once in a blue moon, I feel like writing. decided to post those collections of words somewhere. oh, my name is Sam. currently on hiatus due to college masterlist // main // got bored, wrote decided to read
No offence, but @gotboredwrote is one of my favorite writers on here and their stuff needs so much more love! Specifically, the "American Publicist" series. It's so sweet and has no where near the amount of recognition it deserves!! Not to mention their stuff for Gardner Langway, Tim Murphy, and Eugene Sledge!! Stunning work!! Shower them with love!
alright, I know I haven't been active in a hot minute because of college kicking me in the ass but like holy moly you're such a lovely human and you deserve the world my friend. I wish I had more time to write because I genuinely love it but as many of my personal friends on here know, I have quite literally hours of homework every single day, and if I didn't do it, I would fail.
however! I always see every reblog/like/comment on here and knowing that there are people who still read my stuff even while I'm away makes me so giddy and warm and fuzzy inside. I want you to know that I seriously appreciate you, friend, and I hope your current existence and everything you do in the future lovely and wonderful.
ugh you people want to make me ugly cry, don't you? savages. 😂💛🥰
Pairing: Gardner Langway x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 4K
Style: Sequel (Part Two of Anchored, But Irradiated)
Warnings: Broken bones, so much fluff you might feel sick by the end of it
Summary: Y/N and Gardner go on that date they talked about, but something happens to Y/N and there’s only one person qualified to help her out. He isn’t qualified on the medical credentials, but he’s the only one who could do the job.
Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way.
A/N: Request from @took-me-hours-to-steal-those ! The first unprompted request I’ve ever gotten! So, I’m very thankful for you, hon! I hope this is what you hoped for! ALSO – if you have not read part one of this, this may not make sense at first. There’s buildup to this point and background there, so I highly suggest you give that a read first, friends.
Masterlist // Part 1
~
It was hard to tell if Gardner truly understood what an actual “date” was, because the two of you had gone on his route while he was in his cast together almost every single day. But nonetheless, it was special. It was special because it was Gardner, and he was happy that you kept your vow to remain close to him. You could tell it made him happy – he was not really good at hiding his feelings, but you found that extremely endearing.
Regarding his emotions, he was not super happy when you were assigned a new person to take care of in the way that you did for him. To you, it meant proof of a steady job and some money, which you needed pretty bad, just like most people in the world. To Gardner, though, it meant less time to spend with him. He wanted to keep spending time with you like you had when he was injured. He wanted to keep cooking in Calvin’s kitchen. He wanted to keep sharing his nuggets of wisdom about each crack in the sidewalk with you. He wanted to show you his newest stamps, and most of all, he wanted to tell you how much you meant to him.
And if it was not for Nettie, he could have done all those things.
Knock knock.
…
The pastel pink door to the small cottage slowly creaked open revealing a small, gentle older gentleman of about 85 years of age. Standing there in your olive-green scrubs, you offered him a large smile, which he reciprocated in his own, less-exuberant way.
“Mr. Thompson?”
“Hello there, dear. Would you be Y/Wrong/N?”
“It’s Y/N, but yes, I am here from the hospital to help your wife, Nettie, right?”
“Oh, my apologies, dearie. Yes, Nettie. Took a nasty fall, hit her head. Has trouble doing anything without getting dizzy right now and my muscles aren’t what they used to be. Not what attracted her to me, at least.” You offered him a laugh, and he stood to the side of the door as if to let you in. “She’s upstairs waiting for you, please come in.”
You thanked him, and you walked past him into their home, which was all painted in pastels and had knickknacks all around from the years of travel it appeared they did. He pointed you to the kitchen where you dropped off Nettie’s paperwork and your personal bag, taking your medicine bag upstairs. Your medicine bag was actually a gift from Gardner. He had a retired doctor on his route, and he constantly saw Gardner walking with you in your scrubs, so he offered his old-fashioned house-call bag to him to give you. You had not stopped using it since the day he gave it to you.
No longer in the presence of her husband, you made your way up to their bedroom where he told you she would be. You knocked gently, but heard no response. You knocked again. Hearing no response again, you lightly pushed the door open to see Nettie sitting on one side of their shared bed, not facing the door, seemingly looking out the window.
Had you noticed the hearing aids sitting on the bedside table, you would have never done what you did. Alas, you did not notice them and grabbed her shoulder to get her attention. It was the first genuine mistake you had made as a nurse.
“Miss Nettie? I’m here to—”
Then you felt a large pressure on your wrist, and the next thing you knew, you were doubled over on the floor next to the foot of her bed. You were half moaning, half screaming at the searing, sharp pain radiating through your wrist and shooting up your arm. Somehow, this 80-something old woman had gotten so riled up by you touching her shoulder all of a sudden that she mustered up the strength to shatter a handful of bones in your wrist. His husband heard the commotion coming from the bedroom, which now included yells from Nettie herself, and as fast as he could made his way into their bedroom.
“What’s going on?”
“Reggie, who is this woman? Why is she in our house? Did you know she was here?”
“Nettie, it’s okay. This is Y/N, she’s the nurse who’s going to be helping you balance while you try to do things around the house and in town.” He looked down at you, still whimpering on the floor from the pain that did not seem to get any better. “Well, I’m not so sure she’ll be helping you now.”
~
Whenever you work somewhere, you never really expect to be on the receiving end of the situation. Especially you, because you worked at a hospital, so if you were on the receiving end, that meant something was wrong. You had visual proof of that looking down at your light blue cast – a color you had admitted you chose for Gardner’s sake. Your supervisor and all your nurse friends crowded in your room and looked at you sheepishly.
“What? How was I supposed to know an 80-year-old lady had the strength to latch onto me, let along break my wrist?”
The x-ray tech came in and placed the shot on the viewer. Everyone in the room winced at how shattered your wrist appeared to be.
“Well… somehow that lady managed to grab you in a way that broke all but one of the bones in your wrist. I think you know the drill for how this goes. Don’t get the cast wet, have someone help you as much as possible, and if you decide to come into work, you’ll be with someone who can help you do stuff. Do you know who can help you?”
“Yeah, I think I know someone.”
Carefully, you drove your car home, considering you only really have the use of one hand because your cast went from your hand to your elbow. Once home, you never even went inside. You walked through your neighborhood about 4 blocks or so until you saw the familiar boat that made you all too warm inside. You were about to walk up to the side of it and knock on it, when a familiar voice called out to you.
“He’s on his route right now, won’t be back for a while!”
Calvin, in his robe, pan with something sizzling inside it. A familiar site, considering your days with Gardner before usually were about 12 hours or more.
“Woah, what happened to our favorite nurse, girlfriend? Oh, well maybe I shouldn’t call you that. Gardner might question what it is you two have.”
“We’ve been on one date, Cal.”
“Are you denying that you want to be his girlfriend?”
“…” You had not really thought about it. Well, you had, but the one time you went on a date with him, it just felt like you were back at work again because you had to do that while he was injured. You refused to put any thought into the idea that you and Gardner could date until after the work situation was over. And here you were, standing on his doorstep about to ask him to do the exact same thing you did for him.
“Well, I can see you’re pretty lost in your thoughts right now, girly. Did you want to come inside for some breakfast? You can stay here and wait for him to come home, we have tons of movies you could watch.”
“I wouldn’t be intruding?”
“Absolutely not. I’ll be at the shop all afternoon, despite it being Saturday, but you have my cell number, so you can always call me if there’s something you can’t find or need.”
“Thanks, Cal. This means a lot to me.”
“Again, it’s no trouble. And I’m sure Gardner will be thrilled to see you.”
You walked into the all-too familiar home, memories of the showers and sponge baths you gave Gardner flooding into your mind. You felt happy thinking about them, at peace. Not even recognizing the pain in your wrist. Endorphins rushing through you at a mile a minute. Calvin fixed a plate for you, one that consisted of what you remembered were his favorites – bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and an everything bagel. He always made a sandwich, you remembered, so when you asked him to make you one just like he always did, his eyes lit up. It made him happy that you did not just pay attention to Gardner, that he mattered just as much.
You ate the sandwich as best you could with one hand, using a fork to eat the remaining bits that fell. Calvin cleaned up after both of you, and scurried upstairs to change, pointing you in the direction of their living room so you could get comfy. You chose a couple movies they had on DVD, a couple you had not seen before, and choosing an old favorite – Jurassic Park. The little boy, Tim, reminded you of Gardner in some ways. He looked a bit like him, too.
Before you could get up to grab yourself a drink and put a movie in, you heard Calvin sprint down the stairs and nearly fall down the last 5 steps.
“Don’t you dare get up – I’ll get what you need before I leave. Whatcha looking for?”
“Just a drink, thank you.”
“Water or some other beverage?”
“Tea, if you have it, actually.”
“Coming right up.”
With that, you settled back down into your comfortable position on the couch, snuggled in a blanket they had draped over the back of the couch. After about 3 minutes, Calvin came back into the living room and placed the mug down next to you. A USPS mug of all things. He saw you had some DVD’s picked out, Jurassic Park on top, so he popped that in for you and started it. As he started walking out the door to go to the shop he turned around and told you something.
“Gardner actually brought that mug home for you. For you to keep here. He really wants you to spend time here, you know. He really likes you, Y/N.”
You felt your face flush but did not turn to look at Calvin. All you did was listen to the sound of his voice fade out and the classic sounds of John Williams fade in.
~
You did not have a guess as to when you fell asleep, but you were gently startled awake because you heard the door opening. You expected Calvin to walk through the door, but when your eyes adjusted to the light entering your eyes, you saw a lot of blue and a large bag slung over a shoulder. You also saw a safari cap of sorts.
It was your favorite mail carrier.
And he looked so terrified that you were just sleeping on their couch. He had so many questions about the situation, but he pushed them aside. He walked over to your side and watched as you stretched and smiled gently up at him.
“Thanks for the mug, Gardner.”
“What?”
“Calvin told me you brought this here for me to use. Thanks. And I accept the invitation to come over more often. Especially now, because I actually have a pretty large favor to ask of you.” Your arm was still hidden underneath the blanket, so Gardner had no idea what he was about to see. When you raised your arm from behind the blanket, Gardner’s eyes went wide with concern and instantly he dropped to the floor by your side, grasping your arm a little bit more roughly than he should have. He heard you wince in pain and instantly retracted his arms.
“Sorry, s-sorry…”
“It’s okay. This is actually what I wanted to ask you about, Gardner. I kind of…need us to switch roles for a few weeks.”
“You want to be a mail ca—”
“No lovebug, I need you to take care of me like I did for you while you had your cast on. Think you can do it if I walk you through it?”
Gardner simply nodded his head, and then the two of you looked to the door which was opening to reveal an exhausted looking Calvin. He just waved at the two of you and trudged upstairs to shower, so he could then move on to making dinner. After watching him make his way up the stairs, Gardner broke you from your thoughts.
“Have you been here all day?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I was thinking it was Sunday and you would have been home. I forgot what day it was and…”
“And?”
“And… I was really hoping you would help me.”
Gardner looked at you funnily. “I already agreed to—”
“I know you did. But I don’t know if you’re grasping the intensity of what I’m asking you to do. You’re going to have to do practically everything I did for you, with the exception of pushing me around in a wheelchair.” Now Gardner looked nervous, and instantly you felt horribly guilty. “Gardner, I can ask one of the nurses, I’m sorry. I just thought it would be a good excuse to hang out with you again.”
“I can do it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I can do it.”
You felt warm. Giddy. Thankful that Gardner walked – well, tripped – into your life.
~
Calvin, despite how tired he was, managed to make a really good dinner for the three of you. Afterwards, you began to realize that Gardner was taking what you said to him very literally. Gardner insisted that you stay with him on the boat because you stayed with him when he was hurt. He insisted that he be the one to help you with anything involving your hands. Which translated into needing a shower. You had worked a night shift before having to go over to Nettie’s house this morning, which felt like a lifetime ago already, so you felt grimy. But you realized all your stuff was at home, Gardner did not drive, and you smelled.
“Hey, Gardner?”
He poked his head around the wall from the kitchen where he was making you another cup of tea. He had made sure you were sat right back where he found you after dinner so you did not exert more energy than necessary.
“I, uh… I need to shower. And I need pajamas for tonight and clothes for tomorrow.”
“I’ll wash your hair, and you can borrow my stuff for tonight. I still have those clothes you wore that first night. When you wanted less laundry to do.”
You just looked at him and hoped that he either could not see how hard your heart was beating, or that he was just as nervous as you.
The latter was true.
For some reason, this felt way more intimate than the first time, the minute you walked into his bathroom. A familiar room. You should not feel this nervous. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you were going to have to take the top layer of your scrubs off in front of him. Maybe it was the fact that he was going to be yanking on your hair – something you realized you might like because of the way he reacted when you did it to him. Maybe it was the fact that the two of you had gone on a date but had not yet established what this relationship of yours really was. Or kissed.
Gardner had a very good knack for taking you out of your thoughts, because the water from the spicket started cascading into the tub, loudly. And instantly your skin was red hot. Gardner was kneeling beside the tub checking the water, waiting for you to tell him what to do. You shakily unbuttoned your scrubs top and let the fabric fall from your shoulders. You were staring right at Gardner while you did so, and he was doing the same. All you had on now was a white tank top. He watched as you loosened your hair from how you had it, letting is cascade down just like the water. Then, before you realized it, you could feel the cold ceramic of the tub on your upper back, head hanging over the side of the tub. You looked up at Gardner who was as stiff as a piece of plywood. You reached up to hold his face and turn it to yours.
“Hey, hon, it’s just me. We’ve been in this position before. This isn’t weird, okay? All you have to do is wash my hair like you would wash your own. Think you can do that?”
He nodded his head, eyes shining and boring right into your own. There was something behind those eyes, you just could not place it.
“Plus, it’ll be kind of funny – I’ll smell like you because of the shampoo!”
Gardner pried his eyes away from your own to start letting the water run down your hair. It felt nice to have someone do this for you. You had not been to a hairdresser in a long time, so this was as close as you were going to get.
Gardner watched as the droplets of water streaked down your hair, now a couple shades darker. It was mesmerizing to him, how smoothly they moved. Then he looked to your face – completely at ease, no tension, just enjoying the warmth. Almost…blissed out. Then he realized that your hair was far beyond being drenched enough, so he carefully placed the showerhead down into the tub and reached for his shampoo. Initially, he only put the amount he would use on his hand, ever so literal he was, and then he made up the difference for your much longer hair.
“I’m… going to start putting the shampoo in.”
“Mmm.” All you could offer was a hum. You genuinely felt like you looked. As soon as Gardner had started the process, your nerves faded. His on the other hand, were just getting worse and worse.
Then, his hands were working the shampoo from your roots to your ends. At first, he quite literally just used his flat hands and moved from the top to the bottom, but then he realized that is not exactly how one washes hair. So, he began to use his fingers a little bit more carefully. Running them through, detangling.
Pulling.
And your suspicions were confirmed. A noise left your lips that were so desperately terrified would escape, and instantly Gardner’s hands retracted. He held his hands up like he had a gun pointed at him, not caring that they were dripping all over himself, and looked at you widely.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, hon…feels good.”
Somehow, the manner and tone with which you said that urged him to keep going. After all, the soap had to get out sometime. He worked the remaining streams of shampoo into your hair, and then rinsed off his hands so he could wash out your hair. All the meanwhile small huffs of air escaped your lips with every pull and stroke down your hair. You understood now how Gardner could not control his reaction – you were doing the exact same thing. All the while wondering to yourself ‘what is this that we have?’
Then you heard the water shut off, and Gardner reached back for a towel. He was sitting back on his knees waiting for you to sit up, with the towel placed gingerly over his hands which were extended in front of him.
“Oh, look at you, lovebug! I didn’t even have to tell you what was next.”
He continued to look right at you with determination and… that other thing you still could not pinpoint. Regardless, you sat up and leaned straight against the bathtub. You looked at him wistfully, somewhat tired from the warmth, and he took that as a cue to toss the towel over your head. He was not quite sure how to properly towel-dry hair, but he did his best. Something he did, though, earned him another noise. One much more intense than the others. It stopped him dead in his tracks. The towel had been covering your face, so he did not get to see the face you made before, but slowly he removed the towel from your face and leaving it atop your head.
You were either embarrassed or turned-on, Gardner could tell that much. He was not experienced but he knew those two emotions. He had felt both when he was in your boat a little while back. In a very unlike Gardner move, he just decided to hope that it was the latter of the two options.
Soft. That was the first thing you noticed about them. They were relatively plump for someone like him, and very soft. They also moved against your own like they had more experience than they let on, but you knew from previous conversations with the boy that he had no real experience other than a childhood one when he was about seven.
So, you could not help but wonder, where in the world did this massive smacker he was currently laying on you come from? And why?
Not that you minded, of course.
At first, he was still. Clearly unsure of whether or not you were kissing him back, or if you hated every millisecond of this. His eyes were pressed shut so tight he was starting to see those little colors you see when your eyes go berserk. But then he felt it. Motion not coming from his own mouth. You were kissing him back.
He had no idea what it was to do, so he let his natural instinct take over. His mouth started to move with yours, against your motions, trying to feel every single inch of space your lips had to offer. After a few moments, it became more than just lips, mouths barely opening to simply feel more of each other. He was still holding onto the towel – you could tell simply because the pressure on your head was increasing with each passing moment, signaling to you that he was holding onto it for dear life. Then, the pressure moved away. His hands moved somewhere else. But it was not your body.
He had placed his hands onto the edge of the tub to ground himself and give him somewhere to balance. You could feel his body shift. He moved over top of you, your head leaning back a bit from the height difference. And the feeling on your lips was more intense. More passionate. Deeper, slower. He was putting every fiber of his being into this kiss as if it were the only time he would ever get the chance. You placed your good hand into his hair, lightly pulling just the way you learned he liked, and instantly he melted into you.
So much so that the hands that he had on the tub had finally realized they had water under them and decided to slip backwards into the tub. Now with nothing to hold him up, Gardner’s entire body came crashing down into yours, the only exception being that you got your hands up to his face in time so your heads did not collide.
Both of you were breathing in heavily, right into each other’s ears and necks. But, ever the silence-breaker, you heard his breathing hitch before hearing his voice.
“That cast feels funny.”
You simply pulled your head back to look at him and playfully smirked at him. His eyes were blown black, and his cheeks were bright red. It was a sight you loved. He spoke again.
“Can we go to bed now?”
“On two conditions.”
He simply gave you a questioning look.
“You have to promise to show me that new stamp you were telling me about when we get down there, and you have to promise to do exactly what you just did for a long time.”
(last update: Sept 2, 2019, 11:45pm EST. see: Joe Mazzello ...as Gardner Langway.)
if you ever want to be added to the permanent taglist, or the specific taglist for a character/person mentioned below, feel free to send me an ask here!
Hi! Are you working on anything at the moment? What's coming next? I live for your stories. Much love.
at the moment - nothing is currently started, sadly to say. reason being, I'm currently in the process of moving back to college and the last week or so has been mainly consisting of that and catching up on doctors appts.
however! that does not mean I have nothing planned! someone requested a sequel to the one Gardner fic 'Anchored, But Irradiated,' so I'm waiting for inspiration to strike there (I have a few ideas). also, I'm hoping that some Queen boys ideas will infiltrate my brain, and possibly another Gardner fic separate from the sequel. not sure yet!
I wish I could say when I'll get a chance to write again, but right now, I am really not sure - school's going to start and I'm going to be very busy, so it's going to be much more sporadic until I'm on my Winter and Summer breaks. however, that means fics will probably be more detailed and carefully written because they'll take more time, which I hope is good! hopefully that's not disappointing, and hopefully you can understand my reasoning for being delayed! also, I sincerely adore and appreciate your compliment - I'm glad I can make you happy! much love to you as well, lovely anon 💛
what is with you people thanking me for writing omg you all are trying to make me cry 😭😭💛
thank you, hon! it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside knowing I can make people happy, even if for a few minutes, and know I appreciate you all, too! 💛
Pairing: DS Gavin Troy x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 5.6K
Style: One-Shot
Warnings: Swearing, wrist injury, serious injury later on (hospitalization required), fluff, angst if you blink and then stare reeeaaally hard
Summary: In a classic meet-cute fashion, awkward-around-women and king-of-being-obvious Detective Sergeant Gavin Troy is working on a case when he injures himself, and a lovely lady comes to help him out.
Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way.
A/N: @bensrhapsody got me hooked on Midsomer Murders and I’ve basically fallen in love with everything about Troy, with the exception of his driving (yikes.). So, this is my little love letter to him because the boy deserves some attention, dammit. To be in my mindset, picture series/season 1 Troy with those curly “bangs.” Also, thanks Lena for deliberating the title with me yet again.
Masterlist
~
Routine murder case, this was. At least, that’s what Troy told himself. This was more tedious than others, though, because he was on the hunt for something really small and up very high on a ledge. It was going to take him ages to find it, and he had no help, considering Barnaby ran off to grab a bite from a food truck nearby.
Still searching and getting more frustrated by the minute, he started moving much less carefully than he had been originally up on the ledge, about half a story off the ground. He leaned down to rummage through a messy pile of random bits and bobs, and noticed something strange.
“Huh. Why can’t I feel the ledge underneath my feet anymore?”
It was the only sentence his head could string together before his body hit the pavement with a rather large thunk.
~
The abrupt falling motion across the easy-going street filled with people mulling about was pretty easy to spot. Everyone moving at a turtle’s pace and all of a sudden, a long and lanky body is moving through the sky. Not to mention the noise he made when he hit the ground made it obvious, as well. The thing was, not a single soul whose heads all turned around to see the object, or rather human being, that hit the ground went over to help, despite the painful whines and moans coming from the body. It hurt your heart knowing that no one felt an obligation to help him up, so you stepped up to the plate.
You had not seen the exact injury, but you would come to find out that the boy had lost his footing and missed the side of the ledge. Only God knows why there was not a railing for him to lean against, but there was no use questioning it now. He fell, and he needed to be attended to. He had fallen directly onto this left arm, and the pain he was in made Troy feel as though he had completely shattered the bones in his wrist. Later, he would come to find out that he almost shattered his wrist, but got away with a simple but intense sprain that only required a few pain pills, a brace, and some rest and relaxation. In that moment, though, he was sure his wrist was completely broken.
The minute you saw him fall you were by his side. You had never really been in this situation before – sure, you had a few family members who had taken some nasty spills. But those were instances of some water on the kitchen floor and it was a simple slip, no real injuries except maybe a bruise or two. This was a whole other situation, considering his wrist had clearly already started to balloon to twice its normal size. You could see that he was trying to find a position to make his wrist hurt less, but with every move was increasing the swelling, and, ergo, the pain. So, you did the only thing you could think to do.
You gently grabbed onto his wrist with both of your smaller hands, making the effort to encapsulate it completely so as to make him stop moving it. You could not bear to see him hurt himself more and hear his groans. It hurt your heart to see someone in this much pain. And it seems your efforts were not for nothing, in that as you continued to hold the boy’s wrists in place, you could see that his breathing was calming down. You had continued to stare at him, as well, so that when he finally looked up at you and met your eyes he could see how concerned you were for him.
After some amount of time, his eyes moved up simultaneously with his head and locked his eyes with yours. They went wide. Instantly Troy realized that someone was trying to help him, and he was getting embarrassed that he did not speak to the person or thank them, and once he got past that thought, he also realized that the someone who was trying to help him was also extremely breathtaking. He could feel his heart rate go from quick to erratic, signaling the transition from focusing on the pain to focusing on the work of art in front of him.
Either you did not notice like him, or you just did not mind, but Troy realized that he had practically been staring at you for a few solid seconds at this point, and he got even more embarrassed. Frantically, he tried to push himself away from you to stand up and walk away to find Barnaby, but stopped when he realized that he had no idea which direction Barnaby had originally run off to. After a moment of hesitation, Troy starts to walk away from you, still not having said a single thing to you, but you catch him by the crook of his arm, still with a look of concern plastered onto your face.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to take you to the hospital, sir?”
He looked at you, bewildered that you even spoke to him after how oddly he had treated you not moments before. But he did not think about that long, considering that he was looking at a work of art whose voice sounded like a symphony.
“No, I’m okay. Really.”
“I could walk you to a drug store to get some medicine and things—”
“Seriously, I’m okay. I have pain killers and a brace at home. Thanks for the offer, though, miss.”
After feeling as though the final word of the conversation had been spoken, Troy turned around and began to trudge away to find his partner. Except he realized that he basically made a complete ass of himself, so he abruptly stopped in his tracks and turned back around to face you.
“I’m… so sorry, madam. I’m just a bit out of sorts at the moment. I never caught your name, Miss…?”
“Y/N Y/L/N. Yourself?” She even said it with a smile, Troy noticed, despite how odd he was being.
“DS Gavin Troy, Causton police.”
And with that, he ran off as best he could to find Barnaby, thinking it would be the only time he saw the girl. Little did he know, though, you had a plan to see him again.
~
Troy never ended up finding Barnaby that day, so the look of shock and confusion adorning Barnaby’s features the next day when Troy walked in their shared office was pretty understandable.
“What happened to y—”
“It’s a long story, sir. Not worth bringing up.”
With that, Troy sat down at his desk, both thanking and cursing himself for spraining his non-dominant wrist. It was a good thing because he could still do everything that he needed to do from day to day, including his paperwork. It was a bad thing, though, because he could still do everything that he needed to do from day to day, including his paperwork.
Mindlessly chatting overtop of filling out and filing said paperwork, Troy somewhat accidentally brings you up in conversation and how you helped him out yesterday when he fell. It was in passing, and he did not plan on elaborating any further. Especially considering Barnaby asked no further questions regarding you. Except, saying your name opened the floodgates in Troy’s brain. Completely forgetting the next subject he was going to bring up, he began to talk about you – how ethereal you looked with the sun glowing down on you, coupled with the fact that he was pretty sure he hit his head pretty good in the fall, too, so things were a little swimmy. How you were by his side in an instant and did not care that he was a bumbling idiot and made himself look stupid.
He was going to continue babbling on when the office secretary quietly scuffled into the room and told Troy that he has a visitor. She walked out without another word, and Barnaby and Troy looked at each other oddly. Yes, they were investigating a murder at the moment and yes, people sometimes came down to the office to report something or give an interview when unrequested, but never did they exclaim that they were there for Troy. It was always Barnaby. Anxiously awaiting, they stared at the doorway to see what figure would walk in the door.
“Detective Troy?”
The voice – that symphonic voice. Instantly he knew exactly who was about to walk through the doorway – and his heart started beating a mile minute. Subconsciously something in his brain told his hand to tighten the brace so you knew he did what he needed to.
Like clockwork, you were standing in the doorway, with that same concerned look on your face from the day before, but this time laced with pure sweetness. The two of them also noticed that you were clutching a rather large brown paper bag that wafted a nice smell into the room.
“Oh, good, I found the right place. You had only said your name and Causton police, so I was not sure if this was right. I’m really sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to bring you lunch today. I figured you’d be really tired and probably really sore from yesterday’s events, and I brought enough for two. I could join you if you’d like, or I can leave it here for the two of you to enjoy.”
You are smiling at him, almost nervously, and Troy looks to Barnaby to see his reaction. He was simply smiling at you proudly, and then he feels Troy’s eyes on him so he turned to face him with a knowing look. One that says ‘if you decline this, I am never going to let you live down turning her away.’ Quickly, Troy’s head spins back to face you and he stutters out his response.
“Y-y-yes! I’d love to-to have lunch. With you. We can go sit somewhere nicer.”
“Lovely! Lead the way, detective, and I’ll carry the bag – I don’t need you spraining something else.”
“R-right.” He already knew this girl was going to be the death of him, he was just waiting for that fatal blow the seal the deal.
Troy walked you out to the back area of the police station where they had a nice courtyard with tables and benches. Even a fountain, which you thought was a nice touch. He chose a table for you two to sit at and pulled out your chair for you rather shakily. Clearly, he was caught off guard by your sudden appearance at the station, and suddenly you were worried that you might have overstepped a boundary. Though, Barnaby’s expression the entire time you were in the office suggested otherwise.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” You spoke as he sat down and before opening the brown paper bag, which contained a nice helping of fish and chips from a local shop for you two to share.
“Why would you be making me uncomfortable?”
“I showed up, out of the blue, no less, to your office when we had only met because I helped you get up after a fall. It’s very fast and I feel as though it’s almost creepy that I came and found you.”
“Well, I can see how you’d think that.” You gave Troy a concerned look, believing that he was about to agree with you. “But I promise you that is not the case. In fact, I forgot to pack a lunch today, so this works out twofold.”
“Alright, that makes me feel a little bit better about this.”
You pulled out the massive plate of fish and chips, and much to your joy, Troy had mentioned that you got the food from one of his favorite local shops. ‘A lucky guess,’ you thought to yourself. The two of you start to dig in, and at one point you even helped him cut up his fish because he had very limited use of his left hand. It was a little bit to his chagrin, but he clearly appreciated it through and through. At one point, you even tried to feed him a piece of his fish like an airplane, which made him laugh a little bit, and you beamed at him. Hearing his laugh warmed your body to the core – it was a beautiful sound. And much to your surprise, as he was laughing, he actually ate the piece of fish you tried to feed him. When you pulled the fork back from him, he looked at you while chewing and raised both of his eyebrows up and down quickly, as if to say ‘did you think I wouldn’t do it?’
The two of you finished your food after spending about half an hour with each other just talking and eating, and then you decided to walk him back to his office before leaving him to continue his work. You were almost visibly upset because in your heart, you fully believed this was the last time you were going to see Troy. You were not going to drop in uninvited again because it was not your place to, yet that was all your heart told you to do. You hardly knew the man and yet all you wanted to do was spend time with him.
Once back in front of the doors to the building, you start to say your goodbyes and walk away, but you feel a yank on your arm, followed by a hiss of pain. Troy had reached out with his bad hand to grab you to prevent you from walking away, instead of either his good hand or using his voice. You had come to realize the man was a tad goofy underneath the tough-guy detective persona. You lock eyes with him, and laugh at the face his making in reaction to his idiocy. He had been searching for the courage and motivation to ask what he wanted to ask the entire walk back to the door, but was unmotivated until he heard your laugh. Melodic.
“Can I take you out tomorrow night? Like, to a proper dinner, and maybe a walk…afterwards?”
Your mind felt like it had melted in that moment, because the exact thing you wanted to happen so you did not have to seem like a creep by showing up unannounced again, had happened. Clearly, you took longer than Troy would have liked for you to respond, because you could see the courage in his eyes fade to cowardliness for a moment.
“I’d actually love that, Gavin.”
Before you knew it, you were standing out front of your small cottage home waiting for Troy to pick you up. Little did you know that he made sure he drove as carefully as possible this time. Something way down the line, you would find out, he does not do for anyone. He is a horrible driver, Barnaby tells you, and it makes you laugh, because it helps you to realize why you do all the driving when you two go places together.
Troy had gotten the two of you last minute reservations at a small but posh restaurant that supposedly had delicious food for not that expensive, given the atmosphere of the place. Turns out, he was wrong, and you two ended up splitting the bill because it was so expensive. On the walk around a local lake, he tells you how horrible he felt about that, but you silenced him as best you could.
“We’re equals, Gavin. You have no reason to feel horrible.”
“But it was supposed to be my treat. The guy always pays on a first date, it’s just standard.”
“Well, maybe what you and I have is not standard, Gavin.”
You continue looking forward, not directly seeing that he was staring at you, dumbfounded and in awe. Something about you was magnetic to him, yet he could not really place what it was specifically. Maybe it was because it was all of you.
After that, the two of you walked in a comfortable silence, which remained except for the rapid beating of hearts when his hand accidentally swung against yours. In classic romantic movie fashion, slowly you could feel Troy start to turn your hand around so he could try to lace his fingers within your own. As soon as you could tell what he was doing, you met him halfway. You did say that the two of you were equals, after all.
Towards the end of the walk, as you were making it back to his car, your head was pushed gently sideways in a swift and chaste motion, and it was over before you comprehended what had happened. Troy had kissed the corner of your mouth, too confident to just kiss your forehead, but not confident enough to kiss your lips. Which now ached to feel him. The ride home was silent because of it. Not because you were angry with him or anything of the sort. It was that both of you were trying to rack up the courage to finish what had been started. Turns out, all Troy needed was some time to process, because as your body started to turn to get out of his car, you felt his hand on the side of your face and him slam his mouth down onto yours, but still with the same amount of chasteness as before. If your lips weren’t aching for him before, they were on fire now.
All that was exchanged after that was ‘goodbyes.’
No mention of a second date.
~
The next day, early in the morning you were at home working on some commission work that you had gotten a few weeks prior. Something you and Troy had briefly discussed at dinner was the fact that your jobs could not be more opposite. You painted with your head up in space, while he trudged on the ground looking for felons and murderers. Wildly different professions, but you both were happy with them, and happy that the other was happy where they were, too. Little did you know that some distance away from you, Troy was babbling on about you to Barnaby in their office. Eventually, he just stops, realizing that Barnaby has not said a word back, nor has he even really looked up from his desk. Troy figures he went too gossip queen on him, but after a few moments of silence, Tom speaks up.
“Troy?”
“Sir?”
“This girl you’ve been chattering about?”
“What about her, sir?”
“Keep her.”
When those last words stumbled from his mouth, Tom looked up to emphasize it and finally make eye contact with the lovestruck boy. Instantly, Troy goes red and looks down at his lap, smiling wider than he ever has, at least from what Barnaby could tell. Troy looked up to Barnaby like a second father, so the fact that he liked you made him so proud. It had only been two days, but both Barnaby and Troy himself knew how good you were for him.
Plus, Barnaby immensely liked the fact that he would not have to worry about calling Troy his son-in-law if him and Cully would have hit things off, instead.
~
A few hours after Tom and Troy’s conversation, they are called out to investigate a new lead in the murder case they had been working on. You would have had no idea his had happened if it were not for that phone call. The caller ID came up as Troy’s number, so needless to say, you were enthusiastic when you picked up the phone, practically singing ‘hi, Gavin!’ into the phone. Except, you were met with a deeper voice. Barnaby’s.
“I already phoned his parents, Y/N, but I felt like I needed to tell you as well that Troy is in the hospital.”
The wild beating of your heart from enthusiasm before had turned to panic and dread, and your heart dropped so quickly that you felt the pain in your chest and almost dropped the phone. Despite it all, pulling yourself together, you manage to tell Barnaby that you would be there as soon as you could.
Once there, you did not even realize that you might not have come dressed appropriately until the receptionist gave you a strange look. You looked back at her, not caring, until she continued to stare at you and not ask you the proper questions. You were getting angry, frankly, so you played her game to look down at your clothes. A paint covered tee shirt with some loose jeans that had paint on them as well. When you look back up to her, her eyes go wide because she sees that you are about to cry, from embarrassment, concern, and frustration. Not a good combination of emotions for anyone to feel at any time. Somehow, despite the seething rage and tears threatening to spill, you manage to tell her where you needed to go.
“Gavin Troy’s room, please.”
“Relation to the patient, ma’am?”
Then you realized something. Answering this question would be the first time you had ever said out loud what your connection to Troy was. And while it truly made you happy that you could say it, you were also frantic and worried that you would not get the chance to claim that title for long, considering you still had no idea what had happened to him. With the tears streaming down your face, you manage to say it for the very first time.
“I’m his girlfriend.”
It really only had been a few days and one official date, but both of you knew – you belonged to one another.
Once at the door, you honestly were not sure what to do. Should you just go in? Was in in surgery? Was he dead and you were about to be met with a corpse? It was all up in the air, so you decided to act as natural as possible. You knocked softly on the door four times, and quietly opened the door. The room, surprisingly, was a single hospital room – meaning, he would not have a roommate. Either this hospital has no patients, or he got extremely lucky. Your money was on the latter. Regardless, when you finally took in Troy’s figure on the bed, which was splayed out across it, it hits you that he did not acknowledge the fact you walked in. Immediately your brain was in panic mode. Yet, you retained your composure as you tiptoed over to the bed, crouching down beside it and placing your hand on his cheek. A way to see if he was awake or not.
Much to your relief, his eyes fluttered open and instantly found yours, looking completely and utterly exhausted. Yet, in that moment, seeing the dull orbs inside his head, contrary to their usual shine, triggered a sobbing fit.
“Oh God, I-I was worried we lost you, Gavin.”
“It’s gonna take a lot more than a knife wound to get me.”
“You were stabbed?”
“Twice.”
“Gavin!”
His forwardness, given his condition, confirmed in your core that he was going to be okay. He was his usual snarky and matter-of-fact self, after all. After the both of you had settled from the previous conversation, you settled into quiet chatter, like old pals who had been catching up after some time. He wanted to hear your voice talk about anything – you could have told him about how cardboard was produced and he would have soaked up every word just to hear the silky tone of your voice. You asked him questions about the case and if the stabbing had anything to do with it, and he asked you about the commission you were working on. He called it a drawing request, so you had a lot to teach him, but in that moment, nothing mattered. He was awake, breathing, and talking to you. All surefire signs that he was living and you were not dreaming this in a haze of emotions, namely grief.
Neither of you really had an explanation as to when it happened, but both of your hands were interlocked with his resting on his thighs, slowly and softly stroking each other’s fingers and backs of hands. Mindlessly, mind you, but it was calming nonetheless. You only noticed it because the door randomly and quite violently swung open with a thud against the wall, and when you jumped back, your arms were tugged forward because he would not let go of your hands. When the figures finally focused in your field of vision, you had absolutely no idea who they were. They were looking at Troy with intense concern and then to you with extreme confusion. As if to say ‘who is this girl and why is she fondling our son’s hands?’
Clearing the air, as he has proven to do well, Troy spoke up.
“Well, this uh, isn’t exactly how I hoped you all would meet, but Y/N, meet… my parents.”
At first, the air was thick. You were trying to present yourself well, except that it was hard, considering you were still reeling from the fact that your person was in the hospital suffering and that you looked, frankly, homeless. But, once they hear you speak about yourself, your career, and their son, they start to fall in love with the idea that their son chose you, and they start to love you, too. They are thrilled that Troy has someone like you to help him through the recovery process. They informed you that it would most likely have to be you, because they do not live all that close by, so finding a place to stay for that long would be challenging. They could not stay with Troy, considering he lived in a one-bedroom flat, and they would never impose that on you. You were happy to take on the challenge of helping him heal, though. It just meant more time with your new favorite human.
After about an hour of talking with his parents and the nurses, his parents decide to leave you with him for the rest of the night. As soon as they were out of side, your personal phone rang, and it came up as your own parents. Troy watched your face as they spoke to you, completely unaware what they were saying to you, and then when you hung up, you looked at him sheepishly.
“So, that was my, uh, parents. They’re in town. Want to see me. Told them to come here.” Troy looked back at you with the same sheepish look you had given him. Playfully, you responded to the look with “don’t look at me like that, Gavin, it’s only fair that you meet my own parents in unideal circumstances, too, after what you just put me through.”
~
Taking what his parents requested of you to heart, Troy never even went back to his apartment when he was discharged from the hospital. You drove him straight to your cottage where you got him comfortable in your living room watching television while you set up the guest room. After that was arranged, you stole his apartment key and went and packed a bag for him, telling him you would worry about his laundry and things like that, all he had to do was be a nice houseguest.
He was discharged early the next morning so he got to spend the day lounging around at your house. At one point, you informed him that you did have some work that needed to be done in your studio, and you wanted to keep an eye on him. You helped him over to the chaise you have laying in the studio and got him comfortable. Once he was situated, you went over to your supply bench, gathered the brushes, paints, and other tools you needed to continue where you left off. You plopped down onto the floor in front of the low-to-the-ground easel and canvas. Troy was to your back, but you could feel him behind you, staring at you. It made you slightly uneasy, but more so because of butterflies in your stomach. You could feel how intensely he was watching you and what you were doing. It was a good uneasy. Plus, you did not have to keep one eye on him, you could feel he was there.
If you had to guess, an hour had passed because your arm was feeling the slightest bit of ache from reaching upward to paint each small detail above you. Your hand was still raised when you felt a pair of strong arms reach around your waist, one’s attached to the body that was supposed to be recovering from two stab wounds.
“You’re supposed be resting, you muppet.”
“I’m more comfortable here.”
You do not even try to argue with him, because he was a little bit hopped up on pain medicine and you really did not mind the warmth radiating from him. It was nice to feel enveloped by someone who really likes you. Might even eventually come to love you. You could only hope.
When he first snaked his arms around you, he held his head above yours. Now, you could feel the weight of it on your shoulder and the soft air coming from his nose on your neck. It made you smile warmly, knowing that despite the small amount of time you had been together, he felt comfortable enough around you to take that step. He may be a bumbling, clumsy detective who barely made it out of school and police training despite his ambition, but he was yours.
“I don’t get it.”
Troy spoke out of nowhere, removing you from your thoughts and almost causing you to place a giant paint streak across the painting.
“What? This painting?”
“Art in general. Or anything like it. I’m a very grass roots kind of guy, Y/N.”
“That’s not a big deal, Gavin, it doesn’t—"
“I want you to explain it to me.”
“…only if you’ll explain detective work to me while I paint, too.”
It made you extremely happy that he took interest in what you did. Past partners always felt like your head was too in the clouds and that you would never be able to support yourself. Troy seemed to think differently, and even if he did not, he clearly did not seem to mind the idea of taking care of you if you ever needed the help. He took in every word of how art makes you feel fulfilled, and it seemed to make him really happy that you enjoyed what you did for a living. He briefly talks about how he has always been a goody-two-shoes so he wanted to make use of said trait. That was really all he had to say on that subject, and then he moved on to what exactly it was he did while on a case. He even told you about the one he is investigating – the whole reason you met.
Then you started to discuss the specifics of the art world, techniques and various tools and the like, and you started to feel a new sensation on your neck. No longer just small puffs of air, but a softness. One that was moving gently across the side and down to the crook of your neck. You had to hold back a small swoon, and your eyes fell shut.
“You haven’t even kissed me properly yet”
“May I?”
“Never thought you bloody would at this rate. You may be a detective with a very high rated station, but sometimes you need help reading—”
The kiss was aggressive, but you truly did not mind. It felt good to officially seal your relationship with a kiss that was not short. It was a lovely feeling.
When you first tried to pull away, he just kept leaning back to your face. His desperation was clear, and in any other circumstance he would have been embarrassed, but he had told you how long it had been since he had a serious girlfriend, and you thought it was cute, regardless. Eventually, you managed to pry yourself away from him, and he was looking at you wistfully, like you had just rocked his world with a kiss. You practically did. He was knocked out his trance when you streaked your brush across his nose for being so forward though. And you heard his laugh for the first time since being in the hospital, and that was enough to bring an enormous smile to your face.
Troy then got up to sit back down on the chaise, but you kept him close behind you, and not soon after his pain pills really kicked in and he started to dose off on you while you continued to paint. You made sure to maneuver him so he was laying in your lap while you painted. It was not until you looked down to wash out your brush that you noticed a small amount of blood through his tee shirt where his stitches were hidden.
“How in the world did you rip your stitches, detective?” You barely whispered to yourself, and earned no response from your boy, who was fast asleep. “What are Barnaby and I going to do with you, huh?”
PLEASE write a part two to Anchored, but Irradiated? I need them to kiss!!!!
oof. I won't lie to you I completely forgot that fic and how much I loved writing it 😂. However, as soon as I skimmed it back, a plot for a second chapter/epilogue popped into my head so...
I think I can arrange a second part down the line somewhere for you, my friend. 😊
Hi friends! I have two things I wanted to establish before I forget to do so;
The most recent update on my masterlist is the first NON Queen/BoRhap boy story that I plan on working on. For those of you that followed me because of the Queen/BoRhap boys, those stories are not stopping! I am just currently very interested in another lovely boy from a show (DS Gavin Troy from Midsomer Murders), so I would like to write something for him. Quite literally had a dream about it, too. For those of you that are on the permatag list, I was planning on keeping you on it just because 1) it’s easier for me, and 2) you are by no means obligated to read every single thing I write just because you’re on that list. Feel free to skip it. This blog was never meant to become a strictly Queen/BoRhap blog, it just sort of happened. I will get to more of them down the road!
Disclaimer for the lack of posting recently and in the future; I am not planning on stopping this blog, but I feel that it is very important for my avid followers to know that I will be heading off to my third year (woah) of college in a week and I will not have nearly as much time to write as I had this summer with just a part-time job. So, my plan going forward is to either start writing headcanons when I have some time since they won’t take as long, or posting more detailed fics after longer periods of time. I will write when I have some time up at school, but know that my education is extremely important to me, so I am putting that first. I hope you all can understand that.
Anyone who has any questions for me regarding the aforementioned fic or my plan going forward, feel free to send them my way using this link! I sincerely appreciate the support of my hobby over the course of this summer, and I hope you all will stick around for the future updates! You all mean a lot to me. Happy tumblring!
Pairing: Brian May x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3.5K
Style: One-Shot
Warnings: Fluff, childhood trauma in relation to bugs (entomophobia)
Summary: Brian, being the animal-lover he is, starts to develop feelings for a new roadie who happens to have a severe phobia of one of the creatures he loves. He wants to help her when nothing else could.
Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way.
A/N: A small little thing that came to me out of nowhere, so this is just kind of… eh. Decided not to even edit this either. Sorry lol.
Masterlist
~
Some people called it irrational. Some people laughed at you when you freaked out. Very few people were okay with a panic attack if it happened. But it was not like you could control it. The fear was rooted deep within an experience from your childhood, so there was not much you could do about it.
In truth, for many years, any time something would happen, you tried to figure out what it was that could calm you down and you were never successful. Your parents always tried to help you, but any time they interfered, somehow it got worse. You were always completely on your own. Despite their attempts, your parents did offer one piece of advice you could see the advantage of taking, which was make sure to get a job where you would not be exposed to said fear. So, what did you do?
Take a job where all you would do is travel and be introduced to new species of bugs each and every day.
~
You had been interning at Chelsea College and you saw a job opportunity posted on one of the bulletin boards. Something related to being a roadie for a band called Queen. It paid well, and you desperately needed the money. Except you noticed that all the pull tabs had already been pulled, so you were not sure how you would go about applying. You noticed a phone number on the flyer, so you just decided to write it down and call it.
“Chelsea College music hall.”
“Oh, um hi. My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I was calling in reference to a… a flyer I saw on—”
“Queen?”
“Y-yes. Could you put me in contact with them?”
“They’re here now, walk over and I’ll send you back.”
“Oh, okay, um… thank y—” And you heard the phone hit the receiver.
You walked over to the building, reintroducing yourself to the, frankly, rude receptionist for the building. He directed you to the room you needed to go to, and once you were in front of the door, you quietly knocked and waited. What exactly were you going to say? You knew this position had already been filled, if the pull tabs being missed was anything to go by. After about 30 seconds, you heard some heavy footsteps toward the door, probably by someone in boots, and then it swung open, revealing a shorter blonde, cigarette dripping from his lips.
“Well, hello. What do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was um, looking to see if the position you guys were offering was still available. The assistant one?”
“Well, I won’t speak for the band, but you could be my personal assistant—”
“Roger, let the poor girl in here!” You heard a more posh and deep voice from behind the blonde who filled the doorway. The blonde huffed out some smoke and rolled his eyes, but complied with the voice’s request.
When you could finally look into the room, you noticed a handful of women scattered around the room, a few older men, and then the three other men you needed to pay attention to. You were hoping to put the voice to a face, but someone else, clearly a different voice spoke up first. Glitzy.
“What do we owe the pleasure, darling?”
“Well, I was uh, interested in the position you have posted on that one bulletin board. But, I saw that all the little tabs are gone, so…”
“Nonsense dear! Many of those tabs were pulled by the blue-eyed floozies you see littered around this room.” You looked at him nervously, amazed at his boldness saying that with the girls within earshot. “Don’t worry about them, trust me. They’re more consumed with the other boys physically than anything we say them.”
You tried to smile at him lightly, still a little bit in shock, and looked around the room, landing on one of the tall men in the room, one with a mound of poofy, dark brown curls atop his head who happened to be staring at you with wide eyes and parted lips. As soon as you locked onto his eyes, you smiled, and he returned it, but quickly looked at his current situation and a frown replaced it. Three of those blue-eyed floozies the one man mentioned were laying around him, and he clearly did not want you to think that was the kind of guy he was, so he sat up, much to the girls’ dismay. He placed a hand into his curled and scratched lightly, and you practically could not tear your eyes away from him. It felt straight out of a meet-cute, but you were getting way ahead of yourself. The man from before tore. You from your thoughts.
“Oh, how rude of me! I’ve never introduced myself or the lads in the band. I’m Freddie, the blonde who answered the door was Roger, John is over there with his beau Veronica, and the tall man you’ve been ogling is Brian.”
You were slightly taken aback by his comment, ever forward, and Brian clearly heard him too because his face went red as well.
“What might we call you, dear?”
“Y/N.”
“Well, Y/N, the job is yours if you’d like it.”
“What? I-I didn’t even tell you about me or anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. My personal goal is to break you out of this shell you have, and giving you this job is the best way to do it.”
Freddie gave you a wide smile before returning to nursing the drink he had in his hand, and you watched each of the boys in their element – Roger with the girls, John reading a book with Veronica wrapped under his arm, and Brian pushing the girls away because there was only one he was interested in.
~
Freddie had told you that they were leaving in four days, so you had that long to prepare for tour life. Whatever the hell that meant. You were a shy and reserved book worm, the idea of hanging with rock stars was not something you really expected to happen in your life, but here you were. Somehow, by pure luck, even though Freddie will tell you it was your personality, you got this gig.
You had an apartment right near the campus, hence why you were at the school in the first place for an event. You were folding a load of laundry you specifically did for the tour when you heard the buzzer for your door, signaling someone wanted to see you. Not expecting anyone, you were hesitant at first to let the person know you were home. You heard the buzz again, and decided it could not hurt, since you did not have to let them in.
“Can I help you?”
“Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Oh, whew, good, I found the right flat. Uh, it’s Brian. Could I come up?”
The voice. You finally heard it again. The one who stopped Roger from his pursuit of you. A deep voice, intelligent. You realized in that moment you had not actually spoken to John or Brian the other day when Freddie gave you the job. You walked away before ever officially meeting them.
“Y/N? You there? I still can’t open the door.”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah one second.”
You buzzed Brian through the door and unlocked your door so you could walk back into your bedroom to continue folding your clothes. You waited about 4 minutes and then you heard the knock on the door. You called out to him telling him he could just come in, and you heard the door open. If a door could sound reluctant, yours did in that moment. You called out from your bedroom, telling him where you were, and he slowly made his way through your apartment. Taking in your style as he went through. Very much similar to his, and he made it a point to commit the poster you had of the planets and their descriptions to memory. Made him happy to see that you shared an interest of his.
He made his way back to your bedroom and saw you hovered over the side of your bed, clothes all neatly stacked in piles that clearly had some type of order.
“Hi, Brian!” Your voice came out a little bit less strong than you would have liked, almost like his presence knocked the wind out of you. “What do I owe the pleasure?”
“Well, I wanted to offer my assistance.”
“With what?”
“That.” He gestured to all the clothes littering your double bed.
“My laundry?”
Brian suppressed a laugh but a toothy smile escaped anyway. “No, silly, your packing. I understand you’ve never done anything like this before? It isn’t like vacation, you can’t just pack a handful of clothes.”
“I know that, but I’m honestly not sure where to draw the line.”
“Did you want the assistance I was offering, love?”
“That would… actually be marvelous.”
Brian was instantly at your side, helping you fold some of the clothes from your basket. He was careful not to select any of your undergarments, but he accidentally grabbed a pair of your underwear at one point, and not by the elastic or the bum, and he immediately went beet red and apologized profusely. You just laughed and nudged him on the shoulder. You did not mind, it was honestly sweet to see him get so worked up and not really aroused by it like most men would. You did not even want to imagine how Roger would have handled that.
“Brian?”
“Yes?”
“How exactly did you find my flat?”
Instantly the color drained from his face because he was afraid you were going to hate him for seeking it out.
“Bri, I’m not angry with you. Quite the contrary. I am not the type to ask for help, so you showing up was actually a blessing. You’re like, an angel to me.”
“Well, essentially…” Brian started talking about the process of finding your apartment, which was much more complicated than he initially planned for it to be. Hence why he did not come the day before. By the time he found out the apartment and where it was, it was late and he did not want to disturb you. He continued talking but noticed that your side of the laundry pile had not gotten smaller while he was talking.
“Y/N? You okay?”
When he looked over at you, your face was as white as a sheet and your eyes were laser focused onto something. Your body was stiffer than a piece of wood. Clearly, you were in a state of shock. Brian followed your gaze and saw what you were looking at – a moth about the size of a polaroid picture was on the wall opposite to where the two of you were standing. Brian looked back at you, calmly speaking to you.
“Want me to take it outside, love?”
All you did was nod stiffly, not moving any other muscles. Brian nodded and carefully walked over to the wall, capturing the moth in his larger hands, careful not to crush it. He walked over to the small balcony you had off of your bedroom and released it off the edge. When he walked back in, he expected you to be back to normal, but he was met with you almost having a panic attack. At first, he was not sure what to do, but he decided on pulling you into a tight embrace, rubbing circles into your back in an effort to calm your breathing.
It worked.
Nothing had ever worked before. Not a single thing. And then here you were, standing in your apartment in the arms of a man you hardly knew, and he was able to calm you down. When you felt your breath return to normal, you pulled back to look at him. And you just stared at him, wide eyed.
“Alright, love?”
“Y-yeah. I, um…”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“You deserve to know. After that.”
Brian helped you sit down onto your bed, one arm moving to rest on your knee, the other still rubbing your back. And you began to explain what happened just now.
[Flashback Start]
“M-m-mommy…”
It was disgusting. The sight of it all being played out in your head.
“Mommy?”
It had to be thousands of them.
“MOMMY!”
Your childhood home had a small pond and frogs liked to live in it. You always liked to watch them, and that day was no different. You went outside, small snack in hand, and watched as one of the frogs lay dead on the stones on the edge of the pool. Its corpse being devoured by thousands of different kinds of bugs. Flies, spiders, roaches, grasshoppers, moths. Crawling and buzzing. It was deafening, louder than nighttime cicadas. It made you want to vomit. The dark side of the circle of life.
Bugs used to not faze you one bit. Now, with the knowledge that they could be as vicious of predators as a lion or a tiger made you absolutely petrified of them, afraid if you stop moving in front of them, they are going to think you were dead, just like the frog. And eat you.
[Flashback End]
“So… bugs and you don’t get along, huh?”
You shook your head.
“And nothing anyone has ever done has been able to help your through the panic attacks?”
Another shake.
“Except for me.”
Now a nod.
“Well.” Brian thought carefully about his next choice of words. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me on this little adventure, right?”
Finally, you looked up at him, and you smiled. He had grown fond of that smile, and never wanted to see it go away. You could say the same about his, little fangs and all. He was still rubbing circles on your back. You felt so relaxed in his presence.
With a small peck on the cheek, mean to be completely harmless, he spoke again. “Let’s continue packing, love.”
~
The tour went pretty smoothly. It was a relatively local tour, so the travel was not all that bad. You were on a bus separate from the boys, but Brian always made it a point to travel with you, and only leave when it was time to sleep. He only left when you were at the last rest stop before bedtime, and then he’d switch busses. He always was on watch for bugs so you did not have a panic attack in public. There were a few times a spider or something would end up on the tour bus, prompting you to enter a state of panic. But, Brian was always there to remove it. He never killed the bugs – always trapped them and let them go. He was nice to every living thing he met, no mattered the circumstances. It was enchanting. Everything about him.
One day, on tour, the boys had some time off and Freddie had suggested they walk the little hiking trail that happened to be near the venue. When Freddie was the one who suggested it, you all kind of scoffed at him, but he seemed determined. The new guy he was talking with seemed to be into it, so you blamed it on that. Before everyone had started gathering what they needed, Brian made his way onto your bus and saw that you had packed a backpack, ready to go, and he got anxious.
“You’re actually coming with us?”
“Of course! I was hoping I could walk with you. If… that’s alright, obviously.”
“I would adore spending all my free time with you,” Brian winced at himself internally at the slight confession. He was hoping to tell you how he had started feeling about you in a more intimate way, maybe under the stars, but the cat might have been out of the bag at this point. Why could this cat have not been like Delilah? That cat loved to play in plastic bags. “But, you do understand that there’s going to be a lot of bugs out here, and I can’t release them into the air if they’re already there.”
“I know, and I appreciate your concern, but I think if you just let me stick by your side, I’ll be okay.”
“But I don’t want you getting embarrassed—”
“Bri.”
He sighed at your determination, another thing he had come to really like about you. “If you insist, love. Ready to go, then?” He held out his hand for you to take, a bold move considering what he was trying to keep private. Yet you took it with strength, almost as if you were egging him on to admit what he was feeling. The two of you walked from your bus hand in hand and made your way to the back of the trail. Everyone else had already started making their way.
You and Brian remained close together the whole time, hands still interlocked. Brian was glad you could not hear how hard his heart was beating from the touch, and he was also glad you could not hear the small shattering he felt when you drew your hand away. But, he noticed it was not because of him, it was because you wanted to take some pictures with the camera you packed. Yet another thing for Brian to like about you – you both liked photography. He was beginning to wonder where you had been his whole life.
Then he stopped hearing the shutter of your camera. He had walked to the other side of the relatively wide trail, opposite you, to look at a really beautiful bird. But the second he stopped hearing your camera he was turned around and walking in your direction. You had been kneeled down to take a picture of the foliage, but now the camera was dangling between your legs and you looked stiff again.
Instantly his arms were around your neck and shoulders, his head buried into your neck. He thought you saw a big bug and were starting to panic and he wanted to nip the panic attack in the bud. He squeezed tightly to make sure you knew he was there and that you were safe.
Now you could heel how hard his heart was beating.
Yours was beating the same amount, but not because of a bug.
“Bri?”
“You’re okay, it’s not going to hurt you love.”
“Bri—”
“I’ll move it far away from here, it’s not going to get you.”
“Brian! I can’t breathe.”
“I’m here, please try to breathe, love.”
“No, you’re squeezing really tight.”
Brian yanked his arms away to look at your face, which had no tears. All your color was there. You even had a smile on your face. You looked up at him, and he had a look of shock on his face. You started to laugh really hard, and he almost started laughing himself – he was just too confused to.
You pressed a kiss to his cheek to attempt to break him from his trance before you spoke again.
“There’s just a walking stick here.” You stopped speaking to gaze at the interesting bug. “For once… I’m okay. I think it’s because this little guy reminds me of you. Physically, he’s long and lanky—” “Hey!” “But moves gracefully and independently. It’s also really intelligent compared to other bugs, it seems. And he’s really friendly. I even held out my hand and his little antenna came up to inspect me. But, he reminds me of you through and through, somehow. I think that’s why he doesn’t scare me.”
You were still looking at the bug while Brian was gawking at you. In a very weird but extremely endearing way, he could feel himself falling deeper into his feelings for you after that comment. You looked so at ease, and he knew he had a chance. He reached up to lightly grab your chin so he could pull your forehead to lean against his. The two of you just stared into each other’s eyes, almost in a trance.
“Y/N… you’re such an enigma, but I’m determined to figure you out.”
“I’d be glad to let you try, Bri.”
Brian started to lean closer to you, like he was going to kiss you, when Roger’s voice ruined the moment.
“Would you two c’mon? Freddie is currently trying to climb out of a creek and it’s pretty funny.”
You and Brian just looked at him, chuckling at his excitement. Then you looked back at each other. Brian started to stand up to keep going on the trail, but you grabbed his face to keep him at your level.
“Thank you, Brian.”
Instantly he pressed his lips to yours for a quick but searing kiss. When he broke away, he saw you had the shocked look he had earlier.
“I think I just cracked the first code of the Y/N enigma, huh?”
Pairing: Tim Murphy x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 8.2K
Style: One-Shot
Warnings: Fluff, some pregnancy discussions, swearing, some angst
Summary: You and Tim had been trying for a baby for a while, and one day you popped into the museum with a small box in hand ready to make what you could only imagine was a very stressful day better. Once it’s official, Tim cannot wait to show the baby around his place of work.
Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way.
A/N: This could have been written for literally anyone I write for but I had a strong urge for Tim, so that’s that.
Masterlist
~
To say that it had been a stressful time in Tim’s life was an understatement. One of the biggest stresses of his life had recently come to a head, though, and that was yours and his wedding. But he would never admit to you that the planning had stressed him out. You, on the other hand, made that apparent. That was something he loved about you. You were not shy, so you two balanced each other out. The wedding ended up being absolutely amazing, and the honeymoon was a great way to relieve all the pent-up stress.
Once the honeymoon was over and the two of you were back to your daily grinds, the other stresses in his life returned, including the museum, dealing with his kooky family, and a new pressure entered, as well. One that he was not quite sure he was ready for, but knew he wanted the minute you suggested the idea. You two were going to try for a baby.
But things were not working out the way you wanted. You were positive you were doing things right, but it had been months and no test came back positive. After almost half a year of trying, you were both getting extremely discouraged, and Tim’s workload had increased tenfold, so he was even more tense than usual. To say that you both were wrecked over the situation was an understatement, and after the day you saw Tim go to work with tears in his eyes, you were determined to pick up his spirits. But you were not sure how you were going to do that.
Until you took the most recent test.
~
You had woken up sick to your stomach the morning after Tim left with tears in his eyes, and could not hold it back. Tim was about to walk out the door when he heard you in the bathroom and rushed over to the door to check on you.
“Babe?”
All he was met with were some sputtering coughs.
“Y/N?”
“W-what?”
“You need me to stay home today?”
You trudged your way over and opened the door to face him instead of talking through it.
“I’m okay. The chicken last night must not be agreeing with me. I’ll be okay, go get your work done. I’ll just see you when you come home, okay?”
“But you’re sick, I can’t—”
“Yes you can. I’ve been sick when you’re away on a dig and been fine.”
“You’ve been sick when I’m away and not told me?!”
“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you, honey. Now go off to work because I think round two is coming.”
“Babe—”
And the door was shut in his face. ‘Great,’ he thought. ‘Now I have to worry about her, my job, and the fact that my body is so screwed up it can’t even give her a damn baby.’ He walked out to his car feeling even more defeated than usual and a little bit depressed. He could not help but wonder if he was worth being with you, as dramatic as that was.
As Tim was walking out, and you were finishing up the round two that came rather violently, something dawned on you. And it both terrified you and made you thrilled.
Once you felt like you could stand up without feeling dizzy, something else that had been happening the last few days, you got changed and grabbed your own car keys. You raced down to your local drug store, the same pharmacist seeing where in the store you were heading. He was glad you did not see him, but he gave you a pitiful look. He stopped counting after you had bought 40 tests. He had never seen someone more determined to have a baby, and he just did not have the courage to breach such a sensitive subject with you. But he did not have to worry for much longer, because the next time you came in the store, you bought beef jerky, something you or Tim never ate. And he knew.
When you got home, you practically shot gunned a bottle of water in an effort to get ready for the little stick that was more daunting than it should have been. Then, as soon as you felt the sensation, you went in the bathroom, and the waiting game commenced.
5 minutes.
4.
3.
2.
1.
…
It was not even two little lines you got to see. You had splurged in the hopes that maybe this would be the one on one of those tests that quite literally spells out ‘not pregnant’ or ‘pregnant.’ You read the result.
And you could not wait to drive to the museum.
~
The drive usually only takes about 20 minutes, and even though that was all it took this time, the nerves and nausea radiating through your stomach made it feel like 20 years. On the way there, you had stopped at a local craft store and bought a small, white box and some blue and pink tissue paper to place the test in. It was astounding to you how a small piece of plastic was about to change yours and Tim’s life for the better.
You parked your car and made your way into the museum, Lilah the normal receptionist sitting in her chair having her daily coffee and pastry. She saw you walk in, smiled at you, and waved you through. Normally, the people who come to see someone on staff are required to have a visitor pass, and when you and Tim first started dating, you were no exception to the rule. Now, the entire staff of the museum knew who you were, and thought it was just plain silly for a staff member’s wife to wear a badge, especially when you visited so much you practically worked there yourself.
Once through the opening exhibit, you made your way back to the hallway of offices and walked up the flight of steps to the second floor where Tim’s office was. As you were walking up the steps, though, one of Tim’s bosses happened to be walking down and started talking to you.
“Y/N! I’m not really surprised to see you here, but it’s always nice to see you, nonetheless. What does Tim owe the pleasure?”
“I actually have a surprise for him, Jerry.” Jerry was Tim’s oldest boss, and he was genuinely the sweetest man you had ever gotten the pleasure of meeting. “Is he in his office?”
“Well, I’m not quite sure, actually. Here, I’ll follow you up and if his door is locked, I can let you in and you can wait for him.”
“That’d would be great, Jerry, thank you very much.”
You walked up, and sure enough Tim’s office was locked. Having Jerry there was a blessing, and he was about to leave you and lock the door behind him, when he turned around.
“Sweetheart?”
You looked up at him with wide eyes and a hum.
“If I may… what is that little gift you have? Today isn’t Tim’s birthday, is it?”
“Oh! No, no it isn’t. This is actually just a bit of a surprise for him, is all. Surprised me, too, if I’m being transparent.”
“Is it what I think it is?”
You nodded enthusiastically, tears already threatening to spill from your eyes.
“Well. Knowing Tim, you’re about to make him the happiest man on Earth. And you already did the day you married him. Congratulations, deary.”
You could not even bring yourself to say thank you because you had started crying happy tears. Jerry shut the door behind you and you heard the lock click. You had calmed your crying down after about 5 minutes, and then another 5 minutes later, you heard the door unlock again. Tim walked in with an enormous stack of paperwork that completely dropped to the floor when he saw you seated at his desk. Thankfully, it was all in sealed file folders, so nothing cascaded across the floor.
“Jesus! Ah… oh my god. Y-Y/N… what are you… doing here?” Tim had to speak between breaths because you had scared him so badly.
“Sorry, honey! I just wanted to come see you and your door was locked, so Jerry let me in so I could sit down.”
“It’s…it’s fine. Just let me… catch my breath for a sec.” Tim sat down at the chairs that were opposite his chair, not wanting to make you get up, roles reversed momentarily. “So. What do I owe the pleasure of my wife’s presence on this… overwhelming day?”
“Well, I actually have something to give you.”
“… I didn’t forget about my birthday again, did I?”
“No, Tim.” You were laughing in an attempt to cover up the emotions that were starting to resurface, since you knew what was about to happen. Your lives were about to change. Well, Tim’s was. Yours already had, alone in the bathroom earlier this morning.
You slowly slid the white box over to your husband, and he looked at it with confusion at first. Then he slowly reached for it and lifted the lid. He saw the pink and blue bundle of tissue paper and looked back up at you with even more confusion. You were doing everything in your power to not give anything away, but much to your chagrin, a tear slipped from your eyes the moment Tim made eye contact with you. The confusion lifted from his face, and a new emotion took over – concern. He ripped into the tissue paper like a small child on Christmas morning, but with the intensity of a grown man. The tissue paper had been scattered all around his legs and the floor and the top of his desk until he got to what was hidden underneath it.
‘Pregnant.’
The room was silent for a moment. Then came the sniffles from both sides of the desk. Then the eye contact of eyes that were flooded with tears and burning red with overwhelming feelings of love. Tim was by your side in an instant, latching on to you with everything he had. You were sobbing and he was laughing. It was a moment you would never forget.
“I… I knew we were doing it right.”
“Obviously, Timmy.”
“You’re going to be a mom… oh my God, you’re going to be a mom and-and I’m…”
“You’re going to be a dad.”
Tim looked at you and his eyes sparkled the way water looks when the sun shines down on it.
“An amazing dad.”
~
[2.5 Weeks]
“Isn’t that a good idea? We can start he/she early!”
“You know I don’t like pictures, Tim.”
“But this is different! This is something we are both going to want to look back on, and what better way to do it?”
Tim had come home from work a few days after he found out you were pregnant with a bag from a local electronics shop and was enthusiastically telling you about a plan he had. The plan involved something you had hated even before you were pregnant, but knowing that you were going to just be getting bigger and bigger as time went on made you hate the idea even more. Tim had wanted to document your pregnancy through pictures at the museum at milestone dates.
“… fine. You spent all that money on the camera, so I guess I can deal with it.”
“Astounding! And it starts today, you’re coming to work with me!”
“Tim! I have to go to work myself, I can’t just not show—”
“I already called your boss, he said it’s fine. Probably because he wanted me to just shut up, but it worked!”
You just looked at Tim lovingly while he laughed to himself. Then you ran over to the bathroom. Tim never thought he would get used to hearing you get sick. He almost felt bad that he was the cause of it, but knowing what would come out of it after nine months made it completely worthwhile to him. You were not so sure in the moment, but Tim’s enthusiasm convinced you otherwise.
You had made your way to the museum carefully, because the motions of cars did upset your stomach more. But the ride was quick and pretty painless this time. The two of you had decided not to tell anyone right away in case the worst happened, so when the museum staff saw you and Tim walk in together, no one thought anything different. Except for Jerry, but Tim had talked to him in advance and he knew not to say anything. When you two passed him walking to Tim’s office, he just gave you both a small smile, which you both returned.
Once all of Tim’s belongings were in his office, the two of you started walking hand in hand through the museum. Tim seemed to be taking you to a specific exhibit that he had in mind, but you were not sure why. Then it dawned on you. It was the exhibit that had the skull he found a long time ago on a dig when the two of you were still dating. (You do not have to read this for this story to make sense, just know that it could be read as a prequel of sorts.)
“Why are we stopping here?”
“You didn’t think I bought an expensive camera without a plan on when to use it, did you?”
“Of course not, but why this exhibit?”
“Don’t you remember? This is where the skull I found it is. I thought this could be where we take the growth pictures. Do you… hate the idea?”
You were feeling emotional to begin with, what with all the new hormones raging through your body, but you were just so happy in that moment that you just hugged Tim tightly. When you pulled away, through more happy tears, you told him how happy you were and how much you loved the idea.
Tim had you stand sideways in front of the display, lit with gold-tinted lights that illuminated your silhouette in a way that almost made Tim cry.
“There’s not much of a bump yet, Tim.”
“But we know he/she’s there.”
[One Month]
The morning sickness had increased. Quite a bit. You felt sick around the clock, and practically everything you ate came up later in the day. Tim had gotten better at handling it. At first, he would have trouble being in the bathroom or even near it. Now he can hold your hair back for you as long as he does not look at you. You took what you could get.
One particular morning, Tim had woken up more excitable than he had been recently. You just felt sick so you ignored him. Then you felt a flop on top of you, signaling Tim had thrown something on top of you.
“What the hell are you doing? I don’t work today, why are you waking me up? And throwing my clothes on me?”
“Because you’re coming to the museum today. It’s been one month!”
“What…are you talking—”
“One month since you got pregnant, baby!”
The days dragged so much for you with how awful you felt, both physically from the sickness, and emotionally from not being able to tell anyone yet, that you completely stopped keeping track of dates. You had trouble believing that it had already been so long.
“Oh… that means it’s picture day, huh?”
“You bet! Plus, I’m giving a tour today to a group of 6 year-olds, so maybe you could tag along and see what we have coming!”
You offered Tim a weak smile. You were both so sure of having a kid together, but the reality of at it all had not really set in, at least for you. Your brain still continually told you that it was simply severe food poisoning from that chicken. But to Tim, it was his child. He was so proud that he could do something like that, and he wanted to prepare in every possible way he could, just so he could be the kid’s best friend. But you knew he did not have to prepare for that – it would happen by default. Almost made you jealous.
After a smaller than usual bout of morning sickness, you got dressed in the outfit Tim had picked out for you. The same one you wore the first time he took a picture. You understood why. The pants were a simple pair of grey sweats that were baggier around your lower abdomen and butt but were fitted toward the bottom, and a simple, oversized by about 3 sizes, pastel yellow tee shirt. An outfit that would be very easy to utilize for showing off a growing bump. Just what Tim wanted to do with his camera.
You went into your kitchen and smelled one of the few breakfast foods that did not make you sick, a chocolate croissant, something that Tim liked to bake for you even before you got pregnant. It was a specialty of his. One of the few things he could cook or bake, in general. He was standing at your kitchen table, with a somewhat bashful expression on his face. He held a croissant out in front of him, work bag and car keys in the other.
“I didn’t have time to bake them this weekend, so these are store-bought, but I warmed this one for you.”
You just walked over, took the croissant gently from his hands, and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, honey.”
“You’re very welcome. Hope they’re not better than mine.”
“Close. But yours are better.”
“Fantastic.” He seemed really giddy about that fact. It made you smile. “You ready to head in?”
“I think so, I just need to grab my wallet.”
With that, the two of you made your way over to the museum and barely had any time to lock your belongings in his office when the exhibit manager of the day came over and told Tim the group was already there, and they were getting impatient. He needed to make his way down quickly or there would be a bunch of rambunctious 6-year-olds making a mess for the janitors.
Tim told them he would be down as soon as he could, but he would only walk at the speed you felt comfortable with. You were his priority. You were doing good on the sickness today, and he was not about to be the reason that changed. You two made your way down and instantly Tim went into tour guide-mode. It honestly was one of the funniest Tim personalities you knew, but you loved it all the same. Tim was introducing himself to the kids and the teachers and chaperones while you watched from the back of the group. A small group of Tim’s coworkers walked by the group and saw you standing there, and waved enthusiastically. Nothing out of sorts. You two still had your secret in place.
You followed the group around from the back, sometimes talking to one of the chaperones about this or that, and even mentioned to one that you were in the very early stages of your pregnancy, to which she became giddy but kept it contained. The only reason you mentioned it to her was because you had pointed out that one girl seemed to be very sad the whole tour and the lady mentioned that it was her daughter.
“If you’d like, when they have a break, you could go talk to her.”
“What? Why? Why me?”
“You’re gonna need practice, sweetheart, boy or girl.”
You gave her a nervous look, because this was making reality really set in for you. But you heeded her words, knowing she was right, and made your way over to the little girl while she ate her lunch alone.
“Hi there.”
She looked up at you with big, beautiful blue eyes.
“May I sit with you? I don’t have anyone to eat lunch with.”
She just nodded her head and kept slowly munching, her mother watching from behind so the girl did not see her.
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Josephine.”
“That’s a beautiful name! Mine’s nowhere near as pretty, it’s just Y/N.”
“That’s pretty too!”
“Well, thank you. Josephine is prettier though. Your lunch looks good, what’re you having?”
“PB&J!”
You gasped in shock. “That’s my absolute favorite! In fact,” you reached down into your bag, “I brought one myself!”
Josephine laughed loudly, the sound attracting the attention of both her mother and Tim, but you two were too wrapped up in each other to notice.
“Josephine, can I ask you a question?”
Another nod.
“You looked really sad all morning, and that made me sad. Could you tell me why?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Honey. I promise there is no stupid reason to feel however you’re feeling. Emotions are natural reactions to whatever happens to you. What you feel is okay to feel. If you tell me what it is, I might be able to make you feel better.”
“…Tyler called me unpretty.”
“Tyler called you unpretty?”
“Yeah.”
“Well listen. Tyler is the one here who is unpretty. You, my dear, are beautiful. Just like a Disney princess. You have a name fit for one, too. And I want you to know that that kind of behavior is not tolerated in the adult world, so I will make sure it stops for you, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“You think you can enjoy the rest of Dr. Tim’s tour?”
“Are you going to be there?”
“Of course I will, sweetie. Dr. Tim and I have a very special relationship. I’m his biggest fan.”
“Do you love him?”
Her question caught you slightly off guard. “More than anything in this world, sweetheart.”
“Okay.”
“But I’ll be right behind the group the whole—”
“Would you hold my hand while he gives the show?”
You stopped in your tracks. That felt too much like something her own mother should do. You glanced over to her, knowing she was watching the interaction now, and she gave you the thumbs up.
“I would love to sweetie.”
For the rest of the tour, you stuck by Josephine’s side, hand not leaving hers once. Every once in a while, you were certain you saw Tim sneak a lingering glance at the two of you, and one time it lasted so long, he had to break himself out of his thoughts and his eyes had gotten a little glossy.
At the end of the tour, you all said your goodbyes, and you gave Josephine a quick hug, and gave one to her mother, as well. As you and Tim watched the bus drive away, Tim turned to you with a small smirk on his face.
“What do you want, Dr. Tim?”
“Oh, nothing… mom.”
He grabbed your hand and immediately took you to the display so he could take your picture. Still not much of a bump, you noticed, but you sure as hell felt different after the interaction you had today.
“My money’s on girl.”
“Really? You’re already making bets? On what grounds?”
“You were too damn good with that little girl for it to be coincidental.”
[Two Months]
Morning sickness was still a bitch, frankly. Your doctor, one of only 5 people who know about your pregnancy at this point, including you and Tim, put your mind at ease explaining that it should subside around month 4. Halfway to the cravings period, she explained. Nothing particular important happened in the last month, both at Tim’s work and with your pregnancy. Things were going smoothly, other than the incessant sickness, but that more than likely meant you and baby were healthy. At least according to your doctor.
You felt Tim throw your clothes on top of you again, signaling that you would be spending another day at the museum. Another picture day. This time you were less upset about him waking you up. But once you stood up, you were sprinting to the bathroom.
Damn morning sickness.
One chocolate croissant and a twenty-minute drive later, you were seated in Tim’s office reading a book from his shelf, one of the few novels relating to dinosaurs he had amongst hundreds of textbooks. He had mainly a paperwork day that day, so the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence. Something you hardly got to do even before you were pregnant. Your work lives made it so hard to see each other for any extended period of time, but you found ways to make it work.
Before either of you knew it, you had spent the entire day in his office, with you reading and him doing paperwork. It was practically time to go home, but you still had not taken your picture yet. You and Tim gathered all your belongings, locking up on your way out and made your way down to the exhibit. When you got down there, you placed all your stuff out of frame and stood profile to him and head gazing down at your stomach, just like any other shoot.
But you never heard the shutter.
You looked over at Tim who had tears streaking down his face, the camera shaking from how his hands were violently doing the same. You rushed over to him and grabbed his face, completely overwhelmed with confusion because you had no idea what triggered this. It was not raining or anything, so you had no idea what had set him off.
“Tim, baby, what’s wrong?” The panic was apparent in your frantic tone of voice.
“You’re showing.”
“What?”
“You’re showing.”
“What are you talk—”
“Let me take the picture.”
You slowly pulled away from him, resuming your position from a second before, and you heard the shutter go off this time. You walked back to him to see what he was referring to, and it hit you as hard as a wave of nausea in the morning.
You were showing.
The baby was showing.
You had already started to show after only two months.
You looked up at Tim with eyes that were just as watery as his, and hugged him tightly, but his grip was lighter. Knowing what was in between the two of you.
It became real.
[Three Months]
You had your doctor’s appointment, and she told you that it was officially safe to begin telling people about the pregnancy. Everything was looking fine, and the fact that you already had a small bump this early meant the baby was big and healthy. Absolutely nothing to worry about.
You told your families, and they all were extremely supportive, and Lex even cried, knowing that her kids would have a new family member to play with. Everything was going great, and you and Tim constantly felt like you were on cloud 9.
When you went into the museum to take the photo that day, you decided enough was enough and stopped hiding the bump, letting Tim’s coworkers ask about it. Some clapped him on the back, some broke down in tears at how amazing of parents they knew you two were going to be. It was all very overwhelming, but the two of you kept it pretty well together. Until it was time to take the photo. For some reason, seeing how much you had grown in a month set both of you off to the point where you were leaned up against the exhibit window, crying silently with each other.
Until you decided to speak.
“Am I going to be a good mom?”
“Wh-what?”
“Am I—”
“You’re going to be a perfect mom. I don’t know what brought this sudden fear up, but know that you are going to be a natural.”
“It’s all becoming so real, Tim. Like, I don’t need to stand sideways anymore to see the bump. He/she is really growing. They’re real. I just… don’t want to mess up.”
“Do you really think you and I aren’t going to make any mistakes? I mean, yes, we are near perfect human beings,” Tim’s sarcasm and sass always made you laugh, because it was never something people expected to come from such a shy human, “but all parents make mistakes. That’s how kids develop personalities. Otherwise, baby-making could basically be named cloning and we’d have invented that without even knowing it.”
Tim saw that you were not looking at him and tears were still running down your face. So, he grabbed it and pulled it to look at him.
“I didn’t have to see you with that girl to know you are going to be as perfect as you can be. Because I can see how much the idea of being a bad mom is eating away at you. You couldn’t handle the prospect of someone thinking you’re a bad mother, so you’re going to do everything in your power to make sure that doesn’t happen. Plus, I just know you. You were practically a mom even when we were dating. How much you doted on me. Took care of me on my bad days. Still do.”
You believed Tim. You believed every word that came from his mouth.
“And I know I’m going to be a great dad by the same logic as you. I don’t want to be a bad dad more than anything in this world, so I’m not going to let it happen. Plus, Lex can always give us pointers.”
“…thank you.”
“Anytime, mother of my child.”
“…that’s weird, don’t say that.”
“You married this weirdo, you should expect this after all these years, Y/N.”
[Four Months]
Your morning sickness subsided – just like the doctor told you it would. It was a relief to not be throwing up every 2 hours. But the cravings were not much better. Beef jerky? ‘Really, baby?’ you always thought as you would gaze at your ever-growing stomach, now practically impossible to hide.
Walking in the museum with outside food or drink was against the rules, but Tim’s coworkers and bosses made an exception for you, knowing how hard you two tried to get to this moment in your lives. Especially when they saw you walk in going to town on a bag of beef jerky. They could tell by your expression that you hated it but it was what the baby wanted, and they always laughed out of pity and bemusement.
Nothing particularly exciting happened this day, either, just like last month. With the exception of a recent find being dropped off the museum for display. Tim told you he would finish up his paperwork and you could go watch them set it up. Then he would come find you when he was done and you could take your picture and go.
Once Tim had taken the picture, Tim had started crying again, so you ushered him to join you by the display and sit down.
“What’s going on, Timmy?”
“What… if they’re scared of me?”
“What on Earth are you talking about?”
“Scars, Y/N.”
You just looked at him in shock.
“I don’t look like you. Or anyone else. I’m marked. I know eventually I’ll have to explain what these are from, but what if when they’re a baby they don’t want me to hold them? Or feed them? Or change them? Or lay them in the crib? What if they just think I’m a monster? And not…dad?”
“… I wish I could say it won’t scare he/she. But I definitely think they’ll be interested… to a degree. But that won’t matter to a baby. All they’re going to see is your big beautiful eyes and your smile. All they’re going to hear is how cute they are and your gorgeous singing voice when you sing them to sleep. You’ll appear as the farthest thing from a monster, and you just have a really cool bedtime story to tell them when they’re younger. You can save the real stuff for later.”
“…”
“I love your scars. You know that. Very much so. I think the baby will, too.”
[Five Months]
You had officially gone one month without morning sickness, and you were very thankful for that fact. Tim would never say it to your face, but he was too. He did not want to make you feel bad for making him feel sick all the time, too, seeing as that the cause of yours was him. Your cravings were still in a pretty full swing, though, but they were never terrible combinations like movies and television made them out to be. Most of the time they were just foods you were not particularly fond of, but you could move past that, since they did not make you sick.
You had another doctor’s appointment, as per usual, but this was one you did not tell Tim about. Not because there was anything involved he had not seen before, but because this was the official appointment where the gender could be found out. You had a plan; you were going to have the doctor tell you the gender, and then you were going to work with the museum to have a small, private gender reveal for Tim. When you found out the gender, you cried and wanted to immediately share the news with Tim, but patience is truly a virtue, and you knew it would be worth the wait.
When you got home that day, you called the museum and told them what day you would be coming into the museum to take the newest photo, and they were more than willing to help you out. You wanted the surprise to be simple, so you explained what you had in mind, and they were all for it. Eventually the day came where you and Tim went to the museum together, and you spent the day like any other, moseying around sometimes with him and sometimes not. On one occasion when you were by yourself, you walked over to the exhibit where you took your photos to make sure the reveal had not been set up yet, and thankfully it was not. Meaning, Tim had no clue what he was in for.
Later in the day, the museum had closed up for the public, so you made a quick call to the manager who was going to set up your surprise to signal it was go time. You stalled Tim in his office as long as you could, but eventually, you ran out of stuff to say. So, you two made your way downstairs, and all you could do was hope that the manager got out of there in time.
Once in front of the exhibit, you decided not to say anything at first. See if Tim would notice. You set yourself up in front of the viewing window and assumed the position, and you heard the shutter go off. You were almost hurt that Tim did not notice the glaringly obvious breach of protocol in the exhibit, because you were the one who wanted to do this surprise for him. So, you decided to egg him on a bit.
“Tim, did I tell you I had an OBGYN appointment today?”
Tim’s head slowly looked up at you from the camera and his eyes were glossy, and you were certain you could see his lips trembling, holding back a smile.
“I didn’t think not telling you would make you this upset, honey, I’m really—”
“Pink.”
That explained the tears. And the attempt not to smile. He saw your surprise in the photo looking closer. You had instructed the museum to find a small beanie that would fit onto the skull in the exhibit that Tim had found on the dig. A pink one. To let him know that he would be having a daughter with you.
“It’s pink… you’re having… having a girl?”
“We’re having a girl, yes. A girl, Tim!”
“That’s the greatest news anyone could have ever told me. A girl… oh my God, a girl!”
You could see that he was ecstatic to hear that it was a girl. Both of you would have been happy with whatever it ended up being, but the happiness that radiated off of your husband indicated to you that he might have been leaning toward a preference.
“Oh no.”
“What, Tim? You were just so happy.”
“I’m going to have to fight a lot of men soon.”
“What? Why?” You were practically laughing just at the thought of Tim trying to win a fight. He was headstrong, sure, but body strong? Not so much.
“She’s going to be just as beautiful as her mother, which means a lot of potential suitors.”
“I’ll help her. She needs a man just like her father.”
[Six Months]
After finding out that the two of you were going to have a girl, it was time to tell your families and friends, and they had nothing but sweet and wise words of advice. Everyone kept saying to you privately that they could see you being a great mom to a boy or a girl, but that Tim would be especially good with a girl. For some reason, it just made sense, and you could not help but agree with them. He was always just so tender and sweet with everyone he meets, and he treated you like a fragile piece of glass when he interacted with you, giving you the utmost care. You would not be surprised if that happened with your baby, but ten-fold.
This day at the museum was nothing out of the ordinary – paperwork, some smaller tours, things of that nature. You did not mind though. With how far along you were getting, nearing the third trimester already, you were starting to constantly feeling tired. So, being able to lounge on Tim’s office couch and just doze off or read a little bit was always a nice feeling.
At one point though, someone had knocked on the door while Tim was out, and you honestly were not sure if you should answer. That situation, despite how long the two of you had been together, had not come up since the first time. The first time it was just a package for him, so it was not a big deal, but you could never be sure who it was, since his door did not have a peephole.
You carefully stood up on your own, not used to not having Tim right by your side to help you, and answered the door. Standing behind it was a very cheery Jerry, Tim’s boss.
“Y/N? I didn’t expect you to answer.”
“Timmy is off with an intern explaining something he did wrong.” You both laughed at the idea of Tim being all nervous and jittery about something being wrong. “Would I be able to help you with what you needed?”
“Actually, the whole reason I came was for you, but I was just going to have him give you this.” Jerry handed you an envelope that felt extremely thin, but you did not question it one bit. Jerry had his ways of explaining himself sooner or later. “Just read that whenever you get a chance, dear. I think you’ll like what’s inside.”
“Alright. Should I—”
And he shut the door behind him, leaving you with your mouth agape.
So, you decided now was a good a time as any, since Tim was not there still to keep you company. You sat back down, carefully, onto his couch and opened the letter. It was a single sheet of paper, with hardly 15 sentences on it. You read it slowly and quietly to yourself, and when you had finished, Tim walked back through the door. He was met with the site of you crying silently and red-rimmed eyes. Immediately he was by your side asking you if you were okay and if the baby was hurt. You just looked up at him wearily but forcing a smile on your face while sliding the letter in his direction. Tim read aloud.
“Dearest Murphy’s,
I hope this letter finds you at a happy time, or maybe, it would be better when you’re slightly sad and could be a pick-me-up of sorts. I would like to make this short and sweet, so as not to take much up of your time. First and foremost, I would like to offer you a piece of advice – frankly, it is what I would call the best piece of parenting advice one could receive, especially as first-time parents. ‘Protect the child at all costs, but do not prevent them from exploring potential.’ Pretty self-explanatory, but in case it isn’t clear – please keep the child safe at whatever cost, but if they express sincere interest in something and there is no inherent danger involved, even if it makes you anxious at first, don’t squander it. Children are so precious, and their minds take in everything, despite what you may think, and preventing the child from expressing themselves is only going to make them despise you and want to do everything in the opposite way you told them to. Secondly, I would like to offer Tim paid paternal-leave for as long as you are earning yours from your employer – we will match the length of time. Plus, as a bonus from the entire museum staff for all you two have done over the years for us, a small token of our gratitude is enclosed here that I sincerely hope will help you throughout the beginning of this journey.
I sincerely treasure you both as human beings, and I wish you all the luck with your little family.
Sincerely yours,
Jerry Turner, CFO Cretaceous and Jurassic Periods at American Museum of Natural History”
Tim was still at a loss for what had made you cry, and then he saw the ‘small token of their gratitude.’
A check.
For $10,000.
Both you and Tim were sobbing. Loudly.
You could not believe it, because that would cover so much more than you could have ever imagined, and neither of you were quite sure what you did to earn such a thoughtful and extremely generous gift. You wanted to thank Jerry, but you had no idea where he ran off to, and you two were so overwhelmed by the gift that neither of you had the strength to move.
Little did you know that Jerry had watched Tim walk back in his office and was outside the door hearing how happy you were, and his heart swelled up.
You took the monthly picture, tears still streaking down your cheeks. You looked ethereal, despite the tears.
[Seven Months]
Officially within your third and final trimester, things were getting down to the wire. You had stopped all the various side-effects of pregnancy, and all that was left was the constant sluggishness. Tim did not want you drinking too much caffeine, so he cut back as well. You were constantly having the energy sucked out of you, but Tim kept going a mile a minute, somehow, considering the boy lived off of tea and the occasional coffee if he really needed it. You assumed it was nervous jitters knowing how close you two were getting to meeting the little one.
You had arrived at the museum early, and Tim had gotten all of his paperwork done the day before so he could spend the day walking around the museum with you, seemingly with a plan in mind.
Every time you would arrive at a new exhibit, Tim would drop down to his knees, and he would gently lay his head down onto your belly. Then he would start talking. Anything he could say about the exhibit – reading the signs, spewing random bits of knowledge here and there, whatever he could think of. After he did this about four times, you stopped him and asked him just what it was he was doing.
“I’m talking to her.”
You just looked at him sweetly, almost tearing up at the sentiment.
“Gotta start her early, don’t I? Can’t have her being into mathematics like her mother.”
And then came the eye roll. You almost did not let him take the picture that night because of that little gripe at your job.
[Eight Months]
It was hard for the two of you to believe you were down to the last potential thirty days, but you were already there. The two of you were both planners, so every single thing that could be accounted for was already accounted for – she had a room, clothes, diapers, everything. The two of you went and took your monthly picture, wondering if you would get to take another one, when it hit Tim that the two of you missed something crucial in your planning.
“Oh shit.”
“What?”
“We don’t have a name yet.”
“Oh shit.”
Sitting down on the bench looking into the exhibit, you both thought about it for a while, throwing out ideas neither of you liked. Just to put something out there and maybe draw inspiration. Then Tim suggested another two names, and instantly you knew they were the ones. Both of you were old fashioned, and you knew you were going to get some comments about it, but it did not matter.
This was your daughter, and you could name her whatever you damn well pleased.
[Eight Months and Twenty-Two Days, June 11]
It was so much pain.
So much more pain than you expected.
But dammit, you were going to meet your daughter today, and that was that.
You honestly could not even remember the drive to the hospital, but the next thing you knew, you were in a hospital gown with a doctor telling you that you were nine centimeters dilated and that the pushing would start soon. Despite everything you told him was going to happen, Tim was right by your side gripping your hand like a vice, with an expression on his face that made the doctors think he was in as much pain as you were.
But it went quicker than you thought it would. That final centimeter happened quick, and everyone in the room was on you in an instant to coach you through the pushing. You only had to push for about 15 minutes and then you heard it.
Small but powerful cries, indicating that the baby was here and healthy.
Immediately she was on your chest and they were starting to clean her up, and then they took her over to the crib to wrap her. You were still catching your breath when you saw Tim walk over to you, bundle in his hands, him sobbing with joy.
“She’s—”
“Gorgeous.”
The nurse came over to the both of you with a clipboard after a few minutes, now that both of you had calmed down lightly.
“Alrighty. So, we have a healthy baby girl, born June 11 at 4:49am, weighing 6.1 ounces and measuring 20 inches in length. We have all the other stuff taken care of, we just need to know if she has a name yet.”
“She does.” Tim looked so proud that he was the one who got to say it for the official birth certificate.
“Agnes Eloise Murphy.”
The nurse smiled, double checked the spelling, and walked off to file it. You were just gazing at him with almost a hint of fear in your tired expression, because something the nurse had said threw you off a bit.
“Timmy…”
“Hm?” He was still gazing down at Agnes, not really mentally with you at that moment.
“Do you realize what today is? What her birthday is?”
“I do.”
“And you’re okay?”
“Of course I am. I will never have to remember the horror of Jurassic Park on this day any longer, she is a distraction from that nightmare, she is a living, breathing dream come true.”
[One Month Birthday]
Agnes turned one month old, and neither of you could believe it. Other than doctor’s appointments, she had not left your apartment. You both decided that she could make one exception, and Tim was more than eager to take her to the place where he found out she would be coming into this world.
The two of you took her around the entire place, and ended at the exhibit where all the pregnancy photos were taken.
“You don’t know it yet, but this place has a lot of special meaning to mommy and daddy, and you too. We’ll tell you all about it when you’re older, lovebug.” Tim spoke to his daughter the same way he did when she was still in your belly and it made you melt. You knew it from the moment you laid eyes on her that she was going to be a daddy’s girl.
As he spoke to her, she smiled and placed a hand right atop the scar adorning Tim’s cheek. She laughed for the very first time.
“I told you she’d love them.”
When you look back down, you can see her enthusiastically swinging around the small dinosaur plush toy you had given her as a first stuffed animal. You smiled and looked back up at Tim, not believing how precious she was.
“And a dinosaur lover just like her dad, too.”
“Told you we had to start her early, keep her away from the numbers.”
hi there! as per usual, thanks for reading and reblogging/liking my work! i love that people enjoy what comes from a hobby, and new stuff will be in the works soon.
but! if you've ever been curious as to what fics i as a writer read myself, you no longer have to think about that! check out the newest link in my bio to see what i've read and loved! it will be updated as i read new fics.
Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 7.5K
Style: One-Shot
Warnings: Fatal injuries, wartime discussions, angst, language, cat-calling/unwanted sexual advancements (nothing explicit but some general talk), fluff at the end (because remember, I can’t end a story sadly)
Summary: World War Two. A terrible time for all. Bloody. Not the most obvious time to make friends, but it happened anyway, at least for Leckie and Sledge’s crews. They’d also befriended you, begrudgingly at first, and who’s to say the battlefield is not the most obvious place to find love, either?
Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way.
A/N: Couple things to be mentioned up front: 1. Yes, I am completely aware that women were not allowed to enlist back during WWII, and 2. Yes, I am also completely aware that Eugene and Leckie’s crews did not serve together in real life or the show, but for the sake of this fic, imagine that. Also, special thanks to Lena for helping me hash out a title for this for like 15 minutes lol.
Masterlist
~
It never got easier. That part was simple to admit. But you never lost hope that maybe one day it would, or better yet, you would get to go home. Based on how things were progressing, though, you could not see that day coming anytime soon. You always remained hopeful, though. Hopeful that one day men would stop treating you like you were worthless, or just a sex object. Hopeful that eventually you would get to be part of a squad that appreciated both your strengths and your weaknesses in stride, knowing that your weaknesses do not define you and your strengths make you a better person.
You were hopeful that he would not die that day, like so many people did not hours before. You were hopeful you could save him from that damn hidden grenade. You were hopeful that you would never have to talk about the most heart wrenching day of your life thus far to anyone ever again.
All of those things happened.
~
[4 months ago.]
All you could hear was the wind moving the foliage around you. No one was moving, not an inch. They knew better. You lot had been fighting this war for almost 5 months at this point, and this specific stand-off was heading on to hour 7. It was tireless and relentless work, but it had to be done, for the safety of your country.
You and about 6 other men, one of which was your twin brother, were plastered up against a makeshift mud wall with rifles lined up in front of you. Ready to fire when needed. You had been like this for a while, listening to the occasional distant gunfire from another location and some various screaming, too. Some of the new recruits were sick to their stomachs from it, but not you. Everything that had happened had made you numb. All you thought about, and all you allowed yourself to think about until the moment you set foot in your home again, was war. Killing Japs. It was your sole purpose on this hellhole.
“I’m going to get us some water, anyone need anything?”
Your brother was the one who spoke, barely audible, but you all had trained to hear someone speaking that quietly. You had to, otherwise your positions would be given away. The 6 of you that were still leaning against the mud gently shook your heads, hearing your brother inch backwards on the ground. He was not allowed to stand, either, because he would be extremely obvious amongst all the trees.
It stayed silent for a few more moments, but once your brother had moved back about 10 feet from his original location, everyone in the area heard it. That distinct hissing sound that could only come from one thing. A grenade. None of you had moved, so none of you could have set it off. There were also no signs of Japs around. By process of elimination, you all knew who had triggered it. Your brother.
Everything happened quickly. First, there was the instant whiplash created in all of your necks as you whipped your heads back in the direction of the sound, eyes all locking onto your brother, who was frozen in fear and had a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. Then, you all scrambled to removed yourselves from where you were seated to get as far away from the blast as possible, but your brother did not do the same.
Next came the explosion.
Shrapnel everywhere, screaming all around you, ringing in your ears and blood running from your neck and cheek. Instantly, your gun went to the ground, an instinct you did not know you had in you taking over. You went and took out as much debris as you could from the few men scattered around you, including the piece that had wedged itself in your neck. You made sure as many men on your squad as possible were fine, despite the shit they constantly gave you for simply being female. Then it hit you – you had not taken care of your brother, assuming there was anything left of him to take care of.
Frantically, you ran through the dust and smoke radiating around his body, dropping to the ground next to him, staring at the injuries he had sustained. If it were not for the gaping hole in his torso, he would have barely had a scratch on him. But you could see it – a literal hole on his lower left side, so bad to the point where his uniform had gone almost completely black with blood, and a small portion of his intestines were visible without close examination. Made you want to vomit. And scream. You held back on the prior, but not the latter. After letting the surface layer of your feelings out, you began your attempt to fix him. Trying your absolute best to do exactly what the small amount of medical training you had gotten had taught you, but in your haze, basically just attempted to restuff his abdomen with the parts it had lost. There was absolutely nothing you could do about the blood, and your guess was that he had lost over a gallon in that short time. He was going to bleed out, and there was nothing you could do.
“Y/N s-stop.”
“Harry, no, don’t. Don’t fucking tell me to stop. You’re bleed-bleeding out, and-and your guts, they’re-”
“It’s…too late, baby…sis.”
“It’s not, don’t say that to me. You’re gonna come home with me. I fixed those assholes, I can fix you! I only joined this damn army because I couldn’t bear being apart from you! We fought for this! Harold, please. Please!”
But you could feel his body already go cold.
“Harry?”
The sound of gunfire was piercing your ears as you spoke to the corpse of your brother.
“Harry… please…”
Your body slumped over. Heart completely wrenched from your body. You had lost a part of you. The part of you that helped you beat the system. The part of you that when it was gone you thought would surely take you with it.
Yet here you were. Sitting on a dirt floor, next to the corpse of your 1-minute-older twin who always insisted on calling you his baby sis, not caring if a bullet went through the back of your skull and through your brain. All you wanted was to see his smiling face again.
[Present day.]
Most people would think that after going through something like what you and your squad went through that day, you would all be discharged and sent home. The 5 men who survived had that happen. You? Not so much. The men had talked to your captain about how diligent you were in taking care of them after the explosion, and apparently done so well enough that your captain thought it would be a terrific idea to send you for more medical training. To hone in on the skills you clearly had rooted deep within you that had to be coaxed out. ‘For the better of the entire US Army,’ he had said once.
Bullshit.
You just wanted to go home. To rest. To not see any more blood for the rest of your days. It was enough. You had been through enough. Yet your captain did not think so.
You had completed about 3 months of new medical training, and was given your army doctor certification. You were given all the possible utilities you may need, including a personal staff to help you with amputations and other surgeries. You were also taken off of active-duty and were to simply travel around with whichever squad you were placed with, to take care of them and the people around them. Truth be told, it was not the worst gig within the army you could have gotten. It still pained you, though, knowing that Harry would no longer be around to see you help people.
Initially, your captain had bumped you from place to place, before getting the call that the men needed a permanent doctor on Seipan, as the old one had been, well, shot to death. So, you packed up your belongings once again and set a course for Seipan, where you were told you would basically be spending the rest of your time in the military. Whether that ended in death or coming home, you could not tell, but that was the deal.
Unbeknownst to you, the men were informed about your scheduled arrival, and the group of men you would be bunking with were given special instructions.
“Listen up. I know what you’re probably thinking. How the hell did a woman make her way into the army? That, is her business and her business alone. If she ever tells you on her own accord, fine, but if we hear about any of you hassling her in any way, there will be serious repercussions. Do you all understand?”
“Yes, sir.” All 6 of the men seated in the bunk responded at once.
“Question, sir,”
“What is it, Private Shelton?”
“How’s it that woman made it into the army? Who’d she have to get off?”
“What the hell did I just—”
“Sir.” A private none of the men in the bunk knew popped his head in, ceasing the light chuckles that were floating about the bunk. “Nurse Y/L/N is here.”
As if on cue, the curtain to the outside had been swung open and you, carrying your giant backpack and all belongings, entered the bunker. All the men in the tent, including your new captain, were staring at you.
“What? Y’all ain’t ever seen a woman before?”
Your new captain stood to address you as you tossed your bags onto what would become your new cot. You turned around to face him, knowing that despite how unhappy you were with the living arrangements, you were in no position to argue.
“Madam, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Captain Richard Johnson, and the 6 men you see behind me will be your new squad. I know you are no longer active duty, but in order for you to remain as a member of the army given your specific circumstances, you are required to still be a part of a squad, even though you will be attending to all injuries on all men.”
“Yes, sir. Now, may I have a moment to put my stuff away before one of these boys gets a papercut I have to kiss better?”
“As you wish. I’ll let them introduce themselves. Welcome to Seipei, Nurse.”
With that, Captain Johnson walked out from the tent, leaving you alone with the men behind you, all of which were just staring at the back of you as you started to put your stuff away. You were seriously hoping that you could postpone talking to them as long as possible. You knew what type of people they would be. All men treated you the same. Like an object. You were given no reason to think that any of these men were going to be any different. Your suspicions were confirmed when one of them began to speak to you.
“So. Young, gorgeous, smart enough to be a doctor, a sharp tongue, and a delightful southern accent to boot. Golly, what don’t you have going for you?”
Instantly your hands dropped what they were holding and fell to your sides. You had an immense amount of trouble believing that they were already treating you like this. Hell, you were not even sure they knew your first name yet. You spun around in the attempt to address whichever one had spoken to you directly, but you could not tell which one it was, so you addressed them all.
“What don’t I have going for me? The ability to put up with your bullshit. If you don’t mind, I would prefer it if you did not treat me like some kind of object for you to mess around with. That goes for all of you little shits. You’re new to this whole thing, I’ve been around the block with this whole ordeal for over 6 months now, so I know a thing or two that you don’t. But I’m also not the type of person who likes to start relationships off on a bad foot. So, let’s start over, shall we?”
The 6 men were all looking at you intently, some of them with smirks on their faces, some of them clearly believing in the intensity you presented yourself with.
“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, former PFC, active nurse. Maybe one day, if y’all can learn to be gentlemen, I’ll tell you my story. But it’s earned, and hardly anyone has earned the right to know it. You’re turns.”
Each of the men rattled off their names and titles. The one who had spoken to you earlier was PFC Robert Leckie. Also part of your squad was PFC Eugene ‘Sledgehammer’ Sledge, PFC Sidney Phillips, PFC Lew ‘Chuckler’ Juergens, PFC Merriell ‘Snafu’ Shelton, the one who had made the rude comment you had not heard, and PFC Wilbur ‘Runner’ Conley. You had given them the nod of approval at their good behavior before continuing.
“Like I said before, I’m an active nurse now. Meaning, if you ever have a problem with anything, you need to come find me. I may have a tough outer shell, but if you seriously need me, trust me, I won’t be an ass about it. Maybe once you’re better I will be, but not in the moment. I know when to be an ass and when not to be. But right now, I’m exhausted, so I want to lay down. Assuming none of you have any pressing issues at the moment and no one comes bursting through the door with a limb barely attached, I’m going to do just that.”
“Well, there is one thing.”
“What is it, Snafu?”
“My dick is unusually soft considering I’m in the presence of a woman, do you know why that might be?”
You threw the first metal thing you could find, which happened to be a metal comb, directly at his head before covering your body with a blanket and facing opposite to them. You heard them laughing a little bit, and you could not help the tears that welled up behind your eyes. You tried to be hopeful again that these boys would be different. You were beginning to give up on the prospect of hope.
~
Little did your roommates/squad members know, but despite the tough demeanor you presented yourself with, you had always had a soft heart. The tears that had welled up eventually fell, but you drifted off to sleep not long after. How they had treated you did hurt, but you had put up with it for so long from so many people that you knew how to act like it did not. You had a shell, a tough one, and it took quite a bit to break it.
When you woke up the next day, all your squad members had already left for the morning, leaving you in peace. Truly at peace, considering no one had rushed in needing your assistance yet. You had decided to pull out the book you had been reading for the last few weeks and lay back on your bed, prepared in case anyone needed help.
Then you saw the curtains pull back carefully and cautiously, revealing one of the members of your squad.
“Mobile.”
You looked up at Eugene, confused as to why he brought up the name of your hometown out of nowhere.
“What?”
“Mobile, Alabama. Your accent, madam. Is that where you’re from, Miss Y/L/N?”
“Y-yeah, actually. How’d you guess?”
“I live on Serenity Drive, off the center of town. I’d recognize the sound of home anywhere, especially after being in a place like this.”
“…Juniper Street.”
“We’re practically neighbors, then! What a small world this is, Miss Y/L/N. Please, don’t let me keep you from reading.”
Eugene went over to his cot to grab something before making his way back to the entrance. You were so in shock at how much different this boy was from the rest of his squad, you could not believe they all got along so well. Your mind could not help but wonder what his real reaction to what had been said to you last night was.
“Y/N.”
“Wh-what?” Eugene spun around in the entryway, not expecting you to willingly talk to him after being associated with the idiots he was with last night.
“Y/N. That’s my name, remember? For you, it’s just Y/N.”
Eugene gave you a bashful smile, which you returned. It was your way of showing him that you truly had a soft side, like the one he had just shown you. You just hoped he understood.
Later that same day, you had helped out with a few injuries people had that needed to be rewrapped or bandages needed changing. You even got to take out a few happy men’s stitches, scolding most of them for letting them rip. You had been working on someone’s bandages in a tent maybe 100 feet from where your bunk was when Chuckler walked in. He was the only other one who had not laughed at Snafu’s joke the night before, you eventually found out. Except you did not quite feel you could show him your soft side just yet. Something about Eugene brought it out of you, and you could not quite explain why.
“Chuckler? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Leckie, the asshole. He’s been having a problem that’s clearly affecting his mental state but refuses to come to you about it.”
“What is the problem, exactly? Because I have a lot of people to get to today and—”
“He refuses to leave his bed and we need him to help with drills and in weaponry. He’s being a nuisance.”
“That’s not what I asked you, Chuckler.”
“Just come with me when you’re done with him, please. None of us can take his bitching and moaning anymore.”
“Fine, give me 5 minutes. Wait there.
After you had finished changing the man’s bandages, you stood up and cleaned up all your equipment, and followed Chuckler from the tent. You had made it to your own and saw that Snafu, Eugene, Runner, and Sidney were all talking amongst themselves in front of where Leckie was laying. All their heads turned in your general direction when you walked in, and you were completely mentally prepared to put up your shell, even with Eugene in the room. Except the way they were all looking at you told you that it was not the time. They seemed extremely concerned for their friend. You looked at Chuckler, and he now had the same expression on his face. So, you felt as though that was your cue to walk over and see what you could do.
When you started to move over to Leckie, the four boys cleared out the space to let you in. You gently placed your bag down to the floor and kneeled down next to Leckie’s cot. You knew he could hear you, but was clearly ignoring you. You felt as if there was only one thing you could do in order to get his attention. As much as it made you nervous, you felt a stronger sensation for the need to help than the need to be an ass right about now. He looked tense from the back. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and rubbed lightly, trying to coax him.
“Leckie?”
No response.
“Leckie, I want to help you, hon. Could you roll over and face me?”
You felt him shift a little bit. You were getting somewhere.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, honey. I promise I’ve heard worse. You really don’t have a reason to be embarrassed.”
You could feel him let out a sigh, whether it was one of embarrassment or one signaling he caved was up in the air, but then his body shifted. You had won, and he rolled over to face you. First you noticed how red his eyes were, and how puffy his cheeks had become. He had clearly been crying, probably while you had been speaking to him. It broke your heart a little bit. A tough soldier, so broken down over something that more than likely is not his fault. Made you wonder what would happen to the men who made it home.
Then you saw his problem. What the boys were all concerned about. His pants had become a darker shade of green all down the front.
“Oh, honey… how long has this been goin’ on?”
“Few days. Maybe… maybe a week.”
“I think I know exactly what this is. Assuming you aren’t in any pain, that is. Does this happen frequently? And when it does, is there pain involved?”
“No pain, but usually once, sometimes twice a day.” He was talking so quietly. You could easily tell why he did not want to tell you. It was not pain or fear of loss of masculinity, since apparently everyone else knew but you.
It was because all of them respected you and they did not want to seem like they could not take care of themselves.
“Well, the good news is that it is probably exactly what I’m thinking it is. People who undergo extreme stress and traumas can develop issues with their pelvic floors without knowing it, except when their bladder decides to completely empty itself without any warning to you. You just need a little bit of rest and I’ll need to teach you how to do some pelvic floor exercises to bring it back up to strength. If that doesn’t seem to work, I can have the proper paperwork drawn up to send you over to a rehab facility on an American territory nearby. We’ll get you fixed up, pumpkin, I promise, okay?”
Leckie just nods his head and sniffled gently. You place a hand on his cheek to help steady his breathing before grabbing something out of your bag. Something you think will help him. You also write up everything you said on a prescription sheet so he can remember everything you told him, plus wrote down the basics for the therapies he will be starting.
The five boys had watched the entire scene unfold with you and Leckie. Clearly, despite the impression you first gave them, you really did care about them, and was willing to put aside their buffoonery and idiocracy for the sake of their health. What was an army without its men, anyway? An unspoken promise was made through the looks they gave each other, one that said they would no longer be assholes to you. Clearly, you did not deserve that. Not after how nice you had been to all of them despite what they said to you. How they laughed at you.
Plus, it had been burning in the back of their minds that you had a story they could earn, and that spoke numbers to them about what kind of life you had before them, that it probably was not good, and interesting to boot.
They wanted to ensure that the bad half of your story ended with them and the good part started with them, too.
~
A few more days had gone by since you had treated Leckie, and the techniques you had been teaching him were working. He had not had an accident in almost three days. You were really proud of him for doing what he needed to do, and clearly, he was thankful for you. He practically waited on you hand and foot. The other boys were doing the same. You honestly were not really sure what had changed, but you were not complaining. You were finally working with men who did not treat you horribly. It was a nice change of pace, and one that you were not about to jeopardize.
Other things you had done included helping the boys out with small injuries they received through various things, and you even helped them out in weaponry once since you knew about it, having been a soldier yourself.
After a particularly grueling day, you had all returned back to the bunk for the night, and you had just crawled in to bed. You were about to turn off your oil lamp when you realized all of them had been staring at you. But in the low light, it was hard to read their expressions.
“What?”
They all looked at Eugene, who they had apparently selected as the best person to ask you the question they so desperately wanted to know the answer to.
“Y/N, we were… just wondering… have we earned the rights… to your story yet? You know about us. We’d love to know about you.”
You took in a deep breath, shakily exhaling it, internally debating if these 6 boys were worth the trouble. Clearly, Eugene was. There was no debating on that. Chuckler was also nice, considering, and Leckie had shown his appreciation for you after helping him. The other three had gotten significantly nicer, too. And they had never seemed like the type of people to abuse the knowledge, anyway.
You started with the catcalling. Something you were prepared for in some degree, but not for how much of it you really got. It had never happened back home, people in Mobile were extremely nice. You knew that things would be different in the army because these men had been starved of their natural preferences and instincts the moment they arrived at boot camp. You told yourself you could ignore it, and for the most part, you did. It was always just out-there, lewd comments you knew had no foundation or real threat behind them.
Except for the one night that it did. There was one night, about a month before your brother had died. You had been given your own bunk, despite the wishes of your old captain, and there was a night where you and almost every squad were on patrol for nearly 16 hours straight, with almost nothing to show for it. Sitting still, feeling stiff, tired, hungry, and downright frustrated. You all eventually made it back to your bunks, and you decided not to shower. You just wanted to lay down on something that was not the rock-hard ground. Despite the fact that the cots were not the most comfortable, it sure as hell beat the soil. You did not know how long you had been laying there, but you were in and out of sleep, that stage right before you truly drift off. You were finally comfortable. So comfortable that you never heard the opening of the doorway to your bunk.
He had made no noise, having taken off his shoes, and kept his breathing as quiet as possible. You never even heard him start to take off his clothes. You only knew what was happening when you felt him press his front against your back. As soon as you felt him, you pushed him to the ground, screaming bloody murder. He crawled off of you, and tried to leave, but your brother had gotten to the doorway in time. Beat him to shit. Made sure you were okay. You were not, and your captain only made it worse by not transferring the guy away from you. You never went a day without waking up in the middle of night anymore out of pure fear.
You then told them how your brother was the only person who managed to keep you sane while you were still on active duty, but you only had that peace of mind for another month. Because you had to watch him die. You had to take another deep breath before talking about the story, because you were fighting back tears remembering how it felt to lose him. And then you told them how your old captain did not even give you the decency to leave and return later so you could go see his funeral.
“I… never even got to say goodbye. They buried by own fucking twin and I wasn’t there! I never got to tell him I loved him again! He was just gone! Fucking gone!” You had started weeping and screaming. You refused to talk about these events with hardly anyone, and now, it was like you could no longer hold back.
You pulled yourself together as best you could, wiping away the streaky tears adorning your face, and when you looked up, all 6 of them were looking at you with such sadness you thought they might start crying. Through some heavy breathing, you managed to allow a bit of your sass to come through.
“… are y’all happy with yourselves? You made a gal cry.” You had smiled a little bit, letting them know that you were going to be okay, despite how you currently looked.
They all remained silent, which made you concerned that you had said too much. You remained convinced of that until you saw Eugene move to stand up. Your smile faded as you watched him move over to your cot. When he reached you he simply stopped and kneeled to the ground. He let his head hang for a moment before looking up at you with glossy eyes. He did not speak right away.
“…what?”
“Lily.”
“I’m…sorry?”
“Yeah what are you going on about, Sledgehammer?” Snafu piped in for surprisingly the first time that night.
“Lily. Your new name is Lily.”
“Why, Gene?”
“Like…” He was caught off guard by the affectionate nickname. He had not thought he had earned something like that from you yet. “Like the lily of the valley flower. They grow in my front yard, back home in Mobile. It’s a beautiful and delicate flower, one that germinates and spreads its beauty wherever it is planted. But they aren’t what meets the eye. They’re actually extremely dangerous. You don’t want to mess around with them if you plan on keeping ‘em around. …just like you.”
You were taken aback. You knew the boy was quiet and sweet, but you never took him to be the smooth type. Even if that was not how he intended for it to come across. You felt your face flush, and began to get bashful. You dropped your head lightly, and you felt your face heat up even more when you heard the ‘damn straight’s’ coming from the other 5, completely in agreement with Eugene.
“…shut up, you fuckers. I could kill y’all in your sleep.”
“Just like the flower!”
You threw your pillow in their general direction, and you all broke out into laughter. You were in such a state of shock and disbelief at what was happening to you. You were beginning to believe in hope again. Then Runner spoke up.
“How about we push our cots together for the night? Lily, you can be in the middle. We can keep you safe from all the assholes that are littering this island.” (in this house we support the idea that guys can do this and not feel the need to crack a joke because fuck toxic masculinity)
“I’m great with that, s’long as Leckie keeps his problem under control.” Sidney chimed in, always ready with the jab.
The boys all goofed around with each other, while you just watched them with bemusement. You were completely unaware that Eugene was just staring at you. Awestruck. Dumbstruck.
Lovestruck.
Quite frankly, he was not sure when the feeling started feeling that way about you. Might have been when he first told you about being from Mobile. Could have been just now seeing you laugh and light up bright. Could have been from the first moment he laid eyes on you. It did not matter. All that mattered was that he got to spend his time on this hellhole with you, and he would not have changed it for the world.
He was brought back to reality when he felt you grab onto his arm so he could help you guys move the cots. Once they were all in place, they made you get in first and then decided what order they were going to lay in. Their main concern was not the men they laid next to, so much as who the two would be that got to lay next to you. You made it very apparent that you did not care about the other side, so long as Eugene was to one of them. He was standing at the head of your cot, unsure of what to do like the others, but he turned his head down to face you when he saw you lean your head backwards to look up at him, and you lightly grabbed the fabric of his pants. Eugene crawled into the cot next to yours, and you just looked at him with a tired smile. His heart swelled and started beating wildly.
Once everyone else had clamored into bed, Chuckler being the one to your other side, you all settled in for the night. Before anyone really tried to fall asleep, Eugene said something only loud enough for the 7 of you to hear.
You looked at him in the dark, his face barely visible with hardly any moonlight entering the bunk. He was not looking at you, he was looking up at the ceiling, that much you could see. You reached up with one of your hands to pull his face to face yours.
“I know, Gene.”
~
A few more days and plenty of emergency surgeries and bandage changes later, you were starting to feel really burnt out. Plus, the boys had been away for those few days, so you had hardly anyone to talk to it about. Even Snafu and his ways would have been better than nothing. The boys did return earlier than expected, and when you got back from your most recent emergency surgery, you were more than thrilled to see them back in your bunk. But what made you the happiest was telling them to stay put so they could watch your equipment while you went and showered for the first time in a few days. That way, when you got back, they could block the entrance to your bunk so you could change peacefully. They made no objections, seeing that their few days were uneventful and you clearly needed the shower more than them, you looked like you had been to hell and back.
You took as minimal as possible over to the shower, which including not carrying your spare uniform. The thing weight more than it looked like it would, so you opted for just a tank top and a pair of shorts. As you were walking back to the bunk, you managed to make it within eye sight of your bunk, and you were met with a really sweet sight. The boys had all sat outside and played cards while they waited for you, ready to block the entrance while you changed just like you had asked them to.
You were about to call out to them to get their attention, when another squad beat you to it. For the first time since you had been with this squad, you were catcalled by another group of men. Their bunk was visible from where the boys were sitting, and the second your name left one of their mouths, all their heads shot in that direction. You just kept walking to get as far away from them as possible. Turns out that was not the best option, since that gave them more ammunition to talk about your ass as it moved. You jogged the rest of the way back to your bunk, fighting off tears as you did so, and the minute you were safely back in your own territory, Eugene, Leckie, and Chuckler all went running off to the group of men who were hassling you. They did not see it coming, but you knew that you would be tending to some serious injuries tomorrow by the looks of it.
When they make it back to you, they are out of breath and lightly sweaty. You are worried they got hurt, but when they smile at you, you knew they were okay. You walked over and hugged each of them. Somewhat unintentionally, you let Eugene’s hug linger a little bit longer than the other boys. He wanted to act like he did not notice, but he completely did.
“Do we get hugs too, Lily?”
“Now, why would y’all get hugs, Sid?”
“Um, because we’re your friends, too? And we made a promise to protect you, so the next round is on us?”
You just chuckle at them, and lean down to give them all hugs too, before retreating into the bunk to change.
All of them turn to look at Eugene, because like him, they saw his hug linger a little bit. They knew about his little crush – he had told them about it when they were going on a day straight of no sleep and getting delirious. At one point, one of the men had said something to the effect of ‘honestly, she’s so tough she’d probably break you but someone like you was meant to be with someone like her – she’s broken and needs someone who can love her properly, and none of us are really qualified to do that. Plus, she’s from Mobile so go for it, Sledgehammer.’ Little did he know though, is that they were hatching a plan to get him to admit it to you.
~
You had been cleaning some of your smaller tools in the bunk when Snafu runs in with Eugene at his side, and Snafu is trying to frantically tell you what happened but all you register is that you see Eugene and his blood pouring out of his arm. You push Snafu aside mindlessly telling him ‘yeah, yeah’ as you pull Eugene down to sit on your now back-in-its-original-place cot. Eugene clearly looks like he is in pain, so you want to help him as quickly as possible. But you know how painful it can be to clean an open wound, so you come up with a way to distract him.
“Gene, this is really going to hurt. Both parts, the cleaning and the stitching. I want you to talk to me, okay?”
“About what?”
“Anything. I just like hearin’ you talk. But… how about books? You’ve loaned me a book or two before. Tell me about things you’ve read about. Talk through the pain, honey.”
As soon as he comes up with a topic he knows he can talk about for more than two sentences, you start to clean the wound as best you can with him writhing around from the pain. Once the area is clean, you tell him he has to sit still while you stitch him up, otherwise he will have a needle where it does not need to be.
He talks as best he can, but with every poke of the needle, his voice would get hitched and stuck in his throat, and you started to feel awful. At one point he was starting to look a little pale, and he had stopped talking, so you just looked at him so he would look you back in the eyes.
“Genie, lay your head down on my shoulder. Close your eyes. I don’t want you passing out on me.”
He did as he was told, his head plunking down onto your shoulder. You could immediately feel it through your uniform that he was sweating terribly. You felt awful for doing this to him, but he would thank you later when he did not have to lose his arm from an infection.
You had finished stitching him up, and you just let him rest his head on your shoulder for a little while longer. That way he did not make himself dizzy when he stood back up. You even laid your head on his to try to bring him back to you. To calm him down.
Eventually he looked back up at you with eyes that spoke for themselves. He was wiped out.
“Let’s get you into bed, hon. You need to rest.”
You helped him walk over to his cot, very shakily, and laid him down and gave him a glass of water. Once he was comfortable, you got up to clean up your cot. And you heard him weakly ask you something.
“What in God’s green earth did I ever do to deserve meetin’ someone like you?”
You just chuckled lightly at his accent, accentuated because of how tired he was.
“I should be asking you that, Gene.”
~
Another round of emergency surgeries happened over the course of the following day, 8 to be exact, and all you wanted to do was go back to your cot and read. Eventually, you practically crawled your way back to the bunk, but was met with what, in that moment, was the worst site you could have been met with. Someone had broken into your bunk and tore the book Eugene had loaned you to shreds. The only people who would have had any motive to do such a thing would be the jerks who catcalled you earlier in the week. You assumed it was them. The assholes.
You were feeling so burnt out, though that all you could do was sob. You were sobbing so intensely that you fell onto your cot. And you just laid there, crying your entire soul out. The boys had been coming back from dinner, wanting to invite you, but knew you were still in surgery. So, they went without you. When they were back standing in front of the cot, they could hear you crying before they walked in. They all wanted to barge in and make you feel better, but instead they practically shoved Eugene in there to help you.
He first sees the book on your bed, shredded beyond repair, scattered around your heaving body. Then the adrenaline kicks in and he is on his knees by your side in an instant, rubbing circles onto your back. When you finally can breathe normally again, you roll over to look at him through red eyes.
“Want to talk about it?”
He opened the doors to a floodgate. You start rattling off all the surgeries and how something went wrong in every single one, and then you tell him all you wanted to do was read his book but now that was ruined and you promised somewhere in there to replace it, and then you were overcome with happiness when he places a book you never saw him grab by your side as a replacement. All the emotions eventually just cause you to stop in your place and stare at him, completely overwhelmed. The look in his eyes tells you something that your body felt before your brain registered it, and before you knew it, you leaned in and kissed him.
It was not much, and you instantly pulled back, realizing that you could have just made a huge mistake based on a huge misunderstanding. You start blubbering to him, saying you were sorry and asking him to not report you to your higher ups, and in the middle of it, he just throws himself at you. Clearly desperate to taste you properly, almost sobbing himself at just how soft your lips were compared to the harshness of the war going on around him.
While he was relentless in the moment, eventually you both pulled away to breathe, just staring into each other’s eyes, pupils slightly larger than usual. The moment would have been perfect if it were not for your friend, Snafu.
“Is it safe to come in there or are y’all screwing each other, already?”
You both break and laugh, and the boys outside take that as their cue to come in. They look thrilled for you. Once Eugene had had enough of the looks they were giving you, he looks at you and not-so-shyly says,
“This is only the beginning, darlin’, just wait until we’re back in Mobile and can be together properly. I’ll treat you like a queen.”
~
A few close calls later with Eugene being on the front lines more often than you would like, you two finally come back home. Initially, you went to your house first, the joy of having their other child home being more important than discussing the elephant in the room. You introduced the man you brought home, and to your happiness, he fit right in. Your parents loved him.
Then, he takes you to his home, where you get to meet his family. You imagined you would be liked enough by his parents for them to want him to keep you around. Especially after the way Eugene introduced you to his doctor father.
“Dad, meet Y/N. She’s the one who causes all my heart murmurs now.”
you're actually thanking me for writing? um you're so lovely?! thank you for reading love! i hope that my writing takes you away from this scary world for a few minutes 💛
Pairing: John Deacon x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 12.2K (told you it was going to be a long one, folks)
Style: One-Shot
Warnings: Deaf!Reader, fluff, some tension, mentions of intimate moments (nothing explicit), swearing
Summary: Freddie figured out a way to save his voice after shows and needs someone to be a translator for him so the band and crew know what he’s saying. That’s where you come in.
Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way.
A/N: Buckle in, because a lot will be written here, and it’s all important so please read this before reading the fic. First, request/idea/title of the story come from @bensrhapsody who drew partial inspiration from @rogers-wristbands’s post, so please show that post some love for the inspiration, and thank you hon! Permission was given to use the post for reference, so no ideas were stolen. Second, while I am personally not deaf, nor hard of hearing in general, I grew up with a really close friend whose entire family was deaf, so I got to see a decent amount of how that life works. I am not claiming that I know the complete ins and outs of living life as a deaf individual, nor do I claim that what I write is exactly the way it is. I am writing from my limited personal experience. Please refrain from attacking me or my writing if it does not meet with the standard for writing on this subject. Third, please respect and love everyone who is dealing with anything major or minor in their lives because we are all human and deserve to be treated with respect, regardless of the circumstances. Fourth, anything in italics in this fic is signed, just to avoid confusion with emphasis. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk, now if you’ve decided to keep going, I sincerely hope you enjoy the fic!
Masterlist
~
The lights. The lasers. The smoke. The bodies.
It was a scene you never tired of. There was also the physicality of it. All the vibrations coming from the stage, through the floor, and up through your entire body. It was euphoric, to put it lightly. No one paying attention to you, and everyone was in the same room for the same reason – to have a bloody grand time.
Seated in the front row of the venue gave you the perfect field of vision to see and feel everything. It was probably the twentieth concert you have been to in your life, but they never got old. One thing about being seated in the front row, though, was that security guards always gave you funny looks when you did not move along to the beat like everyone else. This case was no exception, and they eventually just stopped paying attention to you to keep an eye on everyone else, especially rouge women trying to make their way backstage. But one guard kept an eye on you, because he swore he saw you walk in alone, and he never saw you talk to anyone seated near you. You never responded to the girl who sat next to you, and when the show was over and you all had stopped clapping, you leaned over and made some gestures at the girl, proceeding to cover your ears and shake your head. That was the moment he realized he needed to go grab you and take you backstage. Once safely away from the stage, he points to his ear and shakes his head, eyes wide as if he is asking a question through that gesture.
You nodded your head in both understanding and as a way of answering him. You knew what he was asking you, you got asked all the time in many ways. ‘Are you deaf?’ But to your surprise, he smiles, walks you over to another part of the backstage area, and grabs a whiteboard.
~
The guard frantically wrote on the board, seemingly worried that he was wasting your time. You wished you had a way to tell him that you were in no rush, but he clearly did not know your language. If his gesture earlier was any indication, at least. But you were extremely patient with him, hoping that he would understand telepathically that you knew why he would not know sign language. It would not really make a lot of sense for someone who works for musicians to know it. Their jobs all revolve around sound. The one sense you did not have. So, it obviously comes as a shock when you show up at a concert, in the front row, no less, where things are more expensive.
Soon after you got lost in your thoughts the guard had finished writing on the board, and he turned it around so you could read it. A few short sentences in some mediocre handwriting exclaimed ‘Fred has been teaching himself sign language but needs a translator – no one else knows it. Would you like to meet him?’ You could not help but wonder why in the world someone who makes a living off the use of their voice would ever need or want to learn sign language, but you did not question it. Hell, who would pass up on the chance to meet the lead singer of Queen, regardless of the circumstances? It was not about to be you.
When you looked back up at the guard to signal that you had finished reading, it was with wide eyes. Shock. Once he made eye contact with you, you gestured for him to hand you the board, so you could write your response down for him, because you were hesitant to give him a simple ‘yes’ for some reason. You could feel the nerves coursing through your body, at the simple prospect of meeting a human that you greatly admire. That, coupled with the fact that he might want to learn something from you.
You had heard the rumors about Freddie and sign language, but you did not allow yourself to believe that they were true. You had heard Freddie started teaching himself the language in an effort to save his voice after shows. While that was all in good faith, it was practically useless to him because no one else in the band or the crew knew the language, so to all of them, it was just mindless gestures with no meaning behind them. And it would be somewhat of a waste of time for him to use a whiteboard, considering he could speak in the first place. He apparently exclaimed that he needed a personal translator at one point, which is what got the rumor mill started. Turns out they were not rumors, after all.
Once the whiteboard and marker were in your possession, you scribbled down your response and turned the board around for him to read. You had wrote ‘are you sure he’d want someone like me?’ He looked at you with both an awestruck and dumbstruck look, because he could not believe you would think that way about yourself. Think that you are not even worthy of meeting another human being, for any reason.
You reach forward with your hands to hand him the whiteboard, and the guard does something that warms your soul. Instead of erasing your answer, he turns it around to face you. He points to the word ‘he’d’ that you had written, then places the board and marker under his arm to form a crude heart shape with his hands, and then pointed his index finger at you.
‘He’d love you.’
That was all the convincing you needed, signaled by the feeling of the butterflies dissipating slightly. You nod at him, letting him know that you got the message and was convinced to follow him to the back. As you walked back, you saw a menagerie of different characters, raunchy blondes and redheads gossiping about certain members of the band. Crew members, and some bigwigs from the record company who decided to attend a show. Eventually you passed enough people to make it back to an area that appeared to be all dressing rooms. One of the rooms, the one the guard led you to, did not have a placard with one of the bandmates specific names on it. Instead, it had a plaque that simply said ‘Queen,’ leading you to believe that it was the room where the entire band could hang out together before and after a show.
Your suspicions were confirmed when you were met not just with the flamboyant and exuberant nature of the noted singer, but the presence of three other males with distinct personalities as well. Scattered across the small room were the members of the famous band Queen.
On one wall, there was a bar, and seated there was a shaggy-haired blonde, fixing himself a martini. Not the drink of choice you expected from someone like him, but who were you to judge? Behind him on the other side of the room was a beauty table with a large mirror, and in front of it was a tall, lanky brunette who was organizing his luscious curls back into their natural places. To his right on a couch was a thin, shyer looking man with a book in his lap and a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of his legs.
Roger Taylor, Brian May, and John Deacon, respectively.
Finally, you spotted the infamous Freddie Mercury, who was walking, gesturing, and talking to his bandmates, but his words just filled the air, as none of them were really paying him much mind. This must be a normal occurrence for them, considering none of the boys looked annoyed at his blatant interruption of what it was they were doing.
While walking into the room you felt the security guard grab a hold of your arm, as if to steady you. Then you looked up at the security guard, waiting to see how you were going to be introduced. You could not really speak for yourself, since you did not know what skill level Freddie was at regarding sign language, if he really knew any at all, so it was not like you could just start signing to him. But you did not have to worry, because through your arm that was interlocked with the guards, you could feel some very light vibrations from his chest as he addressed the band.
You watched him closely, reading his lips the best you could even though he was much taller than you and his profile was what you were facing. He was either speaking too fast, or he just did not annunciate good enough. Either way, the only words you could really understand were ‘sign’ and ‘language’ ordered back to back. Go figure.
Eventually he stopped speaking, so you turned your head to see what kind of reaction was elicited from the band. All four of their heads had turned to look you dead in the eyes, yet the expressions on their faces made it clear that they were not completely sure how to respond to whatever explanation the guard had offered. If you had to put a word to each of their expressions, having practiced that numerous times whenever a family member told someone you were deaf, you would s ay that Brian was concerned, Roger looked confused, Freddie looked excited, and John seemed nervous.
Your eyes moved to a motion you caught by the blonde, that motion being his mouth moving. He started to speak, and you tried to read his lips, but he was cut short by Freddie thumping him on the back of his head. You then looked at Freddie, trying not to laugh because of the look Roger was giving Freddie, and you noticed that Freddie had raised his hands.
He was going to tell Roger something, but he was going to make you involved by signing what he said.
“Roger, are you daft? She cannot hear you. Let me.” He then turned to address you directly. “Hello, darling. I’m Freddie, and this is Roger, Brian, and John. Roger had just started to ask you why it is that you came to a concert when you can’t hear anything that is going on? If I’m being honest, I’m curious myself.”
You had noticed that his lips were moving as he signed to you, that way his bandmates knew just what it was he said to you.
“I’ll also tell them what you say to me, if that’s alright with you, love.”
You nodded your head in response to the last thing he said, and then began to sign back to him in response to Roger’s question.
“I don’t need to hear the music in order to enjoy the show. The visuals are amazing on their own, so kudos to your crew, and plus, I can feel the vibrations of your instruments through the floor. Especially John. Well, him and Roger, but I mainly feel John playing.”
Freddie had turned to John momentarily to see his reaction to what you had said, and he was met with an extremely flushed red face. One that was clearly the expression of embarrassment. You noticed, as well, curious why Freddie had turned around. John must have felt the eyes on him, so he looked up and was instantly met with your eyes, and a warm smile. His face got even more red, but his eyes softened, something about the way you looked at him put him more at ease despite your previous comment being the reason he was flustered in the first place. Then you moved your eyes back to Freddie to tell him that there was something you wanted him to tell John for you.
“Tell him that it’s a good thing. A wonderful feeling.”
Freddie had continued to speak as he signed like before, so you simply looked at John to see his reaction. You were pleased with the smile you had earned after hearing what you said, and then he proceeded to cover up his smile using one of his hands, clearly feeling embarrassment again. But it was almost a good form of embarrassment. Him not really used to compliments and not knowing how to react.
It was really cute.
You let out a laugh at the reaction you had earned yourself, which earned you the chance to see his smile that he had covered up. A smile that was equally as cute as his reaction from a minute ago. He removed his hand because he felt really comfortable knowing that you did not mind how flustered he naturally got.
Freddie had finally regained eye contact with you, waiting to see if you had anything else that you wanted to say, which you did.
“So… did you still need that translator?”
Instead of signing back his answer, Freddie dashed over to you and enveloped you in a hug, a very tight one, which gave you all the answers you really needed. But, in case you did not get the picture, he made it a point to lean back a little bit and sign a more forward response to your question.
“I’d adore that, love.”
You smiled at him brightly, and once he let you go from the hug, you walked over to the bar to grab a glass of ice water, which Roger had offered to make for you, somewhat as a way of apologizing for the dumb mistake from earlier. Everyone had thought discussions of you had ended, and things could go back to the way they were, until a soft voice cut through the silence. One that everyone, but you, heard. John. Something he had been thinking about for the last minute.
“…wonder if she knows how beautiful her laugh is.”
~
Over the course of the next few weeks, you had gotten used to all the possible side effects of being Freddie’s translator. You loved all the antics the boys shared within their little group, as well as the camaraderie they got themselves into, but there were a few things you were not fond of. There were obviously the delays in waiting for things to be translated and whatnot, and a few pricks who did not want to deal with you whenever you wanted to tell them anything. But those were really the only truly bad things, and they were not even bad – just annoying.
Otherwise, things were really great. Though, you did joke every once in a while, that there were some nights that you appreciated not being able to hear.
[flashback start]
You had been sitting on the couch, reading a book that John had loaned you after he had finished with it. He was seated next to you, reading another book that Freddie told you he promised to loan you, as well. You were so enthralled in the pages you were reading, that you never noticed Roger walk through the door to the shared dressing room, a girl slung over his shoulder. John noticed, though. And he knew what that meant. You did not, though.
John saw Roger take the girl into the bathroom behind the wall of the couch you two were sitting on, and at that point it was just a waiting game for John. He knew what was coming. He knew what to expect to hear.
The two of you were alone, Brian having went to help put equipment away and Freddie was off talking to some guy you did not like the looks of. Enough time passed, you still reading in complete bliss, not noticing how John had stiffened in his seat.
Then you both felt it – somewhat rhythmic thunks against the wall. John heard it. John heard the people involved, too. He looked over to you momentarily, noticing that your eyes had gone slightly wide, but only from being surprised at the sudden feeling. You had been enjoying the peace you were sharing with John.
He thought your eyes went wide because you knew what was happening, out of embarrassment. You did, but you did not mind. You were not daft enough to not realize that kind of thing happened with rock stars when on tour.
Instinctively, his hands dropped his book in his lap, not caring about losing his place in his book, and they flew up to cover your ears. He had completely forgotten about the fact that you could not hear in that moment because his concern went to making sure you did not feel embarrassed about what was happening. He did not want this type of occurrence to be the reason you stopped hanging out with him, because he really enjoyed spending time with you, even if he could not communicate with you yet. Not fully.
He felt you turn your head underneath his hands to look at him, and he saw you giggling lightly. It took a moment, but he realized how dumb his action must have seemed to you. You felt his hands lift from your face, and you saw him very quietly mouth ‘sorry.’ You felt the complete opposite to how he thought you felt. It was completely refreshing for him to do what he did. He completely forgot you were deaf. He did not think you were any different than any of his other friends. He just saw you as a person. Not a person with a disability.
You grabbed his wrists suddenly before he could take his hands too far away from your face. You wanted to reassure him that nothing he did was wrong. He looked so nervous that he crossed a line or made you feel uncomfortable, and grabbing his wrists was the only thing you could think to do to make him feel more at ease. To know you were not mad.
That, and the fact that you did something for him you never did, not even for many people in your family. You mouthed, as best you could, ‘thank you’ to him, adding a warm smile as the icing on the cake. You almost never tried to use words, whether audible or otherwise, because you had been made fun of in the past for how intelligible it could come across on occasion. It just reminded you of times when no one was accepting of you. At least now you had people who looked forward to talking with you.
He blinked a few times, rapidly, processing your reaction. That you were completely okay with what he did, and even thanked him for it, knowing damn well it did not do a thing to help you in the situation. Eventually, he smiled back at you, and you let his hands go, finally having proof that he knew you were not mad. He placed his hands back in his lap and proceeded to fiddle with one of the rings on his hand, not noticing that you still had a warm smile plastered onto your face as you continued to read.
Thumping behind you both completely forgotten.
[flashback end]
Other than those few separate occasions, everything had been going well for you as a member of the Queen crew. Since it had already been a few weeks, the boys had gotten really comfortable with your presence, and even picked up a few signs along the way. It was always a super proud moment for you when one of the boys would come up to you without Freddie or a whiteboard before a show or any other occasion to try and ask or tell you something. In most cases, you typically understood what it was they were trying to say. It made you feel very good that they were accepting enough of you, and liked you enough, to want you to be a part of their lives in such a way.
In the few weeks, you had noticed Brian was the most proficient at picking up on the language the quickest. He was able to crudely tell you things, and almost without fault, you could respond in a simple manner and he would understand every single thing you said. Sometimes he would tell you he was getting a drink and ask if you wanted anything, and you could tell him something specific and he would bring the right thing. Always made you smile when he got it right. It was a funny day, though, the day he brought you the completely wrong thing. He apologized profusely, but you just laughed.
Roger was a little bit slower at intaking certain words or phrases, but he was still decent for not having any real lessons. Though, you did notice a habit he had. There were certain words and phrases that all the boys knew, and sometimes Roger would make up gestures to say something he definitely knew. It was all in an effort to make you laugh, and it worked almost every time. He would typically do this when all four of the lads were in the area, because they all loved your laugh. Thought it had a very musical quality to it – not harsh or loud. John especially thought so, which is part of the reason Roger did what he did. He liked seeing his shy friend light up when you laughed. Made him smile, too.
John, while being the one who spent the most individual time with you, was having the most trouble picking up the language just by seeing you interact with Freddie or others. You figured it was because he was a hands-on person, like he was with his electronics, or his bass. Many a time he would come up to you and raise his hands to start to tell you something, but he would stop halfway through his thought, getting flustered because he did not know a word or an alternative for it. He always forgot that he could just spell something for you in that instance. He wanted to make you proud of him, but instead he always ended up making a fool of himself.
You wanted to tell him that you appreciated all the effort he was going through, because you sincerely did. You always knew what he was trying to say, regardless of how frustrated or shaky he got. Ever since that day when he covered your ears, you would always grab his wrists when he got like that around you, it was your way of showing him that nothing was wrong. Some days, if it got really bad, you would give his wrists a light squeeze as reassurance. You even told Freddie to tell John that it was not like you were born knowing how to sign. You had to learn, too, so you were in his place once. John had not even thought about that fact, and it made him feel better when he heard it. But, every time you had to grab him, it always worked itself out the same – he would finally bring his gaze up to meet yours, filled with concern on his end and filled with adoration on yours. He would always take in a shaky breath and exhale it a lot less shakily. Then he would continue his thought and sign it perfectly to you.
You always made an effort to respond immediately after he was done, because it reassured him that you knew what he was telling you, and his face would brighten up. He had trouble believing that he signed well enough for you to understand, but the instant gratification of a sign back that he could understand made him believe it, even if it was just a small bit.
~
One night, after a show, one of the band’s assistants had injured themselves. They were about to be taken to the hospital, but the assistant mentioned that there was something they needed from a room toward the back of the venue. All four of the band members were busy putting stuff away to get back on the road, and you happened to just be sitting there, keeping them company. Freddie had turned to you, and he did not even have time to ask you to go grab the thing before you had stood up from your spot. He stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, and signed to you that he hated making you do something you did not have to do. You tried insisting that you did not mind one bit, but he would not give up on apologizing. Eventually, you realized that signing your way through this was not going to work, so you gave up, grabbed his face, and shook it lightly, earning a laugh from the other three boys at the dramatics of the whole thing. Once he had stopped talking, you mouthed ‘it’s okay’ and won the argument.
You had walked out of the room and shut the door behind you, leaving the boys to continue their chatter. John had been keeping to himself, but decided what he had going on within his mind was more important than whatever it was the boys were talking about.
“Freddie?”
“What is it, Deaky?”
“Could you… show me how to tell her I want her to teach me her language. Before she comes back in here.”
“Why do you want—”
“I just do, Fred! Please…”
All three of the boys were now looking at John with bewilderment, as it was completely and utterly uncharacteristic of him to speak up and assert himself in front of anyone, including the three mates he considered practically family. But, regardless of the reason, John spoke with enough passion that Freddie considered his request worthy of his time, and everyone knew Freddie’s time was precious.
After you had dropped off the item to the assistant so they could go to the hospital, you made your way back to the dressing room. You and the band had established a knock that only you would make so they could know it was you entering a room. They did not have a way of telling you to come in if you were to knock regularly, and too many people would knock and they would just call out for them to come in, so you needed something different. After you had knocked, you came back into the room, smiling naturally. Your usual resting face.
You were about to walk past the couch to get to the small miniature refrigerator when you felt a frantic and lightly sweaty hand grab your own. You knew that meant something serious was about to happen. Another thing you had established with the boys, through Freddie, was that it is easier to get your attention by locking eyes with you for a small period of time than anything else. Since you could not hear if someone was coming up behind you, it would scare you nearly half to death if someone came and grabbed your shoulder. Therefore, establishing eye contact was more important. In cases of emergency or sense of urgency, they could grab onto you.
Your head shot in the direction of the arm to see whose face was attached to it, and you saw a flushed John. You gave him a concerned look, because with how red he was, you genuinely thought he might have not felt good, and just grabbed onto the first thing he could. Turns out, it was just nerves.
You stared back at him, waiting for him to tell you what it was he needed. He hardly made any eye contact with you, but you felt him retract his hand from your wrist and bring his other hand up to meet the other. Very slowly, he started to sign to you.
“Would you be… willing… to teach me… this?”
You knew that by ‘this’ he meant sign language. And you could not control the surge of happiness that had flown through you. Not only were all of the boys extremely accepting of you and your situation, but John cared about you enough where he wanted you to teach him so he could communicate better with you.
That meant he had a reason to communicate with you.
He wanted to talk to you.
He liked talking to you.
It also made you feel like the boys were fond enough of you to keep you around, maybe for a long while. Eventually you ripped yourself from your thoughts and nodded enthusiastically to John, a wide smile breaking out across your face and a small laugh escaping, as well. John finally looked at you when he heard you laugh, just in time to catch you nodding at him, telling him you were so joyful that he wanted you to teach him. You swore you could see his eyes twinkle a little bit more than they usually did, and you could not help but feel that it was going to be a great time teaching him.
~
You thought as a first official lesson, you would try to explain to John when you wanted to have lessons regularly. You tried to get him to understand, but he was having trouble, and you did not want him to get discouraged right off the bat. Though, his comprehension skills were better than his signing skills, because he followed most of what you said, with the exception of a few complicated words, but could not really sign back. Through Freddie’s help, you and John had established that when you both had down time on the tour bus, as well as down time at hotels, you two would have a sign language lesson.
Since the boys did not get much down time, hell, they did not even get enough time to sleep most nights, the lessons were sporadic. You wished they could be more frequent to make sure he was retaining information, but you took what you could get. They were a band after all, and likewise with the security guard from weeks ago, it would make sense that something unrelated to sound would not take primary importance. You were never offended if the band took him away from you for any reason, because the amount of joy John seemed to present himself with when you did have a lesson made up for the lack of lessons.
The two of you had established a sort of routine to follow for each lesson that benefitted both of you. It was such that you felt you would cover enough to feel like he would actually learn something during the lesson but it would not be so much that you could not quiz him the next time, and it would not take too much of his time away from the band. You would hold a whiteboard and write down a word or small phrase down, turn the board around so he could read it, and then you would sign it for him once so he could see it. Then, you walked him through the motions, guiding his hands if it had particular trouble with something. Once you had helped him through it, you would have him sign it completely on his own, and once he successfully did that, you moved on to the next word. You always attempted to do ten words per session, assuming time allowed for that many. Once all the words or phrases for that lesson were complete, you would quiz him on what he had just learned, offering no help. You always marked down the words he had trouble with so when you would quiz him the next time, you could pay special attention to those words.
Both you and John were the type of people who liked having a routine and sense of order in your lives, so having the pattern within the lessons made things easier for both of you. It also gave way for a mutual understanding and respect between you and John and the band. If they happened to all be hanging out at the back of the tour bus where the table and rounded couch were playing Scrabble or something similar, and they saw you walk up with your whiteboard, Brian, Roger, and Freddie would clear out from the table. They were always willing to let you two have the privacy you needed, because they knew that John was having more trouble picking up the language than they were.
Plus, Brian being the smart and sneaky cameraman that he was, every once in a while, he would snap some pictures of the two of you. You could be deep in explanation of a sign, or in celebration when John would remember a sign without your help. It did not matter to Brian, because he loved seeing how happy the two of you made each other. John was not like that with hardly anyone he met, so seeing John have a genuine friend made Brian feel good. Roger and Freddie, too.
While he was sneaky, Brian was also a good guy, and made a mental reminder to get them developed for the two of you. You loved pictures, and taking them as well, and he had a feeling John would like some of them for a personal collection.
One lesson, you decided to teach John some verbs – you had been teaching him nouns recently, so you decided it was about time for him to be able to do something with the nouns he knew. When he saw the first verb and knew that that was the lesson for the day, he immediately began to hope that you would teach him how to say laugh. He had wanted to be the one to tell you how beautiful you laugh was. Freddie had offered to tell you for him, but John had responded so frantically that Freddie immediately pushed the thought from his mind.
The lesson continued on and on, and John began to lose hope that you would show him how. But it was the ninth word on your list. He was absolutely thrilled. He just needed to remember how to do it.
After the quiz, you had started to put away your tools. Originally, you had been using a raggedy, old, stained whiteboard the crew had laying around, and some dying markers, and the band was not going to have that for their dear friend. They made it a point to buy you a brand-new board and a very expensive set of markers in a bunch of colors. The boys wanted to buy you a gift simply because they could, and they thought that was the best option.
It was John’s suggestion.
As you were putting away the board and markers, you could feel that familiar sense of eyes on you, and you let your eyes drift up to him. Except your eyes did not meet his, but his hands that were raised in front of him. They were shaking lightly, but enough where you could see it from where you were sitting. You brought your hands up to his this time, instead of his wrists. Engulfing his larger hands in your smaller ones was not easy, yet you managed. You had thought his hands were just tired from all the lessons and he just needed a break, but then you remembered exactly what it was that he did for a living. Therefore, hands being sore and tired was pretty much out of the question.
So, you knew that he wanted to tell you something.
You have his hands a light squeeze, your way of encouraging him to have the courage to say whatever it was he wanted to tell you, and then retracted your own to your lap. Sitting and watching him, waiting patiently and calmly for him to tell you whatever it was he wanted to tell you.
At this point, your world completely revolved around John, and his around you. So much so, that neither of you realized that the other three boys were watching this all unfold, all three of them unsure how you were going to react to what John wanted to tell you. They knew he was waiting until he knew how to say the whole sentence, so when they saw how tense he had gotten after the quiz, they knew this was the lesson he would do it.
Slowly, and carefully, John started to sign for you.
“I want you to know that you have a beautiful laugh.”
It came out completely smooth. John did not have to pause for one second to think about the next word, which he so often had to do. You were overcome with a handful of emotions. First and foremost, you were so proud of him for doing such a good job. He had not successfully done that up to this point, so it was a moment you would not forget. Secondly, you were slightly embarrassed, but more so flattered by his complement. You never received compliments because people either did not think you were worthy of them, or they had no way of telling you. Thirdly, you were a little bit stunned. No one ever felt confident enough around you to tell you what your voice sounded like. They were never sure if crossed a boundary to talk about a deaf person’s voice.
In their defense, not many people got the opportunity to hear your voice, through words or a laugh or anything else. The few people that did get to hear it were the people you trusted most. So, for John to take that leap of faith to make a comment on something that otherwise normally would not be said… it made you joyful. And overwhelmed.
So overwhelmed, in fact, that you felt tears prickle behind your eyes. That familiar stinging feeling before they cascaded from your eyes. The last thing you wanted was for John to see you cry, because he would be the type of person to assume that he did something wrong, when in fact he did the most amazing thing he could have. As soon as you felt the first tear slip from your eyes, you leaped across the couch and grabbed his small frame in your even smaller one.
It was a complete miracle that John had not seen or heard Brian snapping away with his camera, considering he rook about 60 photographs all together of the scene that had just unfolded in front of the band. All he could focus on was you. How lovely your hug felt. Not just because he loved feeling your body pressed up against his on your own accord, but because it made him realize something that had been nagging at that back of his mind since the moment he first heard you laugh.
He needed you.
He was meant to be with someone like you. Someone sweet in everything they do, and nonjudgmental in everything they do. Someone who would be able to consistently ground him in his new life as what you could call a rock star.
You were no longer just a crew member and a friend of John’s – you had become an integral part of his life, whether you knew it or not.
After a moment of being lost in the feeling of you, as well as his thoughts, he finally hugged you back. Tighter than it seemed like he would have been able to, considering his small stature. Eventually, he felt the tears on his chest from where your face had been resting. There had been enough that escaped your eyes where they soaked through his shirt and he could feel the wetness on his skin. You, somewhat reluctantly, pulled away from him, and through a contradictory smile and tears, tried something. Instead of mouthing a word to him, you actually verbally said ‘sorry’ to the best of your ability while lightly playing with the wet spot on his shirt.
In that moment, John felt like he could have died and his life would have been complete. Even though you obviously did not hear it, he heard the other three boys gasp when they heard you talk. They were amazed at the clarity with which you said the word, but John was in shock for another reason.
He could say that you spoke for him and him alone. And it meant so much to him.
He released his arms from your torso in order to wipe away the stray tears that relentlessly fell from your eyes, and brought his hands up to sign that it was okay, which earned him less tears and a much bigger smile.
~
A few more days had gone by since John had perfectly constructed his first sentence with you, and with each passing day, you could see he was getting better. Anytime he would lock eyes with you during practice or passing you in the hallway, he would make sure to say hi and show you a word he remembered. It always earned him a smile, and sometimes a dorky thumbs up. He was starting to communicate so well with you that you felt he was even surpassing Roger and Brian’s levels of understanding of the language. He was not quite at Freddie’s level yet, but you would not be surprised if that happened by the end of the tour.
One day, after another normal lesson, you were starting to feel a sense of déjà vu from earlier in the week. An intense gaze on you from the only other person in the room with you. You and John. The only people on the tour bus at the moment, having pulled over to a rest stop and the rest of the band getting off to use the bathroom and get some snacks. They wrote down what you two wanted because they wanted to give you some alone time. You thought it was just for another mini lesson, but John had actually told them there was something he wanted to do that you were unaware of. This was his opportunity.
When you looked up, you expected his hands to be raised in front of him, ready to speak to you. Except you were met with something else. His head was bowed slightly, eyes gazing into his lap, where his hands were fumbling around. Nervous. Clearly nervous.
You tapped his arm to get him to look at you, so you could talk to him.
“You alright?”
He simply nodded his head, made no effort to elaborate.
“You don’t look it.”
You saw him take a sharp breath in before raising his hands to respond, knowing well that you were relentless when you thought something was wrong.
“There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Go right ahead, John.”
Then there was a pause. One filled with dread.
Because the question he wanted to ask you had a lot riding on it. An extremely heavy question. One that could have a number of implications whichever way it was answered. His heart could end up being broken by the most astounding women he had ever met, and if things went downhill because of this question, he was afraid the band would drop you because of awkwardness. He did not even have the willpower to think in the positive because he was sure that you were going to tell him no.
“Would you like to go out to dinner with me one night?”
“But we do that all the time—”
“A date.”
Once your brain registered what he had said, your mouth fell open, forming a small ‘oh’ shape, eyes going wide. You were genuinely surprised, because that was not at all the direction you thought his question was going to go. It was a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.
John started to feel the dread increasing from earlier, because to him, your expression did not scream enthusiasm. In fact, he really could not read your expression at all. He immediately went to the worst possible outcome.
“I would absolutely love to.”
John’s heart practically stopped, because he had thought he saw you sign something incorrectly after all this time. But he had not. You really had agreed to go on a date with him. The most beautiful girl had agreed to go on a date with him. He must have been dreaming. Except he knew he was not, because he heard hoots and hollers from the boys who had just rejoined them on the bus just in time to see your response. You smiled lightly at them, and then at John when he swung his head in their direction with a small glare. When he looked back at you, the glare had dissipated and the nerves reentered his expression.
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I cannot imagine a better way to spend my evening, besides watching and feeling you on stage, of course.”
“How about tonight?” John knew this was safe to ask because they were going to be arriving in their next city by 4:00pm and would be checked into the hotel not long after, barring unforeseen circumstances. They also did not have a show until the next day.
“Sounds lovely.”
After you confirmed the date officially, you could see he was still feeling tense at what had just happened, so you did something you hoped would calm him down. You reached up to stroke his cheek with your fingers delicately, and once you felt him press his face into your fingers and saw his eyes flutter up to look into yours, you knew you had your John back. The nerves had gone, and he could be his normal self again.
Then you reached behind you into the hidden console and pulled out the Scrabble board, shaking it to get the boys attention who were scattered throughout the bus. They were like flies to honey, and quickly the board had been set up. Since there were only four stands for letters and five of you, you and John always played on a team. John by himself was good, you not so much. You always had trouble with word games. But together, you two had a pretty decent win-to-loss ratio.
John always thought the same thing to himself when you played Scrabble. You two worked so well together on a team playing a game, so he could not help but wonder if that teammate connection would translate well into a relationship. And he was on his way to finding out if that was the case, starting tonight.
~
The busses all made it safely to the hotel, and Freddie made sure there were accommodations for you in advance. You were given the room right next to John just in case. John had told you that you would leave for dinner around 7:00pm, so he would be at your door right before that. While he waited for you to come outside, he thought about all he had told you. The place was pretty laid back, but not so much so that you could just wear sweatpants and an old tee shirt. He told you not to overdress, just to your comfort level. He did the same, indicated by his jeans, and the baggy, lowly buttoned pink button up top he wore.
You had decided on a pair of very comfortable high waisted navy-blue bell bottoms, a white, cropped, ribbed tank top, and threw you hair back in a pony tail. You did not think much of your outfit, but loved his. He felt the same way you did – in fact, he thought you looked absolutely incredible, given away by the face he had plastered on and the light gasps you imagined he was making.
“Wow.”
The simple sign made you laugh, and afterwards, the two of you made your way to the restaurant. Once there, he was surprisingly calm and not embarrassed about telling the staff that you are hard of hearing, if you were to judge based on the way his lips moved as he spoke to them. He was not being quiet or soft-spoken – he clearly wanted to make sure they knew that they needed to treat you especially good. Up to his standards. Which, based on how he had treated you so far, were extremely high.
The hostess then led you two to a booth where he sat down, but all you did was put your wallet on the table. It made him look up at you with concern, wondering if something was wrong. You appeased him instantly.
“I’m okay. I just need to use the bathroom really quick, okay?”
John nodded, content with the answer, and as you walked away he proceeded to start pondering over the menu. He even spotted something that he thought you would really enjoy, so he opened the menu the waitress had set down for you to that page so he could show you when you got back.
As you walked out from the bathroom, you found the table John was at again, half forgetting where it was that quickly, and noticed that he was talking to your waitress. At first you thought maybe she was just getting you guys drinks while you looked over the menu, but then you saw him sign ‘thank you’ to her, and you immediately knew what it was he was doing.
He knew that you hated feeling like no one would want to approach or talk to you because of your disability, so he was trying to show her some simple things you might say, or things she could say to you. That way he did not have to do all the talking and you could feel like your own person. You really appreciated this man.
You had just made it back to the table as the waitress left, and you gave John a small smile before sitting down.
“I saw this and thought you might really like it. Just a suggestion.”
“That actually does look really good, I think I might get it!”
“Don’t feel like I’m forcing you to. Get whatever you want, love. And don’t worry about the…money.” You could tell he wanted to say ‘price’ but that was a word you had not taught him yet. Typically, if John did not know a word mid-sentence anymore, he would spell it for you. You actually liked that he did that, because when you saw him spell a word you knew there was a sign for, it gave you a word to teach him in your next lesson.
“John, this actually sounds good, don’t worry, you aren’t forcing me.”
John resumed looking at his menu, and not much later your waitress comes back to your table. According to John signing as she spoke, she asked if the two of you were ready to order, to which you both nodded your heads. John ordered for the both of you, since that was just the simpler thing to do. Once he finished, the two of you handed the menus back to her with smiles, and after she grabbed yours, she signed ‘thank you’ to you, just like John had taught her. It made you really happy that she was clearly not weirded out by having to serve you. Something else that made you feel like just a human, not a human with a disability.
The two of you patiently waited for your food, engaging in light conversation about this and that. Except that while you were waiting, John had caught your eyes drifting over his shoulder to a nearby table that was cattycorner from the two of you. On numerous occasions. You would not stop your conversations, but your eyes would linger on them long enough where you would miss an entire sentence of John’s before bringing your eyes back to him. It started to get so frequent that eventually he felt a need to look over his shoulder to see whatever it was you were looking at.
He hated what he saw. Made him sick to his stomach.
He saw a group of guys, probably around the ages of 35, throwing back multiple beers each and making fun of you. Obviously, neither of you could hear their words, but both you and John had saw the guys gesturing wildly with their hands, probably assuming you were just extremely overly expressive.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
As John stood up from his seat, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him down hard so he would fall back into his seat. His attention was fully back on you for the moment.
“John, they’re big, stupid guys. I don’t want them to start a scene or for you to get hurt.”
“I’d get beat into the ground for you before I let anyone make fun of you, love.”
John overpowered you in that moment, forcing you to let go of his wrist so he could stand up properly and make his way over to the Neanderthals seated near you. After straightening out his shirt, making it a point to show you he would not be using brute force but a calm, collected demeanor, he walked over. Once planted next to their table, you noticed the guys were all looking at him and laughing, but no longer gesturing. You also noticed how the entire wing of the restaurant you were in had gone silent to watch whatever it was that was about to happen. John collected his thoughts, and proceeded to speak.
“Look. I’m not trying to cause a scene here, but you are making my girl feel extremely uncomfortable with your gestures. Before you assume someone is just stupid or overdramatic, think. She is deaf, meaning she cannot hear, because I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the type to not know that. She is using sign language, and it’s the only way I can communicate with the girl I love. If either of us catch you making fun of her again, I will have you escorted from the restaurant. I’ll leave you with some sign language of my own, and I sincerely hope you can understand it.”
John then shot them a middle finger before making his way back to you, and you had a few indications that whatever he had said to them had worked. First, all the people around you guys who seemed nervous about what was going to happen now had smirks on their faces, or were laughing lightly behind their hands. They were also all looking at the table of men with pity. Secondly, you could see the expressions of the men at the table, and clearly whatever had come out of John’s mouth was the last thing they expected someone like him to say. John plopped back down onto his side of the booth, and continued his meal as if nothing had just happened. You grabbed the hand that held his fork so he would look at you.
“What did you say to them?”
“Just put them in their place, love, don’t let your food get cold.”
“…did I see you flip the bird?”
“Told them I hoped it was part of sign language even they could understand.”
His proudness and smugness made you laugh really loud, which placed an even larger feeling of pride in his soul. He had truly meant everything he said to those men, including the one thing he said to them that he had not yet said to you. He thought that was too heavy of a thing to say on a first date. Though, it would make the date more memorable than it already was. He had been ready to show you before the incident, and like his hand had a mind of its own, it had reformed the sign for ‘I love you’ when he sat back down. Thankfully, that hand was underneath the table, so you had not seen it. He relaxed that hand from that position, opting to not overwhelm you more than you already were.
Once back at the hotel, you asked John a question before retreating to your room for the night.
“Were you nervous about not bringing Freddie with you to talk to me?”
“At first, yes. He even offered to come, but I turned him down.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to impress you.”
“Well, you did so in more ways than one, John Deacon.”
He smiled at your response, secretly hoping that there was something else you wanted to tell him. Ask him, really.
“Can we do this again?”
There it was. The only thing he wanted to hear after tonight. You wanted a second date.
“That would be great, love.”
You smiled at him, and then yawned, not being able to hide just how tired you were any longer.
“Lovely. But, for now, I’m exhausted. You know I don’t sleep well on the bus, so…here.” You pulled out the spare room key the hotel had given you and handed it to him. “Come get me for breakfast tomorrow morning whenever you’re ready to eat. Then afterwards, I’ll head down to the venue with you, help you bring your equipment and sit with you while you practice, okay?”
You saw that the hand John was holding the room key in had started to tremble ever so slightly. Little did you know, but his brain went to all the possible meanings you could have had for giving him that room key. Despite the fact that you had literally just told him what to do with it. He pushed the more inappropriate thoughts aside when you let out another yawn, showing just how tired you really were.
“I can do that. Goodnight, love.”
“Goodnight, John.”
~
John had come to get you for breakfast the next morning, just like he promised. As soon as he was about to unlock your door, he realized that there was a chance that you would not be dressed when he walked in. Not that he did not want to see that at some point, he just did not want to embarrass you.
Instead he was met with a sight just as beautiful. You had already gotten ready for the day, and you were lounging on your bed, back against the headboard, reading the newest book John had loaned you. When you saw him walk in, your face lit up, and you threw the book down onto the end table so you could join him for breakfast.
Once down in the breakfast room, the two of you decided to just get one larger plate of food and split it completely. Each of you picking at each part of the plate, forks colliding every once in a while for that perfectly cooked part of the hash browns or eggs. Breakfast was quiet between the two of you, just a few silent smiles exchanged. After finishing your meals, you went back upstairs with John so he could grab a few things from his room, and the two of you made your way to the venue where you would be spending the rest of your day.
The two of you had carried in some of his belongings and dropped them off on the stage, and he told you that you could just hang out on Roger’s drum risers that had already been set up while he went and got his bass from the back. He told you that Roger would probably be joining them last, and you understood why. John had told you a story a while back about how Roger always took advantage of having a hotel bed when on tour, since it did not happen all that much, so he would be late for sure.
At the moment, it was just you and John, Brian and Freddie had not arrived yet, either. You could tell it was quiet, because you had not felt anything or seen anyone. The only thing you felt were John’s footsteps as he returned from grabbing his bass. As you saw him climb back up on stage to join you, you stood up, ready to help him. But he just extended an outward, flat palm toward you to tell you that you need not worry about anything and that he would take care of everything. You were reluctant to listen, but did so anyway. Once he was set up, he gestured for you to come over to where he was.
“Sit up there.”
“Where?”
“On the amp.”
“Won’t I break it?”
“No! Not at all. I just want you to feel the vibrations while I play.”
“But I can feel them through the floor, John.”
“It’ll be better this way, I promise.”
John could see it in your face that you were still hesitant to sit on the amp because you seriously feared you would break it. And that was the last thing you wanted to do – you could imagine just how expensive they were and you did not have the money to just replace amps all the time. But John knew you would not break it, and even if you did, he would never let you pay to replace it, anyway. He would just replace it himself, or even just build a new one. He had always wanted to do that. One day he would.
He decided that he would take a risk and he grabbed your waist, lifting you up in the air with surprising ease, and placed you down on top of the amp himself. When he moved away from you, you started to inch forward, like you were getting ready to hop back down, but he made his way back to you and stood at the ends of your legs. He then placed both of his hands down on your knees, leaning lightly against them, and shook his head with a smirk you could only describe as devilish. You narrowed your eyes at him, but could not hold back a smile, nor could he. You simply sighed at him, and he walked away to grab his bass. You stayed put.
Then he started playing.
And you realized that he was right – being able to feel the source of the vibrations was so much better than through the floor. You could feel every single note he played with clarity. Stronger vibrations for lower-pitched notes, somewhat lighter ones for higher-pitched notes. You felt like you could have stayed there forever.
You did not get forever, but you did get to sit there for over an hour watching and feeling him play. You realized in that time just how comfortable he was around you. You had been to so many practices at this point that you had truly lost count. But every time he practiced with the boys, he remained relatively stoic and still. Offered his two cents every once in a while, played his parts, and that was that. With you though, he let loose.
You swore that he even added a few more hops and skips than usual when he rehearsed with just you around just so he could hear your laugh again.
Once he decided that he had warmed up enough, he placed his bass down on the stand and made his way back to you. You had been leaning back on your hands, legs splayed out in front of you. It was one of the only positions you could sit in where your back was not feeling the pain of having to sit up straight on the amp the whole time. John took advantage of it by planting himself in the space between them, tantalizingly close to you.
“How was that?”
“Incredible, you sounded amazing.”
“And just how would you know that, little lady of mine?”
“I just do.”
What could have been the perfect moment for John to tell you how he truly felt about you in his soul was interrupted by the sound of Freddie bursting through the side stage door doing his vocal warm-ups, Brian and Roger close behind him. Once fully in the room, Freddie simultaneously spoke and signed everything he said so everyone could follow his words, offering a personal greeting to you and John at the end of the speech. Then, he moved on to discuss the game plan for the rehearsal before the show.
“I think that’s your cue to hop down and watch from the floor now, love.”
“It’s okay, I’ll still be able to feel everything.”
With that, you hopped down off of the stage and made your way to the floor, going just far enough back where you could see them all clearly and still feel the vibrations in the floor, but not close enough where you would have been in anyone’s way. You sat down, made yourself comfortable, and strapped in for the umpteenth Queen rehearsal that you had attended.
Practice had gone well, from what you could see and feel. Even though a few small arguments had broken out from what you could see, you always enjoyed watching the boys play and get lost in their music. Seeing people do exactly what they were put on Earth to do warmed your heart, because they clearly enjoyed every single minute of what their lives had become.
Once they had decided enough rehearsal was enough, you all made you way backstage to relax for a little while, grab a bite to eat, and help the boys get ready to go on stage. Sooner than you all realized, it was about that time for the boys to go on. The boys had all lined up by the stage entrance, doing some last-minute stretching. You had noticed the costume lady had given John an outfit to wear that was absolutely ravishing, in your opinion. Even though the two of you had only gone one date, you felt like the looks he would most definitely be getting from some of the women in the audience would make you jealous.
While the others were stretching and gabbing amongst themselves, John had turned around and beckoned for you to come over to him.
“Listen, I was wondering if you could do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“This crowd is bigger than our usual ones, and I am feeling a little nervous. So, I was wondering if you could do something for me that I know would bring me good luck?”
“And what would that be?”
“Kiss me.”
He had not even given you a chance to move in yourself before the hands that had signed that beautiful request were holding onto your face and pulling it towards his own. You thought he was going to give you a simple peck on the lips. But he went for it with all the strength he could muster. The force and passion he threw into that kiss made it seem like he had waited his entire life to plant that on you, and neither you nor him were complaining.
When he finally pulled back from you, you both were breathing a little bit heavier than you were a moment ago, and he saw that your lips had puffed up a little bit from his attack on them.
He did not mind the sight of it one bit.
Then he heard it, and you felt it. The roar of the crowd getting louder and more intense, presumably because the person on the loudspeaker announced that Queen would be going on stage in a few moments. John was beaming at the blissed-out expression on your face, and when he was told he needed to go on stage, he left one swift peck to the corner of your mouth before hopping away from you.
Both of you were a little bit less focused on the concert than you probably should have been after that.
~
More and more weeks had gone by.
John had taken you on more dates, and you had become official.
You had given John more sign language lessons. Brian and Roger would even sit in on some of them.
After a while, you grew weary of spelling out ‘Deaky’ every time you wanted to call him by his nickname, so the two of you decided to make up a special sign for his nickname. You decided to make it a light touch of your index and middle fingers to your lips, just like how he does it when he has been playing his bass for an extended period of time.
Enough time had even progressed in your relationship where the two of you became intimate with one another. Something that the two of you kept very private. Except that there was one time John brought it up out of the blue. The two of you had been playing a one-on-one game of Scrabble and he just out of the blue signed something to you.
“You know the moans you make are gorgeous, right?”
You could not even muster the strength to respond. All you could offer him in response was a flushed face. But he looked back into your eyes, and you expected them to have that glimmer in them when he makes a joke. His eyes were completely serious – no joking in his words, nor was it said to make you feel embarrassed. He wanted to somehow explain to you that he was truly enamored with all of you, even the lewd and embarrassing. You were his world.
“I look forward to hearing them every night, love.” The glimmer returned with that statement.
Time spent with John and the band moved so quickly because you enjoyed every second of it, and before you knew it, the tour was nearing its end. The boys were going over the last few tour dates, when John noticed that one of the shows fell on your birthday. And he had the perfect idea for a birthday gift.
Toward the middle of said show, John had managed to find a moment to run backstage to find you, and he told you that he needed you on stage for a moment. You reluctantly agreed, nerves feeling like they were going to bubble over with each step closer to the stage you got. Once he dragged you onto the stage, he stopped you both in front of his mic stand, and signed for you to watch Freddie. Freddie began to sign what John was speaking to the crowd.
“Um, hi. Earlier in the show, we all told you that someone very special on the crew, and someone very special to me has a birthday this evening. I want to give her her birthday present now, if you all could help me.”
After he spoke, he moved behind you so you could not see him, and Freddie had signed for you to look out into the crowd. Thousands of people staring at you. It was overwhelming. You did not know or understand how these boys could do what they do. Crowds were not your favorite.
Then, in one swift motion, you saw the entire audience collectively sign something.
“Happy birthday, Y/N! John has a question he would like to ask you!”
You were already emotional from the birthday wish, but when you turned around to look at John, you were overcome with joy, your heart beating so hard you could feel it. John had knelt down onto one knee, and started to sign to you.
“I know we’ve only known each other just short of a year, but if I know one thing for certain, it’s that I was put on this earth to love you, with a bass guitar gig on the side. I cherish everything about you, including the parts of you that some days you aren’t so proud of, and I would love to know if you will marry me?”
John begins to reach into his pocket to grab the ring, but you managed to crash down onto him before he could do so. You latched onto him with everything you had, your body being wracked with sobs. Despite them though, you managed to pull yourself together enough to actually speak to him again, this moment too important for a sign.
“I love you, John.”
He shot you the ‘I love you, too’ sign, and managed to find a moment to slip your new ring onto that special finger. Then his mouth came up to meet yours, and he planted a large kiss on your lips, despite the audience. Everyone was cheering, that much you could feel, but you also felt light as air from what was happening. And it was not even over.
John had pointed for you to sit back down on the same bass you had been sitting on earlier, and the band continued to play.
‘You’re My Best Friend.’
You were so happy that guard saw you all those months ago.
what is your favourite abbreviation? e.g lol, ngl, tbh etc.
As you're aware, I use 'lmao' the most, so probably that. But if we're talking just in general... I've always been intrigued by YAKWTFGO because it look me literal MONTHS to figure out what it meant. I used to try and read it as a damn word because, as we've established - I'm dumb.
Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 4.5K
Style: One-Shot
Warnings: Medical discussions including seasonal allergies/appendicitis (w/blood added in), angst, fluff, swearing
Summary: Just because he’s in a band that’s doing really well doesn’t mean Roger doesn’t care about what he used to study. No, he doesn’t want to be a dentist, but he still remembers a bunch of stuff from his biology studies. Little does he know, he would be putting it to use on tour.
Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way.
A/N: Request/idea from @bensrhapsody, but changed a little bit to better fit what I feel comfortable writing (I got permission, don’t worry). Also, I have her to thank for the title partially as well because I’m a dumb dumb who can write the story but not the title. Never written for Roger before, so hopefully this is up all your alley’s, Roger-stans! (#dontcomeaftermeifitsbad #please #rememberimadeakybabe)
Masterlist
~
Being a roadie had its perks, sure. For one, you got to get close and personal to bands that you otherwise would never be able to afford to see live. Among other things, you got to travel the world, get in shape from moving around so much, and you got paid to top it all off. Not such a bad gig, if you were the one being asked.
You had gone on one tour with Queen before, and they liked you enough to ask you to come back for a second one. Of course you took the job, it was never a dull day around the four of them. They each had such distinct personalities, and despite being literal rock gods, all four were wildly smart. Each in different realms, too. Which came in handy from day to day. Brian could tell by the look of the night sky before if the weather was going to be good or bad, John could always help with any tech that broke or malfunctioned, Freddie was a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy, so he helped out where he could, and if anyone was ever not feeling good, Roger could usually tell them what they needed to feel better easily, cheaply, and quickly.
You hated feeling like a bother, but one day, you seriously needed Roger’s help, because you feared for your life.
~
[flashback start]
You knew first hand that Roger was really good at helping people get better when they fell ill. On the first tour you went with them, your allergies started kicking in towards the end of the tour, considering it ended in April that year. You were almost debilitated because your body was taking in new pollens and whatnot that it was not used to defending off. Your body was trying its best, but in the end, it was futile because you fell ill anyway. To top it all off, you forgot to pack your usual allergy medication, so you had nothing to help you fend off the sneezing and coughing.
Obviously, you really could not hide being sick. Someone will pick up on it, whether the tone of your voice is one octave lower than usual or they hear you sneeze six times in a row. One night, it got really bad, and you were having choking fits every single time you came close to drifting into a slumber, promptly waking you up. Little did you know, you were loud enough to wake up the bandmate on one side of you, and someone from the costume department on the other side of you. The costume designer just checked up on you in the morning, not really thinking anything of the noises coming from your body. The bandmate felt differently.
You coughed out of surprise when you heard someone knocking at your door at almost 2:00 in the morning. Slowly, you crawled out of bed, tossing a throw blanket around your shoulders because you felt cold to the touch despite your body breaking out in a sweat. When you got to the door and looked through the peephole, you saw a rat’s nest of blonde locks going in every single direction, leaning up sideways against the door.
Before moving your hand to the handle, you knocked quietly to signal to Roger that you were going to open the door so he would not fall sideways into your room. When you looked back through the peephole, hand now on the handle, he had gotten your message and was standing facing the door. You lightly pulled it open, grimacing slightly at the bright lights of the hotel hallway.
“Hi, Roger. Why are you awake?”
“It’s your fault, love. I’m right next to you and I can hear you hacking up a bloody storm.”
“I’m sorry, Roger, it’s just my fucking allergies.”
“You sure? It sounds worse than that.” As if on cue, you hunched over into what felt like the four hundredth cough attack that night, and when you finally stopped, your breathing had turned into wheezing.
“Alright, go sit on your bed, I’ll be right back. I’ll prop the door open so you don’t have to get back up.”
Before you could ask him why he was leaving already, he was out the door, so you just trudged over to your bed, plopping down on it making it bounce lightly and squeak quietly. You were only alone for about fifteen seconds and then Roger came back in, holding a medium-sized black make-up bag. He shut your door and walked over to stand in front of your bedside table.
“Roger, I’m not sure what they taught you in biology school, but make-up is not going to make me feel better.”
“Oi, shut it. Want my help or not, Miss Sarcasm?” He spoke through a smug smile.
“Fine, yeah I want your help. What do you need from me?”
“First, I need you to tell me you trust me.”
“What? Why?”
“Are you really going to make me explain why?”
“Um, yeah. You can’t just say that and make me not be concerned about trusting you.”
“Fine. Basically, on a previous tour, one of the roadies, her name was Maria, got really sick. Like, caught the bad flu strain that was going around that year. I offered to help her by giving her some medication for the nausea and lightheadedness, stuff you can get over-the-counter, but she assumed I was going to drug her. She came about one piece of paperwork away from filing a lawsuit against me and the band. I really don’t want to go through that again when all I’m trying to do is be a nice person.”
“You know, for a drummer in a rock band, you’re pretty eloquent and thoughtful, Roger Taylor.”
“…um…”
“That’s my way of saying I trust you.”
You could hear him breathe out a sigh of relief, probably a combination of knowing he was not going to get sued as well as not having to hear you cough for much longer. He asked you to tell him what all was happening with you so he could see if he had any medication that would cover most of your symptoms. Turns out, everything you described really was just severe seasonal allergies, and he happened to have a stronger allergy medication than what you normally took. He just told you to keep the bottle and use them at your discretion. Follow the instructions on the bottle and you should be good as new within a few days.
“Thanks, Roger. You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know that. But at least this way we both get some sleep, eh? I’ll let myself out. See you tomorrow, love.”
“Goodnight, Roger.”
[flashback end]
If only what you were currently dealing with felt like seasonal allergies. It was not even allergy season, it was the end of November. And the tour had just started less than a month prior. At first, you assumed that you were just having back muscle spasms. You had never experienced them before, so you just guessed this is what they felt like. When the pain first started, it started on your lower right side, and just felt like you pulled something. It went away after a few minutes and you never thought anything of it. Then it happened again, but a little bit more forceful.
“Jesus, is this what contractions are like? Count me out for that.”
Trying to make a funny situation out of the pain you were feeling was not really the smartest plan of action, but it was the only one you could come up with at the moment. The pain kept coming in waves, and each wave was worse than before. Eventually, after a few hours of dealing with the pain on your own, it stopped.
Out of thin air, it just went away.
Normally, that would be the kind of thing to make a person do a double take and ask themselves ‘what is going on?’ Not you, though, you were just thrilled that the imaginary back contractions were over and done with. Moving on with your day, showtime nearing, you kept doing your job, exchanging words with other roadies and the band here and there. Not once feeling uncomfortable again.
You watched the show, and for the first time in four shows, nothing went wrong. All the electronics performed the way they were supposed to, Brian did not snap any strings, nor did John, and Freddie managed to keep his mic stand in once piece. Roger threw a drumstick during a particularly fast song, but you had gifted him a cup to put on his drum kit so he could keep spares in there to grab in case of such an event. It came in handy more often than he would like to admit.
After the show, you congratulated the boys on another performance well done, and proceeded to travel back to your hotel room. You guys did not have to travel tonight because they had two sold out shows in a row at the venue they were at, so it was nice to have an actual bed for once. This time around though, you were on a floor that was just crew members. All the band members had rooms on the floor above you guys. Not that any of you minded, it was not like you had a reason to mind.
Around three in the morning, you awoke to the feeling of those strange back contraction pains again, this time accompanied by some serious chills. Then you felt it – the pit of your stomach dropped, and you were over the hotel toilet in record time. Initially you thought that maybe this was how your body handled food poisoning, considering you had never had that before. Then you looked at what had come out of you.
Bloody.
~
“Roger…Roger?”
You were dragging yourself up the stairwell and down the hallway to his room, calling out to him hoarsely. You knew that he would never have heard you, but you tried, nonetheless. You got to his door, knocked once, and then collapsed on the floor. Startled, Roger shot straight up in bed and sprinted to the door, only in his underwear but not caring. When he opened the door, your head fell flat onto his floor, and he could hear the strangled moans coming from your throat. He could also see the sweat pooling on your forehead, a small bit of dried blood and vomit on the corner of your mouth, and how you were hunched over in the fetal position clutching your stomach.
“Roger…it hurts so much.”
He did not even say a word. He ran over to his hotel phone, and you could barely hear him utter the address of the hotel before you passed out. The next thing you knew, you were woken up by the feeling of an IV going in your arm, as well as the feeling of a moving vehicle. An ambulance. How did you get here? Why was Roger looking at you like that? Then the waves of pain struck you again, and you remembered everything that had happened not thirty minutes prior.
“Oh…God…”
“Ms. Y/L/N, please try not to talk or move, we are trying to prepare you for emergency surgery as soon as we get to the hospital.”
“Emer…gency… surgery? For… for what?”
“Relax, love. You’re gonna be fine.” Roger’s voice broke through all the beeping and liquids sloshing around, grounding you in the scary situation. “I’m just glad you came and got me when you did.” You could feel his hand clamped around yours, sweaty. “I may know how to help with allergies, but this is out of my area of expertise, love.”
“Roger…”
“Hush, love. Try to relax. We’re pulling into the hospital now. I’ll be right by your side when you wake up.”
You tried to respond, but you felt the general anesthesia hit you, and you were out like a light. Roger watched as they moved your body from an ambulance gurney to a hospital gurney and usher you down the hallway following the signs that said “OPERATING ROOM.” He followed you as far as he could, until a male nurse held his hand out flat in front of Roger, forcibly stopping his movement and almost knocking the wind out of him.
“What the fuck mate—”
“Sorry, sir, you can’t go further than this. Please wait in that waiting room right over there. I’ll be sure to have a surgeon assistant come update you throughout the surgery.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s hospital policy. If you could, please make your way over to the waiting area.”
Roger huffed angrily and full of worry, but did what the nurse told him to do. He sat down, seeing all the magazines and children’s games sitting on the tables in front of him. He was too distracted. He was terrified. The last time he knew someone who had to have emergency surgery did not make it out alive. Those two words strung together instantly usher a sense of panic into him that he does not have a way of controlling. The last thing he wanted was for you to not feel good in the first place, but having to sit face to face with the knowledge that you laying in a gurney could be the last image he saw of you was too much. He started to sob. Sobbed himself to sleep. The nurses just watched in pity.
~
“Sir?” Roger felt someone nudge at his shoulder, but he did not fully stir awake yet. “Sir?”
“Huh, what…”
“Sir, I just wanted to update you on the girl you came in with.”
Roger was brought back to reality when he fully opened his eyes. The bright white lights shining above him, the smell of cleanliness, and a lady in scrubs. A little bloody.
“Y/N?”
“Yes. We’re done the hard part. Her appendix has been removed successfully, before any serious rupturing happened. Some small ruptures here and there, but nothing major. Now all the doctor has to do is remove any fluid in her abdominal cavity and stitch her up. Once she’s finished, we will wheel her to recovery and bring you over to her as well. This should all happen within the next hour or so. Is that okay?”
“Yeah… yeah. Thanks for the update, I’m, uh, going to try to go back to sleep now.”
If he had not fallen into such a deep sleep, he would have had more to say. More questions for the nurse. But the nerves he had felt when he saw how broken you were earlier took all the energy out of him, and once he sat in something even the littlest bit comfortable, he passed right out. Just like you had when you hit the floor of his hotel room.
Roger laid his head back down on the side of the chair, thinking of your smiling face as he drifted back into the land of sleep. Almost praying that he would get to see it again.
~
Like clockwork, the same nurse from earlier woke Roger up, this time less groggily, and she instructed him to follow her to the recovery area. Where you would be. The fact that he was actually walking there almost brought him to tears. He would get to see your smile again.
When he was finally in the back, he saw that they had placed a chair next to your bed for him, with a few magazines. He was told that he would get to sit with you while you were still under the influence of the general anesthesia, but that you would be awake within twenty minutes. He nodded at the nurse, offering a quiet ‘thank you’ and proceeded to sit in the chair. Twenty minutes. He waited over two hours, surely, he could wait twenty minutes to hear your voice again. He could at least see you now, so… baby steps.
He tossed the magazines to the floor after realizing that there was no way they could be more interesting than the woman lying in front of him. He scooted his chair forward so his knees were almost pressing against the side of your bed, and he laid his hand on what he assumed was your thigh based on your profile under the sheet. He lightly squeezed, and simultaneously the tears spilled from his eyes. Ones he did not realize were even threatening to fall, nor did he realize the reason for.
“Hi, love. I, uh… I don’t know why I’m bloody crying. But here we are. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you this time. I know you like coming to me for help when you don’t feel good, and… I feel like I just made you break your trust in me. I, uh…” Roger choked a little bit on his tears. It was not like you and him were the closest of friends. If he was being honest, there were other roadies he considered better friends than you. But for reasons outside of your control.
Then it hit him. Like a ton of bricks. There were the roadies whose names he did not know. There were the roadies who he was friends with, and the ones he had previously had a slight friends with benefits situation with. There were the roadies who made him angry. The ones who made him sad. There were the roadies he practically considered family because they had been with him since Smile. Most of these roadies, except for the ones from Smile, never came back for a second tour.
Then there was you.
You did not fit into any of those categories.
He knew your name, he was friends with you, but not with benefits, you never made him angry or sad, you were not with him in his Smile days, and Roger was the one who wanted you to come on a second tour.
You had created your own category.
There was a roadie he loved.
“I need you to wake up, love. I… need to let you know that I’m gonna get you through this recovery. And that I am never going to let you get sick or hurt again, not under my watch. If you do, I’m going to make you better.”
“Is that a promise, Roger Taylor?”
The tears stopped at his head whipped in the direction of your quiet voice. Your eyes were still almost completely shut, but he could see you looking at him. His heart fluttered when he made eye contact with you, and the tears started up again.
“Yes, it’s a promise, love.”
“Good. Now, please go get me some ice chips, my throat feels like a vultures crotch (we love a borhap reference), and my stomach feels like an anvil landed on it and is somehow twisting it in all directions.”
“You got it, darling.”
~
You were allowed to be discharged the same day, so Roger carefully wheeled you to the taxi he called, and then slowly helped you to the elevator so he could bring you to his room.
“Roger, why aren’t you taking me to my room?”
“Didn’t I promise you that I would be taking care of you? Answering to all of your becking and calling?”
“Are you forgetting that you have a show to do?”
“And I will be helping you until the moment I have to walk onto stage, and the minute we are done, I’ll be right back here helping you.”
Roger carefully helped you lay back on his bed, almost tearing up at the sound of your groans from bending over. Once you were comfortable, with about fourteen pillows behind and surrounding you, he walked over to his phone and called room service.
“Hello, this is room 5667. I’d like to put in a request for the #6 dinner for two, and two pints of [your favorite ice cream {or other dessert if you are lactose intolerant} flavor] to be delivered ASAP. Name? Roger. Thank you.”
“Roger—”
“No words from you. I am eating dinner with you, and then I will be finding a movie for you to watch during the show to enjoy with your favorite dessert. And you cannot pay me, or try and get out of it.”
“If you insist.”
After dinner, Roger flitted about his room gathering up the things he would need to take to the show that he did not keep with the roadies, and you watched him move. Tons of people that you talked to, fans that did not realize that you worked for them, would air their thoughts on the man to you. ‘Such a womanizer!’ ‘A dirty cheater, the wanker.’ ‘Hot down to every single molecule, but not a good personality.’ At first, when you started working for them, you were afraid that they were going to be true. You thought he was going to be an asshole. And he could be. If he was truly mad.
That was a very small percentage of the time, despite what people thought.
All other times he was a big softie. Kind of melted your heart. Not in the ‘I have feelings for the drummer of a band’ kind of way, just at the fact that a human could be as kind and thoughtful as he was despite the bad boy nature he tried to present himself with. He stuck to your side like a golden retriever, and while you appreciated being doted on, it was a little bit funny seeing it be someone like Roger. You giggled to yourself at your thoughts.
“What’s so funny, darling?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I promise.” You could not stop the wide grin from overtaking your features as you spoke.
“Nobody likes a liar, love. If it didn’t run the risk of popping your stitches, I would be all over you, tickling you to get the answer from you.” Very golden retriever like, that’s for damn sure.
“Okay, okay. If you must know, I was just thinking about how different you really are from the image you present yourself with.”
“Explain?”
“You present yourself as the bad boy drummer that all the girls go crazy for. And I won’t be the person who denies that it has worked for you, in more ways than one, more than once. But I’ve seen you in more situations than band ones. I’ve seen you when you’re vulnerable.” You had to stop to take a drink of water, your throat still pretty dry from the tubes during the surgery. “You really aren’t a tough guy. You’re… genuinely one of the sweetest men I’ve had the pleasure and honor of knowing. You are something else, Roger Taylor. And I feel like I haven’t seen you act the way you do around me around other roadies. Regardless of any circumstance.”
You saw the way Roger tensed at your words, but thought nothing of it. Little did you know, he was fearing that you figured out his feelings. Being the tough guy he is though, he thought of a way to dodge the words you said with a jab of his own. Luckily, he had just finished setting up your movie and getting your ice cream, so he could say it as he walked out the door.
“Well. You have the next three hours to figure out why that is, love. Expect a quiz when I return.”
He lightly placed his hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair, electing to do something more friendly than kissing your forehead or something, as to not give anything away. And out the door he went. As soon as you heard the door close, you let out a breath you did not realize you were holding in. He had not even made it out the door before you knew what the answer to his quiz would be.
~
Sweaty. He was sweaty and wanted to shower. By the time he had made it to his room, his shirt had been removed he just wanted to flop down into bed and pass out. After the adrenaline of the show, his brain had completely wiped his memory of you still seated in his bed. You heard the lock of his door, but made no effort to move your head to look in his direction. As soon as you heard the door close behind him, you spoke up.
“I mean something to you, don’t I?”
Roger almost completely jumped out his skin.
“Bloody hell… Y/N, I-I forgot you were here.”
“Did I get your quiz right?”
“Wha—”
“The reason you treat me the way you do. It’s because I mean something to you, isn’t it?”
“I think you need to be more specific than that love, that could…that could mean a lot of things.”
“I don’t want to sound stupid.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
“Do… you have feelings… for me?”
Roger just stared at you, wide and glossy eyed, mouth slightly agape, trying to hid how nervous he was. Hands sweaty again.
“That’s why I promised to take care of you. I hated seeing you with allergies.” He started to cry openly. “Imagine how broken I felt when there wasn’t anything I could do for you when you were…practically dying on my hotel floor.”
You just watched him pour out his soul to you, letting him plead for you.
“And-and-and I know that you’ve probably heard the stories of me and certain fans. The women. Have I done that shit sometimes? Yeah. But ever since you’ve joined the team I haven’t. I haven’t done anything. Not even really thought about other women.”
You believed him.
“Would you ever give someone like me a chance?”
“C’mere.”
Roger made his way over to you slowly, unsure of what you were going to do. He was nervous as all hell, because he had never felt like this about any of the women he met, and he did not want to lose you. Eventually he got to the side of his bed where you were sitting, and you motioned for him to sit on the other side of you. Roger felt like he did something wrong, but when he finally plopped down onto the other side of the bed, you reached up to grab his cheek.
“I would have walked over to you and kissed you myself, but my stomach hurts too much.”
Roger laughed with his whole heart and soul. He truly did not expect you to want him back. It made waiting all this time for any form of intimacy so worth it.
He kissed you with more passion than he put into his drumming. He even got a little bit too into it and started to move his down your torso, and the minute you felt his fingers below your chest, you grabbed one of the pillows situated to your side and smacked him in the head.
“Hey! What was that for? I was getting into that.”
Ooh, I actually have two, one fictional character and one real person:
1. John Deacon; first and foremost, I'm a sucker for a good musician, no matter the instrument (could be the damn slide-whistle and I'd still be like "that's hot."). But mainly, he embodies what I feel makes a man, or really a person in general, good. Smart, witty, caring, not egotistical, loyal, and knows his boundaries. I feel like he's easy to write about because I can project what I wish would happen in most relationships, because that's what relationships need to be.
2. Tim Murphy from Jurassic Park; in the same light as Deaky, adult!Tim would be the same way Deaky is in real life (think of how @drtimmurphy writes for Tim) - passionate among everything else. People who are not afraid to me themselves and would rather be close with a few people than the masses are the kind of people I'm drawn to, because they're genuine.
(Plus lets be real Joe Mazzello and John Deacon are hot af so like it's fun to imagine them in certain situations.)
