#pov reader

“Ahhh, did'ja hear that crowd, babe? They absolutely LOVED me!” Taoka Latronis exclaimed confidently as he folded his arms behind his head with a confident smile across his handsome face as he rested his eyes shut contently. You smirked and nudged him softly as you walked closely besides him and assured him that he was magnificent, as always. Taoka cracked one eye open slightly as he glanced back at you and smirked cockily, teasing those pearly white fangs of his. “Course I was. Magnificence is my middle name after all, babe.”

You rolled your eyes and joked that of Taoka had a middle name, it would be 'Crabby Pants.'

Taoka snorted and nudged you back. “Not yer best dig, ain't gonna lie. Heh, must still be awestruck'uh my talents, eh?”

You simply chuckled and conceded that you must be.

As the two of you continued walking, however, suddenly, a rather loud rumble bellowed throughout the hallway of Octavinelle. Taoka winced and rested his ungloved hand against his lean stomach, rubbing it firmly as it continued rumbling up a storm. “Mph, damn, did ya hear that? I'm starvin'...”

Your cheeks reddened a bit as you listened to your boyfriend's middle rumbling away hungrily. Naturally, you joked that there's no way the greedy crab would ever skip out on a meal.

“Tch, s'my new rule, babe. Never eat anythin' before a show,” Taoka's tanned cheeks reddened somewhat as he glanced away and in a more uncharacteristically pouty sort of way, added, “...already made that mistake once...do not need a repeat...”

Again, your cheeks reddened at that memory, biting your lip as you remarked that you certainly didn't mind. Jokingly, you added that half the shred metal where you come from sounds like the singers burping into the mic anyway.

“Yeah, but they ain't LITERALLY doin' it, are they,” Taoka swiped back, before managing a sly smirk back at you and leaning closer. “Buuuut who knows? With a good meal in my belly, I might just give you an encore...'specially with a meal as fillin' as you are, babe...” He looked you over with a hungry look in his gorgeous eyes and slowly ran his tongue across his fangs in a way that made you weak in the knees. “Whadduya say? Care t'satiate my hunger?”

Tugging at your collar a bit, you felt yourself sweat at that predatory teasing of his. Still, you composed yourself and gently rested your hand against Taoka's lean stomach and slowly caressed it up and down, adding that you already planned to, and that if he eats you, he'll miss out on his real reward.

Taoka cocked a brow and tilted his head. “Oh?”

Then of course, upon arriving back at his dorm room, his eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.

“...Oh.”

Spread across the coffee table was a whole slew of dishes you'd ordered from the Monstro Lounge during the live show, all of Taoka's favorite dishes, and a whole bunch of 'em to boot.

Being the lover of a gluttonous young rockstar with about as much self control as a pig before a troff, you'd long since come to know that whenever it was dinner time, Taoka was going to eat enough to feed at least half a dozen students, and likely beyond. Granted, that was kind of the norm with EVERY student in NRC, but hey, details...

“Hooooly crabby crap, you really went all out, didn'tcha, babe...” Taoka mused in awe, before clearing his throat and managing that trademark cocky smirk of his as he added, “...nothin' but the finest fer the finest, amirite?”

Again, you rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully before the two of you sat down at the couch. You remarked that after the show, a bit of a treat would be in order for Taoka knocking it out of the park.

He smirked back at you as he grabbed his first takeout box and said, “Heh, y'were that confident I'd dazzle the crowd? Eh, can't say I blame ya. Hard NOT t'be dazzled by yers truly, ain't it...”

You conceded the point, but added that was mostly because his getup could blind an entire concert hall.

“Oi! It's called 'fashion', thank you very much. Ain't my fault most'uh you, beyond Vil, got the fashion sense of a mannequin,” Taoka insisted as he stuck his nose up at you rather petulantly, before his stomach rumbled almost impatiently. He grimaced and palmed his firm, trim gut, adding, “Alright, alright, jeez..so impatient...” But once he opened that first box and found fried, simmering fish with coconut sauce and lemon awaiting him, Taoka's maw instantly started watering.

You would've said 'bon appetite', but before you could even finish saying 'bon', Taoka was already ravenously gorging himself on that first dish. Taoka groaned at the delicious flavors as he chewed heartily, shoveling more and more fish into his maw and groaning some more at the sheer deliciousness treating his taste buds. After seconds of his fangs pulverizing that ample mouthful of meat, Taoka dipped his head back and gave a thick, hearty gulp. You watched with rapt focus as a sizable lump traversed down Taoka's slender throat with a wet squelch. He rested his gloved finger against it and followed the lump as it vanished past his collarbone and left him huffing contently.

Without wasting another second, he helped himself to another dish, eagerly and voraciously scarfing down its contents like famine was fast approaching. As he gorged himself, he smirked back at you, eyeing you as he watched you watching him stuff his face. “Enjoyin' the show, babe?” he asked in a flirtatiously teasing manner.

You blushed and remarked that he knew full well that you were.

Taoka's grin widened at that, once again baring his fangs a bit. He then grabbed an especially sizable piece of fried tempura, one meant to be cut up into smaller pieces. Instead, Taoka dangled it over his maw and slowly pushed the entire thing into his mouth. He chewed heartily, tugging you close to him as his fangs crunched down heavily against the fried fish. Then, Taoka gave an especially thick gulp, causing an even larger bulge to protrude from his neck, one which made him wince slightly as that big mouthful of tempura slowly descended down your boyfriend's gullet.

Unable to help yourself, you rested your fingers against the bulge in Taoka's neck and pressed into it slightly, as if forcing that lump down his throat manually. You both shuddered at the sensation as the bulge traveled further and further down his throat, with your fingers still pressed against it, until with one last wet gulp, it vanished behind his smooth, athletic chest and into his stomach. Taoka huffed heavily, his fish-scented breath wafting over you as you blushed furiously. He licked his lips clean and grinned back at you again, flashing you a teasing wink which made your spine tingle.

The aquatic, shapeshifting youth continued working his way through dish after dish, effortlessly packing away boxes that would've left you stuffed ages ago. All the while, as he packed it all away, your eyes wandered down to Taoka's stomach. His normally trim and concave midsection had long since flattened out early into his binge-eating. As time went on and more empty takeout boxes continued to pile up, however, Taoka's stomach steadily began to swell, starting with a delightfully curved out edge, until it began to grow more visibly rounded the more Taoka packed away. His almost tribal, crab-patterned shirt tightened around his middle, now, barely containing his belly the more bloated it became. On top of that, Taoka's stylish golden belt began to strain against the weight and heft of his growing gut too.

Even with his stomach bulging out by almost a dozen extra inches, still, Taoka continued wolfing down box after box of all the delectable seafood you'd picked out for him. His pace had certainly slowed down slightly, but the greedy young rockstar showed no signs of stopping any time soon. Taoka ate and ate, as his belly grew bigger and rounder with every takeout box of seafood that he consumed. You swallowed hard as you saw his shirt begin to lift up ever so slightly, almost teasing you as a tantalizing sliver of Taoka's bare, tanned stomach began to poke out from beneath his now-ill fitting shirt.

Smacking his lips a bit, Taoka seemed a bit parched, so you almost a little TOO eagerly snatched up a can of sparkling water for him. Taoka snorted to himself and took the can. “Hehe, man, yer hopeless, y'know that?” He said teasingly.

You insisted that you were no more shameless than he was...or virtually anyone else in NRC whose name wasn't Kalim.

Taoka shrugged, before popping the top of the can open, then bringing it to his lips and took a nice long drag. He pulled the can aside and smacked his lips again. “Ahh, brisk,” he insisted, before bringing it back up to his lips and properly slugging his beverage down. You watched his pronounced Adam's Apple bob in and out as; his throat pulsating as Taoka chugged his drink down at an impressive pace. Your heart raced in your chest, hearing the squelching of his throat muscles as all that fizzy liquid flowed down his gullet. Taoka moaned a little around his can as he chugged, both from how full he was clearly starting to get...aaaaand almost certainly, to rile you up further.

As Taoka chugged his drink down, his ungloved hand rested against his bulging belly, slowly stroking it as more of that carbonated beverage filled his already packed gut up. By the time he finished downing his drink, his stomach was looking slightly more inflated, due to the sheer volume of carbonation building up from downing so much so quickly.

Making it a point to flip the can over and shake it, revealing not a single drop remained, Taoka crushed the can, tossed it aside, and gulped down the remaining mouthful of sparkling water in his mouth. Taoka huffed breathlessly for but a moment...before wincing, grabbing his bulging belly with both hands, and letting loose an absolutely MONSTROUS belch! All that carbonation in Taoka's belly came rushing out of him all at once in one deafening eructation, one that rattled out of him for a few seconds straight, and made you flinch from its sheer might.

When it ended, Taoka gasped breathlessly, laughing in an equally breathless manner as he slapped his belly in satisfaction with an equally satisfying thumping sound to it. “Whew! Haaaah...guh, oh wow,” he started to say, before his voice trailed off. There was a brief look of strain before Taoka took a deep breath, and belched again. It wasn't nearly as explosive as that first, glorious monster, but it was still hefty-sounding, and rolled out of Taoka's maw for nearly six seconds straight. It morphed into a breathy groan of relief at the end, leaving him huffing for several seconds as his bulging belly rose and fell. “...Guhhh, oOoh man, that was a good one...” Taoka moaned as he stroked his belly up and down in a satisfied, teasing manner, before glancing back at you and flashing you another wink. “Yer welcome, by the by...”

You didn't even care how your face was even more red than Riddle at his angriest...that entire scene would replay in your head endlessly for years to come.

Sure enough, Taoka went back to stuffing himself on the remaining boxes of seafood. However, he was definitely starting to flag. His groaning was a little more exaggerated, leaving you unsure if he was hamming it up to rile you up further, or just really, REALLY full. Either way, your cheeks weren't getting any less rosy.

Eventually, Taoka slumped back against the couch, groaning as he massaged his big, weighty gut. It was now sticking out rather prominently by over a foot, and hiking up his shirt more and more until the bottom of his shirt was an inch or so below his bellybutton, as if to tease you. Taoka's hands kneaded into his tight-looking sides as he moaned all the while. “OoOooohhhh, babe...I'm really startin' t'feel it now...” Taoka moaned as he massaged his round, churning gut. He hiccuped loudly, and huffed, covering his mouth as he hiccuped again, jerking his entire torso and causing his bloated belly to burble some more. “Ugh...*HICCULP!*...woof...oohhh man, I'm stuffed...”

The aquatic teen in disguise hiccuped rather loudly again, huffing as he palmed his chest and gave another hiccup. Grimacing, he took a deep breath and pounded his chest a few more times with his fist, until a rather large, rumbling belch finally rolled out of his maw. It lasted a few seconds and ended in a relieved groan that left his tongue hanging from his maw not unlike a dog.

“Hahhh...better,” Taoka moaned, patting his belly contently and letting out a thick afterburp from the corner of his mouth.

Yeaaaaahhhh, your cheeks were going to be burning for a good hot minute...

Taoka tried to keep gorging himself, but you could definitely see that he was reaching his limits. His pace was much slower, he was groaning a bit more, and every so often, some rather thick belches would work their way out of his maw, and always end in a groan.

Still, you insisted that he only had a few more dishes left to eat. He moaned some more, this time in a more noticeably exaggerated manner, arching his back as he did so and not only making his belly stick out more, but hiking up his shirt enough to expose the bottom half of his shallow bellybutton. He didn't even need to look at you to see what that was doing to you, the cheeky little crab...

“Mmmm...I dunno, babe...I'm pretty packed to the brim...” Taoka groaned, slapping the side of his belly again in a showy manner, before adding, “...maybe if someone helped feed me the rest, I could manage...”

...Ohhhh, damn him to the furthest pit of hell...or...whatever the hell equivalent was for everyone in this realm...

Nonetheless, you were all too eager to assist. Grabbing one of the remaining boxes, you scooted even closer to Taoka and cracked it open. It was a box of coconut battered fried shrimps. You took one by the tail and held it towards Taoka's mouth, which opened up to eagerly accept the shrimp. After you stuck the shrimp into his mouth, he wrapped his lips shut around it, crunching away and swallowing it down effortlessly, before opening his maw wide for more.

Oh, he absolutely could've done this himself. This was just to twist your arm into helping rile you up further.

...As if you minded one bit...

You hand-fed Taoka more and more shrimp, shuddering at the way he groaned at you feeding him. As he chewed down a mouthful of shrimps, you finally took a moment to rest your free hand against Taoka's belly. Your knees were practically jelly by this point...

Taoka's gut was beautifully round, sticking out by well over a foot. His slight trace of muscles were nowhere to be found; abs perfectly smoothed out in his bloated state. You tugged his shirt up further, fully exposing his bellybutton and several inches above it. Taoka's round, tan belly was delectably smooth to the touch, and as taut as a drum. Experimentally, you pushed your fingertips into his tight flesh and could barely move it. There was damn near no give whatsoever to that overstuffed stomach.

Slowly, your hand began to run circles into the side of that tight, tanned ball of flesh. Even with how hard his bloat was, you nonetheless dug your fingertips into his skin as you kneaded Taoka's belly. The slick, purple-haired boy moaned in absolute splendor at that sensation, biting his lip as he swallowed that hefty mouthful of shrimps. You peeled your eyes away from his beautifully bloated belly to look up at his throat, once again watching as his gloved fingers traced the lump traveling down his throat. When it reached his belly, you could hear Taoka's stomach gurgle in response, churning so intensely that it bubbled with every addition adding to the growing mass festering inside of Taoka's glutted midsection.

You continued rubbing Taoka's belly with one hand while feeding him with the other. When you pushed more shrimps past his lips, Taoka lapped up the shrimps, but also ran his tongue across your fingers, making you shudder a bit. Grinning, Taoka grabbed your wrist and slowly ran his tongue across your hand, pulling your wrist into his maw slightly more, as if teasingly threatening to eat you...before innocently releasing his grip on your wrist and letting you pull your hand out.

“Mmmm, tasty,” Taoka said with his mouthful, grinning back at you as your mind struggled to comprehend if he was referring to the shrimps or YOU...

...Didn't help that you weren't quite sure which one you were hoping was the right answer...

“S'alright, babe, I know yer a flustered lil mess right now, and rest assured, I'll be more than happy t'fluster ya even f-rRRRMPH?!” The spiky-haired dope tried to keep teasing you, but mysteriously, several shrimps found their way into his mouth all at once. Huh, SURELY, you only meant to feed him a few and not an entire handful, didn't you? Oh well...

His cheeks bulged out rather humorously as he looked both surprised and a bit indignant, nonetheless, he grumbled rather petulantly and nonetheless chewed away. The crunching of those fried shrimp was notably louder than usual due to the sheer amount that you just crammed into his big mouth. There was so much that Taoka had to lean his head back so that gravity could assist him when he finally gulped that mouthful down, which he did with an especially thick, squelching...

*GLUUUUOOORRRLLLK!!!*

...Your eyes widened as you watched a rather thick bulge push down from the bottom of Taoka's jawline and slowly squeeze its way down his throat. Taoka looked a bit strained as he gulped down that ample mouthful, pushing his fingertips against the protrusion in his neck and pushing into it as he gave a few smaller gulps to help work that ample mouthful of shrimp down his gullet. It was like Taoka was swallowing a baseball whole with how thick that lump was...

...How many shrimps DID you shove into his craw anyway...?!

Not that it mattered. Thanks to Taoka's inhuman anatomy, the equally inhuman amount of food was able to work its way further and further down his throat, until with one last wet gulp, it squeezed past his collarbone and added to his already ample belly. Taoka's fingers followed that protrusion all the way down until his palm rested against his chest. After swallowing it down, he huffed breathlessly...

...Then winced as his head sank into his neck somewhat, before lurching forward with his maw gaping open as a HUGE belch blasted aggressively out of Taoka's maw. It rattled out of him so intensely that, for as tight as his gut was, you could feel the inside of his Taoka's weighty stomach reverberate from the sheer intensity of that eructation. When it ended, Taoka gasped breathlessly, looking both relieved but winded after getting that monster out. “Guhh...hooooly hell...” Taoka groaned out in a slightly hoarse tone of voice, before clenching his eyes shut and letting out a lengthy afterburp that left him moaning some more when it ended.

You quickly checked your nose to make sure it wasn't bleeding with how much blood was rushing to your face from that display.

Getting that out of his system, you were able to feed him the remaining boxes of food. Every tempura piece you hand fed him was met with him licking your palm and teasing you in that predatory manner of his, just to watch you squirm. All the while, you continued pampering that big, tanned belly as it grew bigger and rounder.

Eventually, every last scrap of food was finished up, and Taoka was left stuffed into a food-drunk stupor.

“Haahhh...hrraaaaahhhh...” the immensely bloated rockstar huffed and panted, overstuffed beyond belief. “...Gruuoorrgh...oohhh baby, I...am...STUFFED...” Taoka moaned out as he lazily patted his immense dome of a gut. He hiccuped quite loudly and groaned afterwards, sinking into the couch like a dazed ragdoll.

No longer needing to feed him, you now used both hands to work over every inch of that glorious tum. Up and down they slid, kneading into that drum-tight surface.

As you rubbed Taoka's belly, your hands traced down to his smooth, softer underbelly, stroking it from side to side and making Taoka shudder in pleasure. As you did, your fingers traced down towards his waist, working your fingers around the buckle of his belt. It was a struggle. Taoka was so damn bloated that his belly was pressing down firmly against that golden belt. But you knew he'd never stop whining if he burst that belt, glorious as that would've been, so you worked to undo it. It took some doing, but eventually, unbuckled his belt.

And like water breaching the hairline crack of a dam, Taoka's belly surged out freely by a few extra inches and unzipping his pants in the process. “GruoooOOOOohhhhh by the seven...” Taoka moaned out in a relieved daze, practically going crosseyed as his belly spilled out freely. He slumped back even more, making his gut stick out all the way for you.

You took in the sight of that immensely swollen ball of flesh. The sight of Taoka so utterly bloated and looking downright debauched was enough to make you lightheaded. Even in his food drunk state, Taoka managed to catch your obvious attraction and managed a sly, fang-filled smirk.

“Mrrahhh...like what'cha see, babe?” he asked, folding his arms behind his head and arching his back even more to make his belly jut forth even further.

You were too flustered to even retort. Oh, he had you right where he wanted you. Your hands eagerly roamed every inch of that ample, firm dome. Taoka groaned as your fingers ghosted up and down that overstuffed gut of his, kneading into the upper crest of his stomach and kneading circles into the sides of his gut, before sliding down his delectably tender underbelly.

Taoka bit his lower lip in delight, basking in the unbridled pampering you gave his large, churning middle. As you rubbed into it, you rested your head against his belly, pressing your ear against its surface, listening as Taoka's innards gurgled and bubbled intensely to try and break down such a vast meal.

“Mmmm...imaginin' yerself stirrin' around in there, babe? 'Cuz I'd be more than happy to arrange that for ya if y'ask me to,” Taoka remarked, still in his food-drunk haze as he grinned down at you and slowly ran his tongue across his fangs in an extra showy manner, making your spine tingle.

To even pretend that you weren't imagining yourself squirming in Taoka's big, warm belly, feeling the slick stomach lining squeezing all around you, would be a big fat lie. Instead, you nuzzled against Taoka's belly, shuddering at how it gurgled in your ears, and continued rubbing your palm against the center of Taoka's gut. Your finger traced around Taoka's shallow bellybutton, making the young shapeshifter moan a little more pleasurably, especially when you teasingly pushed your finger inside of his navel and kneaded around within it. He always had a pretty sensitive bellybutton, something you'd learned quite a bit the more you two dated.

You eventually pulled your finger out of his navel and gave the side of his gut a few hearty, possessive pats. Each pat had such a wonderfully satisfying thump to it, like thumping against a really ripe watermelon. The gurgling was still relentless, so as you rubbed, you once again started really pushing against Taoka's belly, trying to press your fingers as firmly against his gut as you could.

Taoka winced as his belly gave a rather ominous gurgle. “Mph, oOhhh wow, babe, there's a BIG one in there...” he groaned out as he grabbed your hand and guided it towards the center of his gut, just above his bellybutton. You eagerly pushed as firmly as you could against that portion of his ample stomach, which had no give whatsoever, but still, you pushed.

The gurgling intensified, making Taoka cringe, before a thick lump rose up his throat and caused his cheeks to puff out. For a moment, you feared that Taoka was about to be sick and that you were in the blast range.

Instead? Well...

“BWUUUUUUUUOOORRHHUUUUURRR-AAAAAAAAAAAHHUUUUURRRAAAAAAAAAAAAARPH!!!!!!”

A record-shatteringly COLOSSAL belch exploded from past Taoka's rippling lips...! All that air swallowed down from eating so fast and the sheer volume of gas built up from all this delicious, greasy seafood had created a monumental pocket of stomach gasses that came violently expelling from Taoka's gut all at once and this was the explosive result. The throat-destroying eructation could most definitely be heard from well beyond Taoka's dorm room as it blasted boorishly and loudly for almost eight uninterrupted seconds straight. What probably helped was the way you pushed on Taoka's belly as he burped to force as much of that gas out as humanly possible.

After what felt like an eternity (that you could have happily sat in forever), Taoka gasped heavily before slumping back; a panting, sweaty heap as his big, tight belly rose and fell with each labored and heavy breath he gave.

“Faahhhh...hhhaaaahhhhh...oOOoohhhh Chernabog, that was...” Taoka trailed off again, before throwing his head back, slapping his belly and letting another HUGE burp, almost just as loud, but nowhere near as long. He sighed heavily again, letting his tongue hang from his maw as he nearly went cross-eyed and slowly stroked his belly in a satisfied manner. After catching his breath, he said, “hhhhrraaaahhhhh...ooOooohhh that felt...amazin'...”

...SOUNDED amazing too...

With that pressure now expelled, you much more gently resumed rubbing his big, burbly belly in a more sensual and soothing manner. Taoka groaned pleasurably as he rested his eyes shut and let you pamper away.

“Mmmm...ya know, after gettin' that bad boy outta my poor tum-tum, I'd bet I could probably squeeze ya down fer dessert...” Taoka said in a still hoarse but teasing manner. He licked his lips hungrily at you and added, “How would ya like that, babe? A lot? Or a REAL lot?”

Blushy as you were...for a LOT of reasons, you simply rested your head against that bulbous belly and slowly caressed away. After a while of this, you remarked that you'd rather remain out here so you can tend to Taoka's big ol' tum-tum directly. Adding that if you were stirring away inside, you wouldn't be able to do this...

And by 'this', you, of course, meant plant a kiss just above Taoka's bellybutton.

Sure enough, when you looked up, that cocky smirk was wiped clean off of Taoka's face. Suddenly, it was HIS turn to go red-cheeked as he tugged at his golden blazer a bit and said, “...Err...y-yeah, I guess ya couldn't...jeez, i-is it warm all'uh the sudden or what...?”

You grinned and simply resumed rubbing away. Crabby dork never could take what he dished out...it was adorable, frankly...

As you rubbed, however, you smirked back and added that he really did do an amazing job at the show tonight.

Upon hearing that, he smirked a little more cockily again and said, “Pfft, as if there was any doubt?” His cocky smirk turned just EVER so slightly more sincere as he added, “...'Sides, when ya have a certain someone cheerin' ya on every step'uh the way? S'hard not t'rock out when yer feelin' like a star already, ya know?”

You smiled back and rested your head against his belly, lightly patting it as you nodded in agreement, before adding that he better not start calling you his “Groupie”.

Taoka laughed, then grinned down widely. “Awww, s'wrong with dat, babe? Ya know, there's a ton'uh perks t'bein' my groupie. Such as all these private shows I'm so generously givin' ya?”

You rolled your eyes, but still blushed as you kneaded the side of his stomach.

Then Taoka's stomach gurgled a bit more intensely, and he grinned even wider. “Plus, I can give ya a lil encore...”

You cocked a brow, but before you could ask what sort of 'encore' he was talking about, Taoka pounded his chest, leaned down, and knocked loose a ferocious belch right in your face...one that dragged for a few seconds straight and left him huffing breathlessly, before smacking his chops.

...Oh...

Taoka snickered, folding his arms behind his head again as he arched his back and said, “Ahhh, hehehe, yer just way too easy sometimes, y'know that” His grin turned positively devilish after that. “Tell ya what though. Gimme another one'uh those sparklin' waters'n I'll give ya a REAL show. Hehe, might even try burpin' out more lyrics again, juuuust fer you, babe...”

Prompt: You are at a house party with some friends and the guy you’ve been crushing on all summer, Conrad Fisher and you get acquainted, maybe even a bit more 😉

This summer in Cousins was nothing short of amazing. Your family owned a beach house in a beautiful subdivision directly on the water. Right across from him. Conrad Fisher. You met Conrad at the country club during a community event that his mother was hosting. You awkwardly hung out at the pool while the rest of your friends and family were inside enjoying themselves. You aren’t one for social events, granted, you have plenty of friends, but sometimes, peace and quiet are what keep you grounded and sane. You had your feet in the water listening to Undo by The 1975 on your phone humming along. You heard footsteps behind you and quickly turned as much as you could to see who it was. It was him. The moonlight danced on his features perfectly, it felt like the man walked in slow motion.

 “Hey” Conrad says to you as your eyes lock with his.

You reply with a “Hello” and a polite smile.

                Dazed your stare lingered for a bit too long and you frantically turned away to mute your phone as fast as possible. As clumsy as you are, it was not your best bet to keep your phone that close to the pool. You smacked it straight in the water and immediately gasped in embarrassment. Before you could even figure out what your plan was to get it out, Conrad jumps into the pool to dive for it. You sit on the edge of the pool waiting for him to pop back up and when he does he is directly in front of you while you are covering your mouth in shock. He gives you that famous Conrad grin and looks up at you with those beautiful emerald green eyes.

“Well, I saved it for you but you may need another one..”  he said cheekily.

All you could muster was a “Thanks” shyly.

He chuckles lightly at your shyness. “Ah yes, a girl of few words. Silence is golden but I wouldn’t mind having a nice conversation with you…” he trailed off and your eyes met his again. He looks nothing short of a dream with his dark wet hair and those eyes. He swims toward the edge of the pool and gets out to sit next to you.

“Conrad, Conrad Fisher.” He extends his hand to you for a shake.

You politely take his hand in yours and finally respond.

“Y/N, nice to meet you.” You extend a smile to him and he smiles back.

“So, what was that song you were listening to when I walked up, it sounded very whimsical”

“It’s by one of my favorite bands. Its called Undo by The 1975. Ever heard of them?” you respond.

“No I can’t say I have. Would you mind if we hung out a bit longer and listened to it?” Conrad asks.

You respond with an “Of course we can” and attempt to use your phone. Your phone is definitely on the fritz and barely working. “But only if you don’t mind me playing it on your phone” you tell Conrad.

“Of course”

He pulls out his phone, unlocks it and hands it to you. You go to apple music and search your favorite band and the song you were just playing. The intro has a slow but charming start.

“Twist around the lounge Sun drowns the house Stick another pill in my head and go to bed We're not doing it again so leave it.”

“This is my favorite part of the song. The saxophone really ties you in” you say to Conrad as the drums come in, you begin to sing along very lightly alongside Matty Healy.

“No, I didn't even see you when I liked you No, now I ain't got no time Girl, I wanna see you undo it I wanna see you but you're not mine”

Conrad is staring at you in your blissful moment, with a small smile. In that moment, all he saw was you. You finished singing the last lyric at the beginning and paused the song. You turned to face Conrad and he is still staring at you with that classic Conrad smirk.

“So, what do you think so far?” you ask shyly. You are not usually the type to be so talkative, but Conrad’s presence is almost comforting.

“I think it’s a beautiful song, How’d you find this band? They are really good.” He asks trying to keep you talking.

“Well, I actually found them online. I listen to all different genres of music and their music speaks to me. They are true artists and are amazing at painting a pic-“

You were rambling and Conrad was fully enthralled in more than the conversation. He reached up and pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Sorry, I saw your glasses sliding down your nose I-“ he says to you explaining why he did that.

“It’s fine, I’m not bothered by it at all, it can be distracting” you say shyly as you begin to play the song at a lower volume. Conrad hears the song begin again, the sound of the synthesizers playing the waning tone that starts the second verse. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you though. He sits and watches you vibe out. Before the chorus drops, he moves his hand to your face and turns it to face his, and before you know it, his lips crash into yours.

“No, I didn't even see you when I liked you No, now I ain't got no time Girl, I wanna see you undo it I wanna see you but you're not mine”

The music continues beautifully in the background, and your skin feels like it’s on fire. You can’t believe that THE Conrad Fisher is kissing you. The pair of you kiss until the song is over and he looks at you and smiles. You look down shyly.

“I have no clue why you are so shy, You’re beautiful Y/N.” Conrad says to you sweetly. You lift your gaze to meet his beautiful jade eyes.

“Thanks” you respond with a sigh of relief.

“And might I add, an amazing kisser” Conrad says teasingly.

“Oh you stammer, Thanks. But w-why-“

Conrad cuts you off again by kissing you again. Once your lips separate, he responds “I’ve seen you around Y/N, I have always wanted to talk to you and get to know you and seeing you now for the first time one on one, I figured this was the moment.”

“Wow, Conrad… I don’t know what to say.” You respond back to him.

“Listen Y/N, I like you, I think we should hang out more and see what happens.” He offers and you oblige “I think I’m down with that”

That night Conrad and you exchanged numbers when he walked you home. He gave you a polite kiss on the cheek before you said goodnight and closed the door. You leaned against the closed door, mind racing and heart fluttering. It was like a dream come true.

                You go upstairs to get ready for bed, on cloud 9 from what happened at the country club. Your phone lights up on your night stand. Its Conrad “I had a great night hanging out with you. I’m currently listening to the 1975 just so you know” he says.

“I also had a great night with you, and whatcha listening to?” you respond back.

He texts back quickly “Pressure, same album as Undo right?”

“Yes, you catch on quick. That’s another one of my favorites!” you respond, excited that he’s checking out your favorite band.

“I do I do, they really are a great band from what I’ve heard so far. I just wanted to listen to some other songs the beautiful girl I met tonight might like. I think you may know her 😉” He responds flirtatiously.

“I might know her lol” You respond back to him.

“Well anyway, I hope you have a good rest of your night. Sweet Dreams Darling” Conrad texts you sweetly.

There's a part in the story with abuse by a family member (domestic violence). It's not reader being beaten in the way one might imagine abuse, but it's still abuse.

If you're being hurt by a loved one irl, they are doing something bad to you. Abuse is not earned or deserved. You are worthy of being safe and unhurt.

For help getting safe, you can call the Domestic Violence Hotline (USA) at 800-799-7233, chat online, or text START to 88788.

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

Day 1 of being stuck in a damn bed

later

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

Carol brought him supper. Eggs and field greens with crackers and beans. She’d brought breakfast and lunch to him, too. Stayed this time, though.

She ate mostly in silence with him but told him about the day. When she was done eating, she went back to mending a torn shirt she’d brought with.

Sophia wasn’t brought back today.

The whole truckload of these asshats that he’s been sticking with for way too long and for who-knows-why — couldn’t find that woman’s little girl after an entire day of searching the grid he slashed in half? Goddamned bullshit.

Yet, when two of those 'asshats,' Y/N and Patricia, came in to bring him a nighttime dose of painkillers and do another exam, he couldn’t find the words to ask Y/N anything about it. He didn’t feel all pissed and upset anymore, either.

Couldn’t make eye contact much with her just yet, granted. Still felt all stupid nervous.

Ain’t nothing he could do about it for now, his soul got stripped bare with Y/N’s yesterday. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t think of Y/N as stupid. Or Carol, that lady wasn’t stupid.

Hell, maybe no one in his group was, maybe it was just that he was heartbroke about that poor lost girl and in way too much pain.

Y/N was honest and spoke plainly about the situation, which was a welcome relief from how others were getting closed-lipped about it. “Today was so damned disappointing,” she muttered. “Twelve of us took turns goin’ out in teams, man, scoured the grid you narrowed down. Then we went beyond it when we still didn’t find…” After a few moments, she sat up straighter, adjusting the sling on her injured side. “Tomorrow’s the day, then.”

Well, since they’re changing up the search area tomorrow, maybe it’s true. And, maybe Daryl will stop complaining about others and will stop being a pussy and be able to actually get up and walk tomorrow, help out by his damned self and bring back their the girl.

Except that when he implied as much, Patricia shot it down. “We can’t force you, but—”

“Sure as shit can’t,” he yipped back.

At hearing Y/N’s huff, he turned just in time to catch her licking her teeth in annoyance. Her eyebrows were raised and her stare was enough to make his heart pound, loudly.

“You won’t make it far without needin’ to be helped back, if you can get up and walk around normally in the first place,” Patricia cautioned. “Give yourself a few days.”

Yeah, so, Sophia didn’t have a few days. “I’m fine.”

“We just want you to heal,” Carol quietly spoke.

Before he could finish yipping another comeback, Patricia sighed, then surprised him by saying, “Alright. We’ll leave the room so you can get dressed. Clothes are over there.”

Y/N frowned. “Ma’am?”

The lady gently held up a hand in response.

It was a test, plain as day. Which is why before them three had even left the room, Daryl had grit his teeth and held the bedsheets across his shoulder to keep himself covered as he pushed through the pain in order to sit upright all the way.

Courtesy of Y/N, his button-down shirt was tossed to him before she scooted out of the room, and Daryl was wincing and biting back groans as he worked it on for at least three minutes. He thanked his lucky stars it was a button-down and not a t-shirt, or he wouldn’t have been able to put it on.

He should’ve just thrown in the towel right then and accepted defeat, but he had too much to prove.

And when if he admitted it was too much for him…even if he didn't look like a Q-tip, wearing a damn pair of pants while it happened was the bare minimum that could make it bearable.

But he really should’ve thrown that towel in. It took accidentally hissing out a cuss when he tried to be tough as he swung his leg off the bed for him to start thinking he was being a jackass. It took him swallowing a whimper, chewing on his lip all the while, when he stood and had to untangle the bedsheets from his foot for him to doubt he could even get the pants on.

But being stubborn as a jackass had its perks: he gripped the bed frame to help him walk and got to his clothes without knocking anything over. He also worked out that sitting to put the pants on was better because he had to bend less if he was seated.

By the time he’d gotten them plus his socks and shoes on, he was sweaty and had the shakes, he’d also needed to sit awhile before he got the balls to stand up again and hobble his way to the door.

But he made it. Choking down his pride and his groans of discomfort, he made it to the door and pulled it open.

Patricia was waiting on the chair around the corner in the living room, quietly talking with Y/N while pointing at something in a giant, red book.

“Maybe I do need that few days,” he surrendered. Didn’t come out as tough as he’d intended.

Tell you what, though, that twangy blonde woman was one heck of a lady. “Let’s get you some fresh air while you’re up, does that sound good?” she offered. “The porch is only a few steps away.”

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

You

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

“Oh, Glenn.” You flop against the RV’s table and end up staring at the ding in the cabinet opposite you. You just left the front porch after Patricia helped Daryl walk there to get a breather, only to find out not 30 seconds after entering the RV that Glenn spilled the news about Lori to Dale.

Instead of Glenn, Dale responds, “Kiddo, my lips are sealed,” but you’re busy trying to sort out how to keep Shane from finding out for a little while longer if already the news is getting out, and not from Lori or you.

You love Glenn to death, but oh my gosh, he is not good at secrets. You didn’t even know he’d known, you only just now drew the conclusion when you made the connection; that that was the thing on Lori’s drugstore list that Glenn was being all secretive about, the pregnancy test.

Right now, you need to stomp down the fears leaping around your dumb little brain because you cannot make this seem dramatic, or it will point to there being a problem with Lori being pregnant — which there isn’t, a new baby is such happy news you could scream, it’s just that there’s the possibility of — with your brother and — ugh, you need to go on a walk or kick something! And Dale and Glenn won’t/can’t know why you’re so upset or it will be even worse.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew, or I would’ve talked about it with you instead of Dale so I wouldn’t explode! Secrets aren’t cool, dude.”

“Seein' as you didn't mention the pregnancy tests, I'd say secrets have their place,” you test.

“Not really. They make things complicated and people get hurt.”

You sneer while letting out a huff, and Dale puts his two cents in.

“I’m inclined to agree with Glenn here.” He’s apologetic when he calmly next points out, “Secrets are an omission of the truth.”

Here you are, gleefully sitting on the secret that Maggie admitted to you that she really likes Glenn. Not-so-gleefully sitting on the secret that the baby may biologically be your brother's, too. Ain't like you're about to spill or you'll burst.

In your mind, you take the simmering tea kettle off the burner so it won’t start to sing. “There are good secrets and bad secrets. And most people wait a few to tell others about pregnancies, y’all,” you state, and then make an executive decision to share something truthful that’s maybe not your place to do so, but you need to save face for Lori’s sake, now. “Lori’s had a few losses, it’s not wrong to imagine the new one might won’t make it long.”

Dale and Glenn both react similarly: they open their mouth and raise their heads slightly, then bow them. Good.

Scratching his neck, Glenn apologizes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“If she loses this one, too, those who know will grieve with her, then, simple as.” You’re satisfied and confident that you’ve saved face for Lori and your brother and Rick.

Except for how Dale peers at you. It reminds you of the gentle way one might look at a preschooler who is nervously trying to cover up the fact that they peed their pants.

One hand on your shoulder, he stops peering all knowingly and strokes his beard. “Irma miscarried, too. Our only one, none came after that,” he shares. Slowly, he sits at the spot by the RV’s right window. “We usually told people we stopped trying, which isn’t not the truth, I suppose. She and I simply stopped being, uh, ‘intentional’ about trying to conceive,” he explains.

“I’m sorry they died,” you tell Dale quietly. “Did you give ’em a name? My Ma lost one after Shane, she named them.”

“Believe it or not,” he says, hesitating before breaking into a smile and chuckling. “We were thinking about ‘Glenn’ for both a boy and girl name.”

Glenn’s cheeks turn purply-red like a beet. “Wait, seriously?”

Dale shrugs and nods.

“Y/N, no wonder I’m his favorite!”

After you play-pout, you notice, “Hold up: ‘Glenn’ and ‘Dale.’ Both are—”

“— Yes,” Dale finishes, turning pink while he laughs to himself and rubs his fingers over his wedding band. “The word ‘dale’ is from the Old English for ‘valley.’ And ‘glen’ is from the, ah, Scottish, the Scots Gaelic for ‘a valley formed by a river.’ My Irma liked the wordplay.”

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

Day 2 of being stuck in a damn bed

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

“You must be bored as hell in here, man. Concussion protocol stinks.”

T-Dog had just knocked and brought in the boombox that had been used a few times back at the quarry camp. He’d placed it next to Daryl on the bed, said he was here to help, then told him, “You saved my life with those meds, Daryl. And Carl’s.”

Daryl laid there like an awkward slug, he still felt off. Patricia was right, he really did get a good whack to the head. And...whole body.

He also didn’t expect a declaration like that. Not that it was a bad thing. He’d grown to have a lot of respect for T-Dog. Real decent guy. Maybe they were friends, too? He hoped so, he wanted that. And Daryl understood that him and his brother had been…he knew they was wrong, about how they’d been to T-Dog.

“No TV allowed.” T-Dog started to go on, narrating to himself, “Ain’t like that’s a problem right now. But also no reading, no busywork,” he said louder, “no getting up and moving much for the first couple days — I don’t envy you, brother. But listening to music, that they usually let you do so long as it’s quiet. You know what’s funny, though? There’s a separate, what do you call it, uh— ‘school of thought’ out there that says concussed people should be getting theyselves back to normal right from the get-go.”

The front door to the house opened again. Instead of footsteps going down the hall, there was another knock at Daryl’s door.

Before Y/N could finish her long-ass knocking pattern, Daryl called, “Just open it, s’fine.”

The knob turned and there she was, holding out a cassette tape with a plug hanging off it. “Found it. I’d forgot we’d moved it from Carol’s car. Jimmy borrowed it on the way to gun practice yesterday, left it in his dad’s truck.”

“You went without it all last night? I would’ve borrowed it, Y/N,” T-Dog razzed, “It’s been near a week since I listened to music, gonna turn into a Puritan at this rate.”

She giggled. “I fell asleep around 7:30 yesterday, man, I was out.”

“Yeah, Dale was worried that your brother pushed you too hard at that little fighting lesson y’all did.”

Making a little huh?, she pressed her lips together in what looked like a confused pout. “He was going easy. Oh — if he sounded like an asshole, that’s his way. Usually when you gotta defend yourself, there’s chaos and a lot of, um, of emotion. So, he riles you up, keeps pushin’ your buttons, so that you’ll learn to separate from the emotion and focus. Specifically, he’s tryin’ to help me not react,” she slumped as she said, “angrily. Anger makes you stupid.”

“Whatever you say, little sister. Just don’t go overdoin’ it, hear? You tend to overdo.”

With a teeny huff, she twisted her mouth and nodded.

“Speaking of, how long will you need to have your upper arm tied to your torso there?” he questioned.

She shrugged. “A few more days.”

“Alright, I’ll stop naggin’ you. How about: can I please get dibs on the mp3 the first night this guy can get out of bed? Pretty please?”

Mouth still twisted, it turned into a lopsided grin. “Deal.”

“Thank you much. Now,” he rubbed his hands together. “I do gotta ask, what music did the farm boy leave it on?”

“Hmm…” Y/N pressed the button on the side of the little music player to turn it on. Click, click, click. “Ah, Mumford & Sons. Do you know them? They’re that new band who makes bouncy banjo songs, got the raspy-voiced singer?”

“‘Bouncy banjo songs with a raspy-voiced singer,’” T-Dog chuckled. “I know them. Alright, man,” he said, turning to Daryl. “The batteries in the boombox should have plenty of juice left. You got the mp3 player to hook up to it, just use the tape deck converter. There’s a handful of CDs, too, and some cassettes.” He then made a little ha, and said, “Look like one of these is a book on tape that Dale got from the library. Shit, this was due like a month before the outbreaks, look at the date on here!”

“That’s a lotta late fees.”

“Let’s hope they waive ’em.”

This back and forth between the two of them was serving as Daryl’s minor entertainment for the afternoon. What serves as entertainment when you're stuck in a damn bed...

“D’you wonder if it’s as bad as The Case of the Missing Man?” Y/N droned.

“Oh, did you finish it, Y/N?”

“No. I tried two nights ago when I camped out in here. Couldn’t get passed chapter 4.”

“Surprised you ain’t reading it to this guy,” he told her. “Seein’ as you’re spending all that time in here, anyway.”

This was when Daryl got annoyed and uncomfortable again, there was something about the way T-Dog said it.

He didn’t think he felt (therefore looked) all nervous around Y/N anymore, that was all done, just a one-off. So why did it sound like T-Dog was teasing?

“Daryl’s suffered enough,” Y/N answered, and Daryl didn’t have time to catch her expression before she continued, “Miss Patricia’s certain he’s got a broken rib and maybe clavicle. So there’s the concussion, the ripped side by his rib, the collarbone, the stiff neck, then all the bruises, the abrasions, and that bullet graze — oh, sh — I just broke HIPAA!” she blurted out. “Ain’t never done that before, just blabbed about—that’s so—oh my g—th-that’s—Daryl, I’m so sorry!”

All Daryl could do was snort and ignore the sudden tug in the middle of his chest toward her direction. “Gonna sue your ass,” he deadpanned. Such a square.

“For real, though,” T-Dog spoke. “I still can’t believe you made your way back alive after all you went through, man. Yesterday, I joined Rick, we went to where you fell — Daryl, you should be dead. The way I see it, God’s got plans for you, brother. Just let Him do His thing.”

Awkward about what to say or how to react, Daryl responded with what was on his mind for most of the day. “Any signs out there today?”

Neither of them answered at first, meaning they didn’t find shit.

“I thought Rick talked to you already,” Y/N mumbled.

T-Dog answered better. “We’re searching a new area tomorrow, branching out.”

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

later

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

Having music was saving him from going completely nuts. The little music player thing seemed to have something for just about everybody on it, and the CDs were fine, too. He even popped in the book on tape.

Sent him right to sleep.

Dale and Carol came visiting with supper. Carol had eaten every meal with him for the past two days. It made him a little nervous, to be plain. The way she paid attention seemed less like pity or friendship and more like something more, which he didn’t want and didn’t have to offer.

But he liked how Carol was quiet and gentle, thoughtful, and had a dry sense of humor every so often (when she let it out around him, that is).

The grub was eggs and field greens again, but this time there was also rice. Granted, no meat again, but someone must have found onion grass, because it smelled real tasty. If he cared, he would’ve considered to maybe not wolf it down as fast as he did, given that Carol and Dale were in there.

Then came his friend’s signature knocking again.

He was relieved to have felt nothing at Y/N's arrival; no nervousness, no warm cheeks. Everything was back to normal.

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

Day 3 of being stuck in a damn bed

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

“After Andy told her there was still a chance, she stopped her and said she didn’t really need to hear it anymore,” Y/N told him quietly. Arms crossed and hood up, she was resting back on the chair in the corner of the room, legs propped against the end of the bed. “I wanted you to hear it from me so if Carol said anything, it wouldn’t be knockin’ you out of left field.”

Y/N’d gone with her brother, Andrea, and Carol to check the spot on the highway where they’d set up a mini shelter for Sophia however many days ago all that shit went down. A few of the group had gone back every day, twice a day.

And now Carol was losing hope or just plain lost it.

For real, how was it that her kid was still goddamned missing?

He and Y/N found a sign at that house, then another at the other house, then he’d found her doll—how far would Sophia have fucking gone?

Her body ain’t been found yet, neither, which meant she had to be out there somewhere.

“Even Shane tried to be optimistic for her. After hearin’ her say to Andrea how she didn’t want to hear it no more, he tried to insist Sophia might could be fine, but she held out her hand so he’d stop.”

“Shane? Really?”

Shane wrote that little girl off as a goner, last Daryl knew. What changed?

Y/N gave a small, tired, very forced smile. “We had a good talk a few days ago. He knows he hasn’t been himself and he wants to do better.”

That’s good. The way her brother’s been acting has been driving screws through her, he knew that much.

“Still, your nine days to Sophia’s…” she trailed off, and when she did, he saw it in her face. Heard it in her voice when she finished her thought. “This is either her day 7 or 8 out there, I-I can’t think right now.”

Yup. She was also losing hope or plain lost it.

The feeling of helplessness jumpstarted and rammed him in the belly.

He swore. “C’mon, Y/N. You, too?”

“Dude,” she hesitated, “understanding the possibility she’s dead ain’t wrong.”

Shut up.

“It’s, it’s a high statistical likelihood,” was her next bullshit excuse. “From day one it’s been on the tabl—”

“—No wonder she ain’t been found yet,” he snarled, interrupting her. “None of y’all shitheads actually think that little girl’s out there!”

The pain from his broken rib seared like a hot poker when he raised his voice, but as he said it, he believed every word of it and liked how it struck home.

But only as he said it.

Because one look in his friend’s eyes afterward, wet and turning red, and he felt the invisible knee to the nards and stomach and knew he’d just been a massive asshole.

Y/N giving him the middle finger was what Patricia saw after she’d knocked on the door and come in.

“What’s goin’ on?” she asked the pair of them.

Y/N wiped an eye and told her honestly, “An argument about Sophia,” before laying this out to Daryl: “Not one of us doubts she’s out there.”

Regretful as he was for being an asshole, he still pushed back, “Yeah, all y’all just think she’s dead anyway, so why bother.”

“You mangy h—” she swallowed. Licked her teeth. “Stayin’ hopeful is one thing,” she started, pointing her finger at him while clear-as-day working to not raise her voice. “But can you honestly say to us that you wasn’t also prepared to find our girl dead every time you was out there?”

Patricia held up a hand and cleared her throat. “I’m here to check your bandages, Daryl. Y/N.”

Y/N apologized to Patricia and exited the room quietly.

Patricia did her thing.

And Daryl, stuck in a damn bed, same as he’d been for three days now, lay there feeling helpless, worthless, unwanted, and now like a massive asshole, and he was goddamned angry about it.

He really wanted to kick something, chug a beer, or cry. And have a smoke. Carol’d brought him his pack, he’d managed to get a good one in through the open window earlier.

“These should be able to come off in a few days,” Patricia murmured, re-wrapping his head. “And the graze is healing nicely. We still need to be cautious about your concussion and that side-wound of yours, hence you bein’ stuck in here for awhile yet.” The lady shifted her weight to her other leg and set her hand on her side. “How do the collarbone and ribs feel?”

“Fine.”

Arching one eyebrow at him, she took one arm and did some gentle movements, then the same with the other arm.

“Those areas are already better than they were the first day, so there’s something. And the rib fracture, unless it’s just a real nasty bruise, is likely hairline, which is light years better than the alternative. Remember to breathe deep through your belly to get full breaths in, don’t expand your lungs wide, do it through your belly. And keep up the good work avoidin’ laying on your left side like you have been. Once you’re up and out, you’ll have to keep things slow so they’ll heal good.”

“How slow?”

She exhaled through her nose and spoke his name. “I need to tell you, it’s by the skin of my teeth that I’ve been convincing Hersh that you and the little boy still need carin’ for. Please work with me on this. Agree to take it slow.”

Nope. He couldn’t just do nothing, Sophia was missing! Why did everybody keep forgetting that part? “He can kick me out all he wants, I don’t give a shit — that little girl ain’t gonna get found in one piece if I keep things slow.”

“There are 9 or 10 people searching for her on the regular, Daryl. You’re gonna heal badly, permanently, if you don’t go slow,” she warned. “You and your friend both need to learn to do what your bodies need.” She paused. Smirked for half a second before tucking it away. “That came out wrong. What I meant is that y’all need rest, and not aggravate what’s gone wrong and make it worse.”

Before leaving the room, she turned back toward him. “It’s that Hershel still wants y’all not just out, off his land. Clean off.” She held up a hand as if she didn’t know what to do next. “I don’t think that’s right, and I don’t want it. And I can see how many of your group want to stay, are helpin’ out. Y’all are good people. So please, mind your manners and that mouth around Hershel, Daryl. It’s you and Y/N’s brother that are causin’ him the most concern, and ultimately, it’s gonna be Hershel’s decision.”

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

later

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

Carol brought him supper, again. The meal was quiet, until small footsteps and a knock along with “Mr. Dixon?” sounded outside the door.

It was Carl, asking if he could eat dinner with him. “And I brought you one of my comic books. I figured I could show you the pictures and read to you the words. They’re saying you can’t read right now. That stinks. I get to read and walk around a little, at least, I just can’t move a lot.”

Daryl waved him and his folks in, felt a brief moment of pride that the antibiotics he’d supplied had saved the kid’s and T-Dog’s life, then he asked Carl when he’d be able to run around.

“Mr. Greene is hoping I can do stuff like normal soon. I still get really tired when I move. But I wanna be strong if Sophia needs me, so I’m doing what he says is best.”

Did Y/N or Patricia put him up to this?

“Do you still think she could be okay? I know that a lot of our people are losing hope, but I still think she could be okay. Dad does, too, and Mom, and Y/N.”

Daryl thought to himself how he’d go through everything he had gone through for Sophia again for that kid, gladly. “‘Course I think she’s okay. Prolly sleeping in a queen-sized bed wherever she’s stayin’.

Rick chatted to him in between bites of scrambled egg. “Based on how the search goes tomorrow, we’ll be altering the grid again.” He asked Daryl his opinion on where would be smartest to focus the search efforts in the new area. (It was upstream, obviously. And Daryl wasn’t used to his ideas being taken seriously, it was a nice change.)

He kept glancing at Carol as the conversation went on. She’d gotten all wet-eyed when Carl first spoke up about wanting to be strong for Sophia. Stayed quiet when Rick talked.

But by the end, she didn’t seem so lost anymore.

He watched from the side as she thumbed her cross necklace, kissed it—then caught him watching and gave him a tiny smile.

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

later

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

He’d hobbled to the window to have another smoke. Getting in and out of bed still hurt, ain’t that bull?

It was just about dark, there was only a blurry strip of orange left at the very bottom of the horizon.

Daryl looked out at the land. Saw the campfire, saw Andrea on top of the RV.

T-Dog noticed him from his spot by a cluster of trees where he was having a smoke, too, and he waved once to Daryl before turning around to resume his own cigarette break in privacy.

Midway through a particularly deep drag (a tricky thing to do when inhaling deeply hurts because you got a cracked rib), there was some giggling outside his door in the hall to the front.

The dread that he was gonna get caught and kicked out for smoking sent a jolt into his veins. Not sure why he cared so much all the sudden.

He’d already put out his cigarette against the outside of the windowsill when the familiar sound of her laughter registered in his ears, so his muscles stopped feeling so tense.

Leaning on the sill, he then watched her and Glenn just about torpedo down the porch stairs and toward a field as if they were rac—no, wait, they actually were racing. He definitely didn’t snort to himself about it then wince because snorting hurt. The short-haired chick, Baby Spice, and the farm boy spilled onto the porch to watch—nope, scratch that, they were joining in.

Where were they even g…okay, to some old tree stump.

Y/N’d mentioned how Daryl was only 6 or 7 years older than them, but sometimes it felt like a hell of a lot more. Her and Glenn together, especially, together they acted like they was 12-year-olds.

After Daryl saw what was maybe a tie take place, he felt creepy just, ahem, staring at them from the window. So, he shut the screen back down and gimped his sore-ass self to the bed again.

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

Day 4 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

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

“Lore? How about you sit a minute?” She looks like she’s either going to pass our or throw up, so you don’t know whether to guide her to a seat or hold her hair back.

“It’s the, um—” she grabs a lock of her hair and folds it over her nose, breathing in slowly while walking in the opposite direction of the campfire. “What is that meat?”

“Rabbit.”

Through her nausea, she’s still encouraging enough to offer a genuine “Well done!” even as she tries to tamp down her gag reflex.

Yeah, Shane and you set up snares yesterday, and today one worked.

You point to the pine grove. “I finally set up my hammock over there. Let’s — it’s just, you look like you need to lay down.”

“I will, I just have to talk to Daryl first, he’s been, um—” she pauses again to exhale slowly. Her color is nonexistent right now. “He’s been smoking outside his window, and, and I’m worried that if Hershel sees—” She suddenly bursts into tears, and that makes her gag more.

The biggest problem right now is that Mr. Greene still wants your group off his land once Carl and Daryl aren’t bedbound.

That Daryl went through his awful accident is a blessing in disguise; it’s buying you all time.

Maggie is openly upset with her dad about it. Miss Patricia and her boy don’t agree, either.

You’re mad at the man, too, like — you get that your group is threatening simply by the fact that there are more of you and you’re armed — but what about your conduct here has been threatening? Minus the mishap with Andrea almost killing Daryl and how Shane has been a little dominant, you’re all helping out, keeping the campsite clean, staying quiet, respecting the property.

Like, yes, y’all killed a walker that had sprouted legit gills because he it was trapped in one of their wells, but the guy was dead. Quite literally a corpse, not even a "he" anymore; it, the corpse, was usurped by a virus. His soul had moved on.

Mr. Greene is a faithful dude, he’s supposed to be a man of God, so why would he kick…never mind, he’s scared for his family, you get it, you get it.

People have done atrocious things to each other since it all went down, no one can deny that.

Well, there’s still hope. He can and will change his mind. Carl, Lori, and new baby need a safe place.

Happily, the awkwardness of trying to sit side-by-side in the hammock makes both you and Lori crack up. You stop awfulizing in your head, and she seems calmer, too.

“What was it you were going to talk to Daryl about again?” you ask.

“He’s been smoking out of his window. I picked up the butts when I saw them. We can’t give Hershel any more reasons to not want us here. He’ll see it as disrespecting his home, his land…” Her voice goes up, and she’s back to crying. So far, you and Glenn (and Dale, just don’t tell Lori that Glenn told him!) are the only ones who know about the new one she’s got in there.

“Y/N, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this — I can’t, I can’t…”

“You already are, mama,” you whisper softly. “Lore, I’ll do whatever it is you and baby need, Ricky will, too. Come hell or high water, Lori, we will do what it takes.”

“If it even lasts that long.” She wipes her eyes and turns her head away “How long will it last, you think? Truly? And if I don’t lose this one, too, how long until one of those things catches them, rips them apart?”

“You can’t think that way.”

“We have to think that way! My son was shot, he nearly died and he, he, he can’t even walk around for more than 10 minutes without getting exhausted. And Sophia?”

You close your eyes. You know; Carol’s been sharing your tent.

“—What are the chances Sophia is alive? Truly?” she challenges. You stay quiet.

Sophia is, most likely, not alive anymore. You’ll search until she’s found for as long as it takes, but it will likely be her body that is found.

“Carol understands it, too, honey, she told me yesterday, said it again today, and I cannot imagine she hasn’t told you, too, as she cries herself to sleep. And, and even if that sweet, innocent girl is still alive, what are the chances she wasn’t kidnapped and God knows what else?"

She's out of breath. "Our families, friends — they died or were killed, and are now dead. Almost everyone we knew, Y/N. So how can you honestly tell me she,” and Lori points to her stomach, “will have a happy life? That my baby will have any semblance of a normal, safe life! Or that, that, that she’ll even survive long enough to make it out of diapers when the only way she will be able to tell someone that something is wrong is by crying, and putting herself and everyone else at risk!”

When she finally stops, she lowers her head to her knees and pulls at her hair, sobbing.

There are ideas and viewpoints floating around your head as something to respond with or comfort with, but nothing is coming together enough yet. Having been raised with fosters, you know without doubt life is never predictable and safe, even with the best-laid plans. Most importantly, you learned that no one’s life, absolutely no one’s life, is ever worthless or meaningless.

But the major thing that keeps repeating in your head is how Lori very clearly just called the new one “she.”

Before you can put that to words, Lori stumbles out of the hammock, stumbles and few yards forward, kneels, and gets sick.

Wiping your own tears, you kneel beside her, hold her hair back, and lightly massage her neck.

She first apologizes, then quickly spirals into putting herself down and panicking about how-awful-she-is-but-she-can’t-but-she-can’t, so you figure it’s a good time to interrupt.

“So. You thinkin’ you’ve got a girl in there?”

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

Him

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

“Did he read you the one where Science Dog becomes real?”

Because Carl did happen to read him that comic book, Daryl knew what that sentence meant. “Yeah.”

“That’s a fun episode! Oh, um, ‘issue,’ whatever the word is,” Y/N self-corrected. “Ain’t it just so— ‘miracle’ barely describes how well Carl is doin’.” She shifted in her spot and used her good arm to massage her bad side. “Hey, did Ricky mentioned how Carol was today?”

He shook his head. Y/N grinned.

“She was out first thing, came back last. She was vocal, outspoken about the search and where to go. Probably why she was about to fall out when she got back.” A nod. “It was really good, she didn’t seem so broken today.”

Daryl grunted. “Good. Should be.” He shifted on the mattress and tried to get comfortable again. Ouch.

“Hey, was you—um, were you—smokin’ out your window last night?” She asked the second part under her breath as if it were a big secret.

“Maybe.” Is my square gonna preach about smoking?

She nodded slowly and went to take another bite of food, but paused and lowered her fork. “Lori asked me to ask you. She, um, would’ve come herself, but she’s a mite sick. When you have a smoke, please tuck the butt in a tissue? Lori cleaned ’em up earlier when she saw them outside your window.”

“Why? Is Hershel one of them super-Baptists?”

“Daryl,” she murmured. “Please. We all gotta be on our best behavior so we don’t get kicked out as soon as you and Carl are better. He already wants us gone, you two being injured has been our savin’ grace. If, if Mr. Greene’s sees smoke butts, it might will be seen as another strike. Even as someone who smokes, do you like seein’ butts on the ground?”

He chewed. Swallowed. Grunted, “I’ll put ’em in a tissue.” After piling in another forkful, he hummed in appreciation and asked, “Who bagged the rabbit?” Been about a week since any meat.

“A snare got one. We cracked open one of them Foxfire books and set some up.” Y/N was sad about the rabbit, Daryl could tell. “Shane remembered most of the steps from Boy Scouts,” she detailed.

“He clean it, too?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t cook tonight, too, did he?”

Carol usually made meals, but she’d hit the sack early. He’d last seen her at lunchtime (and Carol probably would have known how to cook rabbit meat a little better)

Y/N answered him with her mouth full. “He actually did, Shane and me.”

“No wonder it’s nasty.”

She made a psht in response, and then right as Daryl was taking a particularly big bite, chirped, “Then starve.”

He snarfed.

It hurt, but he hadn’t burst into a laugh like that in a while.

And in truth, he was really enjoying the food.

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

later

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

Another dream that he didn’t want hit him from out of nowhere, the same way Andrea’s bullet had.

Except, he didn’t feel disappointed when he woke up, he felt freaked out.

In the dream this time, Carol was kneeling on his bed, crying and reading the comic book. He didn’t know what to do and he couldn’t move. Then Carol kissed his cheek and asked him “Is this the one where Sophia becomes real again?”

When he woke up, he clawed his way to the window to have another smoke.

It took a lot in him to not holler out with a loud-ass cuss when he stubbed his toes on the dresser. It accidentally hurt his broken ribs and collarbone while trying to not fall over as a result. Lots of hushed cusses.

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

Day...um…shit, right: Day 5 of being stuck in a damn bed

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

Day 5 for him. Meaning it was either day 9 or 10 for Sophia.

Day 9 was the day he’d been hoping to not get to. And if it was actually day 10 for her…

It didn't matter the date, what he’d said about Sophia was still true. She was a smart kid, there are just a hell of a lot of hiding places where she could be holed up in. Farmhouses with open doors or windows, barns, empty businesses and buildings, even cars. As for food and water, wasn’t like there weren’t a creek, orchards and overrun gardens for miles around.

Here he was, still stuck in a damned bed while the twangy blonde lady waved that stupid, skinny flashlight in his eyes for the twentieth damned time!

Patricia clicked her tongue. “I get that cabin fever can make anybody get short, but irritability is one of them things that can pop up or get worse after a concussion, Daryl, so I ain’t too sure whether or not this is a change for you.”

I’d be fine if Sophia was back! Everything would be, bitch! “I’d be better if I wasn’t stuck in here.”

She took a moment. “Let’s check your balance again, then.”

He exhaled through his teeth and was enraged to find himself suddenly about to cry.

“If you can walk without tilting, we’ll both know you’re good to go,” the lady continued. “My friend, I ain’t trying to humble you, I want to see if you’ve improved enough.”

So, Daryl held the blanket over himself as he got himself out of bed and slowly stepped down the hallway. He tried to walk normal, got a little dizzy doing it. Not too much, but…

He didn’t quite hold back the tears of frustration.

Patricia must’ve felt sorry for him again, because she walked him back to the room, had him put on long pants and a shirt, then escorted him out to the porch barefoot.

“We should ought’ve brought you out here more regularly these past few days. Fresh air and sunlight can do wonders. Sit here awhile, then we’ll try a around the house.”

Her using a ‘should ought’ve’ made him think of Y/N.

Within a minute, Dale in his little On Golden Pond fisherman hat and T-Dog with a towel over his forehead saw him from their perch on top of the RV, and raised hands to wave at Daryl.

From the far left, he heard Y/N’s laughter along with Glenn’s and what was probably Baby Spice and the short-haired chick Maggie and the farm boy Jimmy’s. He stood up and — damn it, still wobbly and sore — made his way to the side of the porch to see what they were doing.

They were kicking a ball around, squealing like schoolkids.

Carl was sitting on the same tree stump that the gaggle of them had raced to last night, cheering and razzing off and on.

Seeing just, like…innocent shit like this was nice.

But, standing up made Daryl tired, and he (again) felt creepy watching them, so he shuffled back to the little bench right as Patricia was coming back outside carrying two glasses of sweet tea.

“Your two friends and Maggie got back from their search, sad as you can get. Jimmy and Beth did their own check around the pastures and the perimeter again, too. Have every day since you took those falls.” She took a sip of her drink. “Seems this kickball or soccer match, whatever they’re doing, this was their way of cheerin’ themselves up. Looks like it’s working. So long as none of y’all get hurt again, I’m happy.”

When Patricia eventually suggested it was time to try a walk around the house, Daryl did his best.

His best was shit, he was still unstable on his feet and couldn't use his arms much or breathe too deeply without it smarting.

Patricia was upbeat about it. “You have maybe a day or two left with your bandages, anyhow, Daryl. Let’s get you back to a chair, you look like you’re fixing to topple over.”

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

later

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

A loud knock and a face he hadn’t seen since the first day he was laid out in there woke him from yet another nap. So many naps! He kept needing more sleep.

“Heard you was still in the hole another day or two. Figured you could use more music to keep you from goin’ too stir crazy.” Shane handed him a cassette with a homemade label.

“This one’s from back in the day when we needed to make our own tapes so we could listen to the good stuff. I know my sister’s mp3 got a ton on it, but this one’s special. No need to skip around or charge it or plug nothin’ in.” Shane offered a flick of his hand in goodbye. “Alright, man, take it easy. Rest up.”

“Wait, how was Carol today?” Daryl called to him before he left the room.

Shane turned. He still had a slight limp from when he hurt his ankle. “Hangin’ in there. Went a little hard today and yesterday, but she seems to be in a real good place, believe it or not. Ain’t lost all hope, but she’s accepting what happened, if you get me.”

Daryl was pretty sure he got him. “Accepting her kid is gone?”

Shane’s stare was hard and felt to Daryl like a challenge. “Yeah, man, accepting that her kid is gone. We’re still goin’ out every day in the hopes we’re wrong, don’t misjudge me. And I want to be wrong, Daryl, I really do.” He licked his teeth and brushed a hand over his buzz cut. “It ain’t rocket science. That little girl is, in all likelihood, dead. Has been for days, you get that, right?”

Daryl was good at glaring contests. “I get it.”

“Look. I’m not out to be the asshole. I just don’t want none of us gettin’ ourselves killed over this. You and my sister could’ve got bit doin’ what you did at that house one week back, and in the process, she ripped her side back open and injured her shoulder worse than it ever was. And you?” He shook his head. “You almost died, Daryl.”

“It was worth it, jackass,” is not what Daryl intended to say, but that’s what he said. Daryl wasn’t planning on saying anything, in fact, because he knew he’d likely blow his cool and risk Dr. Farmer hearing it, and apparently the old guy was ready to chuck them off his land ASAP.

Y/N’s brother bowed his head and rubbed his neck. Didn’t say nothing for a solid…he didn’t know, minute, maybe? Felt awkward as hell, tell you what.

“Listen, dude, I know we ain’t buddies and all that,” Shane told him. “To be real, I didn’t trust you at all, especially when Y/N started going off and learnin’ to hunt with you. I thought you were some white trash tweaker who’d try to feel her up or worse, so I tailed y’all, spied on y’all the first three times you took her out, ready with my shotgun.”

…What the hell was this?

“But I’ve grown to respect you, and what you just said right there told me all I need to know. You’re a decent guy, Daryl.” Another rub of his newly buzzed hair. “Tell you what, I’ll come by tomorrow after the search, tell you what we find and where we looked.”

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

Day 6 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

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

“Dude, you told him how you spied on us?”

“I was moved, Y/N, you should be proud of me,” Shane drawled, winking. “Said I’d tell him about the daily searches, so, today I did. Hey, and his balance was better today, might should be good to go the day after tomorrow. Oh,” he adds. “I lent him my mix tape as a peace offering, too.”

“Aw, romantic.”

He groans, and you twist a corner of your mouth in a tiny grin. “I’m just shocked he didn’t grunt back to you all intimidating with somethin’ like ‘I knew you was there, you was louder than a’…eh, I got nothing.”

Shane keeps the bit going, and does it pretty good, if you say so yourself! “‘Yeah, I knew you was there. Couldna been more damn obvious.’”

His copying of Daryl’s voice and mannerisms is so spot on that you crack up and clap your hands in delight.

Shane looks pleased. “That was a pretty good impression, just then, wasn’t it?”

“Alls you needed was to make it a ’lil more throaty, like a, like a, a grumpy tomcat,” you laugh.

He smiles, opening his mouth to make a funny comeback, then laughing instead. “I’ll have to practice.”

“Speakin’ of practice, can we call it?”

“Yeah, we can call it. Good work.”

Coo, practice is over. You’ve been having self-defense lessons every day the past few days, sometimes twice. Shane’s been wanted to restart teaching you ever since the incident with Ed Peletier seven-ish weeks ago. You could’ve called the sessions quits whenever, obviously, but it feels more satisfying when one’s instructor is satisfied and ends the lesson, right?

Also, Shane kinda needs that control over something — which sounds iffy, you know, you know.

But he’s been so much more like himself since the lessons started! And him instructing you in fighting is doing him good not only because it’s stroking his ego a little and shutting him up about his terrible Fort Benning idea. The lessons are helping offer him a sense of control and assuredness that he’s keeping his sister safe by helping her defend herself. That’s always been a thing for him. Call it a side-effect of having a beater in the house for the first several years of his life, maybe.

It’s a very fruitful side-effect, all things considered — today, stitches and achy shoulder combined, you bested him!

The only catch is that it…kinda involved his balls.

You still feel bad about it. It wasn’t you using practice-strength to simply get the upper hand and then stop, like practice is supposed to be. It was adrenaline/angry-at-and-his-egging-you-on strength. You fought dirty.

“Sorry again about whackin’ you below-the-belt.”

“No way, Y/N, don’t be,” he brushes off. “Don’t feel bad for doin’ what you’re supposed to do. Especially if it’s a man you need to fight off, which is why we’re doing this — you need to fight dirty. So,” he clears his throat, “if you can go for the giblets, go for ’em.” (Grandma Jean referred to genitals as ‘giblets.’) “That’s how you got the drop on me — and that’s what I wanted! You did good, got that?”

“Just — check tomorrow and, and the day after in case you got bruised testes, okay?”

“Don’t call them ‘testes’… weirdo…” he trails off and makes a face. Then, he stands and helps you up. “My boys are fine, I’m sure. Ankle’s hanging in there, too. How are you holdin’ up? Didn’t overdo it, right?”

“Nope, I feel good! And I’m so happy about tomorrow.”

His smile is polite, but not quite reaching his eyes. “Ready to attend Sunday dinner in the house tomorrow night?”

You press your hands together and make a little skip as you walk. “Do you think it means Mr. Greene’s comin’ around, too?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Wet blanket, much? “Grumpy we didn’t risk our necks to visit the jarheads at Fort Benning?”

“Y/N.”

“That was mean, sorry.” Your choice of phrasing was rude, that is, not the sentiment. Shane hadn’t mentioned the military base in a few days, so you’d hoped he’d dropped it. Places with the military, feds, even FEMA, those places had turned out badly, especially if you were a civilian. And you along with your Mama were wary of places like even before what happened to Atlanta.

Miles and miles away from the city as you were when it happened had given you a front-row seat to when it happened, when it got firebombed. It was like watching the Twin Towers collapse over again, expect this time it wasn’t on a TV screen, and the sounds of it happening in real time had been loud enough to reach you. The pops, the rumbling. Then there’s the memory of Carl’s face when he saw it all clear as day before you finally reacted, covered his ears and blocked his view.

This place, this farm, this is the safest place right now. It has good people, shelter, protection, space, food. Probably would be the safest place around for a long time if your brother group didn’t mess things up. Carl needs it, Lori and the new baby need this place.

And with the fact that your brother had been planning to leave the group, you’re worried sick that he’ll change his mind, split and leave you behind, or worse, get you all thrown off the land. If Shane didn’t take the property by force OH my gosh, why the fuck did you just think that, bitch? How could you think that about him? Stupid, stupid idiot girl!

Looking at your brother, you see him staring across the lawn to where Otis’ memorial lays. His thousand-yard stare is back. Poor Shaney. You look away so as to not be, you know, staring at him, but when he breathes out heavily after a few long moments, you turn to look.

His nose twitches before he blinks rapidly and shakes his head a little, rubs his buzz cut, and puts his hands on his belt.

“I know you don’t like the idea, but Fort Benning the smart decision,” your brother declares, doing that thing where he looks in too many directions. “The military is equipped, at least, and they’re trained how to handle things. It’s smart to seek that out.”

Whether it’s because you’re amped after being victorious at practice or because you’re freaked out after thinking something so cruel about your own brother (that he’d take over this place by force??), as you make your statement in response, you imagine it as you pulling the pin from a grenade and chucking it.

“Is that why the powers at be did what they did to Atlanta? Because they were so trained?” The pause you make, as you watch the words connect in Shane’s mind, is the time delay before the grenade’s fuse ignites and explodes. “Or maybe killing civilians or even their own was always a possibility in their eyes. The ends, of course, justifyin’ the means.”

He licks his teeth before running a hand over his mouth. “You’re really goin’ there, Y/N? Do not go there.”

But this has been festering too long. He needs to hear it and understand it. You love him. And he’s gonna have a whole lot else to deal with once Lori’s news gets out — it’s going to be messy. So this Fort Benning stuff has to go.

“But Shane, that would’ve been us with not just Mama, but Carl, Lori, and maybe even a comatose Rick if, if what happened—” your voice rises at the memory. “If what w-went on hadn’t happened, made us wait.”

If your mother hadn’t been killed, you two wouldn’t have found her dead and walking, which had revealed that she must have caught the illness before she died. And if you two didn’t find her dead and walking, you and Shane wouldn’t have quarantined, instead would’ve gotten Rick out of the hospital a day earlier and gone together with your mother and the Grimes to the city. Which means that she would’ve started showing symptoms on the road, and that the rest of you would’ve not only possibly caught it but would have possibly spread it.

Shane knows all of this, he knows it, which is why you only voiced a small part of it.

But instead of Shane standing before you with his hands on his hips…you begin to see the man you don’t recognize again. The one that’s been showing up more and more, the one that’s scary and coldly pragmatic. The one that seems like he’s about to lose control, he’s back. He’s standing where your brother was, and he’s very, very angry.

“Y/N, now, you listen good.” The man’s finger points straight at you and he gets too close to your face. When you step backward, he’s right on you. “We would’ve still been stuck outside the city limits, the wait to get in was over a day long.” With his finger, he jabs at your sternum, hard, and does it again with every hissed question.

“You remember that part?” — “The reason we were stuck in that line of cars that went on for miles?” — “Remember that?” —

You can’t think. You can’t move. The best you can manage is a stuttered “Sh-Shane—” because inside your head is nothing but white noise.

A strong, rough, sustained pinch on your collarbone and his yell of “—I asked: do you understand?” is the only reason you remember to nod as you stare at the ground and steady yourself from tripping backward.

“What happened in Atlanta was a shit show, an absolute shit show and what happened there was a disgrace, hard stop.” He spits, “but you know what? It don’t mean it was like that everywhere else—is that fair for me to reckon, uppity bitch?”

The insult doesn’t have time to sink in because he starts gesturing at his head, then yours, then his again, banging his hand against his head, then clapping his hand against your temple, hard, and now you can' think, he's too close, he’s too close, why is he so close, why does he keep hurting m— “Does that make sense, Y/N? Does that make sense to you?”

It’s not until he tugs you by your shirt and slowly shouts in your ear, “Y/N, I asked you a question: Does that make sense?” that you remember to nod again.

Your throat seizes up, so you swallow and hold your breath.

“Don’t bring up what happened with our mother again,” he orders, letting you go with a slight shove. “She was sick, we didn’t catch it, and we’d have been stuck outside that city either way.”

The man then leaves. You just stand there.

There’s no feeling of relief that he’s left you alone. Your hands are tingly, but you’re otherwise uncertain how you feel other than stupid and sick to your stomach. No, really, you might lose your supper.

You begin to walk in whatever direction, step by step, wiping the tears as they fall and trying to ignore the loud refrain in your head of stupid, stupid girl that interplays with all the noise of what did you do and why didn’t you and why did he and why would he and how could he as well a louder WHO WAS THAT?

Because it sure as hell wasn’t Shane. It can’t have been Shane, Shane’s not that.

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

Him

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

The short-haired chick came into his room looking all rattled and asking if Y/N was in there. Woke him up from a nap (so many damn naps), too, what the hell?

He quietly croaked back,“Does it look like she’s in here?” and closed his eyes to try and get back to sleeping.

“I figured she…”

Whatever it was Maggie figured, she didn’t say nothing more, she mumbled “sorry,” and closed the door again.

Was…was everything okay?

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

You

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

Footsteps and light panting sound behind you, bringing you back down to earth.

Before dread can kick in at full blast, you recognize who’s behind you even before you hear his voice calling your name, and it is a relief to know he’s there. He’ll know how to fix this. He’ll know what to do.

But what if he saw? What if he’s not the only one?

A water cooler of shame gets dumped over your head like you’ve just failed big at something. Your throat tightens again.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid girl.

Not turning your head much because your eyes are probably red, you at least control the shake in your voice. “H-Hi, Mr. Horvath, what’s up?”

“Kiddo. What just happened?”

“What do you mean?” Might as well stall when you don’t know how to say it. Maybe Dale only saw Shane looking huffy, maybe he didn’t see or hear any of what just happened and maybe, just maybe, you’re being overly dramatic about what happened. He's your brother, siblings sometimes smack each other around a little, it's not like he punched you. See, that would've been bad...

And it’s just as well you don’t know what to say back, because after hearing a door clack open then shut, you peek to see not only Dale standing before you, but Margaret, jogging from the back of the house in your direction?

She calls your name — and is holding the book you’d lent to Jimmy! Thank God, honest fodder to stall from answering Dale.

“Did Jimmy finish it?” you ask lightly.

But Maggie looks unsettled. “I grabbed this on my way downstairs as an excuse when I saw what was happenin’.”

Oh, no. Y/N, you stupid, stupid girl.

“What did I just see your brother doing?”

Stupid, stupid girl.

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

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“Tomura? Are you feeling any better?” You asked just as you returned into your apartment living room. Your villainous boyfriends only response was a stifled sound between a really wet hiccup and a burp. This was followed by him moaning and leaning back into your couch wrapping both of his arms around his tummy.

Poor Shigaraki looked absolutely miserable. He was sweating heavily and had no color in his already pale skin at all. The poor thing looked like he was on the verge of keeling over at any second. He huffed to himself and tried in vein to steady his breathing but it wasn't working. “...Stomach feels miserable. I wanna die so goddamn much...” he said.

“Oh honey you look awful,” you said with a frown and put your palm over Shigarkai's forehead. You had to pull back his messy bangs which were damp and greasy from how badly he was perspiring. He wasn't sick with any infection but he definitely had something.

Just then a painfully thick sounding gurgle erupted from Shigaraki's stomach. He cringed badly and nearly teared up from how painful the knots in his belly felt. When you looked down you could see Shigaraki's stomach sticking out against his black shirt. He looked pretty bloated. He ate junk food all the time and he tended to eat a lot of it when he got his hands on it but usually it wasn't weighed down as heavily as this was. Something Shigaraki ate during his junk food binge very clearly wasn't setting right in his tummy or even worse, maybe gave him food poisoning.

Shigaraki clenched his teeth when his tummy gave another noisy and extra bubbly gurgle. “Unf...fuck...” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“...Poor baby,” you said in a warm almost nurturing kind of way. The tone a mother might give to calm their sick child. You put your hand on Shigaraki's back and very gently rubbed it up and down. His spine trembled at your touch. He was shivering a little. “It's okay dear. It's all okay. Just let mommy take care of you,” you insisted and gently laid the young villain slowly and carefully down backwards until his sweat drenched head was rested on your lap.

Shigaraki huffed and exhaled looking like he was salivating an abnormal amount than usual. He swallowed thinly and breathed out then clenched his eyes painfully when his stomach gurgled even noisier than before. “...Fuck I hate this. I hate this so much...” he could barely croak out and cringed again. Shigaraki covered his mouth and looked uncomfortable when he did. He looked like he really needed to burp but at the same time also looked like he was on the verge of throwing up. After a few seconds of uncertainty passed a really thick closed mouth burp rumbled from behind Shigaraki's lips. Its depth made it hard to tell if it was only gas that rushed up his throat or not. He blew it out to the side with an exhausted sigh and leaned back. “...Fuckin' hate this...”

“I know sweetie I know,” you said in that nurturing way of yours. As you spoke you very gently brushed his bangs and caressed his wrinkled sweaty forehead. He swallowed again and closed his eyes. Shigaraki was clearly in pain but that physical nurturing you gave him seemed to help relax him just a little bit. His distended tummy still rose and fell with his very labored and pained breathing.

You reached out with your other hand and grabbed the bottom of Shigaraki's shirt. Slowly you raised it up and revealed his pale pooching tummy in all its glory. Despite his vulnerability you swallowed thinly when you saw Shigaraki's belly fully exposed. Even in your 'nurturing phase' it always got you feeling weak in the knees whenever Shigaraki treated you to his belly. Especially when it was a little more full than usual.

When you placed your hand atop his warm smooth tummy you just left it there. It felt oddly warmer than usual and delectably soft from its bloated state. Your fingers sank just a little into Shigaraki's tummy just when you started to massage it up and down. While his lower tummy was soft and a little poochy, there was a curvature to his stomach that only grew tighter around his upper belly. You kneaded your fingers into his tenser flesh to try and settle it down while his stomach gurgled painfully again.

The gurgling wasn't going away but Shigaraki sighed shakily and stretched out which only made his belly stick out more while you rubbed it. He was clearly enjoying it despite the noisy protests his tummy was giving. “...Unnf...don't stop, 'mommy', feels so goddamn good...” Shigaraki almost begged while he happily indulged you.

The affection-starved young man rested his eyes shut and breathed out some more while you gingerly massaged his aching tummy. It felt so puffy from the way whatever Shigaraki ate was reacting. You could feel all the knots in his stomach muscles creating tense portions of flesh that you tried to very carefully navigate around.

You just sat there on the couch with Shigaraki resting gently on your lap while you in an equally gentle sort of way rubbed his tummy to try and calm it down. Some equally calm almost motherly humming accompanied your comforting treatment. It seemed to relax Shigaraki enough that his breathing was getting more stable. You could feel his body growing less tense the longer you caressed his stomach. It was such a wonderful moment that you wished could have lasted longer.

But of course then an even thicker groan than before emitted from Shigaraki's belly. This loud groan bellowed out of his stomach so hard that you could actually feel it reverberating within his organ from behind your hand. Shigaraki clenched his teeth and started sitting up. “Ngf...fuck...wait...I need to...” he growled and sat up slowly and carefully but couldn't even finish his sentence.

You were about to ask if he was okay when he covered his mouth again. He closed his eyes and gave a really low closed mouth burp that got really deep at the end. Shigaraki huffed and burped deeply in his mouth again. But this time it got chunky at the end and he ended up lurching. Suddenly at the tail end of his burp some bits of puke splattered out against Shigaraki's hand and onto his chin.

“Oh fuck...!” Shigaraki gasped seconds before grabbing a garbage bin by the couch with his vomit-covered hand and violently threw up into it. You cringed a little when Shigaraki very painfully wretched more of the contents in his stomach into the bin. More bile spewed out of him and into the garbage bin. When he finally stopped Shigaraki was panting breathlessly with tears in his eyes. Bile dripped from his lips, dribbling down his chin and onto his now-vomit covered shirt. The poor boy was a complete mess.

“Are you okay sweetie...?” You asked as you very gently rubbed his back. His whole body felt unbelievably tense. Shigaraki was trembling with the worst chills you'd ever seen him have before. Whatever he ate had to have been undercooked.

The sheer noisiness of Shigaraki's belly gurgling away told you that his digestive system was aggressively rejecting whatever it was he ate. And it didn't sound like it was done by a long shot. Not by the way it gave a low rumbling burble.

Shigaraki clenched his eyes shut as some tears trickled down his eyelids. He tried to speak but his belly roared loudly. Right away his face soured. Shigaraki grabbed his agonized tummy and rushed off to the bathroom with his still puke-covered hand wrapped around his mouth.

You followed after him just in time for Shigaraki to lurch over the toilet bowl and very aggressively throw up into it. Thick chunky pile viciously expelled from his throat and splattered messily and noisily into the toilet water for several seconds straight. You reached down and held his greasy bluish white hair back so it wouldn't spill into the toilet while he threw up into it.

“That's okay, it's okay,” you assured him while you continued holding his hair back.

When he finally stopped Shigaraki was left hanging his head over the toilet with his jaws still parted open and dripping bile and slimy saliva into the water. His breathing was heavy and muffled like his own throat was only partially open.

Everything inside of him was in aggressive fluctuation and punctuated by noisy very acidic sounding gurgles. Shigaraki panted and swallowed some air with some desperation. Then he very loudly burped into the toilet and spat afterwards.

“Good boy. Just let it all out,” you continued nurturing. You leaned down from behind and rubbed Shigaraki's warm churning tummy from its sides up and down. To help him you gave it a couple of pats which made Shigaraki burp heavily into the toilet again which once again grew wet at the end. Another choked sounding burp struggled to exit his mouth and got very gurgly too until it once again let to him forcefully puking into the toilet bowl.

Some time passed and all the while you held his hair back and massaged him while he grossly expelled as much of the contents of his stomach ailing him as he could.

When it finally finished Shigaraki was left a heaping mess on the floor of the bathroom practically hugging the toilet as more tears leaked down his eyelids. “...That hurt so damn much...fuck...” he groaned out getting a little choked up at the end as more tears trickled down his face.

“Shhh it's okay, you're okay sweetie. Mommy's here for you” you assured him and kissed the top of his head while stroking it lovingly. “Mommy's going to get you cleaned up okay?”

Shigaraki sniffed and nodded weakly. He was just too utterly exhausted to do much else.

After disposing of the sick that Shigaraki left in the bin you took off his shirt while he very weakly undid his pants. Shigaraki weakly washed his face of the sick and then sat in the tub wearing nothing but his black boxers. Then you took a wet hand towel and began to wipe Shigaraki's sweaty body down. Room temperature water was poured onto the towel which you then gently rested atop Shigaraki's head. The soothing water trickled down his face while you rubbed it across his entire body starting with his head and downward.

You rinsed the towel down some more and slowly rubbed it across his lean but slightly toned chest. Obviously you couldn't help but admire your sickly boyfriend's body in that way while you very slowly ran the wet towel across each of his pectorals. You looked into Shigaraki's eyes while you did but he looked far too weary and exhausted from throwing up so much to be as into it as you were.

Then you brought the towel down to Shigaraki's belly.

Before you did though you set the towel aside and placed your hand on his tummy. He had thrown up so much that the organ actually looked and felt a little deflated. Shigaraki probably purged much of what he ate which could have given him the grief in the first place. Then you rubbed the towel across his belly gently kneading it and wiping it clean. He was so vulnerable and almost docile in that moment that when you rubbed that towel across his lower tummy a part of you wanted to slide your hand down past the rim of his boxers. But a sickly groan from the boy told you that he was absolutely not up for any of the 'fun' stuff.

That was okay though. You were perfectly content nurturing and comforting Shigaraki when he needed you. So you continued just running that towel across his pale yet lightly defined body. This helped to both relax Shigaraki when he desperately needed it and helped clean him up after the sweats he got from such aggressive chills.

Things seemed okay for a while after that. You took him to your bedroom and laid him down while Shigaraki stayed in his boxers. His tummy was way too sensitive for clothing right now and nothing you had on in your place was his size. But then the bellyache began anew.

You laid in bed with him rubbing his belly and trying to help him settle down but nothing calmed the violent ache in his stomach. Once again he clamped his mouth shut and lurched. Despite how much he was throwing up earlier food poisoning just kept bringing up more whether he liked it or not. And of course he didn't but that wouldn't help him.

Shigaraki rushed to the bathroom again now in nothing but his boxers and hung over the toilet bowl like he had previously. His mouth parted open as he gagged and huffed. A sharp hiccup erupted from his body which made his gag even worse. He puffed and spat into the toilet. But nothing was coming up.

“Fuckin' c'mon already...” Shigaraki hissed.

He tried kneading into his tummy to coax himself into throwing up by really pressing down. But even that didn't work. In fact it just made his tummyache even worse.

You knelt down besides him and rubbed his back soothingly. “I need to puke but fuckin' nothing's comin' up...” Shigaraki grumbled almost sheepishly despite how sick to his stomach he still felt.

“Here, let mommy help,” you said and rhythmically thumped Shigaraki's back not unlike a mother who was burping her infant child.

Each thump jostled Shigaraki's chest and stomach. He tried to burp but nothing was coming up. With the pain growing worse he swallowed down air to try and force a burp on command out of himself. He eventually managed to make himself burp loudly into the toilet. But Shigaraki's tummy was in such flux that even that little display didn't work. “Shit nothin',” Shigaraki groused before wincing and giving a thick closed mouth burp from the residual air he swallowed.

“Open your mouth,” you advised Shigaraki.

“Huh?”

“Open your mouth and say 'ahhhh',” you repeated.

Shigaraki frowned skeptically but did as you said. When he stuck his tongue out with his 'ahhhhhh' you inserted two fingers into his mouth then pressed them down against his tongue as you reached in deep.

This induced Shigaraki's gag reflex which made him promptly go wide-eyed. But because your fingers were still pressed against his tongue his gag reflex reacted negatively. With a painful lurch Shigaraki very quickly turned away from you and down into the toilet in time to finally throw up. Shigaraki puked so intensely that he nearly forgot to keep his pinkies up when he clutched the toilet bowl. He grossly wretched the residuals of whatever was still inside of his stomach not digesting correctly.

“That's mommy's boy, good job,” you said and gingerly rubbed his back while Shigaraki huffed into the toilet and threw up pure liquid bile. His stomach was largely empty by that point but he desperately needed to throw up anyway with how relentlessly his troubled tummy was gurgling and churning around within itself.

When he finally stopped Shigaraki breathed out breezily into the toilet bowl.

“...Hrruuuurrgh...that's...that's marginally better...” he gasped and then spat into the toilet before flushing his own sick down.

Eventually he crawled back into bed and once again things seemed to stabilize. But his food poisoning was still aggressively acting up. You rushed off to get something from the kitchen to help settle Shigaraki's tummy while he whined from atop your bed.

“Unnngh god my stomach...” whined Shigaraki from atop your mattress. He was curled up a little with his arms wrapped tightly around his tummy when you returned from the kitchen with a bottle of ginger ale.

“It's okay. Mommy's here now, I got you,” you assured him when you crawled back into bed with him. You laid down behind Shigaraki and wrapped your arms around his slender yet just slightly curved hips. Then you rested both your hands against his tummy. It was definitely less puffy than before but it was gurgling every bit as loudly and thickly as the first time.

You slowly rubbed Shigaraki's belly up and down while you carefully pulled him close for a backwards hug. Again you felt Shigaraki's body grow more relaxed the more you rubbed his tummy and kept him so close to you. No one knew how to comfort him the way you did.

But then it grew tense again. Shigaraki's body trembled only this time it wasn't because of his belly. You felt him sniffle lightly and quickly realizing that he might have actually been crying.

“...What's wrong baby?”

Shigaraki sniffled again and clenched his fists. “...I can't believe how fucking weak I am...boss of the goddamn league of villains'n I'm taken outta commission by a fuckin' bellyache? To be so fuckin' needy'n cryin like some worthless loser is just so...I'm such a fuckin' joke...”

“No you're not,” you said a little more firmly while your hand continued to run up and down his tummy. “Hero? Villain? Who cares? You're human. Even our quirks can't mask that.”

Shigaraki sniffled again and grunted like he was trying to turn away from you so you wouldn't see him cry. “...I hate feeling like this...” he said. Referring to his tummyache and perhaps more so his vulnerability.

“It's just me. You know I love you no matter what right?” You assured him and gently stroked his hair some more.

Again Shigaraki's whole body trembled and a single sob jerked his torso. It was getting harder and harder for him to hold back the tears. “...W-Why are you so goddamn good to me...? You know I don't deserve you...”

You buried your head into his back and listened to his heart beat rapidly. “Even villains deserve love.” And you emphasized that point by very gently running your hand up and down his stomach. Shigaraki sighed softly and with one pinky up cupped your hand into his own. “...Thank you mommy...”

Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was just indulging your own little kink or if he was so affection-starved that the 'mommy' comments just slipped out by mistake.

Either way it didn't matter. You took it all the same and kissed Shigaraki's shoulder while continuing to rub his churning tummy.

But even that wasn't quite working to deal with the intense gurgling that was souring Shigaraki once more.

“Your tummy really is at war with itself today isn't it,” you said as you cupped his lower belly and stroked its smooth delicate sides.

Shigaraki huffed and nodded weakly. “Feels like there're waves splashin' in my gut...”

You gently sat Shigaraki up and grabbed the ginger ale. “Drink this sweetie. Ginger ale always helps with an upset tummy,” you assured him and gently pat the side of his belly.

Shigaraki hiccuped and groaned miserably. “...Are ya kiddin'...? The last thing I need right now is to fill up on anything else...”

“Trust me. Mommy knows best, right?” You insisted and gingerly ran your hand down the center of Shigaraki's spine. He groaned at that especially comforting feeling and begrudgingly snatched the 2 Liter of soda from your hand while still keeping his pinky up to avoid activating his quirk.

He huffed to himself like he was mentally preparing for the worst. But given that he'd already puked all over himself prior and just had you gagging him to induce vomiting earlier, you'd wager that there really wasn't anywhere else that could get lower for him.

So Shigaraki unscrewed the cap and began swigging his fizzy bubbly drink down. You watched his defined Adam's Apple throb from his long slender throat. A shiver ran down your own spine when you heard how loudly he was gulping his beverage down. He breathed in through his small nostrils while the fizzy drink filled his tummy with carbonation.

Your eyes drifted to Shigaraki's belly which you could see inflating just slightly from both all the carbonation combined with the soda itself filling him up. Shigaraki was a soda junkie after all. He always had been given what a massive gamer he was and how caffeinated he always needed to be to stay in the zone. So his ability to chug soda so fast wasn't surprising. What was a little surprising was the way he was chugging so much soda even when his tummy was feeling so crummy.

Force of habit you figured.

He pulled the bottle back after downing it to the label in one hearty swill. Shigaraki panted heavily while his tummy rose and fell with his strained breathing. Then he grabbed his belly with one hand and unleashed a giant burp that echoed throughout your whole bedroom. The volume was so strong that you actually flinched and swore that the springs in your bed vibrated with that massive expulsion of gas.

Shigaraki panted and laughed wearily. “Phew! Hah...hhhahh...holy shit...!” he said patting his belly heartily and working up another large burp in the process. “Unf...damn that felt good...”

“With how deafening that was I should hope so,” you teased and thumped his back a few times to try and coax more gas out.

Shigaraki hiccuped and shook his head. “Nah the gas is in my stomach, push there.”

And you did just that. You sat before Shigaraki and kneaded his tummy firmly with both hands hard at work. Your ministrations coaxed a sizable gas pocket that Shigaraki released as a long rumbling burp that left him panting breathlessly.

“Good boy,” you repeated and rubbed circles into his belly kneading while you did. “Does that feel good to get out?”

“YYYEEEEEEEUUUUP!!!” Shigaraki loudly and rather childishly burped the word 'yep' out.

“Manners young man,” you said in a mock-stern voice and lightly thumped his tummy for his excessive crudeness.

“Heh my bad mommy,” Shigaraki said sarcastically.

“I should say so,” you replied then turned to his tummy when it burbled again. “Especially since there's still pressure inside from the sound of it.”

You firmly ran your hands up and down Shigaraki's distended stomach. The air was circulating with your palms ministrations and working up more thick burbling in the process. The rubbing once again worked up more pressure making Shigaraki let loose with an especially throaty burp with heft to it. He gasped afterwards and hit his chest to work up a sharp after burp.

He downed a little more soda since his stomach was still feeling a bit dodgy. You continued nurturing his tummy the whole time he chugged. Then once he pulled away you pressed on his belly again and caused a huge burp to rip out of Shigaraki's mouth. It was swiftly followed by a longer more raunchy sounding burp and finally a sharp dry one indicating that he was running low on 'fuel'.

With one last burp Shigaraki finally moaned in what looked and sounded like relief instead of discomfort. “Ohhh god I needed that,” Shigaraki panted and flopped backwards onto your bed lazily. The ginger ale in his tummy sloshed noisily while he palmed at it and ran his hand up and down his curved tummy.

You smiled and climbed over him gingerly running your hand up and down his belly. “I'm so glad I could make my baby feel better,” you said and planted kisses on Shigaraki's soft lightly bubbling tummy.

Shigaraki hummed contently then shifted into a more relaxed state while you nursed his belly. But before things could get steamier with you hovering over him he looked away and asked “...H-Hey...could I...could I rest my head on your lap again...? Please...?”

You stopped then smiled softly. “...Of course sweetie.”

After scooting back into your earlier position you rested your back against the wall and let Shigaraki rest his tired head on your lap. Like a loving mother you gently caressed his cheek and brushed his messy bangs away so you could look down at his genuinely relaxed docile looking expression that not even his quirk-induced rashes and scars could mask.

You leaned down and once again kissed Shigaraki across the forehead. His smile grew as gentle as you'd ever seen it get.

“...Thank you...mommy...”

“...Anything for mommy's precious baby boy,” you said softly and continued gently brushing Shigaraki's cheek with one hand while gingerly rubbing his belly with the other.