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heyiwrotesomethings · 1 year

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She’s The Housekeeper Prt9: Bond

Yor Briar/ Forger x She/ Her Reader

A/N: Prt8 Alright, here is the last part for the foreseeable future. The first chapter of this story is still my most popular post to date, and it’s so cool to see 800+ notes on something I’ve written. If you managed to stick with me for this long, thank you for your time and support💜! Word Count: ~5,800

Anya ate her breakfast with an extra vigor that morning because today would be the day Loid would take her to the pet shop to find a cute little dog to take home! She inhaled her food so fast, she nearly choked.

“Hey, careful!” (Y/n) cautioned as she pushed Anya’s glass of water closer to her for the little girl to gulp down, “I know you’re excited, but let’s try to avoid having to go to the hospital instead.”

“The dogs aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. You can take your time.” Loid reminded.

“I’m just as excited to look around as you are Miss Anya!” Yor beamed as she put down the burnt omurice she had made, “but please do be careful.”

Anya downed the water and though she was still eating rather quickly, she was pacing herself better than she had a few moments ago.

“Anya is ready to go now!” She declared, sliding off of her chair to fetch her coat.

“Anya, we’re still eating.” Loid called after her, but Anya kept moving, pulling her coat from the rack. Loid sat back in his chair, letting Anya wait by the door. “Are you joining us, (Y/n)? It shouldn’t take terribly long.”

“I wouldn’t mind tagging along.” (Y/n) decided. Maybe she could influence the decision made of what dog they got. Something that was already house trained would be ideal. One that rarely shedded would also be preferable.

“This is going to be so much fun.” Yor hummed, between bite of crispy rice and egg. She offered (Y/n) a bite, and of course (Y/n) had to take it.

“Definitely an improvement over the last one, well done my dear.” (Y/n) praised before downing her water in just a few gulps.

The food really was one of Yor’s better attempts. It was still vile, but (Y/n) didn’t feel like she was in danger of throwing up. (Y/n) wasn’t absolutely insane like Yor’s dear brother Yuri, if Yor’s food made her feel ill, she would simply excuse herself to the bathroom to take care of it, not smile and try to clear the plate faster than she could vomit. (Y/n) shuddered at the memory. The Briar siblings were not normal.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Anya chanted from the hallway. She simply couldn’t wait any longer, they were wasting precious daylight!

“Let us do the dishes at least, then we will go, Anya. Be patient.” Loid began gathering plates while (Y/n) and Yor went to the sink to wash and dry.

Anya felt like she could explode from the anticipation, but finally all three adults had put away the dishes and put on their coats and they were heading out the door.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” She barked again, swinging Yor’s hand in hers. “Papa,” she asked, turning back to look at Loid, “Do doggies like peanuts?”

“You probably shouldn’t give them too many. It might not be good for them.” He replied, making Anya pout.

“That leaves more peanuts for you, Miss Anya.” (Y/n) provided helpfully, making her smile again.

“Oh, is this the shop right there?” Yor asked.

“That’s it.” Loid confirmed, going ahead of them to open the door for everyone.

Inside were the most fucked up looking dogs that (Y/n) had ever seen. Anya looked severely unsettled and (Y/n) couldn’t say she blamed her.

“Is… is that one flexing?” She asked Yor in a concerned whisper.

“What do you think, Anya?” Loid smiled, “Do you like any of these dogs?”

“No.” Anya wasted no time saying.

“R-really?” Loid’s eye twitched.

“Are you really surprised, Loid? I mean, look at them.” (Y/n) shuddered.

She did have a point… Guess they would have to go to the shelter event instead. A person caught his eye from the back room, flashing him a signal. Now really wasn’t a good time, but if Handler was calling, it must be important.

“Augh!” Loid cried out, clutching his stomach.

“Loid? What’s wrong?” (Y/n) asked, startled by the outburst.

“I, I need to use the restroom! You all can go, I’ll meet you at the shelter.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? We can wait.” Yor offered.

“Papa takes a long time when he goes to the shitter to shit, so we should probably go.” Anya bluntly explained.

“I see…” Yor blushed.

“Eugh, Miss Anya, we didn’t need to know that.” (Y/n) shivered in disgust, “Also, watch your language.”

“Yes, watch your mouth young lady.” Loid echoed before running off to deal with his… ‘problem’.

“Well, guess we should get going then.” (Y/n) decided.

“Yes!” Anya skipped to the door with (Y/n) and Yor following close behind.

Before long, the sidewalks became more congested and the unmistakable sounds of animals flooded the air.

“So this is the adoption event. Wow, it’s even bigger than I imagined!” Yor gushed.

“Yeah, it seems like Loid should’ve brought us here first.” (Y/n) observed.

Puppies, kittens and bunnies! They seemed to have every furry household pet under the sun! Anya ran haphazardly to look into every crate and enclosure she could find.

“Don’t run around Miss Anya, you’ll get lost!” Yor warned.

“Promise us you won’t leave this area with the dogs, okay?” (Y/n) asked.

“Okay…” Anya deflated a bit, but that was fine, there were so many cute doggies to look at and she would get to take one of them home!

The trio walked up to an enclosure together and Yor squeaked with excitement, grabbing (Y/n) by the arm and shaking her around.

“Look at that dachshund’s cute little legs!” She cooed, making (Y/n) smile.

Anya was overwhelmed by all the cuteness. She couldn’t possibly choose just one. They were all so sweet! Standing by the window, something large and white caught her eye, and she turned to see it more clearly, feeling a possible connection with whatever that may be.

(Y/n) and Yor were going over their top picks when one of the ladies working the event approached them offering assistance. (Y/n) and Yor took up the conversation, distracting them from Anya’s sudden disappearance.

“Are there any breeds that are easier to clean up after?” (Y/n) asked.

“Poodles rarely shed, so cleaning up after them is a breeze.” The friendly lady shared.

“You don’t say.” (Y/n) perked up, making Yor smile.

“Or there are smaller breeds, Shih Tzus are very friendly.”

While (Y/n) and Yor were engrossed with the woman’s abundant information, they failed to notice Anya slink outside to follow the shady man and the big white dog she had seen through the window. By the time they had stopped talking with the woman and thanked her for her suggestions, Anya appeared to be long gone. (Y/n) looked up to find her in the crowd, but could not see her anywhere within the dog section and her heart began to rise to her throat.

“Yor,” (Y/n) alerted, grabbing her partner’s arm, anxiety already slipping into her tone, “Do you know where Anya is?”

Yor snapped to attention, scanning all around, a familiar sense of dread pooling in her stomach. She did not like the trend that seemed to be forming every time she let Anya out of her sight or reach for but a few minutes every time they went out in public.

“I- I don’t—“ Yor swallowed thickly, her feet traveled on autopilot, “Miss Anya? Where did you go?!” She called out, a static buzzing growing steadily between her ears.

“I’ll look for her in the kitten section!” (Y/n) yelled after her before running off in a different direction, but she was not heard.

Between the two of them, they must have asked everyone in the event hall if they had seen the little girl, each growing more and more desperate with every shake of a head they received.

Upon getting her latest negative sighting, Yor felt unshed tears burning the corners of her eyes. This was the aquarium all over again, but worse! She turned, expecting to see (Y/n) there, ready to give her a hug and to let her know everything would be alright, but of course she wasn’t there.

Yor had already been so tense and her brain had been so focused on looking for Anya, she had somehow lost her dear (Y/n) along the way! Now she began to really freak out, completely overwhelmed by the crowded venue and the noise pitching around and within her.

Something in her that was already tense, snapped and she jumped up, kicked off of a nearby pillar, and expertly braced herself on the ceiling so she could search from above. Her breathing uneven, she drowned out the noise of the crowd below. She didn’t see Anya. Anya wasn’t there, not even a trace, and that terrified her.

What if she had been eaten by a dog?! No, Yor managed to stop that train of thought. That was unlikely. Someone would surely have noticed something like that. But what if she had been kidnapped again like when they had gone to the aquarium, or when they had gone grocery shopping! What if (Y/n) had been taken too!

An awful image of her beloved and her adopted daughter being carted away by despicable men to be married off to even more vile and cruel men consumed her vision, but then she found a small light, a familiar splash of color, she saw (Y/n) in one of the far corners of the venue, a strange man looming over her.

Without another second of delay, she skillfully swung from the pipes above and dove between them from the ceiling, startling the man enough to make him yelp. Yor prepared to uppercut him into the sun next, to see what kind of sound that would make, but instead (Y/n)’s hand quickly shot out to grasp her bicep and pull her back. Confused, Yor allowed her.

“Where the hell did you come from lady?” The man blinked, bug-eyed, mouth agape.

“She’s the mother. As you can see, she’s worried sick. If you see her little girl, please do not hesitate to let us know.” (Y/n) beseeched, pulling Yor back a bit more to try to knock her out of whatever murder-y thoughts were fogging up her mind.

“Yeah… of course.” The man gave them a weird look then began walking briskly away.

(Y/n) turned to hold both of Yor’s biceps, pressing her thumbs into the fabric of her coat’s sleeves to try to put pressure on the tense muscles beneath.

“Hey, try to breathe, okay? What’s the matter? Besides the obvious.” She cooed.

Yor sobbed, slamming her head hard against (Y/n)’s chest, making a deep thunk sound that rattled (Y/n)’s insides.

“Oof!” (Y/n) winced, but held Yor all the same, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“I- I can’t find Miss Anya! A-and I thought you had gotten taken too!”

“Honey,” (Y/n) murmured, giving a, ‘mind your own business’ smile to anyone who dared curiously look their way, “I told you I would look for Anya over here. You must not have heard me.”

“I guess not.” She sniffed.

“I’m okay. Now take some deep breaths. It’s clear that Anya isn’t in here, we need to go find her, but we can’t be snapping the neck of anyone whose just going about their day.”

Yor made a pitiful sound, but cut herself off halfway through, almost knocking heads with (Y/n) from how quickly she brought her head up.

“What…!” (Y/n) began to ask, but she heard it then too, that sounded like Anya outside!

And she was outside! They could see her through the window! She was barreling down the street… on top of a big, fluffy white dog.

Yor took (Y/n)’s hand and began sprinting in the direction the dog had ran off in. It was a brutal pace, one that (Y/n) couldn’t keep up with and when she tried to communicate to Yor that she would catch up. Yor was having none of it and scooped (Y/n) up into her arms, making quite the spectacle as they zoomed around the people walking by. It hardly mattered to Yor. She wasn’t going to risk losing (Y/n) for real by leaving her behind.

“Down that alley!” (Y/n) pointed.

“Right!”

(Y/n) braced herself, this was the side of her career that she was not trained for, but when they saw a strange man reaching for Anya in the alley, she still let Yor take her by the arms and spin her at a dizzying pace before finally being launched towards Anya.

(Y/n) sailed over the shocked kidnapper’s head, took hold of Anya’s hands, and catapulted her into the air. While Anya was airborne, (Y/n) sprung off of her hands when she hit the ground and flipped into an upright standing position just in time to catch Anya and see Yor smash her foot into the kidnapper’s face.

Yor fell into place beside (Y/n) so that Anya was between them, protected on either side. Anya couldn’t have looked more relieved to see them, looking between them with visible awe and joy.

“You won’t get away with this, Mr. Perverted Kidnapper,” Yor spoke in a measured tone, glaring at the remaining man who had his jaw hanging open, “It is much too early for Miss Anya to get married!”

“Married?” (Y/n) cocked her head to the side. Just what kind of scenarios was Yor imagining?

The gravity of the situation seemed to catch up to Anya then, because she began to cry, grasping onto the coats of both women she wailed,

“Mama! I was so scared!”

“Don’t worry, you’re all right now.” Yor comforted.

“We’ve got you.” (Y/n) assured, wiping Anya’s tears.

Kieth clenched his teeth. Which one was the mother? Ah, it didn’t matter. They’d all have to die if he was going to succeed in his plans.

“Dog! Rip their throats out!” He commanded.

The German Shepherd beside him began to approach, snarling, but then Yor gave one of her most terrifying expressions to date and growled right back with startling ferocity. The dog whimpered pathetically and turned tail, running out of the alley as fast as he could.

“Coward!” Kieth yelled after him.

“Bwah! Mama, I’m scared!” Anya bawled, hiding her face in (Y/n)’s coat, keeping Yor out of her sight.

“Hm? But you’re safe now?” Yor frowned, perhaps not realizing just how frightening her face had been jus a moment before.

“Don’t worry Anya, if that man thinks he can take you from us he has another thing coming!” (Y/n) promised, her mind filled with thoughts of fire and acid.

Yeah, Anya was glad to have those two on her side because they were honestly terrifying.

Voices began to be heard near the mouth of the alley and Keith cursed. All that noise had alerted people from the street, and now they were coming to investigate!

“Come on, come on you stupid mutt!” He hissed at the remaining dog, the big and fluffy white one. He tugged and tugged at the dog’s leash, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Damn worthless beast!” He kicked the dog in anger and fled the scene empty handed.

“He’s getting away!” Yor groaned, but she stood firmly at (Y/n)’s side. There was already one kidnapper she needed to properly detain and she didn’t want to leave (Y/n) and Anya for even a second.

Just how long is Loid going to stay in the bathroom? She mourned internally. His stomach was probably revolting from the breakfast she had made!

“Mr. Dog are you okay?” Anya asked, running up the the dog once (Y/n) put her down.

“Ah, careful Miss Anya! You shouldn’t run up to dogs you don’t know.” (Y/n) warned, trying to stop Anya from going any further.

“Mr. Doggie is no stranger. He saved Anya.” Anya put her hands over her heart, looking over to the dog with gratitude.

“Where did this dog come from, Miss Anya?” Yor asked.

Anya took a deep breath, that question required a very big answer.

“Terrorist bomb dogs?!” Yor blanched.

(Y/n) got on her knees and thoroughly searched the fluffy dog for bombs. Thankfully, there weren’t any. She sighed in relief and gave Yor a shaky thumbs up.

“Anya is sorry for running off without permission…” Anya mumbled, grabbing the hem of her coat between her fingers while she kept her eyes firmly on the ground.

“We’re just glad that you are safe.” (Y/n) knelt to the ground to hug Anya.

“We were so worried about you.” Yor chimed, following her partner to the ground.

“But expect a stern talking to when we get home.” (Y/n) warned.

Anya pouted, but nodded in acceptance and the three, plus the dog, walked out of the alley, tied up kidnapper dragging behind Yor.

They called the police on a nearby public phone to explain the situation, during which Anya suddenly grew restless, shaking the dog.

“Anya don’t be rough with the doggie.” Yor scolded lightly before her attention was brought back to the receptionist on the phone.

“Mama, Mama, sorry, Anya just remembered something. Papa forgot to take toilet paper with him to the potty!” The little girl yelled out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“What?”

(Y/n) and Yor stared on, frozen, as Anya leapt onto the dog’s back and urged him into a run.

“He might be in trouble so I have to go get some from home!”

“Anya, wait!” Yor called, reaching out the hand that wasn’t currently cradling the receiver.

“She’s running off again!” (Y/n) yelled in disbelief, finally sprinting after the blob of pink and white as they rounded the corner.

“W-wait! What about the police?” Yor called after her.

“We told them all we could! Just hang up and leave that guy there, he won’t wake up anytime soon! Let’s go before we lose Anya again!”

“Ah, okay!” Yor rose the receiver back to her ear, “I’m leaving the kidnapper by this phone booth! I have to go now, bye!” She hung up the phone and caught up with (Y/n) before she rounded the corner.

They searched every block, every street within half a mile. (Y/n) finally came to a stop, resting heavily on the guardrail of the bridge they had been speed-walking across.

“Darling, are you alright?” Yor’s voice was laced with worry. She could tell that (Y/n) was breathing quite hard.

“I’ll be okay, I just need a minute.” She wheezed. God, cardio sucks.

While (Y/n) tried not to keel over on the bridge, Yor paced back and forth. The only trace that she had been running at all was the light layer of sweat on her rosy face.

“What if she gets found by the terrorists again? I can’t let that happen!” Yor fretted.

“Maybe she went back to the pet shelter?” (Y/n) suggested between breaths. “At the very least, maybe Loid is finally there?”

Before Yor could speak, a loud honk of a horn and a sharp squeal of tires interrupted her. The scent of burnt rubber permeated the air. Looking down from the bridge, the women saw a car speeding recklessly down the road.

The light caught the windshield just right, allowing Yor to see an unwelcomingly familiar face. The other man who tried to kidnap Anya!

“Him again? How dare he try to take Miss Anya and run away! You won’t get away this time!” She declared, then jumped off of the bridge.

“Yor!” (Y/n) yelled. She tried to reach out for her, but she was too slow. Her hands snapped right to her eyes. Covering them from whatever was about to happen. “Pleasebeokaypleasebeokaypleasebeokay—“

An awful crashing noise reverberated within (Y/n)’s ears and she cautiously lifted her face from her hands. Below, she could see that Yor looked unscathed, thank the stars, but the car looked as if it had been t-boned before crashing into a lamppost.

(Y/n) hobbled down the hill to meet Yor on the street and flung her arms around her, a gesture that was always eagerly returned.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nope!” Yor smiled, “Kicking the car did make my leg feel a little tingly though.”

“My indestructible tank, I love you.” (Y/n) sighed, looking back at the crushed car. “We’ll have to call the police… again.”

They quickly relayed the location of the car and hung up before the responder could ask any follow-up questions. Then they were off to continue their search for Anya.

It was near sunset when they saw Loid walking down the sidewalk towards them. They opened their mouths in a rush to tell him that Anya had run off on a dog, but said girl and dog appeared from the alley between them and they instead slumped over each other in relief.

“What are you three doing here?” Loid asked, “I’m surprised to find you so far from the shelter.”

“Anya was coming to give papa toilet paper.”

“Ah.”

“She ran off on us. Twice.” (Y/n) informed, resting most of her weight against Yor. Now that Anya was with them once more, the exhaustion of running around all day was really starting to get to her.

“Did she now…” Loid looked down at Anya disapprovingly, finally truly noticing the dog beside her. “And who is the dog?

“That is actually quite the story.” Yor rubbed at her cheek with a sheepish smile and retold the events of the day. (Y/n) would occasionally chime in, but ultimately she was too tired to try to censor anything Yor was saying. Somewhere in her brain she knew they probably shouldn’t talking about taking down terrorists without much trouble, but again she was too tired to care.

“I’m sorry all that happened while I was in the bathroom.” Loid finally said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Yeah, you were gone all day. Have you considered seeing a doctor, because that is not at all normal.” (Y/n) spoke in a teasing tone, but there was a notable hint of concern in the way her eyebrows scrunched together.

“It was probably because of what I made for breakfast.” Yor bemoaned.

“It has to be something else. The rest of us survived.”

Loid, wanting to put his day long trip to the ‘bathroom’ behind him, began to address Anya and her penchant for running off.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not run off on your own. You could have been seriously hurt!” He yelled, making Anya flinch.

“Anya is sorry!” She sniffled, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Loid immediately softened, falling to one knee before her, “I’m sorry for yelling. I was just worried. You aren’t hurt at all though, right?”

Anya shook her head, putting a hand on the fluffy dog beside her. The fur nearly swallowed up her hand.

“Mr. Dog protected me.”

Loid smiled at the dog, petting him gently, “Thank you.”

“Excuse us,”

The family turned to see a woman and a man in suits approaching them from across the street,

“We’re investigating an incident near City Center. We understand that this was one of the dogs involved in the incident.” The woman said. “Please hand him over to us. He’ll be in good hands.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Loid tipped his hat, motioning them towards the dog.

“Now we can go back to looking for a puppy!” Yor beamed excitedly.

“Is the shelter even still open?” (Y/n) almost hoped it wasn’t. She wanted to shower and then spend the next several days in bed. She was already dreading how sore she was going to be tomorrow.

“Come on, Anya. Let’s go take a look.” Loid reached for her hand, but Anya pulled away.

“No! Anya wants Mr. Dog!” She said, stepping between the officers and the dog.

Loid shook his head. “He was owned by bad guys.”

“He saved Anya!” The esper refuted.

“You said you wanted a small dog.” Loid crossed his arms, peering down at his fickle adopted daughter.

“But Anya wants Mr. Dog now, it’s okay that he is big!” Anya continued to argue, hugging the dog close.

“Anya please,” Loid pinched the bridge of his nose, “Stop being so difficult.”

“If papa doesn’t let me have Mr. Dog, Anya will go bad and stop going to school!” Anya’s lip wobbled and then she began to cry.

“Wh— what are you saying?!” Loid sputtered.

“It’s okay, Miss Anya! Please don’t cry!” Yor beseeched.

“There are a lot of nice dogs in the world! I’m sure you’ll find another who is just as sweet…” (Y/n) attempted to console, but she knew that trying to get Anya to change her mind would be impossible at this point. She did just spend the whole day with this dog after all.

“Very well.” The woman conceded, leaving Loid particularly surprised.

“What?!”

The woman chuckled, then couched in front of Anya, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

“The dog itself didn’t cause any harm. If you promise to take good care of him, he’s yours, but we will need to keep him for the night to check his health first.” She explained softly.

“Are you protecting the other doggies too?”

“They are sleeping in the softest of beds and eating warm, yummy food.” She nodded.

“Thank you very much, important lady.”

The woman’s smile tugged a little further, “You’re welcome.” She stood back to her full height, turning to Loid. “We shall make contact with you tomorrow.“

“Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.” Loid bowed his head.

“No trouble at all. Have a good night.”

And so they began their trek home. Anya and Yor were particularly pleased with themselves because of the parts they played in saving the city from terrorists. (Y/n) and Loid on the other hand were exhausted.

“Why do you look like that?” (Y/n) had asked him pointedly. “I know it isn’t easy being… ill, all day, but I’ve been running around the city for hours and I still look better than you.”

“Do you really want to know?” Loid asked with a wry smile, his eye twitching in aggravation. If only they knew what he had really been up to all day!

“No.” (Y/n) shook her head quickly, “No, I really don’t want to know. Forget I said anything.”

After a night of the deepest sleep that any of them had ever experienced, morning soon came, and with it, a large and fluffy white dog.

“So curious!” Yor giggled, watching the dog sniff around the living room.

“Anya wants to stay home to play with Mr. dog today.” Anya said hugging the dog tightly.

“I believe the deal was that you wouldn’t stop going to school if you got this dog.” Loid said after spitting his toothpaste in the sink. “Get ready for school.”

“Does Anya at least get a Stella for helping stop the bad guys?” She asked. That would help put her in a better mood about going to school.

“I’m afraid not, Anya. No one is supposed to know about what was going to happen because it would just cause fear and panic. You have to keep it to yourself or the police might need to come and take you away.”

“Shock!” Anya flinched. She couldn’t let that happen, but it certainly was a disappointment that she couldn’t tell anyone.

“Loid!” (Y/n) gasped from the other room, “Don’t phrase it like that, you’ll scare her!”

Loid rolled his eyes at his reflection in the mirror and Anya began getting ready to go to school, pouting all the while.

“Have a good day at school Miss Anya!” Yor waved. “(Y/n) and I will take good care of Mr. Doggie while you’re away.”

“I’ll do my best.” (Y/n) called from the couch. Even raising her hand to wave goodbye to Anya hurt. Her whole body felt stiff and sore from the whole ordeal yesterday while it appeared to be just another normal day for Yor.

Anya and Loid said their goodbyes and then it was just (Y/n), Yor and the curious new addition to the family.

“Yor, darling, would you make me some ice packs.” (Y/n) groaned while she moved to lay flat on the couch.

“Of course! My poor, sore heart!” Yor cooed. She cupped (Y/n)’s cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead before heading to the kitchen.

While (Y/n) waited for Yor’s return, the dog took notice of her and began to lumber up to her.

“Hello, getting used to your new home?” (Y/n) asked him.

The dog sniffed her hand, then slowly hoisted himself up onto his hind legs by placing his front paws on the edge of the couch.

“Ah, wait. No, don’t come up here— dog! No! Down! Oof!”

(Y/n) couldn’t stop the dog from laying flat across her sore body. It was a warm, and an almost comforting weight, but in the state (Y/n) was in currently, she didn’t find it entirely enjoyable, but it was kind of cute.

“Honey, did you say something…?” Yor walked back into the room, her arms filled with industrial bags of ice that she got from who-knows-where. Her eyes fell on the dog and she pouted, “That was going to be my spot, Mr. Doggie.”

“Yor, help me get him off. He’s too heavy.”

Yor did as she was asked, dragging the dog back to the floor.

“I apologize, Mr. Doggie, but (Y/n) is sore from running around yesterday. Surely you understand.” Yor then promptly dropped the giant bags of ice onto (Y/n)’s body.

“Not quite what I had in mind, but thah, thank you.” (Y/n) shivered.

The dog was undeterred by the upheaval and soon climbed his way back onto the couch, sinking between the bags of ice.

“My, perhaps he is sore too!” Yor observed. “Poor thing.”

(Y/n) sighed. She couldn’t find it within herself to make Yor push the dog away a second time. Perhaps she should feel special because the dog seemed to like her already, but her body was not appreciative of the extra pressure at this time.

“Would it help for me to massage your calves?” Yor asked thoughtfully. “Mr. Dog isn’t covering those up.”

(Y/n) mulled it over. Typically, a massage from Yor would be nice as long as she didn’t push too hard.

“I think that sounds nice, just be gentle please.”

“I will, I promise!”

And she really was. Yor did a great job, so wonderful in fact, that the combination of the frigid melting ice, the warm, weighted blanket of a dog, and the soothing massage knocked (Y/n) right out.

She was rudely awakened hours later when the dog clumsily leapt off of her to jump into Anya’s arms when she got home from school.

“Welcome home!” Yor smiled, clasping her hands to rest them against her cheek, “Oh my, such good friends already! He must have missed you!”

“Save me! He’s eating me!” Anya gasped while the dog slobbered all over her.

“He seems to have a lot of pent up energy. We should take him for a walk.” Loid suggested. He looked over to (Y/n) laid limply across the couch and smirked, “Care to join us, (Y/n)?”

“Not today.” (Y/n) deadpanned, ever so slowly lifting herself into a sitting position. “You all go on ahead. I’ll start getting dinner ready.”

“Are you sure? I could stay an help.” Yor volunteered.

“I’ll be fine,” (Y/n) assured, “Go have fun at the dog park.”

(Y/n) shuffled through the kitchen like an old woman, slowly preparing dinner. Though she could be prideful at times, she was actually surprised that she had dinner mostly completed before the Forger’s returned home.

“I hope they haven’t ran into anymore trouble.” She murmured to herself as she finished setting the table. She walked to the armchair this time around when she finished her self imposed task. She hissed through clenched teeth as she lowered herself into the plush chair.

She then decided she would never run again, maybe never even walk. She didn’t care if it would look strange, she was going to have Yor carry her everywhere from now on and if she knew anything about her love, she would be happy to do it too.

Finally, the front door opened and the Forger’s piled inside.

Anya ran up to (Y/n) all excited, “Mama, I know what to name Mr. Dog!”

“Do you? What is it?” (Y/n) thought Mr. Dog was the name already, but she was curious to hear what else Anya had come up with.

“Wait just a minute!” Anya asked.

She bounced excitedly when Loid came back from the short trip to his room, a black ribbon of fabric in hand. He deftly tied the fabric around the dog’s neck and once he stepped away, (Y/n) saw he had looped it into a bow tie.

“Behold!” Anya flung her arms out in the direction of the dog happily thumping his tail against the floor. “Bond!”

“Oh, like Bondman.” Loid understood. “That should work just fine.”

“Boof!” Bond leapt at Anya, sending her to the floor in a flurry of licks and wiggly wags that made Anya laugh.

“He seems to like it.” (Y/n) smiled fondly.

“They’re so cute!” Yor cooed.

“Come, Bond! Let me show you around the hideout!”

“Anya, it’s dinner time. And don’t forget you need to study. afterwards.” Loid warned.

“Anya will study later, promise.”

Loid’s eye twitched, but he relented.

After dinner, Anya fed Bond. She filled his bowl to the brim and watched him begin to chow down.

“Try not to give him too much.” Loid cautioned as he walked by, a towel under his arm. “I’m going to take my bath now, but I expect you to be studying by the time I’m done.”

Anya pouted and Loid walked to the bathroom. Curious, Anya took a kibble from Bond’s bowl and nearly popped it into her mouth before (Y/n) called out her name.

“Miss Anya, please don’t eat anything meant for a dog.” (Y/n) shivered in disgust as she scrubbed the dishes nearby.

“I know it must look tempting, but take it from me, it is not as good as it looks.” Yor helpfully added.

“I don’t want to know if that is coming from a place of experience or not.” (Y/n) said, but the shy laugh Yor gave was damning.

Soon after he finished his meal, Bond began to wiggle uncomfortably and Anya took notice.

“Need to go potty? Here, I’ll show you where to go.” Anya led him to a wide tub lined with newspaper. “When nobody can take you outside, you go in here. If you go anywhere else, mama will get mad cause she like things tidy.”

After business was taken care of, Anya and Bond played all over the apartment. (Y/n) wanted to remind Anya about her studies, but she couldn’t bear to break up the fun. It was Bond’s first day home, and Anya hardly got to see him before she had to go to school. A little more playtime couldn’t hurt.

(Y/n) and Yor watched them play, losing track of time. And when Loid returned from his bath, they showed him the cute little girl and her dog curled up together and fast asleep.

The studying could wait until tomorrow, Loid supposed.

#spy family x reader #spy x family x reader #yor briar x reader #yor forger x reader #yor x reader

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otterlyfoolish · 4 months

Text

Eat Crow

(Zombieman x GN!Reader)

Warnings: Mentioned Human Experimentation, Animal Death, Abandonment, Implied Child Abuse/Neglect, Swearing, Blood & gore (come on this is ZM), self-harm (ZM does some reckless things), there's probably other things in here that I can't think of right now so if you're particularly sensitive maybe you should just avoid this,

Tags: Pining, borderline romance, strangers to friends, maybe lovers (in the future), Reader is starved for any kind of companionship, Unstoppable force & Immovable object, oneshot, angst, comfort (very barely), open-ended ending, so much build-up for a fucking oneshot, not edited so sorry

Word count: 11k

Summary:

Zombieman had what he thought was a simple case: "Find the source of the toxins in the assigned area."

One of his specialities is investigating contaminated or toxic areas - places that only robots or cyborgs could reach, areas where organic matter struggled to make it out alive. Other heroes would be dispatched to a monster infestation, and he would be sent to the local ghost town. This was fine to him - he would describe himself as more of an investigator than a hero anyways. So, in one way, this task was like no other.

In another way, he's never seen a case as peculiar as this. A product of human experimentation, just like him. He's never really had a case like this before. Curiously, they didn't seem to want to admit it. He can't blame them for their decision either - especially not after he found out some reasons why. And it's not like he could have found out the normal way - after all, what's considered poisonous to a dead man?

So, he couldn't quite complete his investigation - at that point, he couldn't really confirm or deny his suspicions. That is until he saw their touch wilt a crow's life within seconds.

...Well, the crow is already dead. You just have to eat it now.

-----

Ao3 Link here, if you prefer reading there!

A/N: I'm mostly writing this to ward off my impulses for the other idea I have for ZM - I can't start another multi chapter fic on him when I've not even finished the other one I'm writing right now... (TBH if I just dedicated my time writing this into that, I might have been able to finish it... Uhhh I just won't think about that)

I've kept this on the drafts so long, but now I've finally vomited it out (I ran it through a spell checker, not even edited) - I hope that it's coherent because I struggle editing so much, and I don't know if I have it in me to make it more articulate than it is... Uhhh story isn't fluid sorry (>>_>>)

But if I used the wrong pronouns for the Reader (anything that's not they/them) please feel free to point it out since it is supposed to be Gender-Neutral!

---

"QUARANTINED AREA AHEAD"

"TOXIC WASTE NEARBY"

"LEAVE NOW"

The danger signs were littered everywhere.

From the very moment he even came near the location - even miles away, he was warned not to approach. As he got closer, the signs and fences only increased in frequency. Just a few caution signs at first, illustrated by the humble exclamation mark. Then the potentially comedic skull and bones - pirates would be overjoyed at the sight of so many of them. And finally the unnerving biohazard symbol appears. He's never liked the look of it - maybe because he doesn't understand what it was actually supposed to be, or maybe it reminded him too much of Dr. Genus' lab - the same symbols were also hung up everywhere, the scientist liked to be organised after all.

The final hurdle was in sight now - a chain-linked fence with barbed wires that had rust collecting on the bright red sign that hung brazenly on the door.

"DANGER: YOUR LIFE IS AT RISK FROM THIS POINT FORWARD"

He nodded at the final warning as if letting the inanimate object know that he acknowledges the danger, then swung his axe against the metal lock, easily snapping it in half. Time must have also wore the lock down, helping the process of decay because it behaved far too flimsy.

If most people showed me as much concern as these signs did, then I would be out of a job.

He pushes on the door, the hinges on the door creak loudly as if it was doing a drum roll for his demise. As he walks through, he's careful to shut the door behind him and lock it with another one - the one he brought in preparation for this. As he does so, he notices that the key for it must have fallen out on the way over. It was his fault for not repairing the hole in his pocket after tearing it from his last brawl.

No way out now I guess...

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and rubs the cherry on the back of his hand before he drops it on the floor, crushing it with his black boots. Just as quickly as the cigarette left his mouth, another replaces it, the lighter coming up as if joined together with the cigarette. The nicotine was too addicting, he didn't mind the lethal poison that accompanied the chemical potentially affecting his body.

He's been critiqued on his bad habits by a fellow hero before, the smoke was just flat out unhealthy to have near people, so he should stop.

(He puts it nicer than what was actually said - Tatsumaki had gathered the all of the smoke in the room with her powers and stuffed it back into his lungs, hissing out hostile remarks as she did so. The product of a particularly bad day. Apparently she couldn't find any monsters to kill, and that caused her foul mood. It doesn't help that he was probably the closest thing to a monster she found that day.)

Even so, Zombieman couldn't disagree with the comments made, and though he never stopped smoking, the thought always flashed in his mind for the briefest of moments.

But this time he lit it without any guilt of others. This was a completely isolated area, where the air was already considered toxic to all organic matter. What's the harm of adding a little bit more poison in the air?

He dragged a large cloud of smoke out from his lips as he exhaled, almost like a sigh of relief from the long journey. Almost drearily, his eyes followed the grey mist drift through the air before it quickly dissipated into the atmosphere, the very last remnants of it lingered in one spot before fully turning transparent. His red pupils slowly fixated on that spot as he spotted the building he was headed towards.

...Break over. Back to work.

His arm slung the axe over his shoulder, resting the weight of the metal head in the crook of his neck as he continued his descent to his destination. He walked with calm confidence, not fitting of a man that's entering a toxic waste zone, but that suited him.

The thrill of an investigation was too addicting, he didn't mind about the dangers that had been constantly waved in his direction.

Perhaps the danger even added to the thrill of it.

-----

"Toxic waste land...? Hm." He murmured to himself as the read over the file they sent him. The low clicking of the train wheels was just as faint as his voice as he spoke. Zombieman positioned himself to a quiet corner of the fairly empty train, the folder in front of him messily sprawled out, but in a fairly controlled manner.

He had requested it to be in paper format, call him old-fashioned, but he viewed the information to be more tangible that way. Besides, he often breaks the phone the Hero Association provides him anyways. Once Child Emperor had leaped at the opportunity to make him an 'unbreakable' phone after hearing the staff members talk about how this was the 'fourth one this week', it had a pretty good run, but he still lost it in the end.

...It makes him feel bad to bother the kid for another one, so he'll just do this until Isamu notices and chucks him another. He'll treat it more carefully this time, he didn't realise just how much shitter the one's he gets from the Hero Association is. Isamu really was a genius, but he didn't want to pressure him too much.

He flips through the information provided, it was choppy. The testimonies didn't seem clear, and there wasn't a lot found by HA. Well, a lack of information never stopped him. His red eyes scanned the pages, picking up what he deemed the most vital snippets of data and committed it to memory.

"...Laboratory...", "...Mithridate...", "...Antidote...", "...Pancea...", "Dozens died from poisoning", "...Scientists Evacuate...", "...Local Town Falls Sick From Mysterious Illness...", "...Abandoned Area...", "...No Organic matter found in the vicinity..."

He concluded after reading it, there used to be a remote laboratory out this far that was focusing on creating strong antidotes. But it seemed that they weren't able to control it effectively enough, and apparently some sort of sample hadn't been contained properly had caused many of the scientists to die from poisoning. It seems that even though they tried their best to clean the place and dispose of the source, there was still trace amounts lingering and many workers became sick. The entire building was forced to evacuate - and a few years later, apparently some of the people that had lived nearby had to be admitted to the larger general hospitals. It started happening too frequently without any obvious cause and people started moving away. Satellite scans showed that the grass around this place slowly started dying, and bird avoided migrating near the area all together.

All in all, an typical case for him. He predicts the following days to be somewhat laid back. His only objective was to find what was the source. The implication in that was that he didn't even have to get rid of it, only report back.

There was something bothering him though. Like when you feel your feet shift a little too much - you're nervous but you don't know why. Or when you felt a pair of eyes watching you, but you couldn't place who in the crowd of people would spend so much time on you.

Current suspicion: There was something more to this case.

They could simply send one of their many drones to check out the area, scope out if there's a leak that's causing the increase of toxins detected. But they sent him.

His first thought: They suspected there was a monster there, and wanted him to kill it.

He could do that, they often do when they're worried about a particularly dangerous monsters most heroes couldn't defeat without wearing it down massively. But they didn't say anything in the report - they kept it hidden from him. To feign ignorance of the missing piece of the puzzle before even asking him for assistance.

...But why?

He's never shown hesitation to brutalise monsters. It's written in his fucking Encyclopedia page - something Bang had showed him after his disciple had pointed it out to him, and the old man just had to pass on the message, chuckling at the descriptors. Something something about how gore and death followed him or something along those lines.

...Is it related to Dr. Genus?

He clenches the paper a little too tightly, crumpling the otherwise pristine pages. The Hero Assocication might have had an inkling to his past. He never talked about it much, but did they find out? He wouldn't put it pass them - staying private in this day and age was getting more and more difficult by the day even if it would do both parties good if they stayed in their own lane. If they did know about his days of being an experimental sample, why were they assigning him to this case?

...Was this their way of turning their cheek the other way? By letting him confront his own past alone?

"...Sir?" He hears the train conductor walk over to him, nervously eyeing him up as the scowl on his face grows deeper at the thought of meeting the Doctor again. "This is the last stop." He hears as he snaps out of his thoughts, tilting his head up to look at the lady.

"...Thanks."

"...Are you sure about getting off here? There's nothing for a few dozen miles..."

"I'm sure. Thank you." He said, picking up the axe he had placed on the wooden floorboards, but didn't raise it above his head to rest on his shoulder like usual. Instead, he kept the metal head close to the ground, the blade pointed towards him and never her. He didn't want to alarm the lady.

"No, it's fine... I've not seen someone get off at this stop for perhaps a couple years now... It's nice to see people still come here in this little corner of the world - you know there's a forest a hour or so west from here? Beautiful place, you should check it out." She rambled on, the smile on her face causing the corners of her eyes to wrinkle. "Used to go there when I was young, took this same train out. I'm just a little too old for that now."

He nodded politely at her, taking note of the sun spots speckled on her skin. "...You're still younger than me, so there's no need to talk like that."

Besides, it's a privilege to be able to age. I'm sick of looking at the same damned thing everyday.

"Oh, aren't you a charmer..." She laughed, slowly escorting him down over to the train doors. He trotted after her, his boots made a small sound with each step he took. "Don't forget, the next time this train will be here is at eight tonight. Don't be late or you'll have to spend the night camping." She said, only getting a simple nod from him before the doors closed on her.

...A forest? I guess the toxins or whatever hasn't spread that far yet then...

As he walked away, he raised his axe back up and slammed it back on his shoulder, resting it there. Something of an reminder that he's on duty.

He's grown used to the weight of the axe.

-----

The building is fairly large - almost industrial. He could see it as a speck in the distance, but as he approached, he see that it's size wasn't anything much to be scoffed at. Definitely not at big at the ones he's seen at HA, but still, impressive.

As he approached the laboratory, he could see a... Fully-clad yellow figure running full speed at him.

Like second nature, he pulled out the guns from his sleeves and swung his axe back down to his midsection, his palms tightly gripping the weapons. It couldn't be a civilian - they would be fatally ill at this point from being this close to the site.

His blood-coloured eyes scanned the person (or perhaps monster) sprinting up at him. At closer inspection, he could tell that it was a human wearing a hazmat suit.

...Zombieman slowly retracted his desert eagle back into his trench coat and the axe also returned to its last position. There didn't seem like there was an danger yet, more so someone he needs to interrogate.

...Maybe there's still some people working here without anyone knowing?

They were... waving at him? He raised his thin eyebrow at them, shifting over to a more relaxed stance than before. He waited for them to approach - and as this mysterious figure got closer, he could hear muffled shouting from them as their hand waving in the air got more frantic. He noted that in their other hand, there was a blue gas mask.

He debated snuffing out his cigarette, but kept it in his mouth. It's not like they would be affected judging by the protection they're already wearing.

By the time they were close enough to him so that he could hear their words, it didn't matter since they were huffing out their lungs trying to breath in as much air as they could. Sprinting must have been hard - the hazard suit and heavy boots didn't help do them any favours either.

"...Are you alright?" He asked, staring down at him as they doubled over. The sound of their heavy breathing was clear even through the thick suit.

Regardless of their exhausted state, they sluggishly yanked him down to their level and slapped the spare gas mask onto his face. "...uckING STUPID!"

The impact of the plastic against his face caused him to glare at them with squinted eyes as he took the mask. He didn't bother dodging it - it's not like the action was malicious anyways. The force of which the firm plastic wasn't painful enough for him to make a noise, but he still grunted from the shock of their actions. "...What'd you say?"

They didn't respond, seeming satisfied with the fact he taken the respirator from them already and just crumpled back over on their form. He gave them a moment to gather their breath. "...Don't you know that this is a toxic area...? What the hell are you doing without any equipment...?"

He crouches down to their level, seeing as they were still catching their breath and he couldn't quite hear between their suit and the small distance. "I don't need it. What are you doing here?"

They tilted their head over to him, seeing that he had taken the blue mask off and just hung it around his neck by the strap. "...I live here."

Live? Not work?

"...Then don't you know that this is a toxic area?" He parroted the question back to them, trying to look into their eyes, or face, only to see that the glass they see out of is a reflective surface. Only his red eyes locked on with his own. His

"The inside of my house is safe, when I go out I wear this." There's something about the way in which they said it which made him think that they had rolled their eyes at him as they spoke.

"House?" He brushed off their attitude quickly, he didn't really care about it to begin with anyways, "what house?"

"Why would I tell a stranger where I live?" They snapped back, getting back up on their feet. Zombieman quickly followed suit. "What are you doing here anyways?"

"I'm a Hero. I've been sent here to find the source of the poison in this area." As if on cue, their head tilted at him in disbelief. He goes on to answer further, hoping it would dispel any more of their suspicion. "...You can call me Zombieman."

He could tell even without any facial expressions to help him nothing he said was convincing. "...Alright, 'Hero Zombieman'... If you've been sent here to investigate, then why didn't they send you off with any equipment with you? We both know that this isn't the safest place to be."

A reasonable question, he supposes. He just hopes that the answer he gives them is just as logical in their eyes. "I can't die - hence my name."

"...Can't die?" They repeated slowly, taking a few steps back from him. He could see the distrust in their body language, and he wanted to fill the gap quickly - they probably had a lot of information on this area he didn't. "...Don't lie to me, everything dies."

He nodded at them, trying to indicate that he acknowledges their suspicion then pulled his gun back out. They're not given much time to react to it, as the muzzle was pointed at his temple, his finger on the trigger. "I'll prove it."

Just as he pulled the trigger ever so slightly, he notices in that split second they've close the distance between them instantly. Their hands shooting out to tear the weapon out of his hands-

Only for him to tilt it ever so slightly upwards from its original position in surprise - instead of the bullet going through his skull at a straight line, it was just angled slightly differently, shooting through the top of his skull.

They froze up at the sight - the pink of the bone and the pink of his brains, the smell of blood was thick and metallic. They could smell it even through their suit, and nothing about their protection could block the sight of his hand. Limp. In your grasp.

Zombieman examined at them from the corner of his eyes, feeling that their hands was trembling slightly through the thick gloves they wore. It was from either the sight of his skull being blown open or the fact they thought he was now dead.

...I wanted to close the gap between us, but not physically...

"...Proof enough?" He asks, moving his head to face them. They practically leaped back, even in the chunky boots and protective gear they were wearing, they found themselves a couple feet even further than before.

...Was that too much?

No, I only shot myself. That's nothing.

...Am I too numb to gore compared to the average person?

"...Yeah. Yeah. I believe you." They say, their voice shaking as they watched the hole slowly fill itself back up again. First the grey matter in the brain, then the pink plating of the skull, and finally his pale skin and dark hair. It was as if nothing had ever happened - the only proof that they had was the dark streaks of blood that ran down his temple and the small splatters of flesh that had ended up on them. They did their best to quickly compose themselves."...So... Uhm... Do- do you need anything...?"

He nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt at their reaction. Yeah, it was too much to witness. Next time, he'll just cut his hand off or something. "Could you get me into that laboratory? I want to inspect it to see if I can find anything inside."

"...I can do that, follow me." They agreed, probably still in shock and stiffly placed one foot in front of the other, their hands having the same nature of movement - almost mechanically.

He was quiet for a minute, looking around the building. He wanted to ask more questions about them, but he had a feeling he needed to build back some sort of foundation of trust again if he wanted any good answers. Short, snippy ones aren't bad, but more detail is better this time.

"...What's your name?" He starts off simple.

They slowly moved their head over in his direction, stopping in their tracks. He briefly thinks for a moment that asking for that was too soon, but when he hears your name slowly uttered from your lips the thought is gone. He could sense the uncertainty of his character coming off in waves, but you still chose to tell him.

He nodded, "I'll keep that in mind."

"...And I don't think I'll be able to forget yours." He could hear you mumble faintly as you took long strides over to the entrance door. "Mr. 'Can't die'..."

...I don't mind if you were able to find a way to change that name of mine.

He didn't correct your words, and accepted his newfound alias. "How come you have access to the lab?"

It took you a while to respond, at first he just thought you didn't hear him or maybe you were busy fiddling with the keypad on the door, but it seems that you were considering telling him or not.

...Zombieman lowered his axe, resting it at his side. He may still be on duty, and it's not even the weapon he used to shoot himself, but it's not like he needed it this very moment. And if it helped soothe your worries even a little, then it will have been worth it.

When you get the door open, you turn back around to face him. He still can't see your eyes, but he could feel yours staring at him - cautiously inspecting him and his intentions before opening the door. "...This is where I live." You answered him.

...Huh, it worked.

He hummed appreciatively through his cigarette, reaching up and holding the door open for you. You paused your movements for a moment and nodded back, "...Thanks."

"No problem." He replied back, then followed after you, shutting the door after himself. When he walks in, he realises that the entrance is double sealed - one door after another to ensure that as little toxic gas leaves or enters. "So, you live in a lab...?" He says, practically repeating already known information in the hopes you'll slip out a little more data for him to piece together.

"Mhm. There's lab equipment everywhere." You say, though not intentional, your tone was pretty dismissive. It makes him wonder if he should play the long game or the short game.

He sticks to the former - besides, if he's really pressed up for time for whatever reasons, he can resort to more... forceful methods.

You open the other door, pressing even more buttons on the security system before beckoning him to follow through, holding the door open for him. "Quick - if you're there for too long, the doors will automatically shut and won't open without a special password."

"Oh." He nodded, the sounds of his boots increasing before the heavy door clicked securely shut. The two of you were now locked in together - he wonders if you're more anxious than him about the situation. One hand hand, he could be locked in with a mad scientist and be subjected to experimentation once again. On the other hand, he was a man that doesn't exactly have any indication of sane mental health paired with the fact he has a fair variety of weapons on his person ready to go any moment.

...They should be more scared than me.

"Do you work here?" He asks, trying to place down the foundations of trust.

"Yeah...?" You say, your thick gloves grabbing the other and pulling them off. "I'm... something of a researcher. Or something along those lines." The way you said it could be viewed as avoidant, or simply distracted - judging by the way your now exposed hands was fiddling with the hazard suit, taking it off and throwing them into a large plastic container off to the side of the door. Presumably to be disinfected and reused. "I've just been told to stay here until the toxins reach an acceptable level. Then I'm free to leave."

He narrowed his eyes at you, taking mental notes on your choice of words and actions. It was entirely unconscious behaviour, akin to second nature - Zombieman was already crafting a mental corkboard of everything he knew about this place and you. You took the final piece off, your large headpiece, finally revealing your face to him.

His eyes fixated on you, his red irises re-examined your figure, taking new mental notes to add to his corkboard. His eyes found their way following a sweat drop that traced the side of your face, a small trail of liquid trailed down your facial features before the head of it became too small to follow anymore. He briefly wondered it that sweat was a shade or two darker than it was supposed to be, but concluded that it was just the lighting of the room. "...Hot in that thing, huh?"

"...Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess I'm not really used to it..." You say, not noticing him observing you.

...Not used to the hazmat suit, I don't recognise them from the list of scientists provided, and they're uncertain about their role.

Current thoughts: You've turned out more suspicious than he thought.

-----

Nervously, your eyes kept glancing over to him, drinking in every detail of him that you could with each glance. At first, you thought it was the glass of your suit playing tricks on your vision when you spotted his red eyes, but even when you took your headpiece off and looked over him again, they were still red.

Blood red, to be more specific, especially now that you had a very, very recent reminder of the colour of blood.

His skin was almost porcelain white, but there was something of a grey undertone to it. His hair was a ink black and his getup didn't have a single drop of colour - the only thing you could even perhaps suggest that had a hue was the buckles of his (many) belts strung tightly against his chest. Everything combined, this monochrome sense of fashion contrasted with his striking red eyes and dark eye bags made it incredibly easy for you to focus on his face. Basically a sinkhole of attention.

Zombieman... From that name, you'd expect more decay, but...

...He's handsome. You concluded, as you kept finding your eyes shifting over to him as you showed him about the place. But he's also scary. Why would he shoot himself to prove a point...?

"Are you gonna show me around...?" He asked after what must have been you staring a little too long at him.

"Sorry." You say, turning your head away from him. Despite looking at him so carefully, you couldn't pick up on his mild discomfort. You try to remedy the situation, giving a honest reason to your actions should suffice, right? "...I was just thinking that you're very visually appealing."

The answer seems to shock him, or at the very least, throw him off his feet a little. His eyes widened at your response before he tilting his face slightly to his right clearing his throat into the sleeve of his trench coat. His left hand seemed to tighten his grip around his axe. "...Thank you."

You think that you shouldn't have said that - was he uncomfortable? You don't really have much of a chance to interact with people, and it's leaves you wondering your next move.

...Should I apologise? What did I do wrong? Is there such thing as too honest?

On quick glance back up at him, tells you that if he did feel uncomfortable by you, he's recovered. He's leaning against the plain white walls with his axe by his side. You note the fact he still hasn't raised it back onto his shoulder - whatever the reason for this, it somewhat made you feel more relaxed.

"...Uh, I'll take you around the first floor first...? It's mostly just like laboratory equipment, but it might help you?" You say, trying to gauge his reaction.

He simply nodded, and as you took your first step, so did he. You glanced back to see that he was a step or two closer behind you than before as you walked down the large white hallways.

...I hope that he leaves soon.

Just before you stepped through into another set of doors, there was a few equipment littered on the walls of the lab. Coats, gloves, masks. Though, you've used and ruined most of them at this point.

Please, please, leave.

You watched him place down the gas mask you had given him earlier alongside the other ones lined up on the wall for anyone to take. The others were faulty at this point, the one he put back down was one of the only ones that still functioned at this point.

It's not safe here, even for you.

-----

"...That thing..." You say, gesturing to him, your index finger waved over his face a couple times. "...smells terrible. Do you need it or something?"

He raised one eyebrow at you, wondering if his breath smelt for a moment before realising what you were saying. "...My cigarette?" He asked, taking it out of his mouth, bringing it a little closer to you to confirm your request. Your lips tightened and your eyebrows narrowed at the distance decreasing. So it is. "I suppose that I don't need it."

"Yeah, that... cigarette." You say, slowly rolling the word out on your tongue as you took a step back. "If you don't need it, can you get rid of it? There's vents all over the place, but I'm worried that smell will linger if you keep using it."

"...Sure, do you have an ash tray or something of that kind?" He asked, rubbing the lit part of the cigarette over the back of his hand. The burning sensation felt like it was shorter each time - the initial burn from the very first time he put out his smoke was almost exciting to feel. Now, it feels like pointless rebellion.

You looked at him, blinking. It took you a second to respond to him, trying to think of what would be suitable. Your eyes glanced around the room, landing on the shelf of conical flasks, before the blanket hung up on the wall that's placed there in case of a fire emergency.

...He thinks he likes the way your features scrunched up as you rapidly skimmed through all of the available items. You looked like you were in in deep thought over something rather minor - maybe he likes the way you took him so seriously, or was it the way you were so confident you could find a replacement within the confines of the room within seconds?

It didn't take you too long to find something. "...There's sand bins. Will that do?"

"Mhm." He nodded, and you walked over to the bucket filled with sand - presumably, it was to put out fires, but it could also be repurposed for a more crude use. Your hands wrapped around the bucket's handle, planning to bring it over to him, but he simply just followed after you and smothered the cherry into the sand. There was no chance of it catching fire now.

You nodded at him, then pointed at another table with glass equipment on top, giving a rather detail explanation to him as you picked up different parts - he was barely listening, his mind quickly filing away this odd morsel of information about you as he got back to his actual work.

...Have they never seen a cigarette before?

I mean, public smoking places are less and less common nowadays, but still...

He thought your behaviour was strange, but it'd be rude to point out. He let you continue guiding him around the lab. Besides, if you felt comfortable enough to tell him to stop smoking, then you must be somewhat amicable towards giving him more intel.

-----

The two of you finish the tour of the first floor, and you glanced over to the clock on the wall. "...I'm gonna head off to lunch. You can join if you want." You say, walking away from him and into another room. He peered in - seems like a break room for staff. He debated joining you, or wandering off on his own to investigate.

The former wins as he argues that he could just wander about later. It didn't seem like you were rushing about to get him to leave quickly anyways. If anything, he'd say you enjoyed the company judging by how he often caught you waiting for him to catch up when he spotted something of interest. Or when you stared at him intently when he spoke, taking his questions to heart.

...Or it could be for another reason. Tons of people flocked to Amai Mask for one big reason, Zombieman just... never suspected he'd be on the receiving end of the same kind of attention.

...'Visually appealing.' What is that supposed to mean?

As he enters the break room, he spots you waiting patiently by the microwave. There's a rather large pile of delivery boxes collected in the corner of the room. Perhaps one would feel shame at a 'guest' of sorts seeing the mess, but you didn't seem to care much. Upon noticing him, you opened the microwave door and added another packet of food.

I guess I'm eating too now.

He stands next to you, pretending to also wait for lunch, but in reality he just stared at you from the corner of his eyes. It doesn't take you long to return the action, your pupils also shifting over to his direction.

The two of you share eye contact until you turn away and go back to staring at the packets of food spinning around in the microwave. He lets out something of a cough, then goes to check his phone, (It's not like the could just whip out the files he had brought with him right in front of you anyways), maybe you were on the lists of scientists, and he just doesn't remember you that well.

Your eyes are casted away from your lunch, catching the glimpse of movement in the corner of your eyes. "...Whoa, you have a real nice phone..."

He tilts his head up at you, then turns the screen off before giving his device a quick spin for you to see if you wanted. You nodded at this, as if you were some sort of phone collector inspecting the goods before buying.

"No," he shakes his head, giving it a closer inspection as he spun it despite already giving it a verdict. "It can't even withstand falling off a skyscraper."

"...I don't think that's a good way to measure it." You say, a ghost of a smile on your lips. "Here." You fiddled with your pockets, before pulling out what he thinks is a brick at first as you carelessly held it out to him. "Here's one I found a couple years ago. Under my Dad's desk."

"...Maybe I do have a nice phone." He says, staring down at the device as you let out a small laugh out at him.

The phone was pretty old.

The equipment in the lab also looks quite old, but I don't know enough about it to know if it's actually old, or if it's just old compared to Isamu's hoard of equipment.

It seems like you had enough money to deliver food to yourself, but not enough to fund your research. You probably aren't being paid.

Probably because you aren't a real researcher.

But his conclusion just brings more questions than answers - why would you stay out here if you aren't getting paid well? You've been tasked with staying here until the toxins have subsided, but why would you do that? Money clearly wasn't the reason - maybe it was something more personal. His eyes meandered across the room until it landed.

Maybe it was your Dad.

"...Say, your dad worked here too?" He asks, slowly reaching out to take the phone from you, feigning fake interest in the device in your hands. His cold fingers brushed against your skin making your breath hitch - practically throwing the phone away from yourself.

He caught it before it collided against the surface of the table, but he wasn't even looking at the phone anymore as his eyes shifted over to you, examining your body language quickly to figure out what caused that reaction from you.

You held one hand in the other, your eyes fixated on him, one foot back and holding your breath as if you were waiting for one of you to drop on the floor. The two of you shared a look, the room sinking into a tense quietness. Just as he was about to speak, apologise, anything that felt right to say, you babbled something to dispel the tension.

"O-Oh! Yeah!" You exclaimed, slowly taking your footing back to it's original position. He didn't care so much about the answer anymore after your reaction but still, he listened. "My mother did too. Uh, both of them worked together. H-here."

"Huh..." He nodded, accepting the fact the two of you will skip past that moment. He felt his hand tingle from where your skin touched it - it was almost the same sensation as the one he used to get when pressing the lit part of the cigarette against his skin. Burning, hot. Maybe painful to a normal person but an fleetingly exciting moment to him. "And then you started working here too?"

"...Uh, yeah. Been here for a long time." You say, the words slow to come out. Your eyes drifted away from him and your hand slowly reached back over to the phone he had caught and placed on the table before retracting it back into your pockets. "Actually, I've been here... for a really long time."

He nodded, "how long?"

You didn't answer him at first, only tilted your face over to his direction. You looked... lost. Like you weren't sure what you were doing, or what's even going on. A sense of distant confusion with a vague or faraway goal. "I... don't know."

He frowned. You didn't seem like you were bad-intentioned, but you also seemed like a vital part of this mystery. "How come?"

You pursed your lips, turning away from him again before the microwave went off. The beeps echoed through the silence of the lunch room.

"...Lunch is ready." You say, opening the door of it. "You don't have any allergies do you?"

"No, but even if I did," he made some sort of general motion towards himself. You made a 'Ohh' sound. Some colour returned to your face that he didn't quite realise had left it.

...They don't know? How is that possible?

Also, their parents worked here, and now they do as well. They're most likely staying here not out of choice - are they trapped here? Threatened to stay? Guilt? You couldn't pay most people to stay in such a dangerous area.

"I've just been told to stay here until the toxins reach an acceptable level. Then I'm free to leave."

...What kind of messed up family business is this?

Zombieman could only see the rabbit hole grow deeper the longer he looked in - yet he'll jump head first anyways. He was never much for self preservation.

That same trait comes the thought: if he touches your hand again will it burn the same thrilling way?

-----

After you showed him around the whole lab, he concluded that there was nothing there was still working - and even if there was, it wasn't anything large-scale enough to cause such a large waste area. In fact, the only experiment he saw was you spitting into a test tube and then running it through a machine. Something to do with how it can detect what kinds of chemicals are inside it.

But that machine was clearly broken since he recognised many of the listed items inside to be toxic. You had explained that you had fixed it up after finding it in the storage room, but since that room wasn't well maintained, there was a chance that the toxic air was just stuck inside it now. At least, that's the conclusion you came to, and he didn't see a reason to deny it.

Apart from that, it was mostly you just explaining what each room was and the equipment inside. The tour was over quicker than he thought - but there truly wasn't anything noteworthy. The past researchers had taken all of the papers with them, so he couldn't snoop around to see if there was any information he was missing. It didn't seem like you were trying to hide anything either. You've always seemed like you were honest - perhaps a little apprehensive, but most of that was mostly because, well, he was a stranger in your home.

"That's all... I think I'll get going to bed soon, do you need anything or..."

"No, that's all." He said. "I think I'll get going."

"...At this time?" You ask, seeing him walk out to the door, trying to open it. His hands pressed randomly against the wall's buttons. Quickly, you walked over to him. "Are you going home?"

"I've missed the train, so I can't really go back, but I've been given a recommendation to visit a forest." He says, watching you as you brushed his hands aside to help him open the sealed doors. It burned like before, "I think I'll go check it out," he thinks he wants to feel it again."...Then I'll probably come back with a fresh mind."

"...Seriously?" You asked, pulling the door open for him. "You're gonna spend the nights in the woods?"

"Well, it takes a while to walk over. By the time I get there, it might be sunrise." He says, walking through the first set of doors. Your eyes nervously switched between him and the door, unsure if he was really going to walk back out into the toxic wasteland. "Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow. Or if I find the source of the poison, this will be the last you'll be seeing me."

"...Yeah. That's... fine." You nodded, now trotting over to him, hand hovering over the keypad to let him out. The inner set of doors shut tightly behind you, a slight hissing sound as the air was compressed in the room, ensuring that none of the toxins got in as the vents whirred faster in anticipation. "Here, I'll let you go."

He paused, looking over at you. "Don't you need your hazmat suit?"

Your index finger stopped over one of the buttons as you started pressing the password to get out. "...No, it'll be fine. My parents said that I have a higher immunity to this sort of stuff anyways."

"...Okay, if you say so." He nodded, accepting your words. Every rotting bone in his body was screaming that there was something off about the way you said it, but his heart didn't utter a single peep in protest. He wonders if you're hiding the truth from him judging from his physical reaction to your words.

You nodded back at him, your eyes flicking back up at his for one more time before the door opens, a small gust of wind blew his hair back a little as the heavy entrance opened itself - exposing the two of you to the chilly evening air. "...It's nice meeting you." You say, your words as distant as you could muster with your almost wistful expression.

"...You too." He nodded simply, taking a step out, his boots landing on the dirt footing outside. He paused then turned his head back, speaking again as if he couldn't leave without finishing his all of his thoughts. "Real pleasure to meet you."

You blinked at him repeatedly, taken aback. There was... a slight smile on his face? You weren't given a chance to respond back before the doors let out loud 'beeps' rapidly and the doors slammed down.

He turned back around, taking a couple steps forwards as he languidly pulled out a cigarette and his lighter. His eyes casted over the cherry of the cigarette, watching it catch a flame as he took in a deep, slow breath, inhaling as much of the smoke he could. Impatient, he'd usually call himself for trying so hard to get the taste of the poison as quick as he did just moments after lighting it. It's just getting him more hooked on the nictotine (if he could be anymore addicted), it'll kill him faster (if he could die). But this time he won't fault himself even with all the negatives.

Smoking won't help relieve this... feeling, but it won't make it worse either, he supposes.

His boots forcefully move his body forward as he let out a low grumble.

Move. He urges himself. This is ridiculous. I barely know them.

"Wait!" He heard from behind him, and he found his head turning around without his input. "...I have some sort of car in the lab. Do... you want me to drive you to the forest...?" You ask, holding something of a car key attached to the lanyard around your neck, jangling the sliver object.

...Zombieman knows that it's not the first time you smoke you become addicted. It's the second time.

"Yeah, that's be great." He responses, the cigarette practically falling out of his mouth as he spoke, but he barely cared, only catching it in his hands and crushing it in his palm. It burned - but he barely felt it.

He didn't know that infatuation worked in a similar way to chemical addiction.

-----

You drove him over to the forest, his voice quietly murmuring out the directions for you to drive him. He had made some sort of comment on the car being a off-road vehicle, but you didn't fully get what he was trying to say.

The interior of the car was cold, the heater was very slowly warming it's way up. He insisted that it didn't bother him, but even so, you tried cranking that bloody thing up all the way. There's not much fuel in the car to begin with, but you didn't mind using it on him. It's not like you were going to be driving again.

"Keep going straight, try to avoid that rock if you can." He says, his hand motioning towards the obstacle on the ground.

"O-okay..." You nodded, trying your best to keep the car steady. There was practically sweat dripping down your arms from your nervousness. "Like this...?"

"Mhm." He nodded, "do you not drive often?" He asked, noting your anxious features that was crawling it's way up your face.

"No, uh, can- can you tell...?" You say, pressing the accelerator a little harder, making the car go faster.

"Well, we've been either going 20 or quadruple that. You've not really decided on a constant speed to drive at." He said, pointing a finger at the speedometer. "Also, I've been the one controlling the stick shift since you keep putting it in the wrong one."

"...Ah."

"I think you don't even know how to drive, but I don't really mind." He says, leaning his arm out the window as he blew out another cloud of smoke out of the vehicle. "You got the air bags, so you'll be fine even if we crash."

"...Maybe I'm just a really bad driver." You mutter, feeling your face grow hot even in the cold breeze that came in through the window.

"It's not a maybe." He says, turning back to you, "but it doesn't matter. I appreciate your help. I'll teach you how to drive for real after we get to the forest."

You raised an eyebrow at him, "You can drive?"

"...Eh." He makes a non-committal sound until you shot him a questioning glance, making him answer you properly. "...I don't have a valid licence, but I can drive."

"...So you're just as qualified as me?" You laughed, "or perhaps just as unqualified as me?"

"No, I've passed before. It's just that I've not driven in so long I don't know if I pass the current standards." He answers, maybe a little quickly as you chuckle at his explanation, not exactly buying his answer. "I should still be valid to drive."

"What are you, a old man?" You laughed, the car slowing down as your foot released the pedal, your mind too distracted by what he just said to properly process both things at once. "How could your licence just expire?"

"I had a licence before I was used for human experimentation and I've not had the time to try to renew it." He answers causally, taking in another breath of the smoke before breathing it back out. "I think."

You almost completely stopped the car before turning your head back over to him. "...Huh?"

He turns back to you, staring back into your eyes as your face grew pale at his words, unsure of what to say in response to him. "It's not a secret. I just don't talk about it."

"...Oh." You nodded, then took your hands off the wheel and your foot off as well. "...Is that why you can't die?"

"...Yeah." He nodded, then blew out one last cloud of smoke before he rubbed the light out on his skin again. There wasn't a moment of hesitation between his actions and words - he's too used to the pain he inflicts on himself. The slightest pink tinge on his skin from the burn is gone within less than a second.

The car let out a splutter, filling in the silence that took place in the car. Then stopped dead in it's tracks. "...Uh oh." You glanced down at the screen in front of you, trying to see what went wrong. "...I think we're out of fuel."

"...Mhm. Yeah." He agreed, glancing over to you. "It's fine, we're mostly there anyways." He says, nodding his head forward as he indicated towards your destination.

Your eyes casted over to the view in front of you - you didn't even realise until he pointed it out, but the two of you reached the forest he was guiding you to earlier.

It was dark, the bark of the trees was jet black against the faint light that shone down on the trees. You could barely see past them to see their fellow family. You've never seen them before in person - it was much larger than you had expected. The air smelt... clean.

Even so, it doesn't keep your attention for long as you looked back over to the man next to you. His pale skin contrasted strongly against the darkness outside, his red eyes shifted over to you, and you could pick up on the slight tinge of metal from the dried blood from earlier.

He didn't look human. He didn't have the warm undertones of blood running underneath people's skins. His response to pain was too lukewarm. He had no reaction to being in such grave danger. 'Zombieman' fit him.

"...Shall we go?" He offers, clicking open the car door for him to leave. "You can stay if you want."

"...No, I'll join you."

But he was still far, far more human than you were.

-----

The two of you wandered out into the woods. You flicked your flashlight on while he bravely moved forward in the dark, unafraid of any possible dangers that would be lurking in the woods.

"...Are you looking for something in particular?" You asked, your eyes flicking back over to him as you carefully shined down towards the ground to see where you were placing your heavy-duty boots.

"No." He replied back, still moving like a man on a mission. "The train conductor said that I should drop by here if I had time. I have time."

"...Do you think you'll find your source of poison?" You asked, your voice wavering towards the end, almost backpedalling last second in the hopes he didn't hear you.

He tilted his head backwards, glancing back towards you when you asked. "...I think it's from your home. I just don't know how yet."

*...How honest.

Well, I suppose that he doesn't really have anything to be afraid of anything he can't die. There's not much reason for him to lie.

"...I see." You nodded, your palms feeling slightly clammy after his answer.

...I wonder if he opened up about his past in the hopes that I'd also be more honest with him.

He continued to stride ahead, not taking any particular detours, walking in a straight line forward as he dragged his axe across the ground. It was still low to the ground.

...I hope not. Because I think it's working.

Then, you heard a branch snap off in the distance. You froze up instantly, your feet stuck on the dirt as your head swung over in the direction of the noise as you tried to find the source.

Finally, Zombieman stopped walking, standing still as he tilted his head in the same direction as the sound, the two of you almost perfect mirrors of each other.

"...We have company." He says, as he takes a step over to the sound, swinging his axe upwards to lean rest on his shoulder as he began to stroll over. You think you heard the metallic 'click' of his gun as well. "Let's give them a proper hello."

You flicked your head back and forth, from him to off in the distance of where the car was. Even if your vehicle couldn't move and was useless, you'd still rather go and hide in there over wherever the hell he was waddling off to. "C-Can we not...? If I die, I die."

He didn't acknowledge you maybe he didn't hear, only pressing on and got further and further away from even as the flashlight didn't reach that far ahead. You flipped a coin in your head to decide your choice to join him or leave. You mentally cursed yourself. Repeatedly.

...I guess I'm going too...

Even your feet protested against your brain's decision, but you ignored it and willed them to go on.

It didn't take long for him to stop in front of a bush, looking down at the source of the sound. You think that he's already taken care of the problem before you step past the shrub blocking your vision to see what he was looking at.

"...That's a crow...?" You murmured, your eyes fixed on the bird struggling to get off the ground - there was a sense of pure curiosity even at the sight of the animal in pain. "It's... small."

Zombieman barely paid attention to your words - it wasn't that he didn't find them interesting, it's just that he want to focus his efforts on something else right now.

"Mhm, it might be young." He nodded as he stepped out from behind the shrub. The bird started letting out sounds - perhaps to try to warn the man to step back, but he continues forward. "I think the wing is broken." he explains, pointing to the broken branch next to the animal with his axe. "I guess it hit the tree pretty hard and this is the result."

"Oh," you watched him crouch down to the bird, gently picking it up. It squawked louder as he picked it up to inspect it. "...So, do we help it?"

"...I don't know if we can." He replies back, picking it up with both hands, leaning the head of the axe in between his head and his shoulder as if he was taking a phone call with it. "...Have you ever taken care of a bird before?"

"...I've barely even seen a bird before, I'll be honest." You say, the works almost slipping out without you thinking much of it. He flicked his eyes over to you questioningly but didn't verbalise his thoughts. He was still intent on playing the long game.

"I guess we can take it back to the car for now." He says, his fingers clutching onto the torso of the bird firmly as he tried to support it's wing. Do you have any equipment in the car?"

"Maybe...? There's stuff in the back, we could try helping it." You say, nodding along with him as he began to walk back out the woods, you walking in front to guide him out with the only source of light between the two of you. "...Being a hero must be hard work." You mutter under your breath, your eyes flicking back to him practically cradling the animal in his arms as he steadily supported it to prevent it from hurting itself anymore. It's stopped crying at this point. "You even have to tend to the needs of even animals."

"Nothing worth doing is easy." He responses, picking up on your quiet words, his boots unshakeable even as he stepped on multiple uneven tree roots. "...Besides, this isn't my usual work. I investigate dangerous areas or suspects. My information isn't useful without someone to put it to good use. Helping others is inherently heroic. What I do isn't." He says, almost putting himself down as he spoke even if he didn't intent to. His tone was blunt and factual - he wasn't looking for reassurance.

"...Someone has to be the tester. Any important situation needs one." You say, your words sounding almost rehearsed as you spoke. Like you've heard it many times before. "...You fill a role no one else can."

He shifted his attention away from the crow, his head lifted up to look at you as you spoke. You didn't turn your head around though, only faced forward. He couldn't see what kind of expression was on your face.

-----

You opened the car door for him, letting him gently lower the bird onto the passenger seat of the car. The warm air that was somewhat there from the car heater was no longer in the vehicle, now it also reached the temperature of the cold air around you. Neither of you minded, but you still couldn't help the goosebumps crawling up your arms as a strong gust came every so often.

"Go watch it, I'll go check the back of the car." Zombieman said, resting the animal down before he swiftly walked away to open the boot of the car.

"O-Okay..." You nodded, briefly watching him move away from you two before you looked back down to the bird.

It had black ruffled feathers, and bright dark eyes. Eyes that seemed to stare deep into your inner being. It let out another echoing caw as it tried to fly again, getting up on it's feet. You quickly stepped forward, trying to discourage it's escape with your body. You hoped that you didn't actually have to touch it.

It stared up at you, then cried loudly. Clearly something of a battle cry as it then tried to fly - but was only able to hop forward.

You let out a fumbling cry of shock, your eyes seeing it fall off the car in slow motion. You had to catch it- You aren't wearing gloves- You can't touch it-

You have to catch it-

Your body moved on auto-pilot as your hands shot forward to catch it from falling to the dirt floor. Your brain knew, it fucking knew what would happen if you touched it, yet it still commanded it to move forward due to whatever fucking human nature you had left.

It's feathers grazed against the skin of your hands. Your body froze. It was warm. It was warm to touch even in the cold weather cooling the both of you down.

"Good catch," you heard distantly. You felt like you were submerged in a pool of ice water - you struggled to hear whatever was around you. Your eyes were frozen in place. Your body didn't listen to you. "Here, I found a first aid kit in the back."

You didn't process his words. You only watched the lively bird stumble on it's footing as you caught it. It blinked at you with something you'd call indignant anger. It would be right to be angry at you in a moment.

"You can put it down now," Zombieman said, clicking open the clasps on the box and pulled out some bandages. "We need to support it's wing with something strong." He carried on, unravelling the white gauze.

When he saw that you didn't listen to him, he reclarified for you. Maybe you didn't know what to get. "A straight strong stick should do. Go find one."

You still didn't move, and he finally looked up. He stared at you questioningly, not quite understanding the guilt ridden expression on your face until he looked down at your hands.

The black feathered bird was flopped over on your hands, it's eyes closed. It slumped over on it's wings and feet in a strange way. It's beak was open wide, trying to get something out that was never really there.

"...I think..." You say, your head turned over to face him, but he didn't really think you were looking at him. "I think your investigation is over."

...The crow was getting colder.

-----

"...I'm kinda like you." You started, sitting down in the car with dirt in stuck in your fingernails. You insisted on burying the crow before you explained everything. It was a request he easily granted - you had dug into the soft soil with your bare hands and covered the corpse with the same hands that killed it. "I'm... also like this because of human experimentation."

"...Go on." He said, nodding along.

"The lab, I'm sure you already know this, but they wanted to create antidotes. Something that would cure any poison. They obviously experimented on animals, but in the final stages, they wanted to test on a human subject. It was almost to fruition I think. And... My parents brought me in. I grew up in the lab." You sighed. "I wonder if they're even my real parents... What if..." You trailed off, the suspicions had clearly been weighing in your head for a long time. "...Never mind. That doesn't matter anymore. Anyways, one of the vials they gave me apparently wasn't the correct one. I started absorbing the poison in my body, almost like a storage box. No one realised at first."

"...Something happened, huh?" He said, picking up on your choice of words.

"...Yeah, they gave me some particularly strong poison or something to test out how my body would respond to the antidote they prepared. They didn't anticipate that I'd be able to absorb it alongside with the antidote." You let out something of a dry laugh. "That... was the last time I ever touched my mother. They cleared me to leave and I went up to her to say hi. She... collapsed on the ground, convulsing seconds later. After that, no one approached me without hazmat suits again. They quickly stopped working, after something else happened and they fled. My father was the last to go."

"...And that's when he gave you the instruction to stay until the level of toxins were acceptable?" He asked for confirmation. To which you nodded at him.

...Seeing everything fall into place has never felt so unsatisfying to him before.

He gave you a measured nod, his eyes never leaving the sight of your hunched over figure. "...So he sends you money to keep you somewhat alive?"

"...I don't know if he knows if I'm still alive." You shook your head. "Hell, I don't know if he's still alive himself. It's been... years. I only have the bank transactions from him as m only form as contact. I... still don't know if I killed my mother or if she's recovering somewhere."

He let out a quiet curse under his breath, leaning his arm against the window as you continued speaking.

They lived like this for years. Years.

"...I know what that place is, Zombieman." You say, your nails pressing tight against your skin, digging in. "I didn't want to admit it."

"...A prison?" He tried guessing when you didn't speak for a while, only to be met with a humourless laugh.

"Coffin. It's a coffin for me. I was born into a live burial - I'll live and die there." You say, your voice completely monotone. It was like a reporter going about the facts of the day. "The furthest place I've been from here. This... forest. And just by going once, I ruined the place. I can't just... leave. This was already a mistake."

He listened to you, watching the way you clutched yourself for some sort of support. He stayed quiet, examining your features carefully. Nothing on his corkboard prepared him for this - but perhaps his own personal experience of being on the other side could help.

He slowly forms the thoughts in his head - there wasn't much he could remember when he first left the lab he had escaped from, but he tried his best to gather what he could. What would have comforted him best? Well, probably the death of Dr Genus.

It was just a tad too slow - you had began speaking again.

"...When are you going to end me?"

He turned his head over to you, too quickly. "What?"

"You found the source of the poison." You say, leaning over to him from your seat. His breath hitched as you got closer. "You've known for a while, haven't you? So when are you going to do it? In my sleep? With a gun? Or an axe?"

It probably doesn't help, but at the mention of his weapons his eyes find their way over to their positions. "...I'm not going to murder you." He says, but didn't get up. He let you look down at him from where you were - it was probably the little bit of power you still had over him in your eyes. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"I made that crow die." You state, your retort coming back far too fast. "You saw me. One touch from me killed it. It was barely even a few seconds."

"...That doesn't warrant the death penalty." He sighs. "Nothing you've done deserves punishment of any kind, it's not your fault. None of it."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression on your face, he struggled to place what you were feeling at the moment despite it being the most vital time for him to be able to. "...I have a question," you say, almost reluctant to interrupt him. "If there was something that could only cause harm, why keep it?"

He doesn't given himself much time to think of his answer, knowing that the longer he took the more insincere he would sound to you. "I know many people who's only speciality is violence." He starts out, leaning a little closer to you as you took a step back from him, giving him more space. "...We call them heroes. Or monsters, depending on their intentions."

"...Are you one of these people?" You ask, your words feeling heavier than he expected for such a short question.

"I'd say so." He responded, his voice flat as he continued speaking. "...But a lot of people suspect me as a monster too. "

"...You're more than that." You said, tilting your head at him with scornful befuddlement. You looked upset, but not at him.

"Aren't you the same?" He mirrored the simple question to you.

There's silence from you, until he hears a small sniffle and you bring up one hand to wipe at your eyes. He's frozen solid for a second until he reaches over to a box of tissues nearby and offered it to you.

"No..." You shook your head. "No thanks, my tears will just melt it... Tried it, trust me..."

"...Yeah, that's what tissues tend to do in liquid long enough." He cracked the dry joke, trying to lighten your mood and still offering the box to you, just slightly further away.

"...No, they're..." You pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a shaky sigh as you forced yourself to bite back the tears. "My tears are corrosive. Highly corrosive."

"...Huh." He said, putting the box aside and stood up. "Would you like my coat instead?"

"...Why on Earth would I want that?" You say, the last of the tears running down your face as you stopped wiping it with your hands.

"...It's work clothes, I can get these replaced for basically free. It's cheaper than those tissues." He shrugged, trying to make another attempt to cheer you up seeing that you had stopped at this point. They were more stressed tears than anything, so your crying wouldn't have lasted long anyways.

You blinked at him before letting out a laugh, "no, no... It's okay... I don't want to accidentally hurt you. I'm fine now anyways."

"Mhm." He nodded, watching you sit back down on your seat. "...You know, I have a really, really smart colleague. He might be able to help you leave if you want."

"...Really?"

"He's the smartest person I know. And I've been kicking around for a while." He states a chuckle on his lips as he spoke. The only other person he could think of being close to Child Emperor was Dr Genus. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd let him anywhere near you.

"...Do you think he'd be willing to help?" You ask, the lilt of your voice going up a little higher, a sense of hopefulness leaking into your tone. "Or wait, would he be safe? I don't want to hurt him by accident..."

He nodded at your concerns as you spoke. "I've seen him analyse venomous monsters during the heat of battle and create antibodies on the fly. I think there's a strong chance."

"...Wow, he sounds really smart. Is he a hero like you?"

"Yes," he nodded, something you'd describe as pride adorned his features. "He's more of a hero than me, though. I could learn a lot from him."

"...I think you're far more of one than you think you are."

He's silent, staring back into your eyes. It takes the both of you a moment before either speaks. His voice breaks the silence gently, his words slow and purposeful as he spoke.

"...I think we should get going soon. We need to catch that train."

#zombieman #zombieman x reader #one punch man #opm x reader #OtterlyFoolishWritings #someone who can't die + someone that kills everyone they touch = love story #or at least a potentially funny dynamic imo #tbh i feel like I could write a (short) multi-chapter fic off this idea but I Probably Won't because I have issues with Time Management #other running thoughts are that I wanted to write more about MC's past #I feel like they could be very fun to write and then delve into with ZM as he gets to work sniffing shit out #But I wanted to keep the “”vibe“” of mystery even if you knew all the plot twists from the summary before hand #x reader

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ozarkthedog · 2 years

Text

Caution: word vomit ahead!

So I should’ve realized my period was due before making that post about deleting my blog. It was a brash decision and I hadn’t really thought it through. I’m sorry to those of you who commented and sent me messages. I feel so silly. I’m happy I have some new discord pals tho 😅💙

I truly don’t mean to annoy people with the love/hate I have concerning my blog.

Follower count doesn’t mean anything but after a while it’s hard to not let that shit get to you. I felt like I could only post certain things and respond with fics/drabbles with every ask I got. Plus it’s stressful knowing I have (potentially) so many people waiting for new fics from me and I worry about feedback and reblogs and then I just procrastinate and let the anxiety get the better of me.

Writing was so much fun when I started two years ago. I’m striving everyday to get back to that headspace because I truly miss it.

I will write again some day because these thots just won’t give me a break. 😅

TDLR SORRY FOR THE FALSE ALARM AGAIN 😅 IM NOT GOING ANYWHERE BUT I WONT USE THIS BLOG TO FULFILL MY NEED FOR LOVE. NEW FICS WILL BE POSTED WHENEVER I WRITE ONE.

REBLOGGING WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT. I WILL MAKE THIS BLOG MY HAPPY SPACE.

#personal #at this point my blog is a free for all #I’m going to be reblogging everything that makes me happy #new fandoms and new talents are abound

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danafeelingsick · 2 years

Text

ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ 2/2

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1

[SPOILERS] Takes place after Chapter II: Act IV of the Archon quest – Requiem of the Echoing Depths, where Dainsleif is found injured and weakened in the chasm, and Aether tries to take care of him.

ᴀᴏ3

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ descriptions of food, comfort (not much), feeding (non-se*ual), nausea, mentions of injury, vomiting

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ 5,2k~

Dainsleif woke up a few hours later, with the impression something or someone had been watching him. There was a sudden noise he couldn't quite place, like the faint rustle of a cape, but it was gone from his memory as fast as it appeared.

Looking around he found nothing but an empty stool beside him, the forgotten book sitting on the side table, and a humid cloth resting on his forehead. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he looked around the room, finding no sign of the traveler anywhere.

He no longer felt that uncomfortable heat enveloping his body, only the cozy gentle warmth of the blankets remained. He felt safe, strangely, it was something he had long forgotten how felt. Even the twisting pain on his side had subsidized, leaving only a bearable almost unnoticeable sting whenever he breathed in too deeply.

He knew he would heal. He would always heal.

It might have been the most peaceful rest he'd have in decades, but he couldn't stay for long. Even if his body was begging him to lay back down and close his eyes for just a few more minutes, he couldn't. If he let his guard down again if he allowed himself to relax–

As if his worries had just spawned into reality, there was a sudden knock on the door, and shortly after, it creaked open. The traveler stepped inside the room, balancing a plate and a steaming teacup in a tray as Paimon held the door open for him.

“Hey, good morning”, he greeted warmly and Dainsleif couldn't help but feel an almost familiar comfort in the tenderness of his voice.

“Morning, Dain!” Paimon waved her small hand as she stopped by Aether's side, floating just above his shoulder. “Paimon hopes you're feeling better now.”

“Were you able to rest?” Aether inquired, his cheerful tone assuming an almost unnoticed wordless caution.

“Indeed, I slept very well”, Dain responded simply, able to muster a muted smile that didn't make it past his eyes.

“That's good to hear”, Aether said, the relief on his face was almost palpable in the sigh he discreetly let out. “Well, I thought you'd be hungry, so I went ahead and made you some fisherman's toast.”

“And Paimon brought the tea!”, the flying fairy announced, then coyly added: “Well, the tea leaves at least.”

Carefully, the traveler settled the tray on the stool, and Dainsleif was able to see the light green-colored liquid inside the teacup and the pile of fresh toast on the plate. He couldn't deny his mouth watered at the sight, but all it did was remind him of the taste of sickness still on his tongue.

He frowned slightly, his eyes wandering to the carpeted floor where he had dumped the contents of his stomach just a few hours ago, not finding a trace of the mess he had made. Still, he felt unsettled, the sight of food sprouting a queasy hollow sensation he had grown quite used to through so many decades.

“How sweet do you like your tea?” Aether asked, carefully picking up the teacup by the wing, and gently blowing the spirals of steams off it before handing it to him. “I didn't put any sugar in it, just to be safe. But if you want it, there's some here.”

“Traveler”, Dainsleif said apprehensively, feeling the warm slosh inside the cup in his hands, a faint sweet smell emanating from it. “I'd rather you don't waste food on me.”

“Don't say that, just say you're not hungry if that's the case”, the traveler frowned at his words, his eyebrows furrowing. “You're not wasting anything.”

“I'm merely saying I might not… be able to keep it down”, Dainsleif admitted, swallowing audibly, a hint of embarrassment coloring his voice.

“Oh, that… yeah. It's fine, we can keep a bucket nearby”, Aether shrugged, pointing to the floor where a newly empty bucket rested under the bed. He tried to sound dismissive, but the man simply glanced away. “Dain, you threw up a lot back there. You should try to eat something.”

“If you don't eat it then Paimon will!”, the floating guide butted in, adding her version of a threat to the conversation.

“Can't you at least try the tea?” Aether pleaded, genuine worry in his frown as he joined his hands. “And just one toast. Please? Then I'll let you sleep some more.”

Although a nap sounded promising, it was the please that made him reconsider. He eyed the cup of tea, letting out a soft sigh as he brought it to his mouth and took a sip, the fresh and sweet flavor of mint bathing his tongue. The content must've been evident in his face, for Aether's expression also softened.

“So, how is it?” Paimon asked, expectantly.

“It's good”, Dain responded simply, almost shrugging as he couldn't find another word for it. It was good, simple as that.

His stomach seemed to be accepting it well enough. Unlike the way food felt like it was burning a hole through his innards, the tea spread a cozy warmth as he swallowed it. But it barely lasted, having him almost unconsciously going for another sip just to feel it again.

He glanced back at the traveler, hoping to find him more relaxed now that his gut didn't immediately reject the tea. Instead, he bumped into a piece of toast inches away from his mouth, and an expectant look right behind it.

“Just a bite”, Aether begged, practically waving the food in front of him. “Please?”

Again with that. Dainsleif rolled his eyes before he nibbled the food, realizing his stubborn refusal would only reflect on the traveler's insistence. He could only hope his stomach would follow.

The scent of onion and tomato filled his nostrils, making his stomach beg for more as he slowly chewed. The crunchy noises were a nice change from the mushy rations he'd always have during his travels, definitely something he couldn't afford to get used to.

Before long, with Aether pushing him to have another bite and then another, until the entire toast was gone and he was already going for one more. This time, Dainsleif picked the food out of his hand and ate it himself, trying to dismiss the small smile forming on the young man's face.

“I hope it's still good, I had to cut on the spice a little”, he said, putting the plate on his lap, trying to be subtle as if he was nudging him to keep eating. “Paimon usually likes it with extra onion”, he added, gesturing towards the little one, who promptly nodded.

“It is Paimon's favorite!”

“It is… quite good, in fact”, Dain retorted, picking up the third toast and mutely praying his stomach would maintain its kindness.

“Well, that's good to hear…”, Aether repeated, glancing away as an awkward silence momentarily fell between. “Do you think you could try some medicine now?”

“Medicine?”, he swallowed first, then echoed.

“I went out while you were asleep and bought some. Explained your symptoms and everything, but don't worry, I didn't say anything about what happened”, Aether explained, sounding almost dismissive as he added: “They said it sounds like a wound infection, but since it's been cleaned, as long as the fever or nausea doesn't come back, these should work.”

Dainsleif let out a small hum, taking another sip of his tea as his mouth suddenly felt dry. It was like night and day, the once fresh sweetness now had a slightly bitter aftertaste, but he fought to ignore it.

“I– I suppose I could try…”, he budged, struggling to swallow around the pit forming in his throat.

Aether nodded, promising he'd be back shortly as he hurried to his feet, taking the empty tray with him as he left. Paimon seemed momentarily lost as the two were left in silence, only the sounds of munching to fill it. Almost absentmindedly she floated to Dain's side, huge eyes fixed on the remaining toast.

Dainsleif ate in silence, his appetite fleeting every time he managed to swallow, adding to the slight discomfort in his belly. It barely hurt but just a few moments ago his stomach had been thoroughly emptied, so he could feel in detail the food sitting there. Nausea was slowly but surely creeping back, making him wish he had dared to refuse it.

“Paimon, would, uh, would you like to have this last one?”, he offered, holding the plate to the floating guide, who jumped back slightly, caught by surprise.

“Are you sure?”, Paimon asked, her eyes growing worried but still glued to the treat. “The traveler made these just for you.”

“Go ahead”, he said gravely, trying to ignore the need to swallow dry as he raised the plate. “I can't stomach any more of it.”

“Hum, alright”, swiftly, she snatched it away, taking a bite out of it bigger than her head. “Paimon won't tell.”

Dainsleif returned to silence once more, taking small meaningless sips out of his tea, trying not to think so much of the now sickly sweet taste. Guilt was the last thing in mind. Had he always been this suggestable? Just the small mention of nausea had him acutely aware of his stomach now tense, even that small amount of food sitting heavily inside it, the bandages digging into it every time he breathed.

He found himself sipping an empty cup as the door clicked open and the traveler entered the room once more, carrying a glass of water and an

open palm. He seemed confident enough that the medicine would stay down as he handed it to Dain, two small white pills which he just stared at, gulping soundly as his throat gave a weak spasm.

“I can break it down if you can't swallow it”, Aether offered along with a sympathetic smile. “But it might work faster if you do.”

“No need, it's fine", Dain responded, downing the pills without thinking twice, that chalky dry taste making his tongue wince inside his mouth. There was enough saliva in his mouth to swallow it safely, but his throat seemed to be actively compressing around the strange body, having him go for the water right after. “Gulp– thank you…”

If he were paying attention, he would've heard the liquid splashing inside his nearly empty stomach, immediately curdling as it mixed with the clumps of toast and the tea. A strange chill spread through his abdomen and he shuddered out of disgust, swallowing thickly what tasted like bitter saliva.

“Alright, now that you're all settled, it should start working in about 30 minutes. More or less”, Aether said, trying to sound just a little more optimistic. He turned to the little floating guide, who was trying her hardest to hide the guilt and the crumbs of toast around her mouth. “Paimon, can you remind me?”

“Sure thing”, she responded, putting her hands behind herself as if to hide the red in it.

Dainsleif let out a sigh as he sunk deeper into the pillow, briefly closing his eyes when a new coat of saliva washed over his tongue. There was a timer now floating over his head, 30 minutes he would have to fight against nausea creeping closer. Maybe if he just focused, then time would go by faster, like it was supposed to when he had lived for so long.

There was a few seconds of silence, where Dain could hear his own throat spasming every time he swallowed, praying he was the only one to hear it. Focusing was proving itself to be useless.

“Well, we'll let you rest now. Just call if you need anything, I'll be in the other room”, he heard the traveler say, a clear nod of sympathy in his voice. The stool creaked as he stood up. “C'mon, Paimon.”

“Wait, Traveler”, Dainsleif called not a second later, catching him as soon as he turned to leave. Even Paimon froze where she stood. “If you don't mind, could you stay?”

“Of course”, Aether hurriedly turned back, concern downing on him once more. “Why, what are you feeling?”

“I… hm”, he started, his voice getting caught in his throat. Was lying even an option anymore? “I think nausea might be… returning.”

The traveler let out a small hum as he thought, taking his place back on the stool.

“I-It's nothing alarming, it's just… the food isn't sitting well”, he reiterated, feeling embarrassment grip his throat. “And I rather not… you know.”

“Got it…”, Aether interjected where he trailed off. “Well, how can I help with that?”

“Oh, does talking help?”, Paimon jumped forward to give her suggestion. “The traveler can tell you some stories, maybe that will distract you for 28 minutes.”

“I suppose…”, it didn't take long for Dain to agree, anything to keep his mind off his queasy stomach. “Then, would you tell me more about your travels?”

The traveler thought for a brief moment, his eyes wandering to the side table where his book lay, and that seemed to spark an idea inside his head. He started recollecting about the Irodori festival held just recently in Inazuma, and all of those great books he got to buy, the people he got to meet, the meetings, the food.

Although he tried to keep it short, resuming the near week of festivities took him just a little longer than he expected, but Dainsleif listened to him politely, as best as he could, even stitching in some questions of his own.

“I must admit, that Legend of Sword book you mentioned… I've leafed through one of its volumes before”, he commented, absentmindedly. “It was an interesting read, as brief as it was. But do go on, don't let me interrupt you.”

“We can get you one signed if you want. We know the author, he's our friend”, Paimon eagerly offered.

Dain chuckled slightly, something Aether never thought he would hear, and politely declined with a shake of his head, motioning for him to continue.

Admittedly, he looked well, much better than when he had arrived, but Aether noticed when he sunk further into the pillows. His breath shuddering faintly, his chest picking up the pace, his face gradually losing even more color. He frowned, but couldn't do much except keep a close eye on him. At some point, Dain even stopped looking at him while he spoke, choosing to lay his head back and close his eyes as he clearly struggled with his nausea.

“Dain?” The traveler's story faded into the question, his tone was soft and cautious as if he expected Dain to snap at him.

He didn't answer at first, the only sounds coming from him were audible gulps, his throat bobbing constantly as he kept swallowing, until his stomach made itself heard, and a low hollow growl came from under the covers. Dainsleif frowned deeply, his face flushing slightly, but it barely lasted, he was growing paler by the second.

He laid a careful hand over his belly, his face pinched in pain and disgust. The half of his mask turned to the traveler giving him an almost out worldly feel.

Aether frowned in sympathy, but he couldn't wallow in pity for long. Quietly, he retrieved a bucket from under the bed, pulling it closer just enough for quick access.

“Just let me know when… okay?”, he said gently, without taking his eyes off Dainsleif.

The wounded captain simply nodded, weakly, remaining in silence, his eyebrows forming a single crooked line as he grimaced, his pale lips pressed into a thin, almost invisible line.

Aether didn't have anything to say anymore, Dain wasn't paying attention, fighting against the threat of another vomiting spell was taking up all of his strength. The man's cheeks caved in as he swallowed again, his mouth was quickly flooded with saliva that seemed to stick to the walls of his throat as it went down.

There was a hint of denial in him still, trying to breathe carefully through his nose, and ignore the growing metallic taste on his tongue. The way his stomach seemed to be tying itself into a knot, cramping mercilessly as it swirled the few contents inside it. The ties around felt like there were tightening on their own, nearly eating away at his bare skin, adding even more discomfort to his bruised stomach. It burned with a hollowness, but there wasn't a single hint of appetite, he couldn't even think of food without–

“Mmm, guh–”, he gagged, his lips parting when his jaw seemed to contort along with his throat.

The thought of putting anything else in his belly, the pills dissolving inside his stomach, turning into a froth, had his throat spasming around a bubble of air climbing its way up, sitting atop his gullet. He didn't dare to force it out, his belly was already bruised from the previous times, so he waited, carefully guiding it until he was able to belch. The acidic taste it brought had his face crumpling like paper.

“E-Excuse me…”, he murmured, bringing a hand to his mouth when another harsh gag made him squeeze his eyes shut.

There was no denying it, he was going to throw up, and it was foolish of him to think that mixture, as light as it was, would go down without a fight. Most foods didn't, it was one of the many side effects of living for so long, tastes became blander and his stomach grew weaker to them.

Dain weakly started slumping forward, his covers falling away from his bare torso, showing the tight bandages underneath, digging into the curvature of his abdomen. He clung to the bed sheets as he rode out another cramp on his belly, it left him breathless. No matter how much he denied it, his stomach was writhing under his skin, and he could feel, in the harsh gags over his lap, the contents of it tossing, climbing up his throat.

The bed creaked slightly, the mattress sinking to the side, but even with all this tells it still took him a moment to realize Aether had sat on the edge by his side. He was too caught up in his own misery.

Dain tried to say something, in between shallow breaths and weaker gags, but his voice didn't come out at first. Instead, his head sunk as his shoulders jumped, a sudden involuntary heave sending his throat jumping to his chin.

Aether mouthed a small “oh” as the surprise hit him, his hand going to cover his mouth. Dainsleif sunk even further into himself, embarrassment ringing in his ears.

“I-It's okay…”, he whispered, leaning to take one of his hands on his own, but he barely grasped his fingers before he drew back.

Another sounding heave had Dain arching forward, pushing out of him an even more graphic gag, his torso nearly folded. Aether turned to look, wanting to ask for the time, but Paimon had been gone for a while now.

Part of him wanted to just thrust the bucket in Dainsleif's lap, but the other part was waiting for his cue. Desperation seemed to be getting a hold of the man, he could see his abdomen caving along each gag, his balled fist digging a hole in the bed sheets.

Dainsleif endured one more gag, a harsh wet-sounding one that made his throat ache as if it was going to pop out. His hopes finally shattered when he felt bile bubbling at the end of his tongue, and he raised a hand to his mouth, hovering close to it, but even so afraid to touch it.

“N-Now, I'm–”, he forced out, words slurring together almost incomprehensible, and he clasped his mouth shut and muffled another gag. “–mmmffff.”

Aether didn't waste a single second, and quickly turned to the ground, picking up the bucket ready for the occasion. As soon as he passed it to him, Dainsleif gripped it with both hands, letting his mouth fall open as a trickle of dense saliva dripped into it, its consistency oddly close to syrup, maybe even denser.

An empty retch tore out of his throat, echoing inside the empty bucket, but only more saliva dripped out, the sound of it sharp as it hit the bottom. Dainsleif blinked away the heat spreading through his eyes, he wanted to cry, but all he did was shake his head slightly, feeling as if a set of eyes was putting weight on him.

“It's okay”, the traveler repeated, gently settling a hand over Dainsleif's bare back, feeling his palm stick to the layer of sweat on his skin. He nearly winced under the touch but didn't try to fall away from it. "I know it's bad now, but you'll get through this.”

He wanted to protest, but his voice was buried under several layers of shuddering slimy nausea, it just wouldn't come out. His jaw was clenching so harshly it was starting to hurt.

It was almost endearing how worried the traveler sounded, both of them were ancient beings, witness to unfathomable events, and still, he sounded so scared. It was pathetic to think he had been reduced to a sick shivering mess wrapped in bandages but after centuries, keeping any degree of dignity would be a miracle.

�� Aether moved swiftly, getting behind him and gathering his hair away from his face. Despite his short jagged cut, some loose strands had glued themselves to his skin by sweat, and he quickly peeled them off, brushing the pale blonde streaks behind his ears.

Dainsleif must've been sicker than he thought, he flinched when his hand came to rest on his back again, the dizzying nausea only serving to keep his senses on high alert.

He trembled, unable to stop himself from gagging again, this time breaking into a weak retch, but no more than runny saliva came up, dripping from his tongue in a steady trickle. Despite not coming up with anything, the motion had his stomach cramping severely, his eyes squeezing as he endured the pain.

“I'm so sorry… I know I shouldn't have forced you to eat, but…”, the traveler rasped, guilt making his voice break. He tried to soothe him through the cramp, running his hand up and down his back. “I'm sorry…”

“Y-You, ugh”, Dain struggled to get his words out, his voice came from deep in his throat, loaded with disgust. “D-Don't need to… apologize… mmm, guh”, he gulped harshly, a trickle of saliva dripping into the bucket. “It is my own damn fault for– euRrGH.”

He couldn't even finish his sentence. An intense, audible yet empty retch had him squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned into the bucket, his belly clenching so severely it left him breathless.

It was merciless, he could feel each spasm of his inner organs, his stomach cramping as if it was trying to turn itself inside out, squeezing around the little food he had ingested. It wanted out, but it would make him pay dearly for it in the meanwhile.

“Dain?”, the traveler called, his hand going to his shoulder, trying to be gentle as he held him in place. He was starting to slump forward, his muscles sharp under the skin, winding up. “Don't hold back, okay? Just try to get it up.”

Although meaningless, he tried to follow his instruction, and held his mouth open, waiting for a sliver of mercy. One by one, gags poured out of him, saliva flowing out of his mouth in abundance, each one wetter than the one before, until he broke into a retch that scraped the bottom of his throat.

His stomach lurched painfully, finally allowing something of substance to come up, and he gagged once more as an unbearably bitter surge of watery bile coated his tongue, streaming into the bucket without further struggle.

“There you go, keep going…”, Aether coaxed, oh so carefully patting him on the back.

Dain gasped as the stream tapered into a trickle, his back arching as in a blink it turned into a sudden violent gush. The sound of it spraying against the wall of the bucket nearly made him flinch, part of it went over, staining the bed sheets in a watered-down yellow. He blinked in surprise, coughing wetly as that murky corrosive fluid made its way out of his nose, it burned like he wouldn't imagine.

There was already an apology hanging on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't possibly say anything, his stomach didn't give him the chance. It lurched again, slamming against the wall of his abdomen, sending more of its contents up his throat. It was nothing more than liquid, murky off-yellow water laced with small clumps of toast. It formed a small puddle, curdling as it hit the bottom, barely a mouthful of it.

Dainsleif could taste the mint tea on his tongue, mixed with the water and the characteristic chalky taste of medicine. The onion flavor seemed to overpower all of it, it mixed with the stomach acid to create an unholy smell that refused to clear. He gagged again, unable to block it out, and clumsily spat into the bucket, part of it caught in his chin, but he could do little about the growing mess.

Dain felt his stomach give in to nausea once more, lunging upwards, and sending more of its liquified contents up his throat. He didn't do much to resist, simply letting his mouth fall open as a short gush of watery vomit poured out of him in gurgling retches.

“There, there…”, Aether soothed him through the spell, tenderly running a gloved hand up and down his back. “You'll be okay.”

“I… hope so”, he slurred in response, clumsily spitting into the bucket, a grimace pinching his face in disgust as the bitter taste seemed to sting his tongue anew. ”Ugh… disgusting…”

Aether chuckled briefly, giving his back a few gentle pats. The man would tower over him normally, but his torso was bent like an arch, leaving them at almost the same height.

“It's not that bad”, he said with uncertainty, watching his pale sweaty face loom over the bucket, waiting for the threat to be over. “I mean, it's a natural thing…”

Dain parted his lips as if he was about to say something, but he quickly had to close them, his eyes squeezing shut as he rode out another painful cramp, swallowing audibly as he tried to placate the nausea. Aether felt his back heave under his palm, then stiffen, and his cheeks grew as his mouth filled with more vomit.

He tried holding it for a moment, against all instructions Aether had given him. It was a natural thing, but it wasn't necessary… if he only could hold a bit of food in his stomach, he would recover faster, he wouldn't have to go through this. But it was useless, his stomach lurched, sending puke further into his esophagus and finally spraying out his nostrils in a sudden motion, bursting through his lips a second later.

The puke fell all at once into the bucket, coating the walls in a sickening clumpy mixture of what was once tea and toasted bread, it seemed to cling as it stubbornly slid down to join the mess in the bottom. Dain blinked away tears of exhaustion, drool and snot coating his lips, dribbling down in heavy threads.

“UurgHhH—”, Dain retched painfully, the noise tearing through his throat like razor blades, and more vomit came splashing into the bucket. Then another mouthful of it joined the layer already covering the bottom, pieces of onion covered red spots of the tomato paste. It could've been blood and he wouldn't even notice.

He let out a struggling moan, breaking off into weak wet coughs as his stomach kept lurching, but nothing else would come up. Aether watched in silence, trying not to flinch every time a cough would sound sharper than it should.

”Hey…”, he called softly, leaning in to see his face. Dain had tear tracks running down the uncovered side of his face, and he did his best not to bring attention to it as he brushed a few strands of hair off his face. “Think you're done now?”

He simply nodded weakly, sniffling as he ran a hand under his nose, making more of a mess than if he had left it alone. Aether got up from the bed and excused himself as he started undoing the soiled covers.

“Here, let me”, he asked, offering a clean part to wipe his mouth. Dainsleif looked at him questionably but didn't say a thing. Aether added, trying to sound more comforting. “Don't worry, these are going in the wash anyway.”

“If you say so…”, he rasped, shaking his head, but leaned further as the traveler thoroughly cleaned his mouth and nose.

“Listen, Dain, now I need to call someone”, he informed in a grave tone. Dain hummed in accordance, blowing his nose in the bed covers, then pulling away from it to give him a glassy-eyed stare.

“If you… say so”, he repeated, bringing a hand to his mouth as he swallowed the taste of rot. “I wish I could say this would just pass after a rest, but… it won't work a second time.”

Aether bundled the sheets around the soiled part, holding it over his belly as he shot Dain a sympathetic look.

“Do you want some water to settle your stomach first?”, he offered, uncertainty still hanging in his tone. He wasn't surprised when the man shook his head, his hand never leaving his mouth. “Not even to rinse out the taste?”

“That… that would be good”, he responded weakly, looking at the bucket for a second, then frowning. “Could you take this away? The smell is…”

“Sure, of course”, Aether took the bucket by the rim with one hand, trying to ignore how its contents sloshed inside. “Do you think you'll need it again?”

“I hope not”, he mustered a small chuckle, his hand dropping away from his face now that the offending smell was far enough. “I… don't think I have anything else left, but I shouldn't risk it.”

“I'll be back in a minute with a clean one for you”, the traveler said, trying to sound a little more optimistic, but Dainsleif didn't return the enthusiasm. He couldn't blame him.

He turned for the door, trying to keep a good grip on the side of the bucket, keeping his steps steady enough not to jostle the contents around and get vomit on his glove.

When Aether returned, with a rinsed-out bucket and a cup of cold water, there was a new face in the room. Dainsleif had laid back on the bed, his head turned to the guest. A shivering hand resting over his bare stomach, trying to soothe it with slow careful rubs, while Paimon hovered close to him, unsure of what to do.

“Traveler, 30 minutes have passed!”, she informed him in a tone that shed concern. “Paimon's guessing the medicine didn't work…”

Aether simply did a no with his head, placing the bucket by the bed, the cup on the nightstand, then sitting at the edge of it.

“I'll leave you alone for a bit, okay? While I go get the doctor”, he told Dainsleif, running a few fingers over his hand, but he just nodded, eyes fixed somewhere in the ceiling. “Let's go, Paimon.”

As Aether carefully closed the door behind himself, he couldn't help but bite his lip thinking of how miserable Dainsleif looked. But now what he needed wasn't pity, no, all he needed was someone to take care of him, and Aether was glad it ended up being him.

#emeto #emetophilia #vomiting #food mention #whump #nausea #gen/shin imp/act #gen/shin imp/act dain/sleif #gen/shin imp/act aet/her #platonic caretaking #read as platonic only #hurt and comfort #then hurt again #tw vomit #tw injury mention #dana//emeto fic #my writing

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

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Do you think that making Chinese food is cultural appropriation? I'm white and started making some of the foods I saw in the shows I've watched since the untamed, but now I'm worried I'm appropriating the culture.

Hi anon,

As a fellow white person, I am also someone who needs to critically reflect on how I engage with different cultures. I can't give you the definitive answer you seek, the clear absolution from any potential wrongdoings; in its stead, I can only offer to share my current thought process on this topic. I’d still encourage you to seek other perspectives, and many people have written or spoken on this topic.

I believe we must first acknowledge that, on the terrain of the internet, discussions regarding cultural appropriation have reached a certain... extreme where some people view all forms of cultural exchanges as inherently suspect. They purport that so long as you stay within the bounds of ‘your’ culture, you will problematic behaviours. That perspective is inherent flawed. That is, it relies on a vision of culture as ‘bounded entities’ that exist in themselves. In reality, the ‘stuff’ that makes culture is emergent, existing only relationally, dialectically--it is a not a ‘thing’ that moves through time but an idea which is constantly negotiated and reproduced in relation to power and changing material realities to remain relevant and intelligible. The boundaries of cultural and ethnic groups are fuzzy, overlapping, and constantly being reworked and made meaningful. As an illustration, many of the food I grew up eating was influenced by ingredients and recipes immigrants brought in the 19th and 20th centuries, yet these dishes were understood as 'typically ours’. And it needs to be acknowledged that most of what is currently considered ‘white people food’ relies on ingredients that were introduced to our diet through colonialism and the violent dispossession of indigenous peoples (and, often, the current day exploitation of workers in the South and of migrant workers). No food can be truly ‘traditionally ours’, whatever the purported ‘we’ ends up being brought into the equation, and no eating behaviours can avoid the historical legacy and continuity of violence and power.

Of course, as people who exist in the world, we know that there are cultural differences. Bakhtin’s insights on language through the tensions between centripedal (ie towards uniformity, a common meaning) and centrifugal (toward diversity and change) forces can be expanded to help us conceptualise how we make sense of the way a ‘culture’ is perpetuated through time as something meaningful in our daily lives. Uniformity allows intelligibility, sense-making, but diversity and change are inescapable by-products of individuals and groups repeatedly going through life, meeting and trying to create intelligibility and sense together in a world that cannot stay the same. It is at the intersection of these two conflicting forces that something can be different yet considered the same--that we can create continuity out of change. But something perhaps less emphasized in Bakhtin’s discussions is how much power and material realities work on these forces. Power influences both centripedal and centrifugal forces, if only in orchestrating circumstances that shape how one encounters ‘different cultures’ or reproduces their 'own' culture.

We live at a moment where the world seems to have reached an apex of connectivity--where goods, people, ideas (and viruses) move across distance and borders at speeds that defy comprehension. Yet the way goods, people and ideas move (through which canals and systems? in which direction? to the benefits of whom? at the expense of whom? to what reception or use? in the service of which institutions and ideologies?) or are, inversely, incapable or unwilling to move, is influenced by power and material realities. It is inescapable.

In a roundabout way, what I’m trying to say is that it's useless to try to live life in 'your lane' by turning to a baseline 'culture' because we simply do not have a baseline culture to return to that is 'safe' from the influences of other cultures or the taint of the historical legacy and continuity of violence. So how do I personally reconcile that with how I engage with content that is produced from different cultural contexts, and how I engage with cooking food that is influenced by different cultural contexts? For me the guidelines I take into consideration are respect, attribution and avoiding forms of dehumanisation. These emerged out of witnessing how other white people have acted as well as critically reflecting on how I have acted in the past, and trying to do better (including of course, by listening to different perspectives on the topic). [just in case, warning for examples of racism/micro-agressions] I've been in China with white people who would praise the cooking we were eating in the same breath they were making jokes about dog meat. I've witnessed in Japan a dude decide not to come to an izakaya with Japanese colleagues, fucking off on his own to Akihabara instead, because he was disappointed he couldn’t talk about anime with them--too obsessed with the idealised version of Japan he’d created in his head to treat the Japanese people he met as people. The internet is full of white people telling you how to cook food from places they've never been and taking credit for 'popularising' that dish or 'making it better'. That's not even talking about the tendency for food to become a mark of a cosmopolitan, metropolitan identity in the West--the open-minded, the liberal, the traveler, the hip white person up with the times and beyond the mainstream. Hell, I've even seen people who act as if eating ‘ethnic’ food prepared by immigrants is the singular proof that they were people who cared about immigrants' well-being.

Food is rarely just about food, even when consumed at home. At the same time, we’d be remiss in all these discussions of power to dismiss how food is also one of oldest things we, as humans, want to share with others--including strangers. Feeding is nourishing and giving, eating is accepting into ourselves something made by others. Most people appreciate it when the value of a dish that holds importance for them is recognised by others--although, of course, many might understandably also resent that they have been discriminated against or mocked for eating that same food. Every time I’ve been invited in an immigrant household or at events with mostly immigrants, I’ve felt this sense of almost trepidation emanating from them, waiting for my reaction, and satisfaction once I was seen eating and appreciating the food they had served me--as if the acceptance of the food that was tied to their identity was a form of acceptance of who they were. Of course this can’t be disentangled from past experiences where other people might have been disrespectful, dismissive or outright racist: but the excitement they had in sharing food that had meaning to them and seeing others appreciate it was genuine.

Beyond situations of clear cultural sharing, where we get closer to what appears to be ‘cultural appropriation’, I believe that we cannot act as if there is something inherently sacrilegious in the idea of adapting recipes or using a specific ingredients in new ways--that’s centrifugal forces at play, and they have provided us with many dishes we love today: from immigrant creations like butter chicken to things like spicy kimchi. We cannot work with the assumption that people will only react with hostility at the idea of other people cooking the food they grew with, even in ways that are different from how they’re traditionally used and are thus “not authentic”. I still remember an interaction I had in a Korean grocery store, once upon a time when I lived in a metropolitan city. A man in front of me at the cash register who had been buying snacks and chatting with the employee in Korean looked at my stuff and suddenly asked me if I knew the name of the leafy green I was buying. I wasn’t necessarily surprised because I had overheard in the past customers and employees commenting in Korean about being surprised about the ingredients I, a white person, was purchasing, thinking I couldn’t understand them. I confirmed to him that I knew I was buying mustard greens. He then asked me what I was planning to do with them, and I explained that while I didn’t think it’s a traditional or common way of using it, I personally liked to add them to kimchi jjigae because it compliments their bitter/strong taste and I like leafy greens in my soups and stews. He said it was interesting, and that he was kind of impressed. The employee chimed to tell me I should be honoured at the compliment because the man was actually a chef who owned famous Korean fusion restaurants in the city. That was clearly someone who took Korean food very seriously and clearly had a certain degree of suspicion regarding how white people interacted with it, but he was also curious and interested in seeing how I approached ingredients without having grown up eating them.

Another point of contention is also that we cannot ignore that food is a sensual experience and that, while tastes are greatly influenced by our environment, they are not solely so. I grew up hating most of the food my parents would serve me, and started cooking in my early teens to avoid having to eat it. Before I started cooking, I would often just eat rice with (in hindsight horrible) western-brand soy sauce instead of the meal my mom had made. When I ate Indian food for the first time during a trip at the ripe age of 16, it blew my mind that food could taste like this. Of course I never wanted to look back, and with each years I discovered that a lot of Asian cuisines fit my palate better than what I grew up eating or other cuisines I had tried. When I was a teenager we visited my mom’s friend in France and I hated what she served us so much I’d simply choose to nibble on bread, prompting her to try to stage an intervention for my ‘obvious’ anorexia. Yet, being in China made me realise ingredients I thought I hated had just been cooked in ways I disliked. Do my taste buds absolve me from any need to think critically about how I interact with food? Of course not. But sometimes the reason we want to cook certain recipes and foods is just that it tastes great to us, and we want to reproduce the recipes we enjoyed with the ingredients and the skills we have. Or, really, sometimes we just want to try new tastes because we do a lot of eating throughout our lives, and it seems a waste to limit ourselves to a narrow number of dishes for decades to come.

So that’s where I currently am in my thinking about this topic, as a white person who cooks dishes influenced by a number of different places but who is also not trying to cook in a way that is necessarily authentic. Some things that I keep in mind that you can ask yourself now that cdramas and cnovels have made you interested in Chinese cooking is: are you taking this as an opportunity to support immigrant businesses when getting your ingredients? are you supporting white creators when looking for chinese recipes (some suggestion of youtube channels: Made with Lau, Chinese cooking Demystified, Family in Northwest China, 西北小强 Xibeixiaoqiang, 小高姐的 Magic Ingredients)? are you being respectful (not reproducing harmful stereotypes in how you talk about chinese food and the people who eat it)? do you use your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about China and Chinese people that denies them, in some way, of their complexity and humanity? are you using your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about yourself?

In conclusion I will leave you with a picture of some misshapen baozi I’ve made.

#anon ask #caution: word vomit ahead

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wellsayhelloaagin · 2 years

Text

New Life

Summary: Meet the love of your life- check. Fall in love and get married- check. Start a family together- ...

Pairing: Wanda x reader

Genre: Angst

Words: 2k

Warnings: This is fluff up until the last section, so proceed after that with caution. Mentions of vomiting, some (unrealistic) medical talk, and mentions of a terminal illness.

“Stop trying to peak, it’s not time yet.”

You send your wife a sheepish grin, knowing that she had caught you. You glance at the timer on your phone, groaning when you see that there are still three minutes left.

“Sorry,” you reply with a shrug. “I’m just impatient.”

“I know,” Wanda tells you, wrapping her arms around you in an attempt to ease your anxious mind. “But we’ve been waiting for months already, a few more minutes won’t kill you.”

You relax into her embrace, trying to calm your racing mind as the seconds drag on. You breathe in the familiar scent of peaches as you rest your head in the crook of her neck and feel a wave of comfort wash over you.

Even after all these years, something as simple as a hug from her had the ability to calm you down.

Before long, your phone starts to chime. Wanda pulls back from the hug, looking at you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Just remember,” she reminds you with a serious look on her face, “no matter what we still have each other. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you echo, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves before you glance down.

The white plastic sits there on the counter, the single line mocking you. You feel yourself deflate and you try to hide the disappointment you can feel inside.

“Negative,” you say, your voice catching in your throat as the frustration rolls through you.

“Maybe next month?” Wanda offers hopefully and you can only nod in agreement.

Your life had become a pattern of anticipation followed by disappointment over the past few months, ever since you and your wife had decided to start a family.

Things had been so exciting at first, selecting the perfect donor and monitoring Wanda’s cycle to make sure she had the best chance of falling pregnant. When the first few tests had come back negative you hadn’t been surprised, knowing that it wasn’t something that was likely to happen straight away.

But the months kept coming and each test was showing the same results. You tried not to let it show but you were becoming more discouraged every time you saw the single line staring back at you.

You knew that Wanda was starting to worry as well. She was often seen with her head in a book or diving deep into research on her laptop, trying to find any sliver of information that could help your goal. There was a complete change to her diet and prenatal vitamins were a constant fixture on your shopping list. Wanda was determined and nothing would stand in her way.

You could sense her fear though and you knew that she was concerned that maybe she wouldn't fall pregnant despite the assurance from her doctor that she was perfectly healthy and that these things just take time.

You knew how desperate she was to carry your child into the world, so any offer for you to be the one to fall pregnant would be pointless.

So there you were, stuck in the endless cycle, every negative test a blow.

“If this one doesn’t work, we might have to explore other options.”

The sentence takes you by surprise and you look over at Wanda, her eyes trained on the road ahead of her as she sits in the passenger seat.

You were on your way to her appointment, something that had almost become a chore by this point. You could feel your hope dwindling every time you drove to the clinic and you knew that she could sense it too.

“Well let’s not decide anything until we get the results for this one,” you return, unsure of what else to say.

Wanda doesn’t press the subject, remaining silent throughout the rest of the drive. You start to worry, the excitement that usually filled her was replaced by a quiet reserve. You hated what this was doing to your wife and to your marriage.

Maybe it was time to think of a plan B, it had been over a year after all.

You send up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that this time it all works out; if only to see the carefree smiles return to your wife’s face.

The next week passes as normal. Days filled with busy work schedules and time spent together. The strain was still there, your normal lazy Sunday feeling more forced than usual.

And then one morning, you’re awoken by Wanda rushing from the bed before the sun had even risen. You sit up in bed, unsure of what was going on, your half-asleep brain trying to make sense of things.

It’s only when you hear the sound of retching from the bathroom that you start to wake up properly, stumbling from the bedroom to find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach.

You crouch beside her, offering her a comforting hand on her back as she continues to heave for a few more minutes. Once her stomach is finally emptied, she leans back to rest against the wall, her face flushed and brow sweaty.

You push back the hair that had stuck to her damp forehead with a frown on your face, trying to feel for her temperature.

“Must have been that burrito I ordered from that dodgy food truck last night,” she grimaces, before rising to rinse her mouth out.

“Yeah, must be,” you agree.

Except it happens again the next morning.

And the morning after that.

By the fourth day, you can see the hope returning to her eyes. Despite her constant nausea, you see the twinkle of excitement in the jade green and you can’t help the spark of joy that had settled in your heart.

“Do you think-?” she asks you from her position against the wall after yet again spending the morning hunched over the toilet.

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug.

You help her to her feet, placing some toothpaste onto her toothbrush for her as she rinses her mouth out. While she busies herself with brushing her teeth, you rummage in the drawers to find one of the many pregnancy tests you had stashed there.

You hand it to her and she takes a breath, her shoulders squaring in determination.

“Wish me luck,” she grins as you leave the room.

You pace outside the door as you wait, your phone clutched in your hand ready to start the timer.

“Okay,” you hear her say as she opens the door, her expression filled with nerves. “Start the clock.”

You lead her over to sit on the edge of the bed, the pregnancy test placed between you as you sit there with clasped hands. Neither of you say anything for the full five minutes you have to wait, the air thick with anticipation.

You jump when your phone sounds, the noise cutting through the silence of the air. You look at Wanda, bringing your joined hand to your lips and kissing the back of her hand.

“1..” she begins, her hands shaking slightly.

“2…” you continue, your heart pounding in your chest.

“3!” you finish together, both your eyes looking down at the little white stick resting on top of the covers.

Two pink lines stare back at you.

It had been a whirlwind few days and you felt like you were floating on cloud nine.

You had never seen Wanda happier, she looked like she was positively glowing. Her smiles had returned and you felt like your life was back on track again. You found yourself constantly touching her still flat stomach, marveling at the fact that there was a baby growing inside of her.

Your baby.

You were trying not to get too excited, constantly reminding yourself and your wife that it could have been a false positive. You didn’t want to bring her mood down but you also didn’t want her to get too ahead of herself, at least until you had a chance to confirm it with the doctor.

She just laughed at you, calling you a pessimist and blind before listing off half a dozen symptoms that convinced her she was right. Tiredness, nausea, heartburn, back pain. She ticked them all off on her fingers before pulling you into a kiss and telling you to stop worrying.

So there you sat, awaiting the results of the official test. They had taken some blood samples before Wanda had been taken away for an ultrasound.

You thought that was a little strange, surely they would be able to tell from the blood test alone. But they were the medical professionals so you decided not to question it too much.

You were sitting next to Wanda, your chair pulled as close to hers as possible. Your leg was bouncing in anticipation and you felt her rest her hand over your knee.

“Relax,” she tells you, leaning over to press her lips to yours briefly. “It’ll all be fine.”

The doctor chose that moment to walk in, closing the door behind her and taking a seat across from the two of you. You didn’t like the solemn expression on her face, your stomach beginning to sink as she takes a deep breath.

“Thank you for coming in today,” she begins and you try to detect a hint of happiness in her voice.

You find none.

“We took the blood test to confirm the result of your at-home pregnancy test earlier, as you’re both aware.”

“And?” Wanda cuts in and you know she can sense the unease of the room.

“There were a few anomalies,” the doctor answers and your heart stops beating for a moment.

“We wanted to be sure so we ran the ultrasound. There’s no easy way to say this, Wanda, but it appears as though you have ovarian cancer. We have to do a few more tests to be sure but it looks to be quite a late stage. It might explain why you have been having such a hard time falling pregnant and it can also explain some of the symptoms you were experiencing.”

You had never heard a room so silent as you did when the doctor stopped speaking. You were sure you had stopped breathing and maybe Wanda had too, her previous grip on your hand was now loose as the shock washed over you both.

You look over at her to find her already looking at you, nothing but fear in her eyes. You watch as they start to brim with tears and you can’t think of anything to say to make it better. You feel as though your entire world had shifted and you didn’t know how to make it right again.

“What kind of treatment options are there?” you ask when you finally find your voice, the hoarse whisper sounding nothing like your usual voice.

“We’d have to get a proper prognosis but unfortunately it looks like it has spread to your other organs. We can try radiation but it looks like our best course of action would be to make you as comfortable as possible.” The doctor hardly meets your eyes as she speaks, your grip on reality faltering as you process her words.

Tears were silently falling down Wanda’s face and you felt utterly useless. You should have taken her to be checked out sooner, instead, you had wasted over a year hoping for the best when you could have been fighting the illness inside of her.

You can see your future slipping away. The future where you and Wanda grow old together, raising a family and spending your days by each other's side.

You think back to a few hours ago when that future had seemed like a possibility. You remember the wide smile on Wanda’s face, the way her eyes shone with love for you. Now they only reflected your terror of what was to come.

You were supposed to be bringing a new life into this world and instead, she was about to lose hers.

Taglist: @olsensnpm @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @marrymemcgrath @yeetus-thyself @royalityofmultifandom @reminiscingtonight @madamevirgo @marvelwomen-simp @lucydiibi @fazebaconneggs @when-wolves-howl @lostandsearching @bentleywolf29 @peabrain112 @imasimpfornatashamaximoff @chaekhan @chelleztjs18 @vancityfire13 @xxromanoffxx @tthucydidess @dandelions4us @natslittlebunny @pixiedustandpetals @stealth-kittyy @b-5by5 @catasha @thought-of-you-and-me @abimess @justbelova @atlas-nex @avery-romanoff @majorsun7833 @eilarch @onetruwhore @peter3iscool

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda angst #wanda maximoff angst #s writes stuff

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chill-bunn-sage · 2 years

Text

✨Welcome everyone!✨

Well, time for a pinned post :D

-inhales deeply-

SO! Hi, welcome to my FFXIV blog that’s here to scream about MSQ, post screenies of my WoL, and some light RP and headcanon word vomit when I have the spoons for it!

Y’all can call me Kryss or Aster, and my goober Krysanthe is mostly just… a bunn. A goof. A silly lore-compliant self-insert lmao.

I love her and would break the world for her. She’s just trying her best and keeps getting in situations!

Now that that’s outta the way, Here are the ground rules:

I am over the age of 21. If you’re under the age of 21, do not follow me. Not for any nsfw reasons, I’m just very old and tired.

I will usually tag spoilers to err on caution, but if you think I missed something just send me an ask.

Any questions asked about my WoL will be answered IC for her. I love me some character development questions.

I mainly keep my RP regulated to here and in-game, and if you wanna friend me in-game, go ahead 👍🏽

If you have any kinda beef with me, just lemme know.

Also here’s her carrd: [X]

And that’s it! Lemme know if you guys have any questions and if you guys read my pinned post, thanks for taking the time to do it!

Edit: Ah, in case y’all are interested in learning a little more about the bunn, her journal entries are here in case you ever want to give her a read

Edit 2: forgot I changed my carrd URL but the link works now aaaaaa!!!

#chill-bunn-sage #;;krysanthe zaivicelle #ffxiv rp

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens one-shot - “When God Closes a Door, She Opens a Window, But It's Up to You to Find It” (Rated T)

Summary: Crowley goes through unconventional lengths to escape a bad blind date...

... and ends up finding an angel in an unexpected place. (2770 words)

Notes: This is a re-write of an older story, but I think I like this version better. Human au. Fluffy as heck. CW: If you get squicked out by being covered in food trash, proceed with caution.

Read on AO3.

"Bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... " Crowley mutters as she paces back and forth, simmering behind her eyeballs with so much anxiety she's about to tear her hair out by the roots. The only plan she can come up with to solve her current dilemma grows hotly in her mind, but she's searching for something - ANYTHING! - to take its place.

Maybe something along the lines of acting like an adult, womaning up, and admitting this isn’t going to work? Be upfront about it and say it to the man’s face, for Heaven's sake! 'Go on, Crowley!' she thinks. 'Go ahead! One foot in front of the other. Steady on! You can do this!'

But she’s become so tired of the grind – going to bars, faithfully tending her online dating profile, endless blind dates set up by well-meaning friends, the rejecting and the rejections. She can’t face one more. It physically hurts, knots her stomach muscles until the pain turns her world monochromatic.

Crowley had had high hopes for this one, too. Her date Steven is the new doctor of the boy she nannies. He and Crowley have plenty in common – a love of theater and fine dining, and an appreciation for fashion. Crowley thought dating a pediatrician would be fascinating. After summarizing the pertinent details of her own life, perhaps her date would talk about getting through medical school, toss in a few whimsical stories about the joys (quote/unquote) of working with children - baby’s first shots where the parents cried more than the infant, or the tale of a precocious little girl who demanded he put a Band-Aid on her teddy before he helped her (the way Crowley's young charge had with his first doctor when he was around three). They could swap war stories, bond in that way.

But Steven’s favorite part of his profession is pediatric surgery, and, unfortunately, he loves to talk shop. Every morsel of conversation has been inappropriate for dinner and graphic in nature - appendectomy this and tonsillectomy that, abscesses and pus and untreated sores - until Crowley’s face turned as green as her salad and she couldn’t look at her steak anymore.

Neither could their neighbors, who flagged down a passing waiter and requested a new table. They've been sat near the kitchen, which most diners would loathe, but they look heaps happier.

Crowley excused herself as delicately as she could and raced to the loo, needing to escape any more gruesome talk.

That was over fifteen minutes ago.

She’s trapped with no way out.

She pictures the layout of the restaurant in her head. There has to be a back way in and out of this place. All restaurants have an exit through the kitchen, right? But the toilet, the kitchen, and the front door are all in full view of their table. Steven is sure to spot her sneaking out no matter how stealthy she is.

Crowley turns on the cold water and splashes her face, scolding herself to think, think, think! She’s an intelligent woman. She can come up with a way out of this. Could she phone someone to come down to the restaurant and make an excuse for her? Not likely, not on short notice. Her friends Anathema and Newt wouldn't be able to find a sitter - ironic, seeing as Crowley is a nanny, and if the tables were turned, she'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

Could she phone her employers, ask Mrs. Dowling to claim an emergency at home? No. She doesn't want to get them tangled up in her personal woes, especially when they concern a man they think of so highly.

She could look up one of those services that make fake calls to your cell phone to get you out of sticky situations, but that would mean going back out there to make the ruse believable. And from the way her hands lock around the lip of the basin every time she thinks about taking a step outside the door, she knows that isn’t happening.

Crowley looks at herself in the mirror, looks into her eyes, and reminds herself to calm down. Slow her breathing. She’ll find a solution.

And suddenly, there it is.

In the reflection of the mirror, she sees what might be her only way out.

A window.

The only window in there, propped open enough that she’d be able to fit through.

It’s kind of high, sort of narrow, and definitely a last resort. But what other choice does she have?

Loads, in reality. It just doesn't feel like it.

But does she really have to resort to jumping out a window? She’s already been in there for (she checks her watch and her eyes open wide) twenty-five minutes! And her date hasn’t come to check on her once. Maybe the man got the hint and left (hopefully after paying what should be close to a hundred-pound check).

Crowley tests her luck, opening the door a sliver, praying silently don’t be there, don’t be there, don’t be there...

But there is no God - not one on her side, anyway - because there sits Dr. Steven Malory, talking to the waiter, telling him about another fascinating surgical procedure. He makes an exaggerated cutting motion across his stomach with a butter knife. The poor waiter, weighed down by a tray of soup bowls, nods politely, but looks like he may vomit in the tureen.

She winces. That poor waiter. Who knows how many times he's been called upon to lend an ear since her absence, or how many more times he'll be forced to endure another gory tale before Dr. Malory realizes she's gone. She peeks over her shoulder at the window, then back to the table, where Steven has his phone out, Googling something to the waiter's dismay. She slowly closes the door and backs away.

Window it is.

Crowley shelves the nagging feeling that she's perpetuating the most pathetic trope in the dating world and starts constructing a platform. There’s not much available – a small stepstool underneath the sink; a short, square, plastic rubbish bin that looks less than steady; another taller rubbish bin, dented along one side, looking like someone else already used it to make a break for freedom; and the toilet and basin, both miles away and completely unmovable.

Crowley does some quick engineering in her head and figures that if she turns the small bin over onto the stepstool, she might gain the height she needs to grab the lip of the window and hoist herself up, which would eliminate using the dented bin. She doesn’t like the odds that she won’t slip, fall, and crack her head open. She’s not so much worried about doing any permanent damage, but of having to explain to her date why she’s lying on the floor, covered in trash, and bleeding profusely.

With her luck, he'll giddily insist on stitching up any gashes, drawing a crowd of bystanders around to watch.

Crowley pushes the stool up against the wall with her foot. She dumps the trash from the small bin into its larger counterpart and sets it on the stool, centering it as best she can to keep it from sliding. With a hand on the wall for support, she puts a foot on the bin and attempts to pull herself up. It wobbles back and forth, then gives one backward lurch that nearly sends Crowley flying.

She determines quickly that this isn’t going to work the way she had planned and makes a desperate leap for the window, using all her upper body strength to get her halfway through.

Crowley shudders when the cold air hits her skin, shocked by the drop in temperature, but mostly from fear of death. She looks down.

A huge mistake on her part.

A horribly placed streetlamp keeps her from seeing into the alley, but she’s pretty sure she remembers a dumpster underneath this window. She had parked her Bentley in the lot across the way and saw it on the walk in. She looks out into the rows of cars and spots her vehicle. She sighs with relief.

Now she’s a little more sure, but still not 100%.

Worst case scenario, she lands in food muck, probably not rotten since it’s still actively dinner, and ruins an expensive designer outfit.

Of course, that’s not actually the worst-case scenario, is it? Worst case scenario, she misses the dumpster altogether, hits the pavement, and breaks her leg, but she’s determined to remain optimistic. At this moment, when her anxiety-ridden brain has her convinced that the only logical route out is through this flippin' window, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.

She swings her right leg over, grateful that she chose slacks over a skirt tonight, till she’s straddling the narrow sill, bent in half by the metal lip of the window frame. She balances there, the dull edge digging into her sternum, her belly, and her crotch, but she can’t make herself jump.

She’ll need to trick herself into it.

She forces herself to relax, teeter-tottering back and forth, not dwelling on the possible outcome, just trying to work her way to the right far enough that she knocks herself off-kilter.

Fate lends a hand in the form of a drunken passerby yelling, “Oi! Oi, lookie there! There’s a big bird... human... thing hanging out that window!”

Crowley panics, afraid she's about to be mistaken for someone breaking into a busy restaurant and not out. She fumbles, flails, starts falling head first, scrambles to get a hold. She hears a distant, “No! No, wait!” as her fingers slip. There are three seconds of cold wind and a sinking feeling in her stomach before she lands on her bum, thankfully in the dumpster, surrounded by the smell of not-too-rank food, the squish of something under her body that she thinks might be mashed cauliflower...

... and a scream.

“Ouch!”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry!”

Crowley yelps when her body lifts, something extraordinarily strong underneath pushing her up. She reaches around the slippery mess and wet plastic bags, struggling to pull herself off whoever is in the rubbish under her while trying to ignore the gravy seeping into her slacks, or the rice pilaf embedding itself beneath her freshly glossed fingernails. She knows she's broken two at minimum.

How much worse could this evening get?

“I’m sorry!” Crowley scrambles to her knees, crawls away a few feet. “I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s alright, my dear.” A voice underneath her chuckles, its owner emerging from a layer of poached fish and au gratin potatoes.

Crowley turns in time to catch a glimpse as they move into the light. A woman wearing a vintage-inspired emerald gown covered in Hollandaise sauce and ranch dressing smiles sheepishly at her. The white light overhead gives a halo effect to her silvery-blonde hair, and her blue eyes almost glow.

She's quite breathtaking.

“I thought I had reserved a private dumpster,” she jokes. “I’ll need to have a word with the maître de."

Crowley stares at her, stunned. “I… I don’t understand. What are you doing in here?”

“I suspect I might be here for the same reason as you,” she says, wiping mayonnaise off her hand before offering it to Crowley. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. I’m sorry I landed on you.” She takes Aziraphale’s hand, forgetting to wipe hers off before and smushing creamed spinach between them. Crowley groans in embarrassment, but Aziraphale laughs.

“No worries.” Aziraphale doesn't let go immediately the way Crowley thought she would, her smile becoming brighter the longer she holds on. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened all evening.”

“So... I take it you’re running away from a bad date, too, huh?” Crowley asks, regretting when Aziraphale finally lets go.

“I'm afraid so.” Aziraphale glances down with a long sigh. “A friend set me up, but I swear, the only men she knows are unemployed, torpid, and skeevy.”

“Wow. That’s some A-plus word usage right there.”

“Yes, well, the written word is my passion."

“Does that mean you're the one who wrecked the silver rubbish bin?"

“Did I?” Aziraphale looks up at the window and grimaces. “I should probably offer to replace that then, shouldn't I? What about you?” Aziraphale turns her soft blue eyes back Crowley's way. “How bad was your date going?”

“I can now perform an appendectomy with my eyes shut.”

“Yikes. I take it that’s not a turn-on for you?”

“Not in the slightest. I appreciate medicine as much as the next gal, but I’d rather not know the gritty details." Crowley stares at Aziraphale until Aziraphale notices, then the two look away, blushing like giggly teenagers flirting in a coffee shop instead of two adults stuck in the trash. Crowley can't help herself. Regardless of the stench of curdled butter and cheese that will probably be with her for life, Aziraphale is a calming presence. And she looks like an angel. An honest-to-God angel!

And Crowley found her in the trash.

What are the odds?

“You know, we might want to get out of here before anyone else drops in,” Aziraphale suggests, rising to her feet and lending Crowley a hand.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees. "Guess that's my night over. Though... " She looks down at her blouse and trousers, positively caked with sweet potatoes, chicken grease, tomato sauce, and chutney "... I’m not looking forward to driving home like this.”

"How far do you have to go?"

"I'm in Mayfair."

"Oh!" Aziraphale gasps. "Isn't that a lovely part of town?"

"I enjoy it," Crowley replies, never having felt quite so proud to live in Mayfair as she does in this moment. "And you?"

"I have a shop in SoHo."

"Lucky. You're just a hop, skip, and a jump, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am... " Aziraphale chews the inside of her cheek as her words hang, balanced in the air between stopping a thought or continuing it. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but if you come back to my shop, I have a shower. We could clean up there... " Aziraphale sputters when Crowley's eyebrow arcs sharply upward. "S-separately, of course! A-and order in some pie. I know a great spot nearby. I dare say they have the best pie in the world! And they deliver.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” Crowley says, wary of taking Aziraphale up on her invitation. Garbage notwithstanding, meeting her has definitely been an improvement to the way things were going.

"I might have something that would work for you." Aziraphale sizes Crowley up, but not in a creepy way. In a surprisingly nurturing way. "It would be nice to salvage the evening, don't you think?"

"It would." But one disastrous date is plenty for the night. Should Crowley jump straight to another with a woman she met in a dumpster? Then again, it would be wrong for her to assume that spending time with Aziraphale would be disastrous. Plus the story of how they met is way too fantastic to waste on self-doubt.

Crowley took a chance on jumping out a window with only hope to guide her. She’d be stupid not to take a chance on this.

“Sure,” Crowley says, confident with her decision. “Your car or mine?” The words slip out before she considers the fact that she's talking about her baby. A vintage car that she, due to an extreme case of sheer luck, has been the sole owner of. She won't even wear muddy shoes in her car. Or rayon! On top of her own ruined outfit, which will need to be dry cleaned twice and then set on fire, if she lets Aziraphale in her car, she'll have two sloppy, food-stained seats that she’ll need to have scoured.

Maybe Aziraphale will laugh her off and offer to take her own car. Why would she want to leave it behind, anyway?

“Oh, I didn't drive,” Aziraphale says, looking down sadly at her own destroyed dress. “I took the bus.”

Crowley's heart clenches. There's that decision made. There's no way she's going to suggest Aziraphale take the bus while Crowley drives her car. She just prays that, with time, her baby will forgive her.

“My car it is then.” Crowley loops her arm covered in soup through Aziraphale’s arm covered in whipped cream and leads the way. Aziraphale smiles, holds Crowley's arm a wee bit tighter, and Crowley becomes certain this new development will be worth the money she'll spend detailing her car in the morning.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable wives #ineffable idiots #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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forgotten-daydreamer · 4 years

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Haikyuu sick/hurt characters headcanons: Karasuno edition!

⚠️ sickness, injuries, phobias, allergies and correlated symptoms ahead. If these themes upset you, proceed with caution. If you use these, credit me, please. ⚠️

Sawamura Daichi:

He doesn't let anyone know when he's sick. He'll show up to practise with a fever of 39°C and say that he's fine if someone points out how warm he is ("It's just overextertion. If you're not warm, it means you haven't been exercising well!")

He doesn't actually believe that he's fine, he knows his limits, but he just doesn't want to alarm anyone.

Luckily, he always manages to hold on until he reaches the bathroom if he's feeling pukey.

When he does get sick, he's very quiet and discreet. He always tries to go back to what he was doing before, insisting that he's okay.

When he's sick or hurt, the other third-years can see through his "I'm okay!" act (remember that time he hit his head and insisted that he was fine to play?), and know how miserable he really feels, so they force him to take it easyー he's no match for Suga, who will use mild violence if that's what it takes to make Daichi give up and rest.

Sugawara Kōshi:

He's anemic, cue to his constantly cold hands (and feet). Because of this, he takes iron pillsー or he should, because he forgets more often than not.

When he forgets the pills, he gets dizzy and weak, and needs to sit down for a bit. Once, he passed out due to anemia during practise, and he doesn't want to repeat that ever again, so he's extra cautious.

It's easy to understand when he's feverish, because he gets unexpectedly sleepy and quiet. He will fall asleep in class without even realising it if his temperature's any higher than 37,5°C.

He rarely gets hurt, but when that happens nobody's sure if he's okay or not. It's not that he denies it, but he simply doesn't say anything ("why didn't you say anything sooner!?" "B-because you didn't ask..?")

Once, he twisted his ankle and walked on it for a little less than thirty minutes before actually asking the coach if he could go get himself some ice. Of course, they didn't send him to get the icepack, but he had to sit there and listen as Coach Ukai yelled at him for not speaking up sooner.

Azumane Asahi:

He gets anxiety-induced stomach aches very often, and that's why he's used to feeling dizzy and to puking. Vomit doesn't scare him anymore.

Whenever he's sick, he runs away from the others; he needs to flee, far away. He loves his teammates, but he's scared that they'll accidentally overwhelm him further, and he doesn't want them to feel guilty.

This man can't stand the sight of blood. Like, at all, not even a little. Not even in movies. When Shimizu got a shallow paper cut, the Coach actually had to physically support him when getting him seated on a bench.

He broke his left index finger when he was a first-year, and as soon as he saw the bone sticking out of the skin (it looked worse than what it really was) he fell backwards and on a very concerned Sugawara without a word.

Cue to lots of tears and puke on the way to the hospital. He was inconsolable, but when Daichi had the idea to hide the injury from his eyes, Asahi managed to calm down a bit. In every situation, it's not the injury that scares him, but the blood.

Nishinoya Yuu:

He's reckless, he won't even notice when he gets injured. Since he's so used to bruises, bumps and shallow cuts, he doesn't understand when he's actually injured.

This guy played a whole set with a sprained wrist before realising that "hey, this feels kinda weird..?" and he didn't tell anyone until the end of the game, when his wrist was visibly swollen.

High pain tolerance plays a major role when he's injured or sick. Still, the others wish he would have a more average pain tolerance, because, once, Nishinoya felt sick during math class, and still claimed he was fine. He thought he was.

When he was rushed to the hospital due to a "mild ache in his lower stomach" that had been going on for two days after the math class incident, along with a 38,7°C fever, he was told that he had appendicitis ("I thought I just ate something bad or that I needed to take a huge dump! How was I supposed to know!? I thought I was fine."). It was clear that he wasn't, in fact, fine.

Tanaka Ryuunosuke:

He will try to toughen everything out and ignore the pain until it gets unbearable. Be it an injury or some sickness, he will automatically ignore it if he doesn't think it's serious enough to be life-threatening.

That's why he almost died when he ate one of the peanut butter cookies that Yachi had baked. Turns out, allergies do existー but he wished he'd found out in a different way. Sometimes, "My throat's kinda itchy. Does my tongue look... too big? It... it feels too big." can be synonym of "Hospital, now." Bless Takeda-sensei.

The time when he collided with Daichi, Tanaka completely ignored the fact that his arm hurt, and only realised when he took his shirt off in the locker-room and heard a screech from Yamaguchi. The bruise went from his shoulder to his elbow, blue and swollen. Cue to lots of pain relief cream and ice packs.

Ennoshita Chikara:

He never broke a bone in his whole life, but he's very good at dealing with it when it happens to someone else. He's just fascinated by how the human body works, and sometimes people think he's being cold in front of someone else's pain, when he's really just being logical.

He's good at dealing with his own pain too, though he rarely gets hurt or sick.

When he gets sick, he recovers pretty rapidly, but this leads him into relapse. That's why he's not allowed back to practise for a whole week after he recovers ("I'm fine. I've been fine for three days already, my fever wasn't even that high..." "Last time you said you were fine, you almost got pneumonia. Go home.").

He gets bad allergies during spring, and takes a lot of antihistamine pills which make him sleepy. He often has to excuse himself from class to go take a nap in the infirmaryー the teachers and the nurse know, so they always allow him to.

Narita Kazuhito:

This man is the embodiment of health. His diet and lifestyle will probably allow him to live until past the age of 100.

That's why he's not used to getting sick. And when he does, he's a confused mess with no idea of what to do with himself.

When he puked on himself after practise he was so shocked that he chuckled nervously and stood still, frozen, until Kinoshita and Ennoshita dragged him to the bathroom. He almost found the whole ordeal funny.

Kinoshita Hisashi:

He really despises vegetables and fruit, and often gets mocked because of it. He often stuffs himself with sweets and fried food until he feels sick ("But... how? That cake had strawberries in it! It's supposed to be healthy!").

He gets very bad seasickness. Once, his friends decided to drag him to Miyajima: he spent the time on the ferry and first hour on the island puking his guts out.

The thing he doesn't do good with is fainting: if someone passes out in front of him, he does the same, always. When Daichi passed out in the middle of the court, Kinoshita was thankful that Narita was there to hold him up, because he was ready to leave the land of the living.

Kageyama Tobio:

Always denies everything ("my nose is not bleeding!!") and this only makes everything worse for him. If he feels shaky, he won't take a clue and sit down; instead, he'll push himself and end up falling down on whoever's closest to him ("Daichi-san, nice receive!" "Now's really not the time, Hinata...").

When he gets sick, he gets sick hard. The flu has him puking all day long, with a fever of 39.5°C that, he insists, is not that high. His family and friends are smart enough to understand that he's lying. Not even the doctors and nurses at the E.R. can convince him that he's sick.

To be fair, he does not lie when he says that he's not hurt or sick: he genuinely thinks that whatever's going on with him is normal and not that bad.

He accidentally tripped on the leg of a desk in class, and fell face first into the teachers'. The deep, bleeding cut on his forehead wasn't enough for him to understand that he needed to go to the infirmary, and he just sat back at his desk, apologising for the mess. Turns out that his "little cut" needed six stitches in the end, and that his "mild headache" was, in fact, a mild concussion. He showed up to practise the following day anyway, and the Coach had to physically prevent him from joining.

He doesn't do good with nausea, though; he doesn't mind fevers, joint-pains, blood, bruises, or the act of throwing up itself. But when he feels nauseous he actively wishes to pass out, because anything is better than dealing with feeling like that. That's why he'd rather stick his fingers down his throat to get rid of the nausea already than waiting for it to pass naturally.

This got worse when he started suffering from migraines. As soon as he feels one starting to build behind his eye, he throws himself over the toilet, waiting for the dreaded nausea to come so that he can get rid of it before it gets too bad. He stays like that for hours if that's what it takes.

Hinata Shōyō:

He pukes a lot, and for a number of reasons: nervousness, motion sickness, fear, hungerー this guy can't even take it to the bathroom.

His guts are a mess, and he either vomits or poops every time he feels any strong emotion (which is...pretty often, for him). Thank goodness his friends always have pills that help with motion sickness with them, along with antiacid pills and sparkling water, and that Kiyoko and Yachi often restock the bus and everyone's backpacks with paper bags.

The higher the fever, the more he moves. Ever since he was a kid, a fever has never stopped him, and to be fair, fevers make him feel more motivated and energetic. He takes "Hey, no. Sit down, drink up, and rest." as an insult because "I'm fine. You're benching me because you think I suck, huh!? But I was doing fine! I- I was being good, right..?"

Yes, fevers make him emotional. He'll cry for anything once they make him admit that he's sick. He mostly cries because "How could I get sick? I'm going to be useless! I should've paid more attention, I should've been better!" but Kageyama knows for sure that he saw a feverish Hinata crying over a picture of his sister, for some reason.

He doesn't mind blood when he's the one to be bleeding, but if it's someone else, he freaks out. Seeing someone else having a bloody nose or bleeding from some injury, even small and insignificant, makes his stomach flip.

Tsukishima Kei:

He's never said "I'm in pain." in his whole life. The most honest statement he managed to grit out was "It kinda hurts.", but he never said anything more than that. He won't show himself being so vulnerable, ever.

Whenever he has to go to the optometrist, he won't eat anything for at least half a day before the appointment, because he knows for sure that he's going to throw up after the doctor dilatates his pupils.

He's a quiet puker, and he always locks himself up in the bathroom, which can be dangerous in those situations. After that time when he passed out after throwing up, his mother got an extra key of the bathroom, and always lingers close to the door when she knows that her son's about to be sick.

If anyone tries to interrupt him when he throws up or when he's in acute pain, he will yell at them. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the help, but he hates how everything feels so crowded around him when he's down. The only person who's brave enough to help him when he's like that is Yamaguchi, mostly because he's used to hearing his angry words (even if Tsukishima's never insulted him personally).

Yamaguchi Tadashi:

Terribly emetophobic, he won't throw up even if he has to. He just won't do that, no way... Which is cruelly ironic, since he gets sick pretty often due to anxiety and weak immune system. Tsukishima doesn't mind helping him out (but he would never step close to anyone else when they're sick) but he can be a bit rough sometimes; this both reassures and agitates Yamaguchi. "I'll stick my fingers down your throat if you don't throw up now." doesn't sound too kind, but when Tsukishima adds "it'll make you feel better, I promise." Yamaguchi feels a bit calmer. He’s also a loud puker.

He's a type-2 diabetic, though he has it under control and hasn't had any problem related to that in a while, not since the beginning of middle school, at least. Still, sometimes he needs to reluctantly sit practise out because he's obviously too shaky and weak to strain himself that much. When that happens, they all make sure that someone sits with him to make him feel less alone... and he appreciates it immensely.

He's on anxiety meds, but they make him feel dizzy sometimes, which leads him into a spiral of panic for fear that he'll get sick. It's a huge contradiction, really, and he hates it with his whole soul.

He's one of the people in the team who can handle others' sickness and injuries better; it might shock him for a second, but he's ready to jump into action and solve the problem in order to help his friends out.

Injuries don't scare him, though the worst thing that ever happened to him was when he got punched in the face by a bully. He also broke his arm in middleschool once though he doesn't remember muchー maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was that it hurt less than he imagined. The punch freaked him out more than that.

Yachi Hitoka

She's a good caretaker, but an absolute mess when it comes to taking care of her own injuries and sickness.

She's clumsy so she's not new to bruises and cuts, but this doesn't mean that she doesn't freak out a bit whenever she sees blood on her legs or arms. On their way home from school, one day, Hinata and Yamaguchi decided to get her band-aids with little chicks and kittens on them. She finished the 30-pack in less than a month.

She got her period a bit late in life, a couple of months before turning 15, and whenever she's on her period, it hits her like a train at full-speed in the guts. Kiyoko taught her some yoga moves that help with the cramps, and the boys never bother the two of them when they see them doing yoga in the corner of the gym. In fact, they also bought her an electric heating pad for her birthday along with an indecent amount of chocolate that didn't fit in Yachi's bag (and various other presents not concerning periods).

Shimizu Kiyoko:

The scars on her legs are fully healed, yet the skin there is thinner, and so the wounds reopen whenever she accidentally hurts herself there. They sting quite a bit, and though it's unusual, she hisses out loud when it's bad. Everyone agreed to make sure that medkit is always equipped with antiseptic cream. To this day, Kiyoko insists that it isn't necessary, but they disagree.

She always knows what to do when someone else feels sick, but she's unsure about what she'd do in case of her own sickness. She hasn't been sick in too long to know.

She hasn't gotten a cold since elementary school, and that one time when she thought she'd caught something, when she sneezed at the age of 16, it was actually just a bit of dust allergy. She doesn't even need meds for it.

Takeda Ittetsu:

He hardly gets sick, but he ends up hunched over the toilet more often than not after a Friday night out with his friends. He drinks quite a bit for a teacher, but only when he knows that he can do that without compromising his career or setting the wrong example. Hangovers also leave him a messy wreck, and that's why he only drinks on Fridays: that way, he has until Sunday night to recover.

For someone who's constantly surrounded by teenagers, he doesn't get sick much. He catches a cold every now and then, but nothing more serious than that. And when he's sick, he always tries to prevent the others from catching what he's got, without actually taking care of himself to heal.

Once, he got a fever of 40,1°C and luckily for him Ukai was coming over to discuss about the volleyball club; he found Takeda sprawled face-down in front of the open door. He was boiling, so Ukai took him to the hospital where he stayed for two days. ("I didn't think it was this bad." "So you knew you had a fever and still went to work?" "Yeah, but I had a mask on so that the others could be safe." "And you didn't buy medicine in the meantime?" "Ah, no." "...what the hell!?").

Ukai Keishin:

He catches a cold every other month, no matter how many layers of clothes he wears. These colds are often accompanied by low fevers, but he's used to those so he simply chugs some orange juice and moves on.

He tried to quit smoking countless times, especially since he started coaching these kids, but he can't help smoking at least three of cigs per day. Still, sometimes his chest aches a bit, and maybe it's just paranoia, but when that happens he doesn't touch tobacco for a couple of days.

His liver would even be able to survive Takeda's nights out; his guts, in general, are strong and he swears he's never felt nauseous in his whole life.

💫 I might think of more sick karasuno hc soon, but that's it for now. Expect more characters hc soon! Again, credit me if you use these, and please feel free to share this post! 💫

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misskikuwrites · 3 years

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Piece by Piece (2/2)

Bederia Week 2021: Day 4- First Argument/make up

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Tags: fluff, hangovers, mutual pining

Words: 7,533

@bede-x-gloria

Gloria woke up feeling as though she'd been flattened by a stampede of Dubwool. Her head throbbed. Her throat was dry and raw, and the light streaming through the gap in her curtains seared her eyes as if she was staring straight into the sun. She rolled over, turning her back to the window, and groaned hoarsely. She squeezed her eyes shut. Buried her face in her pillow as a wave of nausea sloshed in her stomach. She felt ill. Whatever sickness she'd picked up last night, it had quickly taken hold.

Great, another reason for me to hate the Gala, Gloria thought, and swallowed thickly. Pain lanced her throat as she did. She moaned into her pillow when another wave of nausea hit her, stronger this time. Her throat tightened. She curled into herself with a faint whimper.

I don't want to be sick, I don't want to vomit, I don't-

Another surge of nausea, rising higher up her throat. Gloria let out a sharp puff of air through her teeth, trying to keep the nausea at bay, to fight it down, to stop herself from retching. Pain drummed behind her eyes with every beat of her heart. She remained curled in a tight ball when her bedroom door clicked open and soft footfalls approached her bed.

"Not feeling so good, huh?" Gloria's mother's voice sounded too loud in her ears. The bed depressed next to her. "I've brought you some water and some painkillers if you're feeling up to taking them."

Gloria cracked an eye open at her mother. She had to blink away tears that formed beneath the onslaught of painful light. Her mother smiled kindly at her, holding a plastic cup in one hand and a pack of painkillers in the other.

"Don't worry, Hop told me what happened." Gloria's mother placed the cup and the medication on Gloria's bedside table, and gently touched her daughter's shoulder. "Hangovers are never pleasant, but to experience one at your age, when you'd been given alcohol without your knowledge… oh, hun." She smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry you're going through this."

Gloria blinked at her mother, her eyes slowly widening. A cold cloak of dread settled over her shoulders as pieces of last night came back to her. Fragments of colour, of faces and names that were now a blur, the bubbly sensation of sparkling wine on her tongue. Elliott. The boredom in his eyes, the way he'd shrugged when Bede had confronted him. Nausea crawled high up her throat. She tasted bile.

"Fuck," Gloria hissed through her teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the prickling of tears that threatened to fall. "He gave me alcohol."

She hadn't picked up a virus. She hadn't caught something from someone at the Gala last night, from dancing and mingling with people for hours. Gloria had a hangover.

A shuddery breath escaped between her lips as they wobbled, and Gloria clenched her jaw in indignation. A different kind of pain thrummed through her chest, through her veins, blending with a surge of nausea. How could he do that to me?! She'd trusted Elliott. Lowered her guard around his sweet, understanding smile, and he'd taken advantage of her. Used her for his own entertainment. Her throat burned with ire, with the fury she wished to spew at him for doing such a thing to her. No longer did she shrink at how naive she'd been to trust him. No, it wasn't her fault. Elliott had plied her with alcohol, had woven his lies, in a way that left her unsuspecting. If not her, he would have done it to someone else. She at least had gotten home safely.

Gloria sat up with a groan, wincing as her head throbbed from the movement. She grabbed the cup of water off her bedside table and gulped down a mouthful before popping the painkillers into her hand and taking them with the rest of the water. Her mother took the cup off her and stood.

"I'll bring you some more water," she said. "If you're feeling up to it, you should come and have some breakfast. You haven't eaten since you left for the Gala last night."

Gloria sank against the head of her bed with a sigh. "What time is it?"

"Just after ten."

That explained the heavy gnawing in her stomach.

"Hop's here too," her mother continued, "he stayed overnight to make sure you were okay."

"Mm…" Gloria closed her eyes. Her headache made it difficult to think, memories of last night lying faint and out of reach. Breakfast sounded delightful, but she wasn't sure if her stomach would cope with anything more than the water and pills she'd taken, and didn't want to risk bringing them up. Exhaustion weighed heavily in her bones. Slowly, she sank beneath her blankets as her mother went to leave the room.

"Go ahead and sleep," Gloria's mother said. "I think you deserve to take it easy today after all that."

Gloria grunted in response, already burying her face in her pillow, longing for sleep to take hold. It wasn't long before she began to drift off again, strange memories of Bede filling her mind. Faint light illuminated the blush on his face. Her fingers cupping his cheek, dusting her thumb across his flushed skin. Bede tentatively resting his hand over hers. His eyes widening in shock. He was close, so close, and the look on his face-

Sleep took hold before she could wonder why he'd looked at her like that.

A few hours later, Gloria groggily stumbled from her room. She shuffled into the kitchen, driven by the ache in her stomach, and stopped to stare at Hop where he sat at the dining table.

"Morning, Glo," he said cheerfully, before catching himself. "Wait, I mean 'afternoon.'"

She glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. It was already past one o'clock.

"I really slept that long?" Gloria asked. She shook her head in disbelief, instantly regretting the motion as her head pulsed with pain. She swallowed a groan and dug out a box of cereal from the pantry, pouring herself a late breakfast.

"We figured it'd be better to let you sleep it off," Hop said. "Feeling any better now?"

"Eh."

She no longer felt like she was going to heave her stomach out through her throat, but the dull throbbing of her head remained. Everything was too bright, too loud. Gloria flopped into the chair opposite Hop, and slowly munched away at her cereal.

"Where's mum?" she asked.

Hop watched her with a curious look on his face. "At work. She only took the morning off so she could look after you, but you seem to be doing alright now."

"I just wish this headache would go away," Gloria huffed. "Guess it hasn't been long enough for me to take another dose, huh? I should've slept in more."

"You can have more pills in an hour," Hop said. "Until then, you've just got to suffer. Sorry!"

Gloria snorted. "Wow, thanks for the sympathy." Sarcasm rolled off her tongue in between mouthfuls of cereal. She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't help noticing that he was still giving her a strange look. As though he was waiting for something. "What?"

Hop stiffened and his expression froze in place. "I didn't say anything."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

He glanced away. "It's, uh, nothing, really. But you should probably check your phone."

"My phone? Why?" Gloria frowned at him. He was avoiding her gaze, shifting awkwardly on the chair. Uncomfortable, uneasy. Something had happened. "What did you do?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Me? I didn't do anything!" Hop balked.

She glared at him suspiciously for a moment longer before standing and marching into her room to retrieve her phone. She snatched it off her bedside table and clicked the screen to life. There were a few unread messages waiting for her. Gloria read through them as she stalked back to her half-eaten breakfast; one from Sonia, another from Marnie, both filled with concern and asking how she was. Leon had typed out an apologetic message, saying that he'd heard the rumours about Elliott and wished he'd cautioned her about them last night. The sincerity - and guilt - in Leon's text made Gloria smile softly as she slid back into her chair and returned to munching at her breakfast. Hop still had an expectant look on his face, sitting on the edge of his chair. He looked away quickly when she glanced up at him.

It was like he was anticipating something. Gloria frowned, and turned back to the messages she hadn't read yet. There were three unread texts from Bede, one of which he'd sent a week ago when she'd bolted halfway through him teaching her to dance. He'd sent the message in reply to the excuse she'd given him that something had come up and she was busy. Gloria hadn't been able to gather the strength to read his text. She'd left it unread for a week. In fact, she'd kept her phone off for the first few days, dreading a phone call from Bede. Gloria felt her stomach twist in trepidation now as it had a week ago. She felt Hop's eyes on her. Felt the thorns of fear dig into her heart as its grip tightened around her again. She wished to shove her phone aside, to ask Hop point-blank why he was looking at her like that, to leave Bede's messages unread for as long as she could.

But she couldn't. Gloria took a deep breath, quiet and subtle enough that Hop wouldn't notice her fear, and checked the messages from Bede. Immediately, her fears from a week ago were dispelled. The text Bede had sent in reply wasn't accusatory at all, wasn't suspicious or gruff. He'd accepted her excuse, and hoped that everything was okay. At the end of his short message, he'd reminded her that she could always ask him for help. That was it. Gloria stared at the message in disbelief as the weight of her fear dropped from her shoulders. She'd been so worked up over nothing. It was almost laughable- almost. Her gaze drifted automatically to the two remaining messages Bede had sent, both from last night, and her blood ran cold. It was the third and final text that froze Gloria to her core.

When you're feeling better, please call me. We need to talk.

Dread crashed over Gloria. Like she'd been caught by a towering wave, the air stole from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Her head was underwater. Her mind churned. It left her winded as though she'd been dumped by that very wave, toyed with and spat out on the hard sand.

We need to talk.

She felt cold. The spoon slid from her hand and sloshed into her cereal, her fingers going numb. She was going numb. Her heart thumped painfully loud in her ears, and she slowly lifted her gaze from the words on her screen to look at Hop.

"What did you do?" Gloria asked. She forced the words out through the fear constricting her throat. "You told him?"

Hop blinked at her. His uncomfortable unease shattered into an expression of indignation. "What? No! Of course not!" He bristled, huffing at her. "Why would you even think that?"

"Bede wants me to call him," she said, studying Hop closely. Still unconvinced. "He said… he wants to talk."

There it was- Hop stiffened as if he expected her to say that. He knew.

"See! You know something!" Gloria jabbed an accusatory finger at Hop. "What did you tell him?!"

"I didn't say anything!" Hop protested. "Didn't need to - not that I would've anyway - with you making it obvious like that."

"Like what?" She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

What did she do? Her mind spun, wracking her memory of last night for whatever it was Hop was insinuating. Had she given her feelings away without realising it?

"Glo, I saw it. There's no point pretending you don't know what happened," Hop said. He shifted uncomfortably, looking away from her.

Gloria's stomach swirled anxiously. "Saw what?" She thought back to that moment on the balcony with Bede. Her memory was fuzzy, clouded with intoxication, the very words she'd said to him were muffled as though she were trying to listen to someone speaking through a thick pane of glass.

Hop glanced at her incredulously. "You seriously don't know?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be asking you!" Gloria said, huffing in exasperation. "What are you talking about?"

He opened his mouth to speak, before pausing. Hop studied her for a moment, a few seconds passing as his expression turned from frustration to surprise and then the unease returned. He looked away.

"Gloria, how much of last night do you remember?" Hop asked, quieter than before.

"All of it," she said confidently. Hop turned back to her and Gloria's heart flopped. Suddenly, she doubted herself. The look on his face, the fact that he'd asked that question in the first place, sent a prickle of fear down her spine.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Hop asked.

"I…" She struggled to find her voice. "I remember coming home…" The memory was a blur of nausea and tears. "I think- I think mum helped me out of my dress and got my makeup off…?" The more she thought about it, the fuzzier her memory was.

"And before that?" Hop looked as nervous as she felt. "At the Gala?"

Gloria pursed her lips in thought. "Um… I remember getting into a Sky Taxi somewhere? Marnie was there too, I think?"

Hop nodded slowly. "Anything else?"

"I remember Elliott," Gloria huffed. "That asshole. He came out onto the balcony with another drink. That's when Bede confronted him and…" she trailed off as her expression soured, lips curling in distaste. "He admitted to giving me alcohol on purpose. For his own amusement. The whole thing was such a shock, I started crying. Bede, he brought out this lacy handkerchief from Arceus-knows-where and helped me clean up my makeup."

Gloria breathed a faint, sheepish laugh at the memory. "I must've looked like such a mess."

Hop nodded slowly. "What about after that?"

Gloria frowned. "I already told you. We got out of the Gala and went home."

Hop went quiet. He chewed the inside of his cheek awkwardly, again shifting on his chair, and his nervous mannerisms sent a trickle of panic down Gloria's spine. She was missing something. Something big.

"Hop, what happened?" she asked. Her chest felt tight. Too tight. It was difficult to breathe. She felt dizzy. Hop refused to look at her. Her cereal, having turned into an unappetizing soggy slop, sat half-eaten in front of her. She stared at it as the pounding of her heart clouded her mind, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her pyjama shorts.

"Hop," Gloria asked again, "what happened?"

What did I do?

Hop's answer sounded far away. Like he was talking to her in a dream.

No, not a dream.

A nightmare.

"You kissed him."

Gloria couldn't breathe. "Haha, very funny Hop." She wasn't smiling. Neither was He.

"It… wasn't a joke."

It didn't make sense. Hop didn't make sense.

"What…?" She looked up from her cereal. "What do you mean it's not a joke? I didn't-"

Dread. She felt dread.

"I- there's no way I'd-" Gloria couldn't say it. "I wouldn't do that."

But she couldn't remember. Her memory, no matter how hard she tried, remained dark.

"I saw you kiss him," Hop said, looking away. He winced as he said it, knowing the pain his words inflicted on Gloria. The dagger he drove deeper into her heart.

"Are- Are you sure it was me? Not someone else?" The world was growing fainter around her. Words spilled from her lips in confusion, in desperation. Out of fear. "How do you know that I- that I did it and not… not Bede? Maybe he was the one who-" again, she couldn't say it. Caught on her tongue, she couldn't give that word a voice.

Hop grimaced. "No, it was definitely you who kissed Bede. You, uh, had your hand around the back of his head and… pulled him towards you."

Gloria's heart stopped dead. Shadows danced in the corner of her vision, creeping across her eyes. Her lungs burned, and only then did she realise that she'd been holding her breath. The world tilted beneath her. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. No words, no voice. Not the terror she felt crushing her heart.

"I'm sorry, Glo." Hop sounded far away. "I really am."

She shook her head slowly in disbelief. Eyes wide and unseeing, nothing made sense. She didn't see Hop move, hadn't noticed it, until he was right beside her, touching her shoulder gently. She let out a breath, a silent gasp.

"What… what do I do…?" Gloria asked. The words barely made a sound on her lips. If Hop hadn't been at her side, he wouldn't have heard her. Waves of heat built behind her eyes, blurring her vision with tears as panic took hold once again.

"What do you want to do?" Hop asked.

She closed her eyes as tears began to fall.

Nothing. She wanted to do nothing. She wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Forget everything that happened. Forget that she-

She'd kissed Bede. Somehow, under the influence of alcohol, all her inhibitions had been swept away. All her fear had been reduced to dust. Somehow, her feelings for Bede had broken through.

A sob escaped Gloria's lips as she crumbled. Beneath the weight of her fear, she cried. Even though she couldn't remember it happening, she couldn't remember kissing Bede, she wished she could forget.

She wanted to forget it all.

"He knows," Gloria said in a broken whisper. She stole a breath, opening her eyes and rubbing away the tears on her cheeks. "There's no way he doesn't. Not after I… did that to him."

Hop gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You don't know that for sure! You were drunk, remember? Bede might just think you kissed him on impulse!"

"Which is probably what happened," Gloria huffed. Then it hit her. "Oh, Arceus. What if I told him that I- that I like him…?"

Even saying that much made her wince. Admitting her feelings out loud left a vile taste in her mouth, and the very thought that she might have told Bede how she felt while drunk sent a ripple of terror through her body. The gap in her memory threatened to swallow her whole.

"Hey, don't think about the worst case scenario," Hop said, "and look, even if you did tell him, you've got an excuse! You were drunk."

"You don't turn into a completely different person when drunk, Hop." She shrugged off his attempt to reassure her. "It's bad enough that I… kissed him. But if I told him how I felt as well… no amount of excuses or backtracking will save me now."

Gloria exhaled heavily, deflating in her chair as if all her strength, all her willpower, had fled her body with her sigh. Her insides were twisted and jumbled, chest uncomfortably crawling with nerves.

"What am I supposed to do…?" she asked. There was no way forward for her, no way out of this. She was trapped.

"Call him," Hop said with a shrug. Gloria balked at him with an unappreciative stare. "You're gonna have to face Bede sooner or later," he reminded her. "May as well get it over and done with."

Gloria turned away from him. Hop was right, but that didn't help the rolling waves of nausea in the pit of her stomach, nor the dread hanging above her head like a guillotine ready to drop. She reached for her phone and paused.

She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to face Bede or her mistakes. How could she, when she despised the person that love - mixed with alcohol - turned her into? Gloria clenched her jaw and picked up her phone, focusing on the bead of disgust that burned in her stomach and the pain it caused. Love was vile. It corrupted. It fueled jealousy, fed delusions, made her see things that weren't there. Made her question herself- and her friendships.

And it left her vulnerable.

There was no point in waiting any longer. Gloria dialed Bede's number without another thought. She straightened in her chair, ignoring the surprise on Hop's face as he took a seat beside her, and listened to the ringing. Despite her determination to get this over and done with, nerves sparked to life in her chest. Her heart pounded. She jumped when a click sounded, and a sudden rush of warmth flooded her veins as Bede spoke into her ear.

"Hey, Gloria." His smooth voice washed over her, and for a moment, she forgot how to speak. "You got home in one piece, I assume? How are you feeling?"

Like her heart was in her throat.

"Not- Not too bad," Gloria said, "I slept most of it off, just got a mild headache now." She breathed a sheepish laugh as her mind spun, and tried to swallow the giddy feeling building inside her. A simple phone call was all it took for her walls to crumble, for her feelings to take over, for her to fluster at the sound of his voice.

Love. It turned her into someone she didn't recognise.

And that made her sick.

"Y-You said you wanted to talk?" she asked, trying to shove aside the flustered, love-struck side of herself, and felt the disgust still burning a hole through her stomach once again. The sharp sensation of pain flooded her mind with clarity. Heaviness returned to her gut. Regret, mixed with fear. A reminder of what she had done to him.

"I did," Bede said after a pause. "Although, I would rather we spoke in person. Are you busy right now?"

Gloria swallowed. She felt cold. Her nerves froze in place, trepidation seizing her heart.

Somehow, she remembered to answer him, remembered how to speak. "No, I'm free."

"Good. I'll come by soon, then."

Gloria closed her eyes, accepting her fate. Steeling herself to fight back tears. "Okay," she said. "I'll… see you soon."

"Bye, Gloria."

She hated - and loved - the way he said her name.

Gloria hung up without saying anything more. Hop watched her expectantly as she placed her phone on the table, and her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.

"He'll be here soon," she said. The dramatic shift in her emotions, from giddiness at Bede's voice to the hollow ache in her heart that she felt now, sapped the strength from her bones.

Hop kept watching her, his eyes searching her face. The concern in his eyes made her heart clench.

"I'll be fine," she said, though she didn't believe it. She stood from her chair, getting up to dump the rest of her soggy cereal into the sink. Her appetite was long gone.

"I know," Hop said quietly. "But you always say that."

Gloria felt his eyes on her back, knew the painful expression he wore. She breathed in slowly, before turning to face him with a smile. Hop's concern was so genuine, so heartfelt, that it threatened to shatter the mask she'd built to protect herself.

"I'll be fine," she said again. Firmer this time.

Hop's expression didn't change, and Gloria left him there as she retreated into her room, in part to change out of her pyjamas, but also because she couldn't bear to lie any further to Hop when he looked at her like that.

Minutes passed like hours. When Gloria spied movement on the street outside, she shot to her feet, yanking open the front door before Bede could knock. Nerves twisted inside her gut as she forced herself to smile. Keenly aware that Hop was watching her.

"Hey, Bede!" Gloria said, slipping out the door around his side, tugging the door closed behind her. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

She didn't give him much of a choice in the matter as she strode down the garden path and onto the street. Driven by nerves, her heart pounded in her chest like she'd sprinted to Wedgehurst and back. She wanted to run. To bolt again. Relationships, feelings, dealing with emotions like these was like trying to juggle handfuls of jelly. Scrambling to keep it from sliding through her fingers.

Gloria flashed Bede a smile, as bright as she could muster, as he stepped down the path towards her. This wasn't a battle she could fight, not a foe she could conquer with her Pokemon. She was on her own.

"You appear to have a lot of energy for someone with a hangover," Bede said, lifting an eyebrow at her.

His voice made her heart skip. "You should've seen me earlier," Gloria said. She hid the tension in her body behind her smile, behind her laughter. "I felt like I'd been barrelled over by a Wooloo!"

She started down the street, away from her house and the Slumbering Weald. Bede fell into step with her, and she stared straight ahead, not even daring to glance at him. The space between them felt infinitesimal. She sped up slightly, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts so there was no chance their hands would accidentally brush, and Bede remained at her side, matching her pace.

"There's a nice spot down here by the lake," Gloria said. She turned abruptly and marched through the knee-high grass. Skwovet scattered into the trees, Rookidee fluttering away into the clear skies above. A Chewtle turned slowly as she passed it, mouth hanging open. If Bede wanted to talk about the very thing she dreaded, she wanted to be away from the public, away from Wedgehurst, away from Hop. The building tension inside her chest left the threat of tears in her eyes, and she swallowed thickly. She clenched her jaw, blinking hard. She couldn't cry now. Not when nothing had happened yet. But she felt like she was hanging by a thread. A split second, a single word away, from falling.

Bede caught up to her as she headed down a dirt path that wove away from Sonia's house, leading towards the lake. By the waters edge stood a single wooden bench, facing out across the shimmering surface of the lake. Wind rustled through the thick grass, a myriad of Pokemon calls filling the silence. Gloria swept towards the bench and plonked herself down on it unceremoniously. She sat - deliberately - as close to the edge of the bench as she could, leaving the majority of it empty. For this conversation, she wanted as much space between her and Bede as possible. Enough space for her to breathe, to think.

Whether Bede noticed how she'd seated herself or not, he gave no indication. He sat what would have normally been a comfortable distance away, and Gloria fought down the urge to stiffen at his proximity. Although it was only Bede with her, she felt like a thousand eyes were watching her every movement. Watching the way she breathed, shallow and tense. Noticing the tension in her posture. She couldn't hide here, not from Bede. When he turned to face her, her expression froze. He looked away.

And Gloria could no longer breathe. Words caught on her tongue, lodged in her throat. Her heart cantered away in her chest, faster and faster as seconds of silence ticked by. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. No sound, no air, as if an invisible vice had tightened around her throat.

"Elliott has been dealt with," Bede said, finally breaking the hold that the silence had on Gloria. "So you needn't worry about him any longer."

Elliott? Her gut churned at the mention of his name. She found herself straightening, confusion and curiosity drawing her gaze to Bede.

"What do you mean?" Gloria asked. "What happened?"

Bede, thankfully, kept looking out across the lake. "Ms Opal is acquainted with his father," he said, "and called in a few favours. From what I've heard, he's been stripped of multiple privileges, including his position at his father's company, and will be sent to his uncle's estate in Kalos for the foreseeable future."

Gloria blinked for a moment, stunned. "You mean he's…?"

"Gone." Bede nodded. "He'll be too preoccupied with mopping up his own scandal to cause any more with you. His father and Ms Opal made sure of that."

The tension Gloria had been holding in her chest fled all at once, and she sank into the bench in disbelief.

"I… thank you," she managed to say. It took a few seconds for Gloria to collect herself enough to speak properly. "You didn't have to do that for me… Ms Opal, too. I-I don't know what to say."

"'Thank you' suffices," Bede said, looking at her with a satisfied smile.

Her heart skittered. "Thank you," she said breathlessly. Their eyes met and Hop's voice echoed in her mind.

"You kissed him."

Panic returned. Gloria's heart lurched high up into her throat, her blood running cold. She cut her gaze away from Bede as crushing fear pressed down on her shoulders, on her lungs. The silence between them was deafening.

"Gloria, I wanted to-"

"I'm sorry!" The words stole from Gloria's throat on the back of a sob. Vision blurring with tears. "Hop- Hop told me what happened," she continued, fingers pressing against her lips to stop them from trembling, to stop her from sobbing again. "He told me what- what I did. To you." Her eyes closed in shame. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she took a deep, shaky breath. Fear was crushing her heart. "I'm so sorry," she said as a whisper. Faint and broken. "I was drunk and… and I don't even remember it. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

Gloria shuddered as she exhaled, feeling that pieces of her soul had broken away and fled with her breath.

"Please-" It caught on her tongue. "I just… don't want you to hate me…"

Bede straightened. "Why would I hate you?"

"Because I kissed you, Bede!" She turned to him, vision blurring with tears, facing her fears. "I forced myself on to you when you were just- just trying to help me, and… I did something so despicable to you…"

Again, she turned away. Closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

"I don't hate you for that," Bede said quietly. "Although I must admit I am a tad… confused."

Gloria swept the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, her breath hot in her throat, and looked at him. Bede stared at his hands in his lap, fingers woven together. His brow was furrowed ever-so-slightly in thought.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked. His voice, as soft as the wind caressing his platinum blond curls, left Gloria numb.

She opened her mouth, finding she had no voice. She swallowed. Looked away. "I-I was drunk and I… don't actually remember k-kissing you, so… I don't know."

The gap in her memory of that night tightened the hold that fear had on her, like a string of razor wire wrapped around her heart. Piercing her flesh with every breath. It hurt to speak.

"You told me once that you'd only kiss someone you had feelings for," Bede continued, "and yet, last night you kissed-"

"-Don't." She saw nothing. Felt nothing.

Nothing but fear.

"Please." It was a plea. A desperate cry that escaped the hollow of her throat. "Please don't- don't say that. Don't ask me that. I can't-"

Tears. She felt them on her cheeks. Felt Bede's eyes on her.

"I can't…" her voice broke. Gloria shook her head, pressed her palms to her eyes, and blocked it out. She blocked everything out and shut down. Broken gasps escaped through her clenched teeth, each breath making her body shudder with agony. She curled into herself. Dug her elbows into her thighs as she doubled over. A gentle touch on her shoulder made her wince, and Bede took his hand back in an instant.

His touch had burned.

"I'm… sorry." Gloria barely heard Bede speak through the darkness encasing her mind. "I won't say anything more."

The regret in his voice hurt more than anything else. Gloria tried to steel herself, to fight back her tears and push through her fear, as a rush of shame surged through her chest.

She was the one who'd kissed him. She was the one who'd gotten drunk and forced herself on him. Didn't he deserve answers for that?

Gloria pulled her palms off her eyes and sat up straight, blinking up at the sky above in order to dry her tears. She sucked in a breath, then another, forcefully controlling how she exhaled. Slowly, slowly, easing the fear off her heart. Bede sat in silence beside her. Respectfully, he kept his gaze elsewhere as Gloria calmed herself down. When she felt as though she could finally speak, she laughed instead. That made Bede look at her in surprise.

"You know, everyone's always making a fuss about their 'first kiss,' making it out to be this big thing, something important," Gloria said with a rueful smile. "All that build up, and I can't even remember it." She shook her head, laughing quietly. Regret tainting her voice. "Can we just… forget this ever happened?" Gloria turned to look at Bede, trying hard to smile through the pain.

Bede's expression shifted as he met her eyes. There was worry, regret, and something more to the depth of his eyes as he mulled over her words.

"I'm not sure I can forget it that easily," he said.

The smile on Gloria's face threatened to break. She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I… I thought that would be the case…" She looked away from him. "Was that… was that your first…?"

"It was."

Gloria pursed her lips to stop them trembling. "I'm- I'm really sorry…"

"It's not a big deal," he said, shrugging half-heartedly. "It's just a kiss."

Gloria scoffed. "That's easy for you to say, I don't even remember it! It's like I haven't had my first kiss at all." She slumped on the back of the bench with a huff. "It would've been better if I did remember it, since then my first kiss would be over and done with and I wouldn't have to worry about it. I don't even know what it's like to- to kiss someone…"

She trailed off, remembering that she had, in fact, kissed Bede, even though she had no actual recollection of it. She let out a heavy sigh. Of course she'd kiss the one person she'd fallen for in her entire life and be unable to remember it happening.

"It's honestly not all it's cracked up to be," Bede said. "Really, if you think about it, all kissing is, is two people pressing their mouths together. The significance placed on kissing is out of proportion to the act itself."

Gloria curled her lips in frustration at him. "Says the one who can remember it," she huffed. "It's like I haven't had my first kiss at all…"

"But you have," Bede said. "You kissed me."

"W-Well, yeah." She blinked at him, nerves fluttering around her chest at how matter-of-factly he'd said that. "It just… seems a bit unfair that I had my first kiss and can't remember it, so it's like I've still got that importance attached to it."

She wasn't making much sense. She couldn't think straight with Bede's eyes on her, when talking about this. About kissing.

She'd really kissed him. That alone was astounding, it was difficult to believe. But it had happened. Gloria had kissed Bede. She curled a lock of her hair behind her ear as she tried to push those thoughts away, feeling her cheeks begin to burn.

"I kinda feel like I've missed out here," she said to fill the silence. Gloria laughed sheepishly, aiming to lift the awkward air between her and Bede. When she looked at him, her eyes immediately flicked to his lips.

She looked away quickly.

"Do you want to know what it's like?" Bede's voice washed over her like soft ribbons of silk, each word stealing the air from her lungs. "You said you'd rather get your first kiss over and done with…"

Somehow, Gloria managed to peek over at him. The depth of his eyes stirred something inside her. Something warm, something that built in the pit of her stomach and flooded her veins.

"I…" She struggled to remember how to speak. "I mean, since I've technically already had my first kiss, it would be better to, y'know, get it over and done with so I don't have to worry about it anymore. Just- Just so I know what it's like." Gloria cleared her throat. Her eyes kept flicking towards his lips, yet it was harder to hold his gaze when he was looking at her like that. In a way she couldn't describe. "But- well, who knows when that will happen," she continued quickly with an awkward laugh. "Or if it ever will."

"Do you want to?"

Gloria gaped at him. For a moment, she wasn't sure that she heard him correctly.

"Do- Do I want to… what?" she asked. Her voice was quiet. Barely louder than a breath.

Bede seemed closer to her than before. His gaze was captivating, and she couldn't look anywhere else but into his eyes, as though trapped by those deep, alluring violets. Bede seemed immune to whatever hold Gloria was under, searching her eyes for a moment in silence.

"If you'd rather get your first kiss over and done with," Bede said, "I could kiss you."

She felt his words against her lips. Heat consumed every fibre of her body, and she couldn't breathe. Her mouth dropped open, fumbling over her words, scrambling for a way to answer him.

Did she want to-?

"I… but you…?" Her mind was addled. Her lungs felt like they were full of helium, filled to the brim with too much air. Was he really offering to…?

"You've already kissed me," Bede reminded her. His tone was light, and without accusation. Merely staring a fact. "And since you don't remember what it was like, if you want, I can show you. You've had your first kiss- all I'll do is repeat it."

How could she answer him? Gloria had her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, unable to find any words. It didn't feel real. All she could do was nod. Something shifted in Bede's eyes. His gaze softened, deepened, and Gloria startled when he trailed his fingers across her cheek.

"Tell me to stop," Bede said, his voice soft yet lower than before, "if you don't want this."

Gloria found herself nodding again, though she couldn't think straight. She felt his knees brush against hers. His fingers wove into her hair.

"This- This won't change anything between us, right?" she asked quickly. She sounded far away, distant and strangely light.

Bede's answer dusted across her lips. "Not if you don't want it to."

He was close enough that looking into his eyes made her dizzy, noses almost brushing. Their breaths mingled together in the shortening distance between them.

"Close your eyes," Bede said, and she obeyed instinctively. Her eyes fluttered shut the second he kissed her. A quiet gasp died in her throat. Her mind span. She leant into him, against him, as he slowly melded his lips against hers.

And oh, she knew she shouldn't be doing this, she shouldn't be kissing him like this, but the warmth of his kiss took hold of her in an instant, and everything else fell away. Her fear, her regret, nothing else mattered to her in that moment. She forgot to breathe. Forgot her inhibitions. The sensation of Bede's lips gliding over hers was all she could feel. How could he say that kissing didn't live up to the hype when it felt like this? Like she was walking on air, floating, giddy and breathless. Even though she didn't know what she was doing, she followed each and every movement of Bede's lips with her own. She was putty in his hands, melting against his lips. Melting into him. The softest moan spilled from her throat as Bede suddenly broke away from her, leaving her stunned. She blinked in a daze. The world was fuzzy around her. Her lips tingled with a sensation she'd never felt before, warmth pooling low in her gut.

It was like waking from a dream. Bede cleared his throat, turning to face the lake, while Gloria's mind began to slowly work again. Clarity hit her in an instant. Then embarrassment. Like a clap of thunder, it jolted her alert, and she flushed. Her fingers touched her lips, unable to comprehend what had just happened. What they'd just done.

Gloria could still feel Bede's lips against hers, so warm and gentle, featherlight yet firm. He'd kissed her.

Bede had-

Arceus. There was no going back now.

"Was that… sufficient?" Bede asked, needing to say something, anything, to break the heated silence suffocating him. He didn't dare look towards Gloria, knowing fully well that he mirrored the blush that burned across her cheeks.

Gloria jumped at the sound of his voice. "Y-Yes, it- it was," she managed to reply.

"That's… good." He cringed internally at how strained and tight his voice sounded. Gloria appeared stunned, unable to stay focused on anything around them as she glanced from him to the lake, to her hands in her lap, and then off to the path they'd followed to get here.

Bede took a breath and tried to calm the racing thoughts in his mind. He'd kissed her. Somehow, his desires had gotten the best of him and he'd offered to kiss her, and Gloria had agreed to it. He'd kissed Gloria becaused she'd let him.

Gloria, who refused to fall in love, who'd sworn she'd never kiss someone she wasn't dating, had agreed to let him kiss her so she knew what it was like.

It was like Bede's insides had been turned upside down and back to front. He was in disbelief, in shock, wondering again and again if that had really happened. All it took was a single glance towards Gloria, and he had his answer. Their eyes met and her whole body twitched. Her blush doubled in intensity, mouth dropping open, her gaze flicking to his lips for a split second before she deliberately looked elsewhere. Heat trickled down Bede's spine at her reaction.

Arceus. Who knew he'd ever have this affect on her? He could still feel a memory of Gloria's lips against his, and his heart skipped as she, again, touched her fingertips to her lips.

"Gloria," Bede began, and she jolted, spinning to face him.

"Y-Yes?" she squeaked loudly.

Bede fought the giddy smile off his face, smothering the rush of pride he felt at gaining such a delightful reaction from her.

"Nothing needs to change between us," he continued, "like you said. Alright?"

Gloria nodded emphatically. "O-Of course!" Her eyes remained wide, her expression stunned, and it made Bede smile. Warmth towards her blossomed in his chest.

"Now do you see what I mean when I said it would be hard to forget?" he teased.

"Mm…" She pressed her lips together, looking away quickly. Her gaze was distant and forceful, as though she was tossing over something in her mind. He longed to ask her, to delve into whatever it was that had her so torn, but the way she'd fractured before him when he asked why she'd kissed him made him push his questions aside.

The wound of Gloria's that he'd thought had healed into a scar was still raw. It ran deep.

No, Bede was a fool to have assumed otherwise. She was still protecting herself. Building up walls in a desperation Bede had felt himself long ago. Like a wounded Pokemon, cowering at the slightest noise, he knew why she reacted the way she did.

After a moment, Gloria managed to look at him and hold his gaze. He offered up a smile as he stood.

"Shall we head back?" he asked, holding out a hand to her. A gesture of goodwill. Of hope, that things were still the same between them.

Gloria looked at his hand, her eyes widening a fraction, before she took it. The smile she gave him was warm, as though she'd untangled whatever it was she'd been struggling with a few moments earlier. Her hand fit snugly in his, and she gave it a squeeze.

"Let's go," she said.

Bede knew in that instant that, although they'd assured each other the opposite, something had, indeed, changed between them.

#bederia week 2021 #bede #gloria #dressedinpinkshipping #bederia #btyu #my writing

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nitannichionne · 4 years

Text

If He Was YOUR Fan Chapter 27: Hallow’s Eve (A Henry Cavill Fan Fic)

CHAPTER 27: HALLOW’S EVE

“You don’t look like Peeta.” You quirk your eyebrow at Henry humorously. Truthfully he looked better.

“But I do look like a tribute.” He shrugs. “A bad one, maybe?” He grabs you and pulls you against his chest, your hands landing on his pecs as you look up at him. His voice deepens. “Wanna stay alive? Stay with me, little girl. Never leave my side.”

You laugh at him, but then he kisses you in such a way that you are sure you could be late for the party. “Henry…” In the privacy of the trailer it was way too easy for that to happen. “We could be late for the party.”

His gaze moves over you appreciatively. “Yeah.”

You smile up at him. “Behave.”

“I am behaving,” he says with mock innocence. “Just badly.” He starts backing you toward the bedroom door and a knock interrupts you. “Damn it!”

You giggle at him and he does not relinquish his hold on you as you circle him and edge toward the door. “Yes?”

“Hey, where’s the wine?” Stuart calls from outside.

“Stuart—” Stella admonishes and after hearing Stuart say, “ow” you start laughing.

“It’s in the truck,” Henry rolls his eyes. “Let’s get going.”

You edge up and kiss his nose, making him grin. He rubs his nose against yours, and for some reason, this makes your heart swell. You have always been one for the little things-random snuggles and touches as if he can’t keep his hands off you, making you feel like you are loved and treasured. And when you do it to him, you watch his eyes light and spark, sometimes a small smile tugging at those kissable lips of his that is just as good as him walking over and kissing you literally. You love him. So much. You drop your gaze shyly. “We’d better get going.”

He lets you go slowly. “You won’t always get away that easily, kitten.”

You get goosebumps but manage a smile, walking out. He follows you out and you all head to the truck. He hands Stuart a case of beer, hands you and Stella appetizer plates, and then takes the case of wine for himself. You make the walk to the set, sounds of laughter and music become closer as you get closer.

Dusk closes in on the place, and it looks magical. Small torches are set on every reachable flat surfaces, giving it a surreal feel-tribal and primitive. You feel like you could possibly be in Hunger Games.

People gather on the bridge and platforms, eating food and milling about talking. One platform becomes a small dance floor, and people look on and watch. You feel Henry put his arms around your waist and you lean back into him, reveling in the feel of his body against yours, his arms around you. You both wore jackets, but he is what warms you against the night.

You go dance with some of the actors, while Henry and Kal watch you. You keep looking at him, wishing he would dance, but you are happy he encourages you to go ahead without him. You are twirled and swayed as the music plays, but your eyes are for him. When the music changes, you get off the floor and sit in his lap, a little breathless, but once again, enjoying his arms encircling you.

“You’re a really good dancer,” he nods.

“The school I went to required we learn the basics,” you nod. “It was a lot of fun-“ You hear your name called, and see Stella waving from the food and drinks table with Stuart. “Be right back--”

He catches your hand. “Remember—”

“No drinking,” you say softly. Even though you are not sure you are pregnant, he has decided to err to the side of caution, making you wonder what he has been thinking. You open your mouth to ask, think better of it, and kiss him before heading over to see Stella. “Hey!”

“Hey!” Stella smiles, standing in her white shirt with an “S” on it. “Think you can man the table for me? Stuart wants to dance.” You look at Stuart, who is in a grey shirt and with a black “P” on it, smiling at their light grey caps.

“Sure, go ahead.” You watch them in their salt and pepper costumes and begin to serve food and drinks to people. You pour yourself a elderberry juice with Dry London Spirit, smiling at the mix in your cardboard cup, and take a sip. You smile at them, and then see Cynthia.

You go to Cynthia at the end of the table. “Hey!”

“Hey!” Cynthia says. “How’s it going?”

“Okay,” you grin. “Stuart and Stella look really nice out there.” You wave at them and they wave back.

“They’re cute,” Cynthia shrugs.

“Something I can get you?” You ask.

“Sure.”

You serve her food and a small wine.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” you nod, seeing Hannah and Archer come. “Hey guys!”

“Hey!” Hannah waves.

The dark shirts and khakis made you guess. “Let’s see…Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable?”

“Oh, my God!” Hannah’s eyes widen. “You got it!”

“I liked the show when I was a kid,” you shrug.

Archer nods impressed with your answer and gives Hannah a look. “I’ll let you girls chat.” He leaves you two alone at the table, and you give a polite smile. You haven’t had kind words in some time.

“Hey,” Hannah greets. “Working the party?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I told Stella if she needs a break, let me know.”

“But you’re not with catering,” Hannah points out.

“This party isn’t like that,” you nod. “You didn’t bring anything?”

“Oh, I brought candy,” Hannah said with a smile. “Easy stuff.”

“Oh, okay.” You see Cynthia wave you over. “Did you want anything?”

“Just beers,” she shrugs.

You walk over to the cooler and get the beers.

“Thanks,” she smiles a little. “I…I just wanted to say I’m sorry about…the Henry thing. He really, really likes you.”

“Thanks,” you tell her. “I kinda miss our art sessions.”

She laughs softly. “Yeah, I still would love to illustrate a book you write someday.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you say. “but, you and Archer are—”

“He’s a really good guy,” Hannah nods. “I mean, some people act like they like you and they don’t, you know?” Her look is meaningful as she says the words slowly. “He is really nice, but some people? No.”

You blink at this, frowning. “Hannah, what are you trying to tell me?”

Her eyes slide off to the dance floor where Cynthia, Stella and Stuart are dancing. They are all waving at you.

You feel your heart in your throat. “Hannah—” You turn to find her gone.

Stella and Stuart return, and you smile, still feeling shaken about Hannah’s warning. You and Stella have been tight almost all summer. The idea of her not really being a friend hurts. Cynthia’s a cool boss and Stuart you barely know.

You return to Henry with your drink and a paper bowl of water. “Here you go, Kal.” You set the bowl down, and sit on his lap.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing, just—” you shake your head. “God, I’m just being silly.”

“What is it?”

“Hold my drink,” you say. “Ladies room.”

“Okay,” Henry nods. “We’ll talk when you get back.”

“It’s silly—” you watch him slightly raise his eyebrow. “Okay, we’ll have a laugh.” You go to the bathroom and return.

“Well?”

“Strangest thing,” you say to him. “Hannah sounded like she was trying to warn me.”

“About what?” he asks with a slight frown.

“She apologized for being jealous and warned me about people pretending to like me.”

He exhales heavily. “Sounds—”

“It’s the way she said it, Dal,” you say softly. “Like she was warning me. And she looked at Stella, Stuart and Cynthia on the dance floor.”

“Well, that doesn’t help,” Henry thought aloud. “Are you sure she was looking at them and not someone else?”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head. You look down at Henry’s hand, which is holding an empty beer bottle. “Let me get you another one.”

“Thanks,” he smiles.

You rise and take the bottle to the garbage can, throwing it away, and getting a fresh bottle. You down your drink and get a bottled water for yourself.

As you approach Henry, it hits you. You suddenly don’t feel well, and it’s hard to breathe. Your steps slow, and Henry’s eyes widen. He stands, looking at you. You feel it, down your throat, the tightening. You didn’t taste it at first, but there it is, and it wasn’t there before:

Grapefruit.

You’re allergic to it…you’re terribly allergic to it. You usually can smell it before you consume it, stop yourself, but you didn’t. You feel your throat close, and you grab your throat, dropping the beer and the water. The beer bottle breaks and crashes on the stone floor. Henry races for you, and you hear a scream as you go down. The night is spinning as you struggle to breathe.

Henry goes into your leg pack as people crowd you.

“Is she okay?”

“What’s happening?”

“What’s going on?”

“Oh my God, get the doctor!”

“Get the doctor!” Henry orders. “NOW!” You feel a stab in your leg. “Come on, baby. Come on, I’ve got you…”

You vomit and feel yourself turned to your side, causing the crowd to make some sort of far away noises you can’t make out and then you are put on your back again. You see the sky. You see the trees. You feel your legs being lifted above your heart. You see people around you, looking upset or scared…Henry holding you…Stella in standing in shocked tears as Stuart holds her…Hannah shaking her head with her mouth covered while Archer looks at you, upset…Colin…frowning at you…then his eyes wander…to Cynthia, her expressionless face looking at yours as if waiting…but for what?

Henry shakes you slightly. “Don’t do that, don’t pass out…”

“Hen…ry…” But you can’t hold, even as you feel your throat start to open a little. You can barely breathe…

Thanks for the support...stay tuned, I won’t make you wait this time!

@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum @messyinsomniacbookgirl @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @maryann84 @omgkatinka @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @kinbhot4henners @sunshine96love @michelehansel @radofrivia @thelastsock @michelehansel @tumblnewby @henryobsessed @defffcc @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocksn @mrskikkirazz @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @michelehansel @tumblnewby @henryobsessed @defffcc @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocksn @mrskikkirazz @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @mis-lil-red @kaatelyynn @forallthebrokenheartedthings @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerewriterchic @sofiebstar @tamychm @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl @aaescritora @xoxohannahlee

#henry cavill #henry caviill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #superman #geralt

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willadisastercry · 3 years

Text

Keith relapsing and not being able to stop once he starts... pt 2

(((( Once again: please, please, please read the trigger warnings and proceed with caution before reading this. I vividly describe Keith’s internal struggle after he relapses... if anything even remotely regarding self harming or someone discovering a person who has is sensitive to you I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU DONT READ ))))

tw: in depth depiction of acting on self harm ideations/urges, scars, relapsing, becoming ill from blood loss, someone discovering a person after they relapse, rationalizing their self harm because the alternative is suicide, contradicting oneself and later very much deciding they would rather be unalived, panic attack symptoms, reopening a wound, allusion to surgery (stitches)

Keith is still very out of it after having a full fledged panic attack and the last thing he wants is to invite another spectator into the mix to watch him devolve further. So Shiro agrees to do something he hasn’t had to do in a very long time... courtesy of his battlefield medicine training.

Also again... YES klance and NO klance. You can interpret it however but their questioningly less and less ‘no homo’ behavior uh certainly ramps up and I suggest that they’ve had certain discussions/interactions before... definitely still not the main focus of this fic but there for context bc it just happened that way.

Part 1 / Part 2

The tension in the air was palpable as it hung on all of them. Lance watched Shiro’s entire body visibly relax, the grimace on his face the only tell that he was working through something in his mind, remembering something unpleasant.

Keith’s wimper pulled both boys back after a minute of terrible silence.

Several of the hardest cuts to close had broken free of the glue that held them and were gushing steadily. Keith was paling by the minute as he continued to breathe rapidly and tremble as if he was cold despite the sweat on his forehead.

He just wanted this to be over. To finally be asleep where at least then he could pretend that it had never actually happened and it was just a horrible dream.

Without saying anything more Shiro pressed the bandage back to his side and moved Lance’s hand to hold pressure there while he stood up and scanned the room, his eyes landing on Keith’s towel. It was hardly even damp then with how much time had passed since Keith had finished his shower.

“Keith, I know you’re not going to want me to,” he started with his jaw set as he pulled Keith towards him for a moment to lay the towel beneath him despite his meager protests.

“...but I have to tell Coran so that he can—“

He stopped when Keith let out a desperate whine as he released his hand from his mouth to tug on Shiro’s arm, his fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor them to something so he didn’t drift away as his chest started working double time.

“No. You can’t! You’re n-not t-tell-telling him.”

“Keith, I know that this is—“

“No, you dont,” Keith rasped, “you d-don’t know anything and you c-can-can’t tell Coran.”

The fear in his wide eyes was enough to make Lance want to cry for the umpteenth time that night, his chest hitching painfully as he pleaded with Shiro, getting himself more worked up as he did.

“Calm down, buddy. You know how this works. You know we have to get you fixed up.”

He shook his head back and forth as Shiro tried to rationalize with him.

“Keith,” he paused with a lengthy sigh because the last thing he wanted was to do something that Keith didn’t want him to do.

“Keith it’s bad. You need stitches, we have to.”

His purple saucers met Shiro’s grey pinpoints for a long moment, fear and desperation glistening in Keith’s and making Shiro want to pull him up into a bone crushing embrace.

“Then y-you do it...” he all but whispered through a heave as he tried to take in enough air to satisfy the ache in his chest so he could talk.

“Ke—“

“You’ve d-done-done i-it-it before Sh-Sh-Shi—fuck. P-please, j-j-ju-just-just-j—“

“Okay,” Shiro agreed, his voice pitching higher as he tried to assuage the budding panic evident in Keith’s anguished expression and worsening trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay. I will. Shhh, I will.”

He repeated the words religiously after Keith began to choke on his own, his face reeling with frustration when the full body trembling made him unable to get a proper sentence out and the effort of trying sent him spiraling further.

Shiro carded his hand through Keith’s still damp hair as his hands rose back up to his face, his feet kicking against the bed as the terrible dropping feeling worked its way through his stomach, gasping as it did. Lance watched in horror as Shiro tried to comfort him but any point of contact made Keith struggle harder.

He absolutely hated being so vulnerable, so reliant on others in such a fragile state. He knew he sorely needed the affection but his body instinctively cringed away from their touches, at war with itself as his mind lied to him, told him he was pathetic for needing such a thing. Another part wanting to melt into even the faintest brush against his shuddering body. All while feeling the consequences of losing a pretty descent amount of blood, the loss fogging his mind to a point that made it immeasurably harder to not succumb to panic, especially since he was still bleeding.

It was truly the perfect storm and he hated every second of it.

His lungs felt like they were being dripped dry of every ounce of oxygen in them as the phantom sensation of spinning returned and disordered his heaving breaths further as he fought the urge to vomit. The bone deep exhaustion seemed to be rather helpful then, the physical symptoms of his anxiety fizzling out in minutes as he quite literally just lacked the faculties to accommodate them.

“I’m right here, Keith,” Shiro assured when his grip on his arm tightened and then wavered as he began to sink back into the mattress, his hands settling restlessly on his chest as they shook.

“That’s it, you’re alright.”

Shiro griped his shoulder securely now, the metal of his prosthetic arm weighing with an oddly pleasant pressure on Keith as his whole body shook still.

Closing his eyes seemed a tad less dangerous once he could breathe somewhat regularly again and the intense dizziness had somewhat dissipated. They were also swollen like hell and heavy from all the crying so shutting them became less of an active choice then as well.

Lance’s hand moved to his leg after a beat, just to peek and make sure that those wounds hadn’t met a similar fate. He watched as Shiro’s face dropped when he saw the second wrapping, swallowing thickly and shifting where he sat on the edge of the bed to speak to Lance.

“Will you get him to eat something while I go grab a few things?”

He nodded and made his way to the forgotten tray of snacks he’d nabbed as Shiro took off for supplies. The sobbing had died down after the climax of his panic did but the tears didn’t seem to ever dry up, evident from the sniffling every few minutes as he tried to clear his airways.

“Hey,” Lance nudged his arm where it had moved to cover his blotchy face again, “why don’t you sit up a little, gotta eat something...”

He didn’t even try, just shook his head.

“N-nauseous,” he stuttered, the shaking impossibly infuriating as he tried to relax enough to do anything other than cry.

“Hmmm, well you could also have juice, I can water it down a little. That sound doable?”

He just sighed and Lance took his indifference as a ‘whatever’ and went ahead anyway, nudging him again when he had a modified juice pouch for him.

“You don’t have to sit up all the way, there’s a straw,” Lance noted when Keith tried to raise himself up on shaking arms before they gave out. He grunted defeatedly and tried to scooch back on bent elbows and sit up that way but found he didn’t have the core strength then to do that either.

“Here, what if I...” Lance mused with a shy smile as he moved to pull Keith up enough to slide in behind him, bringing the pouch up to his lips where his now propped up head rested securely in the crook of his arm, still racked by tremors but seemingly more at ease with the contact.

“That better?”

Keith didn’t answer, just sucked on the straw of the pouch like he was dying of dehydration. By the time he’d finished the pouch Shiro was walking through the automatic door with a whoosh that startled Keith, his breathing picking back up as he nestled his head further into Lance’s arm like he was trying to hide under it.

“He finished some juice,” Lance stated proudly as Shiro laid out the haul of medical supplies he brought back.

“That’s good, something solid would be better though. Hm, how bout the bread?” Shiro asked, walking back over to the tray and picking up a roll from the batch Hunk had made with a type of alien wheat they’d found.

Keith grumbled but took it from Shiro’s outstretched hand because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to win that debate, but more because he knew what was coming next and he wanted that more than anything.

“What?! You just give in for Shiro but with me it’s like pulling teeth? I’m offended, mullet. Deeply offended,” Lance scoffed and Keith made a noise as he bit into the bread begrudgingly.

“It’s not personal, he just knows not to be stubborn unless he wants to be awake while I stitch him up.”

Lance’s heart sunk impossibly further into his chest because Shiro had fully found him like that before... and done this exact thing after. This wasn’t new to either of them.

God he wanted to cry too.

Once Keith had made a sizeable dent in the roll from the dinner he’d missed Shiro handed him three pills of which Lance assumed were some variant of a sleep aid that took him a while to swallow with how choppy he was breathing still. The high sort of buzz had never really gone away and only worsened when his anxiety took over, leaving him both feeling floaty and trapped in a constant state of shaking.

Lance tried to comfort him now that he seemed more receptive to being touched, tracing light circles on the shoulder not tucked against him and leaving his other hand out where he could reach it in case he needed something to squeeze.

In the time being Shiro had set up a sterile tray for what looked like a literal fish hook and a whole bunch of gauze. Oh, jeez. Lance wasn’t sure he could stomach watching and tried to manifest being able to just hold Keith in his arms while Shiro worked, ya know for moral support. For Keith obviously.

“How ya doing? Tired yet?” Shiro inquired as he continued to ready the tray, fiddling with bottles of medicine similar to what Lance had used before.

“Mhmm, getting... sleepy,” he slurred, his trembling dying down a bit as the medicine helped his body relax.

“Good,” Shiro let out a hollow laugh at the way he sounded like a kid again, “Lance will you let me know when he’s out?”

The altean medicine was working quickly, aided by the fact that he was already utterly spent and leaving his eyes fluttering as his breathing evened out. He didn’t want to fall asleep still worked up or he’d probably be restless, maybe even come to and be more disoriented than before. So he dragged out the relief of slowly being pulled to sleep by the flick of Lance’s fingers on his arm, forcing his eyes to remain open as long as he could manage.

“Yep, shouldn’t be long,” Lance noted when Keith let out a hissing yawn and turned his face towards Lance’s chest, his cheek resting against the squishiest part he could find and making Lance stifle a gasp.

Keith wasn’t known for being cuddly and the gesture, though not really a conscious one, made Lance’s stomach flutter. He wasn’t able to dwell on it long though because Shiro was addressing him again.

“Can you pinch his arm...?”

Lance obliged and Keith didn’t make a sound.

“Perfect, okay, you won’t get squeamish will you?”

“Uh... glue is a bit different than a needle but even that sort of freaked me out.”

“Alright then, you can clean and dissolve what opened up while I handle what’s already free,” Shiro determined as he ushered the familiar supplies closer to Lance.

He took up the needle which was already threaded and sighed heavily before pulling Keith’s desk chair flush up against the bed.

“Help me get him more on his side.”

They managed to by Lance pulling him by the shoulders and more onto his lap as Shiro pushed.

Shiro breathed deeply then, something in his eyes flickering as he removed the soaked through bandage from the younger boy’s hip. His entire side coated again, the skin visibly raised and puffy.

Lance took up the wound wash and showed it to Shiro who nodded, bringing the towel up to catch the excess liquid as he poured. Once he’d sopped up what had bled again Shiro started with the widest gash, the hardened glue was easy to pull off with how horribly it had been secured over such a large area. Lance looked elsewhere, focusing on removing the glue from the other reopened wounds.

Shiro operated like a robot after that, known quite literally for a precise hand but what happened next took that generalization to a whole other level. His fingers moved swiftly, tying off stitches almost faster than Lance could wash out the gashes but definitely quicker than he could remove the blue tinted glaze. He had to scrub and scrape at the substance from the open wounds, the bloody mess they’d become making the task harder than it ought to have been.

In actuality only a few had reopened, but they were also the deepest. Some of them took upwards of five stitches, others two or three. The proximity of them to each other, especially to ones that were still glued, made it difficult for Shiro to figure out where to place the needle.

They were done after ten or so minutes but when Shiro sat back to analyze his work, he frowned.

“What’s up?” Lance questioned dubiously.

Shiro didn’t answer, just brought his hand down to examine the glue that was barely holding about a dozen more wounds together. They’d grown darker, the amount of red beneath the generous amount of blue visibly greater than the lesser wounds as more blood gathered and threatened to burst out as well.

“Some of these look like they’re about to go too, they haven’t clotted. I don’t think they’d heal right if I don’t stitch them up, they’d leave worse, uh—worse scars.”

Lance nodded transfixedly, not sure if his heart could take hearing more things like that, more direct acknowledgments of how one of his best friends had hurt himself so badly... how it hadn’t been the first time... how he couldn’t make sure it was the last if even Shiro had failed to.

“-nce. Lance, hey, don’t let me lose you now. I need you to work on dissolving the rest of the glue,” Shiro said, his tone gentle again as he brought Lance back from the depths of his weary mind.

“Right,” he affirmed more for himself as he brought the dissolving liquid back down while Shiro rethreaded his needle.

Opening a just about to burst wound was admittedly a lot harder on Lance’s stomach than freeing one that had already. There was so much more blood because when he was done with one side it’d spring open and pool immediately as he fought to dissolve the rest before it spilled out and got everywhere.

Both of them were coated then, the only saving grace that kept Lance’s nerves at bay was Shiro having the forethought to have them both wear gloves, but that just made it seem like a literal operation. And with the amount of black threading Keith back together it was seeming more like one each horrible minute it droned on.

Shiro had lost his vest and jacket somewhere around the third time he had to rethread his needle, Lance’s discarded too after some time, both of them uncomfortably warm as they poured over stitching Keith back together.

Oh, oh god.

That did it for him.

Lance huffed shakily and turned his head away as he nearly lost it again over how much he wished he could do more than just help heal his wounds, he wanted to mend every one of his broken pieces, put the parts of him back together that you couldn’t see.

He couldn’t stand the thought of slapping a bandage on what had happened and ever going about normally again.

“Lance...”

Shiro looked at him with sorry eyes, wanting to hug him as he blinked back tears but Keith was very much preventing that from being possible.

“I’m okay, sorry—it’s just a lot.”

“I know. We’re almost done if that helps, just need to finish up on this one and then I want to take a quick look at his leg,” Shiro offered as he got back to the gash that was almost closed.

“It wasn’t as bad, only a few were deep,” Lance noted, his eyes glossy as they stared at Shiro’s busy hands, not even registering the way they pulled on Keith’s skin as they tied off the last knot.

Shiro nodded, sneaking a worried glance over at Lance who didn’t meet his gaze as he finished applying an ungodly amount of tape over top the gauze he’d put on the area. He then manhandled Keith’s leg so he could get at his thigh.

Lance looked down at his arms. There wasn’t much blue of the medical gloves on his hands showing, blood smeared past even that and up his arms. He hurriedly yanked at them, peeling one off within the other and folding the outer one over itself.

“Just toss it, I’ll clean this all up later.”

Shiro suggested noticing how dangerously close Lance was to unraveling and hoping to delay it until he could actually help.

He was right though, only a handful required stitches and half as many as the ones on his hip had needed at that. Shiro was done in record time, taking over Lance’s job of removing the glue and cleaning up the mess that followed, finishing by wrapping a thicker bandage around his leg and taping it in place.

When Shiro finally sat back and started to clean up he was dimly aware that Lance was silently crying and had scooted further down the bed to hold Keith more securely in his arms. Though he was definitely out he had never fully stopped shaking, but now it seemed more like a nervous system response to the nowhere near healthy amount of blood he’d lost. Lance moved his hands up and down his arm in attempt to soothe him anyway.

Shiro brought the throw blanket at the foot of the bed over the two of them after he’d removed all of the trashed medical supplies from it. Lance’s eyes had fluttered shut but were open now.

“He shouldn’t be up anytime soon but you look wiped, figured you’d want to stay...”

He nodded absently, eyes bleary but understanding as Shiro moved about the room for a little before sitting down at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll handle talking to him about all this tomorrow but in the case that he isn’t entirely dead to the world when the morning drill alarm goes off, tell him that he is not only excused but barred from training and piloting Red until his stitches are out.”

Lance just nodded again and yawned, pulling the blanket over the rest of his upper body.

“And Lance... “

He eyed Lance with a sort of fondness then.

“I know how fucked up tonight was, it couldn’t have been easy. You didn’t have to help him, you could’ve just gotten me, but you did. And I don’t know what kind of headspace he’ll be in when he wakes up but I do know he’ll be grateful you were there for him... even if he has a funny way of showing it.”

The lump in Lance’s throat bobbed threateningly, his eyes stinging again as he whispered a meak ‘thanks’ as Shiro stood up and leaned closer to ruffle his perfect hair before he turned to leave, shutting the lights off before he did.

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