maezulady

[maezuleady]

Dinner

TW: Talks of body dysmorphia, vomiting and psychosis. But it’s all in the context of recovery. though I don’t have the loathsome, evil Clyde Perry to carry me through this irl. I still think that writing this will quicken my own recovery

“ and I prepared breakfast the night before, because I know that otherwise- I won’t have it!”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight, sweetheart, I’ll prepare your dinner, dessert and breakfast. I get two nights off this week.”

“Oh come here, you” you tug at his upper arm and pull his face closer for a quick kiss, despite being in the publicity of a pavement. 

It took a while for you to be convinced to let yourself see a psychiatrist but it was worth it. Clyde insisted that he pay for at least half the sessions, in part to encourage you but also because he knew your wage did not live up to your skill or hard work. Also because he’s your husband! 

Your relationship with food began improving and your recovery from psychosis became more manageable. Clyde’s certainly been more understanding than most, you only had a couple friends that you trusted with your secret— you wanted to recover, just not publicly, yknow? 

When you got home you waited in the kitchen, watching Clyde cook. In the beginning of your marriage he refused to- now look at him! He doesn’t want anyone else to know, though. 

To celebrate your new comfort with eating cooked chicken (only boiled extremely dry) he’s made you Fettucine Alfredo, made the spaghetti strands himself too! 

When you finished dinner, he made you a lemon posset. It helps you not throw up your main course by burying it with dessert. It was sweet and sour and creamy and filling.

You thanked God for the meal in your heart, and the wished for a meal like this for every person who needed it. 

Now comes the hard part. 

Because you can feel it, the shame and disgust and you want to purify yourself soon. You grip the Persian rug beneath you tight. What if I accidentally ate a hair? What if I gain weight? How much sugar in that posset? Will it go to my thighs or waist first—

 “Isn’t this your favorite?” 

Clyde’s holding up a record that he picked from underneath the phonograph. 

“Yeah it is, Jack Beuchanan, right?” He places it gently on its plateau, then the needle on the disc and turns on the musical device. 

It’s playing Jack Beuchanan’s “Goodnight Vienna”, which you remembered fondly, it was the tune that you’d listen to when you were a broke student on scholarship. That tune lulled you to sleep always. Oh he knows what he’s doing! He’s distracting you! You should have thought of that earlier! 

Clyde extends his hand towards you, you take it- loving his calloused, rough skin which mimicked yours. You’re lying on his chest now, enveloped in his smell, the sound of his heart beating harmonizing perfectly with the other music. Oh you’re exhausted and you can already feel yourself doze off, as he traces his fingers up and down your upper arm. 

[maezuleady]

this is soooo Clyde Perry

You run into each other in the tramway, you talk and talk and

“there’s a cafe some blocks from my stop, would you like to join me for coffee?” You say, never mind that it’s 11 pm already!

While on your walk , you sit on the stairs together and he’s barely listening!

Anyways that’s how you two ended up grinding on each other in public, to the complete distress of a nearby officer

[maezuleady]

“Hospital Room”

Clyde Perry x reader

Hiya, I’ve created this to cope better with my current predicament, which won’t last long if things stay according to plan. I’m no writer but I hope you can enjoy this either way technically ooc Clyde? Yeah he’s a filthy human being but he’s nice to you here.

“It’s too humid!” you howled, cocooning yourself further in the hospital’s thin duvet. Pulling it over your head as to cover from the stinging, fluorescent lights.

“Can’t you smell it?? It’s in the vents!” You insist 

“Sweetheart…” Clyde kneeled to your level “I’ve checked the vents, they’re clear, there’s no mold in there”.

You’ve been here for 8 months, you barely leave, you’re not allowed to bring clothes from outside except on rare occasions, you’re fed meals created with sterile rubber gloves, your friends don’t visit often anymore, you’ve been sick for a long time. It’s getting to your head. 

“It’s not clean air, I just know” you wail, your throat feels bruised tears swell your eyes “it’s making me even sicker, Clyde” 

He wants to be close to you right now. Clyde’s already shook off his suit jacket, neatly folded it near the window. He sits on your bed and you naturally nestle to his lap. It used to be the other way, he thinks, it used to be his bruised and battered face being caressed and cleaned by your expert hands. Murkoff allowed him to take some time off work during the week to see you, and visit you. 

He tried to bring you sweets from the bakery, but you refused, genuinely convinced that you’ll bite into the treat and find some human fluid. Exhausted but ever the quick-thinker, he took up baking, and his desserts you did happily wolf down. 

He caressed your face with the back of his fingers, “I’ll ask them if we can open the window for a few minutes, how does that sound, honey?”. 

You mumbled a wet “thank you”

“As soon as I leave, I’ll ask them to open the window and keep the lights closed, alright?”

A weak nod from you. You felt safe in his arms, then self aware of the state of your face. 

You had no makeup on, you haven’t contoured your disfigured face, or curled your hair in so long. It feels so unlike you, weak and unkept, it was bad enough as it is but in front of your husband?? You pull the polyester duvet towards your face. 

Clyde felt loosened at your sight, let himself lay in your hospital bed. He wrapped his thick arms round your torso, pulling you over him, face-to-face, lying on his chest. “Oh doll face” he sighs, and his arms make you decompress. Aware of your visual sensitivities, he pulls one of his large hands over your eyes. All that shit about the mold, the rubber food, your ugly face, the fluorescent lights, was gone and you felt sleepy. You knew when you woke up you’d still be in this fucking room, but the lights would be off and they’ll finally light a candle instead. Your arm traces his chest, up to his neck and into his thick, dark hair. You’ll fidget with your darling’s hair until you fall asleep. The gel sticks to your fingers and you could feel his other hand caress your jaw. Clyde pinches your chin and tilts your face upwards into a chaste, warm kiss. In your head you started praying, “Oh Almighty, take me now, in the cozy, dark warmth of his arms”. You pull back and nestle into the curve of his neck. Praying that your Lord either take you now or get you out of this room.