#if you suffer from migraines I feel for you

[empiresofstorm]

(what if?) all i need is you

azriel x fem!reader

summary Your first fae cycle is awful. Azriel just wants to help.

word count 3.9K

warnings Hurt/comfort, mild angst (mostly fluff), brief mentions of parents passing away and canon-typical violence, loverboy Az <3

notes I am aware that there are already a million period fics but I’m on my period so here is my (very self-indulgent) contribution <3

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You hadn't expected your first cycle as High Fae to feel so different.

The fatigue, the cramping in your stomach, and the migraines had all been mild at first - isolated enough that you hadn't expected your biannual cycle to be the cause, least of all so soon after being turned fae.

Azriel had noted the signs too. His presence, though not constant, had been a comforting sort of consistent, ever since you'd met in the human lands.

It had been an unnervingly quiet afternoon at Beddor Apothecary. Though, you supposed it was a relief that no villagers had knocked on the doors today with unnerving cuts and bruises.

The shop had been left to you in their will after the Beddors had passed. Not your family by blood, but in a way that perhaps mattered more. Their death had killed a part of your soul, one more difficult to patch than. A well-loved family, healing patients in the village for generations. Killed in a seemingly random fire. It hadn't made sense.

Their daughter, Clare, had been younger than you, far too young to leave so soon. Even as a child, she’d always hung around the shop while you worked, offering tools and cheeky smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief that had remained even as she grew into adulthood.

You’d heard that the fire took mere minutes to consume the house. But you knew  that no human flame burned so rapidly.

Lost in thought, you’d jumped at the knock on the door. Patients rarely knocked, knowing the door to be unlocked. Instantly on alert, you’d grabbed the pointed steel spatula near your fingertips, before walking to the door and yanking it open.

Azriel had heard your hammering heart as you walked the short distance to your door, immediately feeling guilty as you eyed him warily. He stood preternaturally still as you quickly scanned over his frame, the distrust in your eyes slowly dissipating as you registered his wings, the siphons on his hands, before you'd craned your neck up to meet his gaze.

The tension had left your shoulders, then. 

Feyre had written a few weeks ago, her most recent letter explaining the chronic pain suffered by her friend Azriel, who she’d previously described as “classically handsome” and something about “wingspan” that had flown over your head. Feyre had asked if you’d make a healing salve for him, like you made for her father. You’d readily agreed, looking forward to meeting a new patient, keeping busy to keep your wind from wandering to less-than pleasant thoughts. 

This must be him, you’d thought. 

In front of you, the large male smiled softly, his voice gentle as he said, “Hello. I’m Azriel, Feyre’s friend.”

He'd left later that evening, holding a generously filled tin that you'd refused payment for. And every two weeks, he returned for a new tin of salve. 

Every two weeks, Azriel sat on a wooden stool beside your bench, transfixed as he watched your brilliant mind make the smallest modifications to the formula after asking for feedback.

“May I try something, Azriel?” you'd asked gently, a few visits in. Your hand had hovered above his own as you looked up at him, eyes patient, soft. “The application of the salve makes a difference too. I think that you should be more gentle with yourself,” you’d said, words deliberate.

Their double meaning hadn’t been lost on Azriel. For a moment, he’d considered, before nodding. Azriel’s eyes had snapped shut as he slowly swallowed, throat bobbing. But then, his gaze met yours again, face more open, trusting, as he flipped his hand and lightly pressed his palm on the table. “Please, go ahead.”

He’d watched as you gently pressed the cream into his scars, movements professional but tender, somehow. You’d taken your time, working systematically over the expanse of his hands, explaining your motions as you went, explaining the research with an endearing passion that had Azriel’s lips curving into a small smile, mind nearly forgetting that someone was touching his hands.

Once you'd finished, you’d scanned his face, almost nervous, only to find some emotion swimming in his eyes you hadn't been able to name.

And you’d let the words pour from your heart before you could second-guess them.

“You are brave, Azriel. And there is no shame in feeling pain, in being gentle with yourself.”

He’d stayed longer than usual that night, pressing soft lips to your forehead softly at the threshold. He’d promised to be back in two weeks.

The next time you saw him had been on the battlefield, and everything had changed.

“Here, let me.” A warm palm covered your left hand, wrapping around the knife that you gripped loosely, foggy mind not understanding why the fillet wasn't splitting into pieces.

You nodded distractedly, still glaring at the offending piece of steak on your plate. Your right hand reluctantly slipped out from under Azriel’s, the soothing heat of his palm feeling.With precise, even strokes, Azriel quickly had your meal in bite-sized pieces. You snorted quietly, watching him work. The throbbing at your temple wasn’t so awful that  you didn’t register the irony of the Spymaster of the Night Court using his knife skills, honed through centuries of training and battle, to slice meat for his temporarily incapacitated friend.

Lips quirking up, he pushed the plate back toward you, eyes shining with poorly disguised concern.

Azriel knew you were so used to looking out for others that you sometimes struggled to do the same for yourself. Independent, perhaps to a fault. 

But the knowledge didn't quell the urge to feed you himself, to look after you the way you deserved. Even if Azriel wasn't sure he deserved the honour of doing so.

“Thanks, Az,”you mumbled, slowly lifting your fork to your mouth.

“Of course,” he replied, voice soft in the way it always seemed to be when he spoke to you.

You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously as you chewed slowly.

Eyes already on you, Azriel scanned your features worriedly.

“I'm okay, Az. I promise. Just not hungry.” You finally swallowed, fork quietly clattering back onto the plate.

“A few more bites, and then you can stop. Please - you need the iron."

You didn't understand why. 

“I can't, it-” you stopped suddenly, pushing your chair back, “excuse me.”

Azriel watched you hurry to his bedroom, to the ensuite inside. He hesitated only a moment before he followed after you. If you asked him to, truly wanted him to, he would leave, even if it would kill him.

He found you, forehead leaning against the ceramic basin as you took exhausted, heaving breaths. His shadows swarmed forward, lifting your hair off your overheated neck. A moment later he crouched down, hand moving down your back in broad, sweeping strokes.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, you concentrated on the feeling of his calloused hands against the thin fabric of your shirt. Familiar. Safe.

“I don't understand why I can't eat. I love your steak,” you mumbled defeatedly, voice breaking in frustration.

“I know, Y/n,” he soothed, “you’re not well, sweetheart.” Azriel's voice was gentle, patient as he explained.

“Hmm. I don't feel well.”

“It's your cycle, angel. You've been more tired this week, not just from the training. The migraines, and now the nausea.” Azriel paused, voice somehow even softer, “it’s all normal. Awful but normal."

A black shadowy tendril darted forward, brushing your neck, providing cooling relief to the hot skin.

You exhaled. “Okay. Thank you, Az.” Turning to him, you added with the most convincing smile you could muster, “you can leave now.”

Azriel's brows furrowed. In your delirium, you reached out a thumb to smooth away the crease.

You rarely touched Azriel’s face. Azriel was your friend; tender face-touching wasn’t really something that friends did. The realisation took a second to register, and you startled, quickly retracting your hand and letting it fall to your lap.

Azriel’s hand engulfed yours a second later, squeezing reassuringly. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, honestly.

You looked up to his earnest face, hazel eyes patient as ever. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. The last man I was with-” you winced, quickly shaking your head. “It doesn't matter,” you trailed off, cheeks heating with embarrassment.

Azriel looked appalled. “He was truly pathetic, then,” he bit out, eyes burning with fury. More calmly, he continued, “you didn't do anything wrong, angel. It’s natural for your body to do this. I hate that you’re in pain, but I’m not uncomfortable. Not at all.”

You smiled at him gratefully, chest feeling lighter.

He reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You fought the urge to cringe - it was drenched with sweat, clinging to your face by your eye. But Azriel seemed unfazed, his touch reverent. 

Strange.

“Can I take you to bed?”

You opened your mouth to reply, just as a sharp pain tore through your abdomen. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips.

Just then, Azriel looked pained, too. You wondered why. Was he injured somewhere, too?

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. I'm sorry,” Azriel said, voice sympathetic as his thumb brushed your cheek.

You shifted your focus back to Azriel’'s hand on your back, still moving soothingly along your spine, on taking even breaths. But once the haze cleared, your senses narrowed on the faint metallic tang of blood permeating the air between you.

“Oh. This is-” your voice broke, tears finally slipping out, “you shouldn't be here. You can’t be here, Az.”

At your panicked tone, Azriel pulled away, quickly - reluctantly - giving you space. You averted your gaze, but he nodded, reassuring. “I can go, sweetheart. I will go if you truly want me to.”

You didn't want that, not even a little. But how could you ask him to stay? It was a miracle that he hadn’t already left, given how many times you’d asked, albeit half-heartedly. He rivalled you in sheer stubbornness, though this fact had never made your chest ache in the way it now did.  

“But, you once told me there was no shame in feeling pain. That there was no shame in being gentle with yourself,” he paused meaningfully, “there is no shame in asking for help when you need it either, sweetheart. You were the one who helped me learn that.”

You looked up at that, meeting his eyes. Tears were falling in earnest now and you opened your arms, reaching out, voice cracking in a small sob.

You weren’t sure who moved closer first, but you were instantly bundled in Azriel’s arms, sitting across his lap as he held you close. His wings came to wrap around you in a protective embrace, the cool membrane impossibly soothing against the overheated skin of your arms.

Azriel weathered all of it, holding you close as the waves of pain continued piercing through you. His arms around you were firm, steadfast, and Azriel rested his cheek on top of your head, utterly content to hold you like this as long as you needed. He did not falter for a moment as you cried into the soft cotton of his shirt.

As your heaving breaths began to slow, sobs finally growing quieter. you wondered how everything could feel so easy with him. How you could feel so safe. It was rare - you would never be able to find anything like this again.

And that thought had the tears falling fast once again.

Azriel’s arms around you tightened further in response. It should have been impossible.He remained quiet; nothing needed to be said between you, anyway.

In the time you’d known him, you’d quickly learned Azriel wasn't chatty. Yet when he did speak, it was always what you needed to hear, uncomfortable truths or otherwise. But the silences were equally comfortable. Azriel was steady, enduring. You wouldn’t change a thing.

Ear against Azriel’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, you were vaguely aware that time continued to pass. If that fact weighed on Azriel, if his legs had numbed from your weight pressing into them, he certainly didn’t let on.

But you couldn't hide from reality forever. And the blood that you now felt starting to soak through your leggings was a harsh reckoning.

You pulled away, sliding off Azriel's lap as his wings eased from around you, arms following suit.

He smiled at you softly. “Better?”

“Better,” you murmured. You’d let yourself indulge today, but didn’t deserve him. Not even for a moment. 

Azriel stood slowly, beginning to walk away from where you sat on the tiled floor. 

He’d realised the same. 

He was leaving.

It was hard to quell the disappointment beginning to churn through your stomach. You didn’t have the right to be disappointed. Azriel was your friend, and your pain was not his responsibility. 

You were not his.

The realisation was a punch to your gut, the hurt somehow feeling more debilitating than the cramping sensations that continued to flood your abdomen.

But you’d lived more than two decades of your life without depending on him, on anyone, really. You could learn to do it again, however painful it would be.

Self-aware to a fault, you recognised that you weren’t easy to be with. Least of all, your breakdown today was a glaring indication. And Azriel had endured a difficult childhood, and overcome so much. His life was still complicated, busy, and he deserved someone easier. 

You didn’t have a home - your parents passed young and the Beddors had been the closest thing you’d had to a family before they suffered the same fate. And once you’d finally begun to process everything, to tread water, you’d nearly drowned in the cauldron, and turned fae.

Lost in thought, it felt like your other senses had halted, too. It was no wonder you didn't register the familiar baritone cutting through the silence - not the first time, nor the second. Maybe not even the third.

“Y/n?” Azriel tried again, voice gentle. His gaze was worried as you finally heard him and met his eyes.

Azriel was by the door, leaning down and reaching into the top drawer under the large sink countertop.

He’d gotten up, but he hadn’t left.

Your vision became blurry again. Distantly, you registered Azriel moving towards you, carrying something in his hands.

Moving to crouch in front of you, Azriel’s brows furrowed, again. 

“I thought you might want to wear a pad,” Azriel explained, unravelling the outer fabric wrapping to reveal a cloth pad inside. Your heart squeezed. “It’s cotton, not hemp. I know you’re allergic,” he added quietly.

It was so matter-of-fact, an explanation rather than an invitation for gratitude. You felt it, anyway. 

You’d mentioned your allergy once, months and months ago, when you were still human. Azriel had come in the afternoon, earlier than usual, nearby due to a Spring Court visit. He’d grinned, explaining Cassian’s seasonal allergies and you’d laughed hard before telling Azriel about the time you’d made porridge with hemp seed instead of oatmeal and broken out in hives. Very alarmed at first, he’d eventually chuckled at the sound of your contagious laughter. 

It had been a tongue-in-cheek comment, completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

A few more tears fell from your eyes.

“Oh no, please don't cry, Y/n. I’m sorry.” Large thumbs moved to swipe under your eyes with a heartbreaking tenderness that had you wanting to cry all over again. You squeezed your eyelids shut.

“Fool. Why are you sorry?” you sniffled exasperatedly. It was misplaced frustration, the true culprit being your own lack of emotional regulation. “You're an angel, Az. Truly.” Under your breath, you mumbled, “your girl will be the luckiest faerie in Prythian.”

Azriel broke out into a wide smile bringing out his dimples, eyes bright and twinkling. He looked at you, gaze knowing in a way that you couldn't even begin to unpack in your current state, lest you come up with a truly delusional answer.

“You deserve to have someone who cares about you as deeply as you do for others. More,” he said easily, eyes sincere.

Flustered, you had averted your gaze. You focused on keeping your hands by your sides and not raising your cold palms to your rapidly overheating face.

“I’m honoured that you trust me enough to care for you like this. Especially after everything,” he said, voice quiet. After Hybern.

“That isn't on you, Azriel. Do not think for one moment that you are responsible, because you are not. I most certainly do not hold you responsible for Hybern’s actions,” you said fiercely.

Azriel’s free hand hung limply by his side. You reached forward holding it between both of your own.

“Despite everything that has changed in my life, I will always be grateful that you are in it.” Perhaps for the first time today, your voice did not waver. The only thing you were truly sure about. 

“Thank you,” Azriel said, voice hoarse. “Tell me you know that I feel the same.” 

“I do know, Az,” you assured gently. It was true. He had shown you countless times before today, too.

A pause. Then, “do you want me to run you a bath?” Azriel’s eyes searched your face.

“Yes, please. In all honesty, I’m ready for a nap but it would be nice to feel clean,” you mused. Another cramp tore through your stomach, and you winced. Azriel frowned, looking so deeply distressed that you had to laugh. “I’m sure the warm water will help too,” you grinned wryly.

Azriel smiled then. “Good idea.” He walked to the large tub, twisting both bronze taps, testing the temperature with a finger under the faucet, before adjusting again, testing the temperature, repeat.

You watched Azriel fuss over the bath, feeling your heart grow another ten sizes. 

When he returned to your side, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing into his chest. He returned the embrace, folding you in his arms. You grinned.

Azriel felt your smile through his thin cotton shirt and chuckled. “Should I get your clothes?” Azriel asked, before adding, almost shyly, “or you can wear some of mine. If you'd like.”

“Thanks, Az. I’ll wear your cobalt blue henley. If that's okay?"

“My blue... what?”

“Henley,” you repeat, slowly, drawing out both syllables. You pulled back, relaxing your hold to stare at him.

Azriel’s quizzical expression didn’t shift. “I have no clue what that is.”

You burst out laughing, pulling away at last. You reached for his hand, and Azriel swiftly laced your fingers. “Let me show you.”

Leading him from the room, you walked to his large dresser, reaching on tiptoes for the top drawer. Hand on the bronze knob, you pulled the drawer open with a small huff, the contents heavy.

You turned back to look at Azriel with jokingly narrowed eyes, “you own way too many clothes.” 

He huffed a silent laugh, hand gesturing to his dresser, curious to see how exactly you would pick out this “blue henley” when you couldn’t actually see the clothes inside.

Your smile became smug, following his train of thought. Maintaining eye contact, you felt around the drawer with your hands, sifting through layers of folded garments with practised ease, before gently pulling out the shirt in question.

You held it up for him, grin unfaltering.

Azriel’s jaw fell open, expression now awed. “How did you know?” he asked quietly, eyes soft.

Smile shrinking, you fought the urge to shirk away from his fond gaze. Your cheeks heated before you admitted, “I… wear it sometimes when Rhys sends you away for longer missions.”

Azriel broke into a broad smile, so bright and radiant that you quickly decided the mild humiliation you felt was worth it. He didn’t say anything, just smiling at you with dimples and sparkling eyes. Looking so handsome that you didn't know what to do with yourself.

So, you kept talking.

“I worry sometimes. Often. I know you are over five hundred years old and you have been doing this job for a long time. But you have all said that we face bigger threats than Hybern. And I know you can handle yourself, Az, but your self-sacrificing tendencies really freak me out,” you say quickly, before pausing for breath.

The exact combination of emotions swirling in his irises was difficult to pinpoint. But his gaze remained warm, safe. It gave you the courage to continue. “Somehow, that shirt always smells like you. Even after I wash it. I wear it to bed sometimes because it just feels like... you’re not as far away,” you finished with a shy smile.

Azriel's gaze did not falter from your face, the love radiating so brightly from him that no creature in Prythian, blind or otherwise, could deny that he regarded you with a reverence unrivalled by even the suns that orbited the galaxy. He closed the gap between you in a single step pulling you to him so fast you stumbled into his chest with a small, startled huff. You quickly braced your palms on his shoulders, balancing yourself.

Azriel pulled back slightly, soft lips placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before he pulled you close once again, sighing contentedly. “I know my job has its risks, and you have every right to worry. But I promise that I will do everything in my power to come back home to you, angel. Always.” He added, less serious, “I am sure Rhys or Cass or Mor or Amren can confirm that I have been much less self-sacrificing since you came into the picture.”

“Oh?”

“You can ask them yourself,” Azriel confirmed. Later, he’d also tell you about the preservation charm he suspected Rhys had placed on that shirt. Reluctantly, Azriel pulled back, but interlaced your hands as he added, “bath first, though. It'll help.”

“Cassian was right. You really are a mother hen,” you grinned, allowing him to lead you back to the bathroom nonetheless.

“Cassian is my biggest hater,” Azriel groaned. “Worst wingman ever,” he mumbled under his breath.

You laughed. “Please. You have never needed a wingman, Azriel. Don’t even pretend like your shadows don't tell you what all the ladies of Prythian think about your wingspan.”

Azriel choked. Then, quickly recovering, "and how would you know?"

“...Guilty.”

Entering the bathroom, Azriel led you to the tub, swarmed by shadowy tendrils. Two distinct black shapes swirled around the taps, twisting them off.

“Thank you,” you whispered, smiling as they swirled happily in response.

A larger cluster of shadows gathered at the tiled surrounds on the opposite end of the tub, swirling around a small wooden tray of small vials. The water itself was now filled with warm and lots of bubbles. You grinned.

A tiny shadow lifted a small brown bottle with a purple label, while its friend twisted off the stopper.

You watched as a few drops of the pale yellow liquid fell into the tub.

“Is that lavender?” you asked, turning to Azriel.

“Yes. Essential oils. I wish I could take credit, but the idea was entirely theirs.” His eyes twinkled as they met yours.

You burst out laughing.

Azriel’s eyes crinkled, the melodic tones of his laughter filling the space, combining with your own, echoing through the chamber. As the tangerine neon light of the sunset poured in through the window, illuminating his beautiful face, you knew this was all you needed.

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Thank you for reading 🩷

[ashenlavellan]

A Realistic Kaidan Appreciation Post in Regards to the Migraines -

I know that this has all been said and done, but stick around if you enjoy the Mass Effect series and have an appreciation and/or like Kaidan Alenko ^.^

Now, let's briefly talk about his backstory/pre-ME trilogy.

(Exposure to Element Zero): Now, humanity simply acquired biotics through means of exposure to Element Zero through utero - they don't give us an exact percentage of how likely the fetus can develop biotic capabilities over terminal brain cancer, but let's consider that it's not too high... considering that the "accidents" were somewhat frequent.

There isn't much mention before his L2 implants if he had suffered from negative symptoms, but let's just say that if there were, they were likely minimal/barely noticeable. It wasn't until many individuals with biotic tendencies were fitted with the L2 implants that we began to see severe effects to fatal circumstances.

We consider Kaidan to be quite lucky considering that he seems to only experience severe/intense migraines, especially if he pushes himself too hard with biotic overuse. Yet, there are some fans out there that may hardly ever have migraines - let alone, headaches.

This is coming from me - who deals with chronic AND hormonal migraines on a near daily-basis. They are detrimental.

Migraines can be triggered not just from being chronic or hormonal, but ingesting certain foods/drinks (especially caffeine - yes, I'm talking about you coffee.), over-exercise, and stress.

Um, we've all witnessed what the ME: Trilogy is like as we play as our respective Commander Shepard, but we hardly know what our companions are feeling unless they verbally express so within the game. (Yes, I get it - they're just video game characters, but let me nerd out and relate to a character!)

Chasing after a rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius, and the possibly extinction of all races in the Milky Way?

Possibly losing his SO (if you romanced him), or one of his closest friends only to reunite two years later - thanks to being resurrected by a terrorist organization?

Or, possibly getting killed on Mars after working alongside his SO/Ex-SO/closest friend?

Then a possible showdown with said person after the terrorist organization attacks the Citadel shortly after becoming a Spectre?

I could honestly go on, but that sounds fucking stressful and then some for Kaidan to deal with - on top of dealing with migraine episodes/flare-ups thanks to his biotics/implants. Not just that, but how fast-paced and constantly moving? Especially with their military careers?

I'm sorry, but I know for a fact that if it wasn't for other medical conditions, I would have been turned away from joining the military with my chronic and hormonal migraines and I genuinely can't function and have had to call out of work because of how severe mine are... hell, I've been hospitalized once due to them.

Migraines are no joke and the fact that Kaidan Alenko pushes through with how intense they are and remains active within the military? Becomes a Spectre for the Milky Way galaxy? Possibly becomes the SO/Spouse of our adrenaline-junkie Commander Shepard's?

Fucking kudos to that man.

[seiwajima]

Because I’m in pain from a migraine I bring you: izaya gets headaches like me headcanons

Izaya is stubborn enough to put off a headache to finish work. He’ll take medicine and drink water and just try and put off rest until the work is done or he absolutely has to lay down. Adhd be damned he hyper focus and forget to tend to his needs.

Very rarely does his work demand so much focus that he needs to put off his own health but it does always feel like when the crunch time is the hardest that the migraine hits the worst. It’s obvious to anyone else it’s stress induced but he’s often the last to clue into that.

His migraines are chronic and usually induce dizziness and nausea so he often will just take medicine and try to sleep it off. In the event he can’t get to sleep before the worst of it hits, he will lay awake in pain for several hours browsing on his phone.

When Izaya has a migraine he has no strength to mask or perform his informant role. Due to this he prefers to be alone as not to ruin his reputation, however the lonliness of laying awake in pain by himself isn’t much better.

He’s had migraines since highschool. They set in late during the last half of the years at raijin.

Shinra has known about them since school and wondered if they came on due to the storm of things that occurred, but Izaya presumes they’re genetic from his parents. It’s possible it’s a bit of both.

Izaya doesn’t call on Shinra for help as there’s little he could do anyways. He’s also unsure if Shinra would leave celty’s side just to keep his pitiful self company. The answer to that might hurt more than his headache so he doesn’t want to find out. So Izaya’s never asked. The few times Shinra has found out about izaya’s headaches he’s always shown concern though.

While Izaya doesn’t ask for help often, the few times Namie has been around for his debilitating migraines, he’s asked for her to fetch things or at least handle some work issues so he can lay down. Namie, whether through contractual obligation or genuine care, has helped on occasion.

Izaya once was looked after by his sisters when he was younger and evidently it bothered them to see him like that. So he’s made an effort to not ever let them know when he’s sick.

Izaya doesn’t mask for anyone but shizuo. The only person that can’t know he’s unwell is Shizuo and so he puts great effort into appearing like he’s fine even if his head is throbbing. The chance that shizuo hesitates, due to Izaya being sick, or goes easy on him is one that Izaya can’t take. It would sicken him to be looked at with pity by shizuo. He doesn’t want to be treated like he’s weak, least of all by his enemy.

Bonus Shizaya headcanon: Izaya would love to be looked after and cared for but he’s rejection sensitive and wouldn’t want shizuo to knowingly say something that would hurt Izaya too close to home when he’s already so sensitive due to being sick.

Bonus Shizuo headcanon: Shizuo doesn’t know what a migraine is but he knows he’s had bad headaches before. (Usually induced by cases of extreme prolonged anger—usually caused by Izaya)

Shizuo: Migraine? Isn’t that just a fancy name for a headache?

Izaya: Shizu-Chan you ignorant slut—

[a-very-fond-farewell]

I haven’t written in 2 days :(

[sovaharbor]

what did i do to deserve an ibs flare-up at 11 pm.......

[crimeronan]

literally every time i have a flare this bad i end up desperately googling terms like "stop widespread inflammation" "tips to stop widespread inflammation" "treat chronic inflammation" "manage chronic inflammation" and i always get recommended the exact same articles all telling me to do the same generic things i am already doing (eat certain foods, take certain supplements, use NSAIDs, don't smoke, exercise regularly, make a doctors appointment if that doesnt help, etc) and i'm like. well. thank you for confirming that i haven't done this to myself through stupid life choices. i love to be validated about how god himself hates me. but could you please for the love of GOD just GIVE ME A MIRACLE CURE,

[pentanguine]

The appeal of a hysterectomy grows by the day

[narutomaki]

I'm sick (again) with who knows what (again) and it fucking sucks (again) because this is the second time I've been Sick sick with something other than 1) 1 days bugs cause by food/allergies(?) or 2) anxiety and pain flare ups

and the first time I was sick I tested after getting over the worst of it and tested positive for covid 2 times, my roommate got sick with who knows what either covid from me or a unknown cold from their friends in the building

but what this all essentially means is I'm spending New Years alone while also having spending Christmas also alone (my friend celebrates and i was supposed to go over to celebrate with them and their family but SICK) and usually me and that same friend in the brackets send New Years together but we haven't for two years in a row now

and idk i'm just jealous and bitter bcus my roommate is hanging out with mutual friends that don't care that they're sick bcus they didn't test positive for covid but I wasn't even asked if I wanted to try and come along somehow which like. ow?

and idk. i don't like being alone. especially because I do put a lot of stock in New Years day and being with my friend(s) but I'm alone and my dog's sick and...

I got sick because I had to take my mask off for an ENT appointment, where in the end nothing was visibly wrong, where she didn't think the lump on my head was an issue and I was too anxious to tell her that YES the lump does and has repeatedly changed in size and-

I'm getting a scan of some sort done on my head next month (i think) where I won't be able to wear a mask bcus all of mine have metal in them so I guess I should get a fabric mask and see if my n95 inserts fit in them? better than nothing and that has to count bcus I don't want to get sick AGAIN (AGAIN)

so i'm just. sitting alone in my freezing apartment eating a chocolate bar i don't like smoking and working on art and trying to ... idk. just trying.

[keplercryptids]

common myths about migraines (AKA if you get headaches regularly, please seek treatment for migraines)

"i don't have migraines because while i get them several times a week, it's only when i am hungry or dehydrated."

those are probably migraines. thirst, hunger, sleep disturbances, or any disruption to routine are common migraine triggers.

"my headaches are specifically barometric related, i get them when the weather/altitude changes."

those are probably migraines. barometric pressure is a common migraine trigger.

"i get headaches all the time but ibuprofen gets rid of them so they can't be migraines."

that's not true. ibuprofen works great at relieving migraine pain for many people.

"my consistent headaches are tension headaches. i feel them originate in my neck/shoulders."

those are probably migraines. muscle tension is a common migraine trigger.

if you are regularly getting headaches (once a week or more), you are likely getting migraines. in fact, a good rule of thumb if you're consistently getting headaches is to treat them as migraines until you can rule out migraines. that's how common "chronic headache = migraine" actually is.

migraines are a neurological disorder wherein pain is one symptom. pain is often the MAIN symptom, and the most noticeable symptom, which can make diagnosis tricky. other symptoms of migraine include:

fatigue

nausea/vomiting

digestive issues

visual disturbances (auras)

sensitivity to light and/or sound

mood changes

brain fog/cognitive changes

ringing in the ears

dizziness/vertigo

numbness/weakness on one side of the body

this list is NOT complete, but is a starting point. i really like the comparison to a hangover. if you generally feel hungover when you get a headache (without having consumed alcohol), that's a classic migraine presentation.

so many people suffer from migraine and don't even know it, so they aren't able to advocate for themselves to get treatment. there are great new migraine treatments on the market! if you're able, please seek treatment for your migraines. a better quality of life is possible.

[raeofgayshine]

All I want is for there not to be a hole in my closet ceiling so I can go back to having my stuff in my room in their correct places and I don’t have to worry about something happening until it’s fixed

But since this isn’t my house I have exactly zero control over that, and over contacting the people who are supposed to fix it. At some point. We don’t actually know when and I’m so fucking upset about it

[area51-escapee]

I am so full of rage. I am so full of rage. I am so full of rage.

[rinhaler]

DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…” he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[bangarangdarling]

blame the “hitting on your mom as a punishment” tiktok i just saw that literally blew my brain up. established because they’re disgustingly in love and because i say so

Eddie would normally consider himself pretty immune to the roar of arguing teenagers. Chaos surrounds their little Party. They’re not a quiet bunch when all together. It’s all shoving and yelling, giggling and roughhousing. Carpet-burned battle scars from the floor of Steve’s living room.

Lord knows Eddie himself wasn’t an inside-voice kind of person. He was certainly wont to standing on coffee tables and screeching demands for the remote when it was unjustly stolen away by villainous hands.

Eddie loved these people to death, and they were a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, it’s just this...this was an unreal level of noise. A normal sleepover night turned a little too rowdy, the adolescents celebrating the start of Summer with a bang.

Steve had already asked them to keep it down four times this evening. Nothing seemed to calm them. Not requests. Not threats of being sent home. Usually their Dungeon Master threatening their characters’ souls did the trick, but no go. 

Getting teenagers to listen? A feat more impossible than defeating creatures from an alternate universe. 

Dustin and Erica were in a bitching match about the best D&D class. Lucas and Mike had been fighting over movie choices for the last half hour. Eddie’s money was on the VHS player breaking before that, the constant mishandling and shoving of tapes had the poor thing practically smoking.

Will, ever the diplomat, was trying to be an impartial party when asked his movie opinions. Which, of course, caused more yelling. 

Max and El had been the only ones being semi-quiet, but that quickly ended when they followed through on their surprise attack pillow fight, pummeling the boys senseless and causing the already unbearable volume to kick into overdrive. Eddie could practically feel Steve’s migraine building, even from where the dude had retreated to the kitchen. Dinner had been pizza. Quick. Easy. Clean. Or, it would have been if it hadn’t had been for the food fight. Steve was still in there scrubbing cheese out of his parents’ tiled backsplash. Dishes clattered in the distance when the cacophony hit its crescendo. 

It was the proverbial straw. 

“Alright, that’s it! Hey. Come on, guys. Knock it off,”

Nothing. 

“HEY!”

He maybe overdid it that time, but the absolute ear-splitting boom of a yell he let out stopped the ruckus dead. 

Silence rang for a beat.

Huh. Maybe Eddie should try out incorporating that into his music. He honestly hadn’t known he could get to that range. 

The teenagers in the room stared at him, not cowed in the slightest, but curious enough to know what the hell Eddie’s problem was. Max was the first one to quirk an eyebrow at him.  “Geez, need attention much?” 

Eddie folded his arms to show he meant business. “Steve has asked you guys to tone it down. You’re waking the fucking dead. Why don’t you guys, like, actually go be good human beings and help him clean up your mess you all made in the kitchen, huh?” 

Lucas snorted. “Yeah, okay, mom. Why don’t you go help him, you guys will probably just make out in there, anyway.” 

It was a teasing comment. Meant to jokingly rib before getting back to doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.

But, see. That just gave him an idea. 

Never let it be said Eddie couldn’t be creative with his punishments. He was a DM after all. 

“Alllllllright. New plan. Listen up or suffer, ankle biters,” 

He really didn’t appreciate the snickers that brought about when he was trying to be intimidating. Rude. 

“You going to send us to our room or something? I’m real scared,” Erica’s scathing, dry wit was unparalleled, truly. 

“Nope. Better. It’s a new rule: You little shitheads give me attitude and don’t listen, I hit on your babysitter.”

It was silent for a minute, brains audibly computing that statement and coming up ERROR. Will hesitantly spoke up. 

“Uh, Eddie, I really don’t think that’s--”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Mike interrupted. “Why would you beating up Steve hurt us? I mean, like, I guess it would emotionally, but that’s fucked up, man.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, still smirking wickedly as his plan solidified.  “Oh, I don’t mean that kind of hitting, young Wheeler. Though, it may yet get physical--Hey, Steve?” He called out. The sink in the kitchen shut off after a second.

“Yeah?” 

“Can you come here?” 

The kids shuffled around on the floor warily as the other man walked into the living room. The energy had obviously shifted, it was probably an odd vibe to walk in to, but Eddie cut Steve off before he could ask any questions.

“You tired?”

“Uh, no. I’m fine--”

“It’s just you just keep on runnin’ through my mind constantly. I figured you’d be exhausted, sweetheart,” Eddie purred, the words cloyingly sweet and full of exaggerated charm. 

There was a countdown, three, two, one...

A collective groan let out. A few uncomfortable laughs.  “Dude, what the hell?” 

“You guys agreed not to be gross in front of us!”

“Oh, my god, can I actually get sick from how cheesy that was?” 

Eddie had to work at keeping in character when his very first line had pulled the intended reaction. He was already reaching forward to curl an arm around Steve, pulling him in in a slow, sultry attempt at being smooth. 

“What? Can’t I be sweet on my guy? You all will understand when you’re in love one day. Right, sugar?” 

Fake gags and retching sounds, too dramatic to be real protests, but still indignant and annoyed. Eddie was pretty sure Dustin slapped a hand over his eyes.

“Uh...yes?” Steve, who had previously looked like a car accident had happened directly in front of him, was catching on to the play. He eyed the disgruntled floor-children with a growing grin and let Eddie snuggle up to him.

God, his baby was so clever. He always knew what Eddie was thinking. 

Too busy having a non-verbal conversation with Steve on how to best annoy the kids, Eddie didn’t see Mike turning his attention back to the tv. He did, however, hear him telling the others to “Just ignore them, they’ll get all gushy and leave us alone.” 

Oh, Michael, Michael. Wrong move. 

“How you doing, babygirl?” Steve flushed, deep and red and--huh. Okay. Revisiting that one in the future. “You good? You need anything? Your head hurting, sweet thing? I can kiss it better,”  Eddie ducked forward to kiss Steve’s cheek. It was chaste, a sweet little thing...that Eddie made infinitely worse by the smacking, obnoxious kissy sounds he emulated there. The chorus of groans and protests started up again. He didn’t even pull his face away to call over to them. 

“I’m sorry, is that attitude? Am I hearing more attitude?”

“Dude, Eddie, noooo!” 

“Jesus, it’s like watching your parents make out, oh my god.” 

“You guys, let’s just go already,” 

“Yeah, I’ll take washing dishes over this,” 

The grossed out teenagers whooshed past them. Grumbling and glaring--except Eleven, who smiled up at them sweetly--leaving Steve and Eddie standing in the living room, still wrapped up together. 

It was too tempting then, with the kids safely out of range, for Eddie to resist the temptation to drop his kisses a little lower down Steve’s neck. To let them get a little less chaste. Just a little.

What can he say? He’s a weak man. 

“That was evil,” Steve hummed. His shoulders dropped, though, relaxing into Eddie’s hold, the closest thing they’ve had to quiet all night settling in. 

“Hey, I accomplished two things. Got them to chill out and I get the perk of feeling you up in the middle of sleepover night. It’s a win-win.” 

A crash and a muffled argument broke out in the kitchen before Steve could respond to that. 

The audible scuffling was cut off by Eddie calling out “Your ass looks great in these jeans tonight, Harrington!” 

The fierce whispers and shushing were enough to get both of the older boys cackling loudly. 

[blacknight1230]

Healing Touches

(Y/n) is suffering from one of the worst migraines they had ever had, but luckily she has two wonderful partners to help her feel better.

poly!Halsin X Reader X Astarion

Everything hurt. Why does everything hurt? That was the first thing you were thinking of when you woke up that morning. The sounds of the birds singing their morning song, the sunlight breaking through the slit in your tent's opening, the reverberating throbbing of your head ... it could only mean one thing. You were suffering from a migraine. You tried to get up to try and find something to help you with your pain, but the slightest movement made a wave of dizziness and nausea to overcome you. Spots danced across your eyes, even when they were closed and your back teeth were even in pain. This is by far the worst migraine you have ever experienced, and you've suffered from quite a lot. This is what I get for not having my medication with me, you thought. Yet another thing you took for granted when you somehow managed to transport yourself from the modern world to the magical and chaotic world of Faerûn. How you did that, you still did not know.

The vertigo you were dealing with made it impossible for you to physically get help. So, you did the only thing possibly in this situation; you used your tadpole to connect with one of your companions. You psychically reached out to one of your nearby companion's tadpole, latching onto the first one your worm felt. You struggled to maintain the connection and formulate proper thoughts to convey your need for help. Before you were able to identify who you were connected with, said connection broke as you lost concentration, your head now pounding even harder. Everything felt numb as blood rushed in your ears and spots danced behind your eyes again.

The opening of your tent flap and sunlight pouring in signalled that someone had entered your informal abode. You sheltered under the layers of your bedroll and hissed at the brightness, not able to see who came to your rescue. "Are you alright, pet? I felt you reach out to me," a sauve cool voice asked. Astarion, you inwardly cooed. The silver haired vampire noticed your aversion to the light, closing the tent flap behind him as he shuffled closer to you. "Darling, please say something," he worried. You peaked an eye over the edge of your bedroll cover, met with the handsome face of your vampiric lover. His usual lustrous saccharine eyes were soft with concern, furrowed brows showing the hidden wrinkles of his forehead. "Migraine," you managed to say, voice coming out raspy and low. The slight movement of your jaw did not help the resounding pain in your back teeth, which in turn made your head worse. "Oh, my sweet little love," he cooed. He reached a hand out and brushed it across the apple of your cheek, the slightest touch of his cold skin providing you with relief. "Let me go get, Halsin. He'll surely know what to do."

"No, stay," you whispered, wanting nothing more than for him to wander his icy hands over your head and neck. Astarion let out a sad chuckled, kneeling over you to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry, my love. But I'll be right back, I promise." His icy touch left you as he careful made his way outside without letting any light disturb you.

You laid there, in silence and pain, for who knows how long. Time felt slower as the throbbing continued in your skull. Sleep refused to take you under its wings, and there was no way you could sit up and read a book. When the hulking frame of Halsin appeared in your tent's entrance way, you swore it was a godsend.

"Oh, my heart," the druid cooed when he laid eyes on you. "Halsin," you whimpered out. Tears were brimming at the corner of your eyes, but you wouldn't let him see them cascade down your face. "I've got some natural remedies to help you with your pain, my heart. But first you need to tell me where it hurts?" Halsin softly told you, kneeling down beside you. "Everywhere. It hurts everywhere," you told your hulking lover.

Astarion quietly shuffled himself into the privacy of your tent, situating himself to sit on the blanketed ground facing the other side of Halsin. "Darling, you need to be more specific so Halsin can help you? Can you do that for us?" he coached you, taking his hand to gentle rub away the furrowing of your forehead. You audibly let out a sigh of relief at the coldness of his fingers, losing yourself in his touch. "It looks like she enjoys that, Astarion. I suggest you continue while I prepare the appropriate remedies," Halsin cooed.

You just groaned in pleasure as Astarion's lithe fingers continued to massaged away the stress in your forehead muscles. You felt them relax, and in turn you stopped scrunching your eyes shut as the pain slightly lessened. But the back of your head, right where your spine meets your skull, was still throbbing in pain, so you grabbed Astarion's other hand and brought it to the spot. The vampire spawn seemed to understand what you wanted, slowly but firmly rolling the sore tissue under his pale fingertips. A small gasp was brought to your lips and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears lessened to the point you could now hear Halsin grinding some medical herbs in a mortar and pestle somewhere inside your tent.

Liquid sloshed in a container as Halsin returned to you, having finished what he was doing. "I made you something to help with your migraine. I need you to sit up so you can drink it. Can you do that for me?" he informed. You mumbled out a small yes, struggling to prop yourself up on your elbows. Astarion wrapped an arm around your torso and gently pulled you to lean up against his chest. You placed a chaste kiss on his hand as a thank you. You were able to open your eyes now, though you still squinted due to not being used to the light, still somewhat sensitive to it. But you were able to make out Halsin kneeling beside you with a glass bottle filled with some reddish liquid inside held in his large hand.

"Here you go, my heart. Drink as much as you can," he said as he brought the glass rim up to your lips. You opened your mouth, humming as the first drop of the medicine hit your tongue. Mmm, chamomile, you thought. There was a hit of sweetness to it, as if Halsin added spoon of honey to the mixture., that craffy bear. You hummed in enjoyment at the taste, signalling to Halsin to tilt the bottle some more so you could drink more its contents.

When you almost finished the mixture, Halsin pulled the bottle away. "Not too much, my heart. There will be plenty more for you later," he teased. You mewled as you leaned further into Astarion's chest, eyes starting to feel droopy. Astarion let out a light chuckle at your affections. "I see the herbs are already working. Would you like us to stay with you while you nap, my darling?" he playfully ask. You nodded, looking up into his ruby eyes with a child-like pout on your lips. "Please. I want some cuddles," you pleaded. "Oh, darling, how could we ever say no to a face like that," Astarion cooed, placing two light kisses against your eyelids.

You repositioned yourself so you were laying on your stomach with your head on Astarion's chest. The vampire wrapped his arms around your middle and laid a kiss on your head, before settling himself back onto your sleeping pillow. Your druid partner threw an arm over the both of you as he laid on his side, his muscular chest warming your side while his chin rested lightly on Astarion's white locks. You could feel the tangling of your legs with your partners, a smile making your way to your face. "Sweet dreams, my sweet," Astarion whispered in your ear. "Rest well, my love," Halsin purred, rubbing soothing circles into your back. The scent of your loves and the sound of their rhythmic breathing lulled you back to sleep, the pain that once plagued you moment you woke up long forgotten as you laid within their loving embraces.

[vivwritesfics]

can you write something where lando’s gf has a bad migraine and he takes care of her? thanks!!

as someone who suffers from insanely shitty migraines wayyyyy too often I jumped at this one

There comes a point where you have so many fucking migraines that you just give up. That, no matter how bad they get, you have to suffer through it, that you can't stop everything every few weeks because of another fucking migraine.

Lando had met her before she had given up trying to take care of her migraines. She still laid in bed with water and pain killers, with the curtains drawn and the lights off, with a cold compress against her forehead.

That was years ago. Since then she'd grown sick of the constant days in bed, feeling shitty for herself. Now, she didn't tell Lando about the migraines, didn't want him to worry about a silly little headache.

She got on with her day, went to work, and suffered through. She kept her phone turned off, since the brightness did nothing but make her feel sick. She got on with things.

Her work was so fucking slow. But she couldn't go much faster since the migraine was killing her. Her bosses and co-workers noticed. There was no point in her being there if she could barely do any work.

She drove home slowly. Thank god it was the middle of the day and the roads were pretty much empty. She pulled up outside of their apartment, got out of the car and shut the door as quietly as she could. As miserable as she was to have to go home early from work, she couldn't wait to get into bed.

Lando was in the apartment, gaming, when she walked in. He was streaming, she could tell by just how loud he was being.

Shutting her eyes for just a moment, she dropped her things by the front door and walked towards the room he was in.

The room was dark aside from the light from the monitor and the strip lighting behind him. Her head immediately pounded, but she pushed through and knocked on the door.

Immediately Lando paused his game, pulled his headset off and turned towards the door. "Baby," he said as he took in the state of her. He stood from his chair and rushed towards her, pulling her into his arms and pulling her head into his chest. "Migraine?"

"Migraine," she answered and slowly nodded.

Wrapping his arms around her, Lando walked her towards their bedroom. He sat her down onto the bed and began closing the curtains. "Get into your pyjamas, I'll get you some water," he said and kissed the top of her head.

As Lando walked to the kitchen, she sat there for just a second. With the curtains closed she finally felt better. But she got herself up and got changed out of her work clothes.

Lando returned with a glass of water and two painkillers. He pulled back at the covers and she crawled beneath. "Thank you, Lan," she whispered, but he disappeared again.

She shut her eyes. Less than a minute Later Lando returned. He pressed a cold compress to her head. "I'm gonna go and finish the stream real quick."

"Hurry back," she whispered and Lando nodded his head.

He went back to the stream just to end it. The chat was asking why, but Lando wouldn't answer. He just ended the stream and returned to his girlfriend.

Lando was so considerate. He climbed into bed with her and pulled her close, letting her rest against his chest. Lando knew he snored, so he made a point to stay awake until she was fast asleep. Even then, he was hesitant. His priority was her, was to make sure she was happy and comfortable.

He loved her through her migraines.

[mockerycrow]

Lately I've been dying with stress induced migraines and was wondering if I could request the 141 or any character of your choosing to take care of the reader suffering from them??

MIGRAINES (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist

[WARNINGS; medicine/drugs, inaccuracy of medicine stuff, inaccuracy of military, fluff, physical hurt/comfort, mention of overdosing, it’s implied you do not have regular sleeping problems.]

You know a migraine is about to come on when you’re looking down at the paper in front of you—something about a past mission—and you can’t see the lower right corner of the paper. You blink harshly and rub your eyes, the blotch not leaving which leads you to believe it’s a migraine aura. A heavy feeling forms in the bottom of your stomach, a weird sensation blooming in the nape of your neck. You put the paper down for a moment and rub your eyes—it’s only Tuesday and this will be your second migraine. 

You feel frustration ebb at your nerves as tears threaten to spill, causing you to let out a shuddery breath. You stand up from the office chair you’re sitting in, near your desk in your barracks. You decided that you should warn the Captain about your aura and that you would need some rest for the incoming day and maybe even tomorrow.

You can already feel the light sensitivity setting in. It doesn’t hurt just yet as you open your door and you’re forced to be under fluorescent lights, but you can tell your tolerance is lower than usual. You offer quiet greetings to those who you pass in the hall, making your way across base to the offices. You squint a bit more, the muscles surrounding your eyes tensing. You can’t help but wonder why they use such shitty lighting in an office space.

You stop in front of a door with a name plate labeled “CPT. JOHN PRICE”, and you knock on the door a couple of times. You hear his gruff voice, saying something along the lines of come in. You open the door and close it behind yourself, looking at Price who is looking up from his paperwork; probably surrounding the last mission like yours is, too. “I feel another migraine coming on, Captain. I came to ask for the day off.” 

Price’s eyes narrow for just a moment in concern. He knows your history with migraines, and how they’re usually induced by stress. “Alright, but you make sure to go see medical if it persists, yeah?” Price says with a lifting tone, but it’s not a question, it’s an order. You go to open your mouth, but Price beats you to it. “I know they can’t do much for you, but those painkiller cocktails are very much worth it.”

You close your eyes as a wave of nausea passes over you, causing you to freeze for a moment. The man in front of you utters your name which prompts your eyes to open back up. His eyes are scanning your face. eyebrows lifting ever so slightly to prompt an answer. You press your lips together and give him a nod; those cocktails are lifesavers, but they don’t last as long as you need them to. You’re thankful for his suggestion anyway. Price gives you a firm nod. “Hope to see you tomorrow feeling better, sergeant.”

“Thank you, Captain.” You reply before leaving his office, pinching the bridge of your nose, trying to stave off that beginning twinge of pain beginning in the base of your skull.

Something was off—Ghost could feel it in his bones. When you don’t show up for morning PT, he knows something is off, especially when for the second time in a few days, Price hands him a signed off medical emergency paper from you. It contained no details, nothing other than “1 day medical absence” signed by Price himself. It left Ghost feeling uneasy; you are not the type to do this type of thing, even when you had the seasonal flu, it was like the entire 141 had to lecture you to slow down, or maybe even rest a bit.

Ghost half expects you to show up anyway, but just like a few days ago, you are nowhere to be found. Ghost finds some free time a bit after 1500, so he makes his way towards medical. Perhaps you were physically injured? He steps into the infirmary and is met with a few pairs of eyes, a couple of them shocked to see him. “Lieutenant! How can we help you?” A medic at a cart parked against the wall asks, quickly packing up something he was doing. Ghost utters your name, glancing around. “Are they here?” He grunts.

“No, sir,” The medic replies. “They did stop by for some treatment, though.” Ghost’s eyebrows furrow for a moment; treatment? Treatment for what? Ghost doesn’t bother to ask, knowing the medics wouldn’t likely tell him anyway, so he murmurs a shirt thank you before leaving the infirmary. He racked his brain—what possibly could keep you out of commission willingly when not even a GSW would? Ghost then decides right then that he will head for your barracks.

He makes his way across base, going from the infirmary unit all the way across to the on-base barracks. Gears are turning in his head as he tries to not jump to conclusions—is there a physical injury he’s not being told about?—and Ghost is failing. You’re one of the couple of folks who don’t have a roommate, so he knocks with a purpose as there isn’t anyone else to worry about bothering. He waits for a few moments and is greeted with silence, so he knocks again with a loud and deep, “Sergeant?”

Ghost is met with silence again, which doesn’t soothe his nerves. He tries the doorknob and to his surprise—and concern—it works. Ghost slowly opens the door to find your room in complete darkness, the only light being the one from the hall which is illuminating your bed. He sees you hunched over in your bed, wrapped in your blankets with your face half buried into your pillow. Near your bed is a TV tray stand with two plastic bowls with separate washcloths hanging off of the side of the bowls. There’s an orange medicine bottle and a small white medicine bottle next to a half empty water bottle and another full unopened bottle.

Ghost closes the door behind himself as he walks over to you, narrowly avoiding the TV tray stand. He peels back the velcro of one of his gloves before removing it, pressing the back of his hand to the part of your forehead that is exposed. Your temperature feels fine at first so he turns his hand over and presses his wrist to the small part of your forehead and he receives the same result. Ghost blinks for a moment, noting that you have no fever. Immense relief floods over him; he’s not exactly sure why.

He calls your name and puts a hand on your arm, shaking you ever so slightly. You don’t move a muscle, but you’re breathing just fine. Ghost looks over at the bottles of medicine and leans over, grabbing both of them. He reads “Zaleplon” and “Rizatriptan”. With a quick google search on his phone, he finds out they are both prescribed medications, which makes his eyebrows furrow in confusion. You have prescribed medications? For sleeping and migraines? You’ve never mentioned this before.

Ghost puts them back down on the TV tray stand and he shakes your shoulder a bit more forcefully as it seems you’re really asleep. He feels bad, knowing he should just let you rest, but he doesn’t know if you’ve eaten. He has no idea if you have only drunk that one bottle of water all day, if you have left to go to the bathroom—nothing. He calls your name louder which still does not harbor a response from you, making his gut tighten once again.

He knows it’s the anxiety talking, that you would be careful with medicine, careful enough to not take too much—but he can’t help but still worry. Ghost doesn’t know that maybe you forgot you took a sleeping pill before popping another, putting you in a deeper sleep. Your breathing seems fine, so you’re definitely not struggling in that department. Maybe you’re just sleeping heavier than usual?

But what if you did take more than needed? What if this is you in the middle of an overdose? You are indeed turned over, your face halfway smushed into the pillow. That’s enough to strike anxiety into Ghost’s soul so he grabs your shoulder and forcefully rolls you onto your back, a heavy relieved sigh leaving him when he doesn’t see any vomit or excess saliva on your pillow or hoodie. Your skin is its usual color, as well as your lips. Ghost’s fingers grab your wrist to feel your pulse, counting the beats. Your heart rate is fine.

So why are you not waking up? And why is he so anxious about it?

Ghost calls your name even louder and his shoulders relax when he hears a quiet groan leave your lips. Your closed eyelids squeeze together for a moment before an expression of pain floods your face, causing Ghost to press his lips together underneath his balaclava. “There ya are,” Ghost murmurs, putting a hand on your shoulder. Your eyes flutter open and they land on Ghost after a moment. “Ghost,” You breathe out, pain lacing your tone.

The room is dark so you’re both struggling to see each other, but Ghost doesn’t mind. If it helps your head, he will gladly squint. “Have ya eaten?” He grunts out, his voice rumbling and low in his chest. You let out a tired breath and rub your eyes, taking a moment to answer. “What time is it?” You croak, your hands moving from your eyes to your temples. Ghost pulls out his phone, it being too dark to look at his watch. “1321.” He replies, making you inhale sharply and let out a groan. “Shit, didn’t mean to sleep that long.” You slur ever so slightly.

“Did’ja miss a dose?” Ghost questions, and you let out a quiet “mhm”. You hear Ghost reach over to the TV tray stand, but you can’t tell what he’s doing. You hear one of the medicine bottles pop open. His hand finds yours and gives you a pill, and then you hear the water bottle crinkle. “Up.” He orders, and you comply, sitting up just enough to take the medicine. You wince at the change in angle so easily irritates your pounding skull, but you appreciate the soothing water running down your throat. Ghost caps the water bottle and puts it back. You hear water sloshing around and one of the washcloths being wrung out, and you flinch ever so slightly when you feel a cold washcloth being tucked underneath your head and against the nape of your neck.

“When did you start ‘aving migraines?” Ghost asks. His tone isn’t accusatory, but it’s clear he’s confused on why he was never let known. He’s also your superior next to Price, looked over the necessary files. You let your eyes shut, focusing on the cold feeling seeping underneath your skin. You appreciate the man keeping his voice down. “Always had ‘em, but they’re stress induced. They aren't constant.” You reply, your voice also remaining low, barely disturbing the silence of your room. “Had one a day or two ago, guess that shit never left.” You joke, earning a huff from Ghost. “Y’didn’t answer my question. When’s the last time you have eaten?” Ghost inquires, making you let out a sigh. “Mm, maybe 4 or 5 hours ago,” You hum. “I should go grab something soon, helps the medicine kick in faster.”

Ghost shakes his head even though you can barely tell. “No need, I’ll grab it. Are you experiencing nausea?” Ghost stands up from the bed, the mattress leveling out. “A bit, yeah. Could you grab something light on the stomach?” You request, your fingers grabbing your blanket as a warm fuzzy feeling in your gut begins to distract you from the pounding in your temples. “‘Course.” And with that, Ghost leaves you with your thoughts for the time being. You don’t understand why he’s being so nice and generous—it’s not like Ghost is not nice, but he’s usually more teasing and serious about getting shit done. 

To be fair, the last time you got injured, he also took care of you. You had earned a nasty brush with death after being too close to a large explosion. You had been thrown back into a wall, crashing through the other side, earning you a broken shoulder and a piece of wood through the major artery in your thigh—as well as the classic severe concussion, of course. This happened about a year ago and when your shoulder aches, Ghost somehow knows and offers to rub cream into it. It’s similar to Soap’s knee pain, so he knows what to do. Countless nights over a year of rubbing cream into the part of your shoulder that you can’t reach, the words left unspoken between you two? 

Ghost returns with a light meal for you as well as a cup of ice water, knowing it’ll help you more than your room temperature water bottles. Something about Ghost being so domestic over this past year up to now, taking care of you and bringing you food, rubbing cream into your shoulder when needed, when he took you to those temporary physical therapy appointments for your shoulder? Something snapped inside of you and you could never look at him in the same friendly way and by the way he looks and speaks to you, it seems to be the same for him.