He held your body firm in place. In your mind, it was because he needed to feel you. Really, you had been swaying from the abundance of alcohol you had managed to consume, and he was trying to keep you upright. You stood on your tip-toes, your noses perfectly aligned. He parted his lips slightly, and you couldn’t resist but to lick your own, dragging your bottom lip between your teeth as you did so. His breath was hot on your face, and you basked in it all. You slowly leaned into him, needing the feeling of his lips against your own. The desire alone, had you burning at the core. Just a taste. The devil sang on your right, efficiently winning the tug-of-war battle taking place within you. Your eyelids closed on themselves, again, and you felt his nose brush against yours. You were so close. Less than a hair away and his lips would be on yours, the way yours had made love to the glass of booze all night. You were so close.
“No.” And there it was. The feeling of your stomach twisting and coiling like a python. He forced space between you two. Your hand dropped from his warm skin, slapping against your own thigh. His hand's remained, but you wanted nothing more than to be as far away from his grasp. Your knees began to buckle and you mercilessly wished it had been from pleasure and not pain. Your eyes focused on the tiled floor. Blue diamond shapes on a white square. Basic, simple. Perfectly, plain. Cool to the touch. Although, they could stand for a good scrub. John had never been one to keep a clean house. John. You finally, at an unbearable slow rate, strained your neck up at him. When you locked eyes, he dropped his hands and walked towards the steaming kettle. He didn’t bother to pour the boiling liquid into either mug. He placed it on an unused burner and turned to face you. Keeping the distance. Only a mere four paces, but it could have been four thousand.
“I should go to bed.” You croaked. You leaned back against the counter top. Now, you needed support.
“Y/N.”
“No, John. It’s late. Yeah, it’s late. I’m drunk.” You nodded at your own words.
“Exactly. You’re drunk.” He repeated. As if to convince himself that you didn’t really want him. To you, it was confirmation you had made a mistake.
“John?” You were fragile in this a moment. A glass china plate. Small, scared, and ungodly beautiful.
“Yes, love?” He was strong in this moment. A chiseled sculpture. Tall, firm, and ungodly beautiful.
“I can’t sleep in this dress.” His sudden chuckle was absolute Novocain to your ears. He began to walk out of the kitchen area, but turned and beckoned you with his fingers, to follow. His fingers. You collected yourself, before haphazardly making your way to his room. It wasn’t hard to navigate John’s flat in your drunken stupor. You had been here countless times. Weekend football, listening to countless records, helping him clean before his parents visited - or God forbid a girl. The last option rarely happened though. Only once or twice, but even still, the thought of it made you want to hurl up the contents of your stomach.
“Here, you can wear this....and these.” He held out a white shirt and a pair of jogging shorts. You sighed, before taking them. It wasn’t a sigh of annoyance, just, well annoyance, yes. With yourself.
“Thank you, Deacs.” You whispered, before turning on your heel.
“No, you can have mine tonight. I’ll stay on the couch.” Before you could object he moved passed you and was already down the hall. Your heart sank, as you let your dress pool at your feet. He hadn’t even complimented it. Why should he have? You were taunting yourself. You’d known you’d made yourself out to be a proper fool. His shirt hung loosely on you, and you had to tie the shorts tightly to keep them from sliding down. John was a lanky man, but still, a man. His clothes were large on you. You stared at his bed for a moment. Praying he’d waltz back into the room, and offer to sleep with you for the night. He didn’t. You sighed as you made your way towards the bed frame. Plain white sheets, and a quilted blanket. Surely, his mother had made it. A smile managed a way to your lips at the thought of John curling up at night under the same sheets. You shimmied under the covers, before pulling them close to your chest. They smelt wonderfully of him. His cologne, his cigarette’s, his shampoo. Perfectly, adequately, John.
“Goodnight, Y/N.” He called down the hall. You felt your head spin. Whether from the alcohol or his voice, you didn’t really know. You chose to stick with the latter.
“Goodnight, John.” You called back. “I love you.” You said to yourself, before turning out the light, and allowing yourself to effortlessly dream of John, the way you had grown accustomed to. It truly was a vivid, and profound form of escapism.
