#or who tell me migraines are just bad headaches

[allalrightagain]

Intellectually I know that migraines and headaches are two different things and neither mutually inclusive or exclusive.

HOWEVER— I don’t feel it’s reasonable to demonstrate this by making me have both at the same time.

[organized-chaotic-disaster]

This might sound dumb but as a chronic pain haver I have a little headcanon that my octoling gets headaches super easily if they squidbag too much

Like I’ll still do it in-game if someone else is doing it in the lobby or after a salmon run win bc it’s not a super serious I must obey this headcanon all the time kinda thing, but idk, it’s kind of… weirdly comforting? For me

[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄!

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : sick!fic, hurt / comfort, angst, argument, petnames, reader suffers from migraines, happy ending wc : 1.6k

the night logan left was one of those nights that seemed designed to fray every nerve, to stretch the limits of patience until something had to give. the two of you had been arguing more frequently lately, and it wasn’t hard to see why. logan had been under immense pressure, a new mission that demanded more hours than he had to give. the dates were looming, and his normally calm, steady demeanour was cracking under the strain. you noticed the change in him - how his smiles became rare, how he withdrew into himself, more often lost in thought or drowning in anxiety.

you had tried to be supportive, to be there for him in the way you thought he needed. but in doing so, you had unwittingly leaned in too close, offering solutions when he only wanted silence, asking questions when he craved peace. and on that fateful night, all the tension between you boiled over.

"i don’t understand why you’re being like this!" you had said, exasperation creeping into your voice after another tense dinner where logan had barely spoken. "you won’t talk to me, you’re shutting me out - how am i supposed to help if you won’t let me in?"

his eyes flashed with anger, something you rarely saw in him. "maybe i don’t want your help!" he snapped, standing up from the table so quickly that the chair nearly toppled over. "maybe i just need some space, but you can’t even give me that, can you?"

his words stung, but you tried to keep calm. "i’m only trying to be there for you, logan. you’re the one who’s been distant, not me."

"distant?" he repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. "you’re suffocating me! every time i turn around, you’re there, pushing, asking, demanding. i can’t breathe, y/n! you don’t know when to back off, and it’s driving me crazy."

that last word hit like a punch to the gut. crazy. was that what he thought of you? you felt your throat tighten, but you refused to let the tears spill over. "fine," you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. "if that’s how you feel, then i’ll give you all the space you need."

without another word, you turned and walked away, heading to your bedroom and shutting the door behind you. the sound of it closing was quieter than you wanted it to be, not nearly as satisfying as the slam that would have matched the rage and hurt churning inside you. you could hear him pacing in the living room, but you didn’t care. if he needed space, then that’s exactly what you’d give him.

minutes passed, and you heard the front door open and close. a hollow silence settled in the apartment, and you sank onto the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to hold the pieces together. you were angry, yes, but beneath that anger was a deep sadness, an ache that was all too familiar. this wasn’t the first time logan had shut you out, but it was the first time he’d been so harsh about it.

hours later, you finally crawled into bed, your mind racing with thoughts of what you could have said, what you should have done differently. but there was no going back. logan had left, and with him, he’d taken a piece of your heart.

the next day, you woke up with a dull headache that pulsed at your temples, but you pushed through it, telling yourself it was just the remnants of a bad night. logan didn’t call, and you didn’t reach out either. stubbornness won out over the desire to fix things. maybe he just needed time. you could give him that, right?

but the day after, the headache was worse, and the day after that, it was unbearable. the migraines came in waves, forcing you to retreat to the darkness of your room, curtains drawn tight against the light. every sound was amplified, every movement a fresh stab of pain. you tried to take care of yourself, but the loneliness only made things worse. you missed logan, missed the sound of his voice, the way he used to hold you close when the world was too much. but your fear of his anger, of pushing him even further away, kept you from reaching out.

by the fourth day, you were barely functioning. the pain in your head had become a constant, throbbing presence, and even the thought of getting out of bed was overwhelming. you knew you couldn’t go on like this, but the idea of calling logan terrified you. what if he was still mad? what if he didn’t care? what if he blamed you for everything?

but as another wave of pain crashed over you, you realised you couldn’t do this alone. with trembling hands, you picked up your phone and dialled his number, each ring echoing in your skull like a drum.

"hello?" his voice on the other end was soft, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure it was really you.

"logan..." you whispered, barely able to form the words. "i’m sorry. i didn’t want to bother you, but i -"

he cut you off, his voice suddenly accompanied with a hint of panic. "y/n? is there something wrong?"

"i’m not very well," you admitted, tears spilling over as you finally let yourself feel the full weight of your pain and fear. "i’ve been so sick, logan. it’s the migraines, they won’t stop, and i didn’t know who else to call…"

there was a long pause on the other end, and you could hear him struggling to find the right words. "oh god, y/n," he finally said, his voice thick with guilt. "i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have left like that. i was so angry, and i took it out on you. i’ve been mad at myself for days, but i was too stubborn to call. i’m so sorry. i’ll be there in twenty minutes. keep me on the phone, yeah bub?"

you could only nod, even though he couldn’t see you. the relief was overwhelming, but it was mixed with a deep sadness that he had to see you like this, that things had gotten so bad between you.

true to his word, logan was at your door in record time. he didn’t even bother to knock, just used his key to let himself in. the moment he saw you, his expression crumpled into one of sheer regret. you were lying on the couch, a blanket pulled tight around you, your face pale and drawn, tear tracks evident. he knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to gently stroke your hair back from your forehead.

"y/n," he whispered, his voice breaking. "i’m so, so sorry. i’ve been such an idiot, and you’re suffering because of it. i should have never said those things. i didn’t mean them. i was just so frustrated, and i took it all out on you."

"it’s not your fault," you murmured, even though you knew that wasn’t entirely true. you could see the guilt in his eyes, and it tugged at your heart. "i didn’t want to push you, but i didn’t know how else to help."

he shook his head, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your cheek. "i’m so sorry, baby."

tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t just from the pain. you could feel the sincerity in his words, the weight of his regret, and it eased some of the hurt that had been festering inside you.

"logan," you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. "i missed you. i jus’ wanted to be close to you. "

his face twisted with anguish at your words. "of course, bub. ‘m so sorry."

you nodded, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of your lips despite the pain. "i forgive you," you said softly. "just… don’t leave me like that again."

"i won’t," he promised, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "i’m not going anywhere."

for the next few days, logan barely left your side. he took time off work, insisting to charles that whatever had been bothering him for so long could wait. his only focus now was you - making sure you were comfortable, that you had everything you needed, and that you never felt alone again. he would sit with you for hours, talking to you, holding your hand, or simply sitting in silence when the migraines made it too hard for you to speak.

slowly but surely, the pain began to ease. the migraines, once unbearable, became manageable, and you found yourself able to smile again, to laugh at his silly jokes, and to enjoy the warmth of his presence. the emotional wounds, too, began to heal, as you both worked to rebuild the trust that had been shaken.

one morning, as the sun streamed through the curtains, you woke up to find logan watching you with a soft smile on his face. "you look better today," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"i feel better," you replied, reaching up to intertwine your fingers with his. "thanks to you."

he shook his head. "you’re the strongest person i know, bub. i’m just glad i finally pulled my head out of my ass in time to be here for you."

you laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "we’re both a little stubborn, huh?"

"yeah," he agreed, his smile widening. "but i think we’re going to be okay."

and as you lay there, hand in hand, you knew that he was right. the storm had passed, leaving you both stronger, more connected than ever. it wasn’t perfect - it would never be perfect - but it was real, and it was yours. and that was enough.

[phoenixcatch7]

Lmao I'd love to see a fic where batman like. Doesn't talk at all. He just 'hn' and 'hrm's his way through the story like a Minecraft villager. All the bat kids understand him perfectly.

I actually know people irl who can do this, and I've done it myself during bad migraines, it's practically a second language, so I know it's totally possible to have full conversations between two speakers XD!

It'd be another degree of separation between Brucie Wayne, the ditzy, breathy playboy and batman, who used up all his vocal spoons for the day and now communicates solely through unintelligible grunts and sharp hand gestures when he doesn't need to talk to strangers.

Unfortunately, the best way to learn grunt speak is the same way most languages are learned, and there's no written word (outside of emoji, of course): immersion. And the justice league are no longer considered strangers.

This leads to:

Hal: which way do we go, spooky? Where's the tracker pointing?

B: *grunt*

Hal: what?

B: *insistent grunt*

Hal:..... Can we point?

B: *dour look* *slowly raises arm to point left down the street* *sharp, insistent grunt*

Hal, dryly: don't strain yourself.

-

Damian: greyson. I am calling because father has had an injury and is bed bound for tonight, however Alfred is downstairs and the rest are still on patrol. I am still in the early stages of learning father's intonations. Please translate.

Nightwing, eldest, regularly called for exactly this reason by just about everyone Bruce has ever spoken with since he was a kid, ranging from arkham guards to jl members: *heavy sigh* put him on.

Bruce: hrng...

Nightwing: He's telling you to close the curtains and keep the noise down, he's got a headache.

Damian, over the sound of footsteps and fabric rustling: it truly is just like another language.

N: nah, it's a lot of probability. I've known b for years, I can guess pretty well. There's a lot we can say. For example, that grunt actually carried a lot more meaning, I just trimmed it down.

Damian: truly?

N: yup! If I had to be pedantic, it actually meant 'I am in quite a lot of discomfort, the cause of which is my head, and I am struggling to manage it on my own. Please aid in my cause, my darling sons whom I love dearly -'

Damian: *muffled noise through the phone*

N: that'll be him telling us to shut up. But you can see why I asked you to close the curtains.

Damian: fascinating. I shall take this under advisement.

-

B, exhausted after a long day of board meetings as Brucie: *moody silence*

Gordon: Batman, how's it going?

B: *glower* *drawn out grunt*

Gordon: that bad, huh?

-

Supes, during a briefing: I believe it would be best if we attacked from the north, we've enough flying members to crest the mountains and ambush then that way - Batman?

B: *quiet grumble, with pointer fingers moving in semicircles*

Supes: ah, I see. You're right, we'd be too visible if the sun rose behind them*turns to see the other members standing behind him* what?

Flash, bowing at the waist, palms together over his head: teach me your ways, oh mighty bat-speaker.

[luveline]

Hey Jade! I was wondering if you could do some Derek Morgan comfort?! Maybe reader who deals with headaches/migraines?

Hope you're having a nice day/night!!💛

thanks lovely, you too!

You're pinching the bridge of your nose pointlessly when Derek and Spencer arrive that morning. 

“D'you guys do a coffee run?” you ask, surprised to see them come in at the same time. 

“We did!” Spencer says, putting a paper cup down in front of you. “I got you a donut, too.” 

“Thanks, honey,” you say, rubbing the hot spot between your brows to no results. Spencer smiles, pleased, and sits at his desk with the bag of donuts to start a napkin dissemination. 

You wrap your hand around the coffee and let it warm your fingers. 

“You okay?” Derek asks. His brows are pinched upwards at the starts but otherwise furrowed. “You don't look happy.” 

“I have a headache,” you admit. Talking is twice as hard with the pain pulsing behind your eyes; you slur. 

“What?” 

What does he mean, what? You look up from the desk in confusion, but he isn't confused like you, he's borderline upset. “It's not that bad,” you say. 

“It looks pretty bad where I'm standing.” 

Derek grabs the back of your chair and turns you toward him, his expression a mirror of your own discontent. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt that in any other circumstance would draw your attention, and the badge clipped to his shirt is wonky. 

You're in pain, but you like him. You care about him in the weird way that makes you want to make him breakfast and tie his shoelaces. He is not a man that needs coddling, but you can't restrain yourself, reaching for his pocket to right his badge. 

He laughs quietly. “You're squinting.” 

“Pain's in my eyes.” 

“Sweetheart.” He takes your face in one hand and turns it down, away from the harsh office lights. “You're impossible to understand.” 

You laugh but wince when a flame of pain sparks anew. “I think it's travelling. It's in my brain.” 

“That's your second best feature.” 

“Don't make me laugh,” you plead. 

Morgan gives your cheek a rub with his thumb before pulling away. He takes the few steps to his desk and opens the drawer, pulling out a familiar pair of sleek black Ray-ban shades. “Here. Try these on for size,” he says, opening the arms wide. 

You close your eyes, but there's no need. Derek's extremely careful pushing them over your ears and up your nose. 

“Too sunny in here?” Blake asks, bemused as she skirts past with her mug of tea, her baby bump nudging the back of your chair. 

“Poor girl's not feeling good,” Derek answers for you. 

“Poor girl thought you felt sorry for her,” you say, staring at him through the grey lense of his shades. They're immediately helpful. You won't tell him that, though. 

“I pity anybody stupid enough to feel sorry for you, sweetheart.” He hesitates for no more than a second, dropping his hand onto the stretch of your shoulder blade gently. “You take anything for it? Aspirin?” 

“I did,” —your voice wobbles of its own accord, the instability that comes with a pain that has no clear end in sight— “but it hasn't kicked in yet.” 

He rubs your back, pressing his cheek briefly to your forehead in a side-armed hug. “Let me get you a glass of water.” 

“Morgan?” you ask, catching his arm. He waits. “Kiss it better?” 

You say it because you know he'll crack a smile. It's not nice seeing him so worried, and your headache genuinely feels a little better when he laughs. “Don't start with me. I'll do it. You know I will, beautiful.” 

You sink back into your seat and push his sunglasses up. “I'll be here.” 

He leaves to get you a glass of water. While you're waiting, Spencer passes you your donut, which you pick apart and chew on feebly. Distracted, a warm, chaste kiss is pressed to your cheek as a familiar hand places a glass of water in front of you. 

Derek wiggles his eyebrows at you, asking, “Better?” 

“I'm telling Penelope.” You wince as you turn on your monitor. “In a bit. Just as soon as this screen gets less bright.” 

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings. 

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles. 

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms. 

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

[phoward89]

Based on this ask for my moot @swiftieblyth

“Darling, are you feeling unwell again?” Your husband, President Coriolanus Snow of Panem, asked you as he entered the residential wing of the Presidential Palace only to see you sprawled out on the sofa with a cold compress on your head in an attempt to ease your migraine. A migraine that's so bad that your body's shaking in pain and all of the drapes are drawn, leaving you in the dark to wallow in your misery.

“No.” You moan out in pain. “I’ve been suffering with a terrible migraine all day, Coryo.”

“My darling rose, perhaps we should call the doctor?” Coriolanus suggested while making his way over to your side.

“I don't need a doctor, Coryo. It's just a migraine.” You waved off your husband's concern as he kneels next to you. Truthfully, you hurt so bad that you just want to cry. But it's just a headache, all a doctor's going to do is prescribe headache and migraine medications and you've already got those in the medicine cabinet. Too bad you're too nauseous to take them tho.

“This isn't just a migraine. You've been getting frequent headaches too often lately. Not to mention your lack of appetite and nausea.”

“I'm fine, Coryo.” You stubbornly told your husband.

“You're not fine, my love. Don't even lie to me and say you are.”

“I know, Coryo.” You sigh defeatedly. Your husband always knows when you're lying. What is he, a human lie detector?

“This is concerning me. Really it is and you know I don't frighten that easily.” The President told you, gently stroking your arm up and down in a soothing manner.

“I know, it concerns me too," You honestly admit to the platinum blonde who's your other half in life. "but I already have migraine and headache medications; they don't work.”

“You have to take them for them to work, darling.” Scolded your husband.

“Okay, when I'm not too nauseous from the headaches and take them they don't really help.”

“That's why we need to get you to a doctor.”

“I know, but I don't want to see the doctor only for him to tell me what I already know- that I have migraines.”

Coriolanus loves you, he truly does, but sometimes you can be so stubborn. He'd feel better if you'd just agree to see the doctor, but you won't.

Your claim that it's just migraines is bullshit; both you and your husband know it too. You're been experiencing chronic fatigue, a tiny bit of brain fog, and tingling in your hands that makes you shake them out to get feeling back sometimes.

Those symptoms on top of the frequent headaches, nausea, and loss of appetite has Coriolanus worried. Of course you're concerned too, but your husband's downright scared to death. But maybe that's because he's been looking up things and playing Dr. Panoogle when it comes to your symptoms.

But President Snow’s read so many scary things while playing Dr. Panoogle that he's desperate to get you to a doctor. He can't have you dying on him from some disease or illness.

Coriolanus let out an exasperated sigh. “If your symptoms consist or worsen, I'm taking you to the doctor. Understood?”

“Understood.” You reply, causing your husband to gently kiss your temple before scooping you up and bringing you to your large bedroom for some proper rest in your king sized bed.

A few days later your health took a turn for the worse. Your headache was gone, but you were feeling fatigued. More than usual. Also you were having some problems with your motor skills. You're, for a lack of a better word, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet.

You're scared, but you don't want to bother your husband. Coryo's the President and he's been busier than usual lately since the games are a month and a half away. You know if you call him or send a maid to get him then he'll scrap all of his duties to tend to you. As much as you want your doting husband by your side, he's the President of Panem and has a duty to the country. Plus, he's the youngest president that's ever been elected, so if he puts off his duties it'll make him look like a slacker and your husband's anything but that.

So, you decide to deal with feeling poorly yourself. But then you suddenly feel dizzy when you rise from the sofa in order to go to the bathroom. You feel as if the room's spinning, as if you can see the air dancing around the floor.

And suddenly you faint; hitting the floor with a loud thud. A loud thud that, unfortunately, none of the staff heard.

Coryo's exhausted when he makes his way down the hall, towards the residential wing of the Presidential Palace. He can't wait to get home to you, his darling wife. You've been by his side since college, always supporting his dreams and goals. You always manage to bring a smile to his face when he's had a bad day. You also calm the rage coursing through him whenever he's pissed off about something work related.

Just being around you's enough to calm him, bring fresh air to his dark soul. The nation of Panem should be glad that you're the First Lady. If Coriolanus was married to anyone else, well…there would be a ton more executions and poisonings then what have occured.

That's for sure.

Coriolanus can't wait to see you, to have you in his arms or to be held in yours (either works for him), but when he enters the living room of your living quarters his blood freezes in his veins.

The sight of you passed on the floor is like a vice around his heart. You're motionless and he's terrified that he's going to lose you. Quickly, he rushed over to you and pulled you into his arms. “Please, baby, wake up. Open your eyes for me, darling.” Coriolanus begs, gently patting your cheek in an attempt to rouse you, as his icy eyes shine with fear.

Your eyelashes flutter as you begin to weakly open your eyes. “Coryo?” You ask, trying to make the shape of your husband out since your vision’s a bit spotty.

“I'm here, darling.” Coryo assured you. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he tells you, “I'm taking you to the doctor, Y/N. You've been passed out for only gods know how long; you're getting checked out.’

“Okay.” You relent, knowing that you won't win against your husband on this. He told you before that if your health declines he's making you see the doctor.

The doctor examined you, listened to your list of symptoms, and ran some tests on you. Once the results were in, the doctor walked into your examination room with a few papers in hand.

Coming to a stop in front of the table you're sitting on, the doctor looks between you and President Snow before revealing, “First Lady Snow, I've come to the conclusion that you have both high cholesterol and an iron deficiency.”

“Isn't she a bit young for that?” Coriolanus asked in disbelief. How could you have those medical issues? Didn't people Grandma'am’s age have those kinds of issues?

“Yes, President Snow, the First Lady is young, but it seems that her medical issues with high cholesterol and iron deficiency is a genetic one.” The doctor told your husband before looking over at you. “Do your parents or siblings have any of these issues?”

“No.” You shake your head. “My mother and older brother don't have any problems.”

“Her father died in the war, during the Dark Days alongside mine.” Your husband told the doctor before the middle-aged man could even ask about your dad.

The doctor nodded, only to hand you a script and say, “That's a prescription for a statin. It's a medication to control your cholesterol.” He gave you another piece of paper that had some supplements written on it. “Those are over the counters you can buy for your iron deficiency. They're easily found in the vitamin aisle of the pharmacy.”

Looking between you and your husband, the doctor sighed. “Now, this next part might be a bit difficult since it concerns diet. I understand that you're the First Family of Panem, the equivalent of royalty in the eyes of the old world, but there's quite a few diet restrictions the First Lady has now because of her condition.” Handing some papers about foods you could eat, couldn't eat, and diet plans to your husband l, the doctor concluded his thoughts on the matter with, “I understand that you hold a lot of galas and dinner parties and I won't tell you what to serve, just that the First Lady doesn't eat anything she's not supposed to unless you want her having another episode due to out of order levels of cholesterol.”

“Don't worry, Dr. Murphy, she'll strictly adhere to whatever's in this diet plan.” Coriolanus assured your doctor, holding the papers in his hand up slightly. “Nothing she's not allowed to have will enter the Presidential Palace.”

Well, it's rare, but your medication gave you an allergic reaction. Yea…it gave you a bad cause of hives, which you had to get some antihistamines for. So, you couldn't take the cholesterol medication.

Your husband was livid that the statin gave you hives. He even threatened to have the doctor's head on a silver platter for malpractice, but you managed to calm him down enough not to kill poor Dr. Murphy. That doctor should be thanking his lucky stars that you have such a strong hold on your deranged husband, President Coriolanus Snow, otherwise he'd be pushing up daisies right now.

Since the cholesterol medication is off the table, you have to manage it all on your own with a strict diet. A diet that Coryo's also eating, despite the fact that he's as healthy as a horse.

It means a lot to you that your husband's supporting your journey to get healthier. That he eats the same foods as you and won't let anything you can't have come into your home. Not many husbands are so devoted, but yours is.

But, that also means that dinner parties have a strict menu now to. Because President Snow's making everyone-

EVERY-FUCKING-ONE

that enters the Presidential Palace for a gala or dinner party eat your family's special diet.

Mhm…

He's not having you get sick on his watch by accidentally eating one of your ‘bad’ foods that can make your cholesterol skyrocket.

Coriolanus needs you to get healthy so that you can start thinking about having a baby. Well, you've been together for so many years now, it's the only logical step. But before that can happen he wants to make sure that your cholesterol and iron levels are at a good reading.

He's so supportive and you're so grateful for him.

“Thank you, Coryo, for doing this diet with me and for just being such a good husband while I've been dealing with my health issues.” You tell your husband one night during dinner.

Your husband always returns to the residential wing of the Presidential Palace for mealtimes now. He feels it's his duty to make sure you're eating healthy and the only way to do that is to share meals with you all the time.

Coryo pauses in stabbing his vegetables with a fork, only to tell you, “My darling rose, you don't have to thank me for wanting you well. For wanting nothing but the best for my love.”

“I know, but not all husbands are like you and I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful for everything.”

Reaching across the table to grab your hand, the president smiles that special smile he only reserves for you. “You're everything to me. Made me love again when I never thought I'd be able to.” Coryo's icy blue eyes were twinkling as he admitted, “I'm completely lost without you, my love. I'll always be by your side to support you because I need you to be healthy and at your best.”

Your husband's words really touched your heart. To the public your husband's a cold, stoic, firm leader. But to you he lets down his guard, shows you a tender side. He's also a very devoted man to have as a life partner.

Coryo's been by your side during all of your hard times. Like during the times I'm University that you had some very bad spats and falling outs with some of your friends via social media. He's your biggest supporter, but hearing that he needs you by his side because you make him a better man just makes you swoon.

So, it seems that you both need each other. Perhaps that's why your love works so well. You make his heart beat and prevent it from rotting while he makes sure that you're healthy, both mentally and physically.

And right now you might be a little unwell, but you'll get better. With Coryo's love and support you'll be better in no time.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[python333]

soft spot — python333

— — — —

synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?” 

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised. 

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly. 

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago. 

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table. 

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself. 

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you. 

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment. 

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask. 

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.” 

You know it’s not just stress. 

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it. 

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action. 

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again. 

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations. 

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it. 

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?” 

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.” 

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.” 

You give him a confused look. “You do?” 

“‘Course I do.” 

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?” 

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask. 

“Could I please have some melatonin?” 

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.” 

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you. 

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful? 

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?” 

Oh God. 

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.” 

Ghost doesn’t look convinced. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned. 

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.” 

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair. 

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down. 

He’s looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright. 

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” 

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird? 

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish. 

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent. 

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew. 

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress. 

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer. 

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—” 

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…” 

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh my God. 

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.” 

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything. 

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small. 

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now. 

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all. 

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do. 

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise. 

“What was that?” You don’t answer him. 

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively. 

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain. 

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?” 

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you. 

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.” 

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button. 

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention. 

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer. 

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.” 

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago. 

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor. 

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain. 

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it. 

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?” 

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so. 

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?” 

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that. 

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.” 

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?” 

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face. 

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?” 

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.” 

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling. 

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do. 

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest. 

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

 You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice. 

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up. 

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best. 

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you. 

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?” 

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod. 

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours. 

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you. 

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?” 

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine. 

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week. 

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention. 

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level. 

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.” 

— 

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression. 

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all. 

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions. 

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids. 

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates. 

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques. 

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired. 

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his. 

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents. 

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much. 

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't. 

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?” 

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.” 

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago. 

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens. 

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?” 

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts. 

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe. 

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.” 

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down. 

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned. 

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.” 

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole. 

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead. 

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever. 

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow. 

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them. 

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience. 

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet. 

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better. 

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly. 

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.” 

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why? 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep. 

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.” 

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle. 

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?” 

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate. 

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?” 

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.” 

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.” 

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?” 

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. 

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind.  Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place. 

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?” 

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out. 

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed. 

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” 

— 

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up. 

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge. 

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying. 

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now. 

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace. 

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in. 

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed. 

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you. 

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely. 

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

[eiraeths]

more scrubs quotes as 141 members because im binging the show

———

Ghost: Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present, Man Not Caring. [Points at self]

———

Price: Do you want me to order you a clown?

Ghost: A drunk clown hurt me once

———

Soap: It sounds like you’re asking me out on a man date.

Ghost: Johnny, why are you so afraid of loving me?

———

Ghost: I don’t understand it. This wedding is supposed to be about us - how come I can’t be comfortable?

Soap: And I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you are not wearing sweats!

———

Ghost: I don’t dislike you. I nothing you.

Soap: That’s special

———

Ghost: Hey idiot

Soap: [Turns around]

Ghost: Heh. I said idiot and you turned around.

———

Soap: [after kissing Ghost] Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket or are you having a good time?

Ghost: Actually, it's a roll of quarters. [takes out roll of quarters] Laundry day.

———

Graves: Ghost!

Ghost: And there you are.

Graves: Huh?

Ghost: I was just wondering if there was anything that could really push my headache into a full blown migraine… and there you are.

———

[Standing next to Soap and Graves]

Ghost: Goodness gracious, suddenly I'm getting the most intense headache. Let me see if this relieves the pain.

[grabs Soap and shoves him in between him and Graves]

Ghost: Better! [pushes Soap away]

Ghost: Worse! [Pulls him back]

Ghost: Better! [and away again]

Ghost: Worse! Oh, I could do this all day.

———

Ghost: Mactavish!

Soap: Mactavish? You only call me Mactavish when you're mad or when we're having sex... Baby, are you mad when we're having sex?

Ghost: Sometimes.

———

Gaz: I am not addicted to Journey

Soap: [singing] She's just a small-town girl…

Gaz: [singing] Livin' in a lonely wor-rld, she took the midnight train, going a-n-y-whe-ere.

———

Ghost: [thinking] Wait, is he into me? Quick, make a bad joke and see if he laughs.

Ghost: You hear about the skeleton who couldn't go to the party? He had noBODY to go with.

Soap: A ha ha ha! That's really funny!

Ghost: [thinking] Oh that's not a fair test, that joke's hilarious.

———

Price: Since you’re not that intelligent, I’m going to speak like a caveman from now on. You bad soldier. Me good soldier. You follow.

———

Price: I’m tired of rookies complaining about being called dummos, tubbos, smokers, and whatever the hell jamokers means.

Soap: I was actually saying jokers, but i had coffee cake in my mouth.

———

Gaz: Hey, Soap, wanna get a beer after work?

Soap: Do chickens wish they can fly?

Gaz: ...I have no idea.

Soap: I like to think they do.

———

Soap: [looks up to the ceiling] Now, I know you say you love us all equally. But you don’t, do ya? I’m onto you, big man.

———

okay that’s it

[neyswxrld]

head ache

Hunter x gn!reader

summary: Hunter has a big headache and needs a cozy day in a bed and and some scalp massages.

warnings: migraines and headaches, mentions of throwing up (but no one is throwing up, it's mainly soft and fluff lol)

words: ~1200

a/n: hello everyone! another day, another fic, right? i filled another promt for @summer-of-bad-batch: this time it's the "can you braid my hair?" prompt. i was just thinking about what helps me when a migraine hits and thought that hunter might like that, too. i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

SUMMER OF BAD BATCH MASTERLIST

It's been just about a month since you and Hunter are in a relationship.

You met him as the handsome and purposeful man, who cares for his brothers and would do absolutely anything for his sister.

He is kind, and gentle, and looks after everyone as best as he can.

He is just so good and amazing, it didn't take you too long to fall for him. Hard.

You couldn't believe it when he agreed to go on a date with you.

And that it went well.

Now it's a few weeks later, and you feel like you're even more in love with him.

But during the time with him, you of course noticed that he sometimes has some issues with his health.

Most of those times, he has problems with his head.

He is prone to headaches and migraines. If they are on their worst, they get so bad he even throws up and can't move outside his dark room for the whole day. Sometimes several days, even.

Tech said that he occasionally got unconscious when they were younger, but by now they had some medicine for it, so at least it didn't get that bad anymore. Seemingly, the fresh air here also helps a lot.

And today is a day, on which your boyfriend already wakes up with a big headache.

You immediately know when he doesn't have his arms around you, like so often when you wake up.

Then you see the way he lies in bed beside you: he seems stiff, he's curled into himself and his breathing is accelerated and shallow, like he doesn't want to agitate his nose more than he needs to.

"Hunter?" you whisper and carefully lean over him.

"Yeah?" he murmurs back, and with the way he talks, it's the last sign for you to know that his head definitely hurts like hell.

"Are you okay?" you still decide to ask and carefully brush some lonely hair strands out of his face.

"Fine," he murmurs, clipped.

"Did you already take painkillers?" you ask. He huffs out a small 'no'.

"Do you need something else? Water? A cooling pack? Space?" you ask and he repeats his answer from before.

Nonetheless you give him a small kiss on his forehead, stand up, and sneak out of the room. 

You stayed over at your place overnight, so you're kinda relieved that you won't meet any of his siblings when you come down the stairs. It also might help Hunter when it isn't that noisy over the day.

You pour him a glass of water and grab some painkillers. Then you make your way up to your hurting boyfriend again.

When you arrive at his bedside, he carefully opens his eyes, but squints at the light from outside.

It's too bright, you remember.

You give him the painkillers and put the glass of water on the nightstand. Then you make your way over to close the curtains.

When you turn around to him again, you see how he swallows the painkillers with a swig of his water, and empties the glass.

"Yeah, no water," you mock him, smiling. Before he can say anything, you already run off another time to fill it up.

When you come back, he lays there again like tooka hit by a speeder.

"You need a bucket or anything else?" you ask to make sure, place the glass on the same place as before and sit down on the edge of the bed, carefully sliding a hand through his hair.

He furrows his brows and pulls a small face, and you immediately pull your hand away again, scared that you made it worse.

"No, it's fine, 'm not gonna throw up," he says quietly, "Jus' wanna sleep."

"Okay, I'll let you do that, then. Just tell me when you need anything, alright?" you offer him, still so worried. But when you try to stand up again, he reaches out for your hand.

"Stay?" he asks, kindly.

"Of course, where do you want me?" you immediately agree, trying to make him feel better in every way.

"Mhh, can you... spoon me?" he asks, almost shyly. You see a slightly red tint on his cheeks, and you're sure it wasn't there just a few seconds ago.

"Oh, you know I'd love to," you say and make your way over. If you wouldn't worry so much about him, you would find it very cute. But like this, you just decide to add this to the back of your mind and keep it there until you'll cuddle the next time.

You slide in behind him. His posture is still rigid and stiff, but you try to snuggle up to him. He lifts one of his arms and you put yours beneath it. The other one you put over and around his head, weirdly. Then you pull him closer, snuggle up to his back and place your head in a way his long curls won't tickle your face.

"You're comfortable?" you ask. "Yeah. Already feel better," he says and you could swear a small smile appears on his lips.

You roll your eyes, jokingly, and put your head in a more comfortable position, too, trying not to jostle him too much.

After a few minutes of silence, in which you can only hear your synchronized breathing, Hunter clears his throat awkwardly.

"Is your hand... good?" he asks and you hum in confirmation: "Yeah."

"Oh, do you... hm... No, forget it," he says, but cancels his sentence. You decide to not let it go.

"No, tell me."

Hunter moves around a few seconds, clearing his throat again and turns around in the end, so he can look at you. This time, his cheeks are bright red and you're wondering what made him feel so embarrassed.

"Can you braid my hair?" he asks after a few moments of looking around.

"Braid it?" you ask, just to be clear.

"You don't need to," he backtracks almost immediately, but you shake your head.

"No, I'd love to. I was just worried I might hurt you," you explain yourself, but Hunter just declines. "It actually felt like some of the pressure is lifted off my head,"  he admits.

"Well, then of course I can," you agree.

After readjusting your positions again, Hunter's head is comfortably laying in your lap, his body is placed between your legs, and your back is leaning against the wall behind the bed, padded with some pillows.

"You have to tell me if it hurts," you say, and Hunter just smiles: "I will."

You play around with his hair for quite some time. You try out different hairstyles, trying not to pull on his hair too much, softly massage his scalp, and decide that he could definitely rock a style with two braids that are placed across his head. He looks quite attractive like that, actually.

You enjoy the time of closeness and the intimacy the activity brings with it. Hunter seems to be quite content, too.

When he finally is able to stand up by midday, he almost looks fine again. Even though his hair is a mess, he declares his head doesn't hurt anymore, and you actually believe him when he says your hands did wonders to him.

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

TAGLIST

[brooooswriting]

Hi! Could I please request Leighton x reader where the reader is Whitney’s teammate on the soccer team and they have an away game and they end up getting sick during the game so Whitney calls Leighton and they pick them up and take them home and take care of them and it’s super fluffy.

I meant to

Leighton Murray x reader

“Damn bro, you look like shit” Whitney said as you arrived at the parking lot where the rest of the team was. As soon as the words left her mouth you frantically looked around.

“Shhhh” you grumbled, checking around you one more. “Leighton wanted to come say goodbye and I don’t want her to know. So can you stop talking so damn loud” your bag hit the ground with a loud thud, making Willow turn around.

“Why? Dude, don’t tell me you were out getting drunk and cheated on her” she was half joking and half scared about what might be wrong with you.

“Obviously… not. Who do you think I am?! I had a real bad migraine yesterday and I couldn’t sleep, I still have one. Shit just doesn’t go away” you explained to the two who gave you a sympathetic smile. Willow also dealt with migraines and it was more than once that Whitney had to hold your hair while you threw up due to them. But it wasn’t unusual that they were a telltale sign of something else coming.

“Girl is coming” willow warned you as she saw Leighton come towards you.

“Hey, I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m so sorry that I cant come to watch” the blonde said as she pulled you a bit further away so you could talk in private.

“It’s alright, I get it” you told her, mustering up the best smile you could. You didn’t want her to worry about you since she had a lot to do.

“So, go and win that thing. We will celebrate when you get back okay?” There was a moment of silence where she just looked at you, her eyes studying you which made you panic. You tried to look as happy and healthy as you could which wasn’t really working. “Are you feeling alright? You look kinda ill baby” she added as she stepped closer to you, her hands finding your face.

“It’s okay, I’m just a bit nervous. So, you were talking about celebrating when I come back?” You grinned which made her giggle too. You wrapped your arms around her waist to pull her closer.

“You’ll do great, you always do. I will see you in four days okay?” You pressed a couple of soft kisses to her lips, she wasn’t the biggest fan of pda so you tried to keep it down.

“Y/n, we gotta go” the coach screamed making both you and Leighton roll your eyes. You slightly turned to tell her that you were coming.

This time the blonde pressed a more passionate kiss to your lips before letting you go. “You sure you alright?” She questioned again, feeling like something was wrong.

“Yeah, I’ll text you when we arrive okay? Love you” you pressed a kiss to her temple before walking to the bus.

“Good luck, love you too”

You fell into the seat next to Whitney, your head immediately falling to her shoulder. The girl sighed, she knew that you probably shouldn’t play and should stay home in your bed but she also knew how important these games were to you and if it was just a headache you should be okay. Willow nudged Whitney when they were 3/4th of the way to see if you were still asleep, and you were. Plus, your head started to feel warmer over time and your phone was going off non stop. They assumed it was Leighton who was trying to chat with you during one of her courses.

Once they arrived you were carefully shaken awake, the two girls giving you a soft smile. “We are here, sleepyhead. Are you sure you’re up for this?” Willow asked, if they were only here for one game she wouldn’t have said anything and let you power through. But since there were some Postponements you had to play two games in one day.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just need a bit of water and an aspirin and I’ll be fine. I promise” you gave them a smile before looking at your phone. “Damn, but before I’ll be calling my very angry and concerned girlfriend” they laughed as you scurried of to talk to Leighton.

“Damn, look who’s back” one of your teammates laughed as you came into the locker room after your call with Leighton. You offered a polite laugh as you got your stuff out of your bag and started to change.

The coach and the team were amazed by how you powered through the first 20 minutes of the game but it was obvious how quickly you let up, your movements were uncontrolled and it was clear that you had problem running straight. “Time out” the coach called out quickly when she saw your legs bend in a weird way. Jenna and another teammate quickly caught you as they were closest to you. “Y/n? You alright?” Jenna asked to keep you concise as best as possible.

You mumbled out something incoherent as they half carried you to the side of the field. “Does anyone know if her parents live nearby? I don’t want her to stay out here for the next two games” the coach asked into the group but before anyone could answer you spoke up.

“No! It’s okay, I just need a power bar and a painkiller and I can go back” Whitney shook her head, her phone already in her hand so she could call your girlfriend. She wasn’t sure if Leighton was going to pick you up but if the blonde found out that you were ill and she didn’t tell her she’d be dead.

“The only place you’re going is home y/l/n, you did really good. But now it’s time to get better ok?” Willow said, her hand rubbing your back in a comforting manner.

“Leighton?” Whitney spoke into her phone after going somewhere more quiet. She knew that Leighton would freak out a bit and it would be easier to calm her if she could hear what she was saying.

“Whit? Is everything alright? Did you guys already win?” Her voice was happy until she realized that her roommates mood was off. “Whitney?” She questioned again.

“Everything is okay, Leigh. It’s just that… well y/n seems to be ill, she nearly broke down on the field but-“ she didn’t even have the opportunity to finish as the blonde started talking.

“Im coming to get her. I’ll be there in an hour, one and a half max” and with that the phone call was over. The football player sighed, she knew that the other girl wasn’t thinking rationally. It takes at least 2 and a half hours to get to them, with the bus it was a lot longer. But still, there was no way she’d make it in such short notice.

“Her girlfriend will pick her up, said she’ll be here in an hour and a half, but I think it will be more like 2 and a half” she told the coach as you laid on a bank, a towel was covering your face to shield your face from the brightness of the sun. You must have fallen asleep as the next thing you knew was a hand carefully shaking you awake.

“Y/n, babe, you gotta wake up” you immediately perked up when you heard your girlfriend’s voice, removing the cover from your face and sitting up. The fast motion wasn’t the greatest thing as a wave of nausea and dizziness overcame you. “You alright?” Her hand quickly found your forehead, a sigh leaving her when she felt how warm it was.

“Yeah, it’s okay. You didn’t have to come” you insisted but your protest was weak which showed her that you must really feel shitty. You hated it when other people could see your weak side so you’d fight a lot more if you had the energy.

“We will talk about this later, now come on. The car is waiting” she carefully pulled you up before Jenna grabbed your other arm to help her get you to the car. Whitney carried your bag and said her goodbye before returning to the field.

“Don’t loose idiot” you grinned weakly which made her laugh.

Once you sat in the car and Leighton made sure you had everything you might need, water, pills, a bag to throw up, some food and a blanket she gave the driver a sign. The car started to roll and you were out like a light. The blonde took the middle seat so you could rest against her, your head leaning onto her shoulder. Every now and then she pressed a kiss to your head while her hand rubbed your arm. Sadly, your temperature didn’t seem to go down and every now and then a cough left your mouth.

Leighton felt bad about waking you up but the car stopped and her bed was way more comfortable than the car. “Baby, cmon we are here. Let’s get you to bed huh?” You weakly opened your eyes and gave her a nod before crawling out of the car. You tried to grab your bag but the girl was quicker as she slung it over her shoulder, her hand grabbing yours as she pulled you along. “I know this sucks but I want you to take a shower before you go to bed. You sweated a lot on the field and I think it’d be good for you” she explained as she pulled out some of the clothes you had at hers.

After a quick shower and a lot of whining from your side, Leigh blowdried your hair and then got you back to bed. “Need anything else?” She asked as you pulled the covers over yourself, a bottle of water and everything else you might need on the side table. You shook your head which made her smile at her accomplishment. She never really took care of someone else as she never had a real partner but she seemed to do a good job. So she quickly changed into some more comfortable clothes and crawled into bed with you.

“No” you mumbled and scooted away from her which confused her. She tried again but again you scooted further away which was really hard in the small bed.

“What why?”

“You’ll get ill, too” it was hard to understand what you said as your whole face was pressed into the pillow but since the bed was so small she was close enough.

“You’re being stupid! If I get sick it was worth it, so now let me cuddle you until you feel better. We both know you want to” she grinned at the last part and wiggled her eyebrows which made you smile too.

“You sure?” As she nodded again you scooted back so you could cuddle into her. Her arms wrapped around you as your head rested on her chest. “Thank you for taking care of me” you pressed a light kiss to the hoodie she was clad in before closing your eyes again.

After a couple of hours, Leighton decided to call Kimberly and ask her if she could bring you two something to eat from Sips. Of course she’d rather eat, well anything else, but then she’d have to get up and wake you. So sips it was.

“Kimberly, hey, can you bring y/n and me something from the cafe? Preferably a soup for her, she came down with the flu and is now sleeping in my bed. I don’t wanna leave her” she mumbled into the phone, careful not to wake you. Even though she was sure that the pills knocked you out so bad that even a bomb wouldn’t have woken you.

“Sure, I’ll be there in like half an hour to an hour is that okay?”

“Yes, thank you a lot. I’ll Venmo you the money”

About an hour later there was a soft knock on the door before her roommate entered the room. “Hey, I got her a noodle soup, a tea and a sandwich just in case she was hungry after the game. And I got you a burrito, without meat this time and a coffee” Kimberly explained as she gave Leighton the things she bought. After she thanked her and venmoed the money the brunette left the room again.

“Am I smelling soup?” You whispered with a rough voice as your girlfriend woke you up. Your throat hurt worse than before and your headache was still painfully present but at least your temperature seemed to go down.

“Yeah, Kimberly brought it. Now sit up so you can eat something. Oh, she got you a tea too” she helped you up and propped a pillow behind your back to make it more comfortable. Once you were situated she handed you the container of soup and a spoon before starting to eat herself. She looked over to see you staring at the liquid, the spoon dipping in and out without touching your mouth. “What’s wrong?” She asked as she turned towards you.

You only sent her a shy smile which made her study your face deeper. “Scared that it’s going to hurt?” You gave her a nod and she send you a sad smile. “But you gotta eat something, please? Just try it” you felt bad about worrying her so you gave her a nod and put the spoon to your mouth.

After a bit of a fight, you ate the whole soup and drank your tea while watching your comfort movie. The duvet was pulled up to your chin and your head rested in Leighton lap while she scratched your scalp with one hand, the other one playing on her phone. It got later and later as you drifted in and out of consciousness. At one point you felt your girlfriend leave the bed for about 10 minutes before she returned, this time laying next to you.

“Good night, wake me up if you need anything ok?” She told you as her hand rubbed your back and her lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You gave her a nod, even though you knew that you weren’t going to. “I love you” you answered instead, moving your head up so you could send her a tired smile which she returned. “I love you too”

The next time you woke up it was around 7/8 a.m. and both you and Leighton were more than happy that it was a Saturday. Your throat still hurt and the headache was still there, plus your cough hasn’t left completely but your temperature seemed to be around normal again. “Good morning” the girl you used as a pillow said as she stretched as best as she could with you on top of her.

“Good morning” you rasped out as your head rested on her chest again.

“How are you feeling?” The back of her hand carefully pressed against your forehead to feel your temperature as she asked.

“Better, a lot actually. Thanks to you alone love” Leighton had to say, she was really proud of herself. She alone nursed you to become better.

“No problem, I just which you had told me earlier. Like when I asked you that morning” she admitted, she felt bad about bringing it up while you were still ill but she wanted to get it off of her chest. You gave her a sigh before scooting away so you could look at her.

“I’m sorry. I meant to, I really did but I knew you would have made me stay at home, which in retrospect would have been smarter, but I didn’t wanna leave the team alone” you explained as you studied her face, hop on that she’d understand you.

“I get it, but this was really dangerous you idiot. And then you wanted to go back on the field after you almost passed out? You gotta set boundaries for yourself” you knew she was right and you hated it.

“Well, if you’re always going to take care of me like this when I’m ill I’ll look forward to it” you joked as you pulled her into you.

“Glad to see that you feel better. But what are we thinking about sleeping for another hour or two?” You gave her a happy nod and settled back into the bed to get another hour of sleep. Your heart fluttered at the way she held you, not once did you have a partner who cared for you as deeply as Leighton did and you really hoped that she knew how much you cared about her too.

“I love you” you mumbled into her as her breath evened out. You couldn’t wait until you were healthy again so you could kiss her again.

[oneshotnewbie]

Emily PrentissxJennifer JareauxReader:

The reader is working for the BAU and has a really bad migraine (She has chronic migraines but didn't tell anyone). She is really mad and distant toward her friends (you can include the boys too but make me girls main please) and they notice it and have a little intervention with her. After that a lot of fluff where Emily and JJ care for her

Authors note: Unfortunately I don´t have an Emily Prentiss x Daughter reader story, but I have added a new one to write. Until then, there is only one Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau x Reader story from me today

ᕚ---ᕘ

You could say that you were a person with enormous stamina and a high tolerance level. Something that was a must for anyone who worked as a Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit and under Aaron Hotch. Many people admired you for not jumping off the next cliff under the unbearable circumstances of this job.

And you yourself sometimes admired your own achievements. But everyone had their limits and it was a recurring thing that happened during your work hours. You ignored the first triggers. You exceeded your physical limits and your migraine appeared.

You could have guessed it when you got back on the plane from Oxford. The terrible serial killer and the panic it caused in the city, the fact that he had abused and murdered seven women. This case had taken more of a toll on you than you would have liked and you tried to deal with your problems in your own way. Which meant you threw yourself into the work, no matter how mundane every clue was and no matter what wall you hit.

“Y/n, maybe you should take a break?” begged Emily, noticing that you were doing everything you could to get Oxford out of your bones as quickly as possible. You, however, waved her off without saying a word and continued to stare at the white board on which every clue was hanging. "Do not need a break, I am fine." The black-haired went along with it, stayed by your side and tolerated your moods even when they drove her crazy.

Non-stop, without a break and with lack of sleep and malnutrition, you battled the nagging headaches and mild nausea. You became more and more tired, yawned and became increasingly sensitive to the loud noises of the office. Something you could tolerate skillfully. But Emily and your colleagues not.

You clearly knew you were on the verge of a migraine when you started seeing visual symptoms of a migraine aura. Your vision became distorted, sometimes weaker, sometimes sharper. For a few minutes you only saw white in your left eye, but you kept going, not giving yourself a break. You knew that no other woman could die because of you.

Hour after hour you were exhausted and just trudged from the office to the coffee machine. With a nasty headache and feeling like you might throw up, you swallowed it all and sat down on a chair while Penelope talked loudly to Derek. You felt like your head was going to explode at any moment from their voices. "Could you PLEASE shut up or at least go to another room to flirt with each other?" you huffed and massaged your temples, their sighs ringing like a hurricane in your ears. "Some people want to work here."

"Babygirl, are you okay?" he asked, surprised at your momentary outburst. He had never been allowed to see you like this, you had never snapped at him. A sharp pain shot through your temples and you hastily stood up. "Hey, cutie pie? What is going on?" the technical analyst also chimed in and waited for any kind of answer.

"I am fine, just leave me alone." your words came out of your mouth hastily and probably slurred, but you did not care. You had to go to the toilet immediately. Without turning around again, you quickly walked out of the office and stumbled in the direction you were heading. Every time you made contact with the ground, the headache got worse and you begged not to throw up on the way. You saw distorted vision in your right eye while small white flashes danced in front of it.

Rushing into the bathroom, you stood in front of the sink, panting and swallowing convulsively. Having migraines was terrible and right now you could not use one. You sighed in relief when you did not throw up, as long as you did not, it was not all that bad.

Loud footsteps sounded outside the door and a knock made your head explode. “Oh, y/n.” A rough voice spoke and you looked in the mirror. Emily and JJ had pushed through the door one after the other and were now standing with their backs to you, their arms crossed over their chests. Furthermore, you paid attention to your reflection in the mirror, which said that any idiot could see that a corpse in pathology looked healthier than you. So did the trained agents on your team. "What is wrong?"

You did not even hear half of the sentence, the second word was the end of it. You ran into one of the stables, fell to your knees and managed to bend over the toilet just in time. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears streamed down your cheeks and you threw up violently. “y/n?” the blondes voice had an worried undertone and you did not notice her standing strictly behind you. The next thing you felt were cool hands on your neck and shoulders.

Jerking away from the touch, leaning your head back against the wall as you pulled your knees into your body. You tried to block so many sounds and other sensations from your body, while only this crushing and throbbing pain existed in your head.

Once again you felt cold hands on your skin and everything in you protested as they helped him to his feet, an arm was placed around your shoulder and led you out of the bathroom and through the hallway. Soon your face made contact with a pillow and a relieved sigh rolled past your lips. You did not know where you were, just that it was quiet. Still, your currently oversensitive ears heard Hotch appearing to be talking to Emily, JJ, and the rest of the group. "No, we have no idea what is going on."

“Did you ask her?”

"We tried, but we got no response." at some point there was an angry snort at the blonde's answer and there were more footsteps in front of the door. The squeaking sound echoed through your head, pounding inside before the space on the couch shrank and a shadow appeared in front of you. "Sweetie, cards on the table. Tell us what is going on?"

The voice of the of the blonde was painful, yet it was strangely comforting to hear a familiar and loving voice. Still, you flinched violently as something cool was brushed onto your forehead. The nausea slowly subsided. "Chronic migraines since adolescence. But not so severe for a while."

Long fingers tugged at the disheveled and stray strands of hair on your face before she stood up again and walked to the windows. The room darkened, blinds closed and you moaned pleasantly. After making a trip to the door, she told the expected teammates what you had told her. You only heard a quiet "I will stay with her, but someone has to get me the medication out of my bag," before the door closed quietly and she sat down on the office chair, looking over you thoughtfully.

JJ waited for Emily to come back with some things and watched you laying there in pain, exhausted and completely distracted by the thunder in your head, trying to be as silent as she could. A few minutes later, the door opened again. You saw Emily through squinted eyes and spotted a bucket in her hand, a bowl of water, wipes under her arms and a large disposable syringe.

"What do you want to inject into me?" you asked surprised and a little frightened by the size of the abnormally large syringe. The blonde knelt down in front of you, pulling up your sweater and waiting for the black-haired one to hand it over. "Metoclopramide,"

"How do you know what to inject into me and where did you get it from?"

"You are not the only one who gets migraines. I used to get them often enough and since then I have always had an injection with me to protect myself from them in case they happen again." she frowned and laughed quietly. You nodded in acceptance and there was a moment of silence before a hot, stabbing pain shot through your lower torso and you cried out. "That hurts!"

Emily sat on the armrest and slipped her fingers between your own. You squeezed it tightly and she hoped to take the temporary pain away from you. "Why did not you tell us?" the black-haired asked sadly you huffed through gritted teeth. "I did not want to be a burden to you. I did not want to seem weak," you replied, shrugging.

"It was stupid of you not to say anything. At least to JJ or me." She paused briefly and you raised your head in confusion before nodding in understanding and looking over at the blonde. With a half-smile, she placed a band-aid on the wound and placed a thin blanket over your legs. "Okay. Next time I will let you know, I promise."

They both nodded and stood up. While JJ was putting away the trash, Emily leaned over and gave you a gentle kiss on the top of your head before she disappeared out of the door. "I will make you some tea,"

"You never make tea."

"I will do it today for a very special and stubborn person." She spoke in a whisper, winking at you. You laughed quietly and already felt a million times better than you did a few minutes ago. With a yawn, you sank deeper into the pillow and watched as the blonde turned on a small lamp at the desk in the dark room so she could continue working. "Thanks,"

[starsnsparkl3s]

broken promises

cw: heavy mentions of death and suicidal thoughts, angst, based on this scene from greys anatomy with no context

"when are you going to stop suggesting that im suicidal?"

the question sounds also bizarre coming out of your lips. you and al haitham have been going back and forth about your results from the impromptu search nahida and the esteemed traveler did, along with paimon. you were a suspect in a dream that needed to be destroyed immediately, however, what they saw was worse than the dream that was the main goal.

dark images flickered around them, unlike all the previous dreams, full of emotions and color. hallucinations of various shades of red surrounded them, it felt as if they were being suffocated from being in your head to begin with. of course, for your own health, they told your husband, al haitham, about the pictures they saw. he tried talking to you about it, which resulted in the conflict in front of you now.

he took your weapon away from you, the weapon you used to protect sumeru, not caring if you put your life on the line. it was your job after all, but not even cyno was that careless.

"when you start acting like someone who wants to be alive."

your eyebrow raised, scoffing. as much as you loved al haitham, he really was insufferable sometimes and moments like this are were you wished he wasn't so stubborn. however, you were stubborn as well.

"give me my weapon back."

"why?”

" because im not suicidal and if you believe that, you’re wrong. "

now it was his turn to scoff. he put his hand on his hip and stared at you. the person he fell in love with, void of sentiment and passion. you still looked as lovely as the first time he met you but now you looked just as dead as carcasses he'll see in the desert. a few seconds pass before he responds.

"what happened last year when you fell in the water?”

your blood ran cold as the words left his mouth. last year you were trying to save a group of kids that were playing in one of the construction sites, which wasn't sturdy whatsoever. as you saved all the kids, one by one, the wood holding up the base of the building fell into the water. one of the kids started crying, saying how they needed to go in the water to get their photograph.

it was a photograph of them and their parents, who apparently passed. and you went in there. without a second thought. the water pricked your skin because of how cold it was, but you still went in and got that photograph. after you got out, soaked with the picture still in tack, the kids thanked you profusely and left. you passed out soon after, the hypothermia and the water pressure almost taking you out. al haitham wasn't pleased but nothing he could say could ever change your mind.

"i almost drowned! you think i did that for kicks?”

"you went in a body of water that was CLEARLY too cold and too deep for you to handle.”

"i was trying to save his picture!”

your head pounded with nothing. you were frustrated of course, but your body didn't feel anything. you couldn't tell that your headache was a migraine, it just felt, heavy.

"why is it, that every person there, even cyno, had the sense to leave and run from the danger besides you?”

you went to quip back but he continued.

"you know, people run away from this line between life and death. you just seem to stand on it as if it's a tightrope in the middle of the hurricane, waiting for it to push you one way or the other.”

you crossed your arms. you'd hate to admit it, but he was right. you didn't see an actual purpose into living besides protecting sumeru. you never had an urge to run for safety

"you're careless with your life. you're not trying to kill yourself, but you're careless."

your eyes filled with tears with his words. your head felt heavy and dizzy, your vision going in and out like a bad '50s movie. your body shook in some emotion you couldn't even tell at this point. you knew he wanted to help and he was worried, al haitham has always been like this. pushy and unforgiving with hid care.

“i am NOT carele-!”

“not even cyno would pull the shit you do. not even the TRAVELER THEMSELVES, would pull the shit you do. all three of you do implausible nonsense warranting such-”

“I DO IT FOR THE PEOPLE OF SUMERU,” your voice softening from the sudden uproar as the next few words leave your mouth, “…and you know that al haitham.”

his heart feels like it got chipped with one of liyue’s finest pickaxes. strong enough to break the outside but careful enough to preserve the inside. his voice wavers, but his next words make the tears from your eyes fall harder.

“no, you do it for yourself. you do it just for the chance of losing your life. just for the off chance, that you get caught in the storm and you die with a purpose.”

an: im back!!!!!!! ignore how bad this is i finished it at 5am so i had something for you guys…. apologies!

[bellaturner]

Soothing Touch

I simply ✨ADORE✨ this GIF

Summary: YN is having a terrible migraine and Alex helps her through it.

No warnings, it's just pure fluff. (I did use a lot of song references though)

2,4k words (can you guys tell me how big you like one shots to be?)

Masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Alex?" you called out from the bathroom, wincing at the sound of the front door slamming shut. Although it was shortly after noon, you could affirm that today was being a terrible day. A pounding migraine had plagued you all morning, despite taking four ibuprofens. Desperate for relief, you had decided to take a hot bath.

The warm water was inviting, and the steam rising from it was soothing. The excess daylight was making your head pulsate, so you had closed all the blinds, making the room dimly lit, the only source of light was coming from a few candles placed strategically around it.

As you sank into the tub, you let out a deep sigh of relief. It was the perfect temperature. You closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of the water on your skin, hoping it would ease the throbbing pain in your head. It felt like your brain was trying to escape from it.

Suddenly, Alex's thick Sheffield accent filled the air, "Ey, babygirl, 'ow are you?" causing you to smile weakly through your discomfort but still making you squint in pain.

You brought your hand up to your eyes, the light coming from the open door searing through your closed lids like knives. You winced in pain, feeling the warmth of the water on your skin causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead. You desperately shielded your eyes from the harsh brightness, but a few tears still managed to escape, rolling down your cheeks and mixing with the bathwater. With your other hand, you pressed gently on your temple, feeling the tension radiating outwards like a spiderweb of pain. You massaged the sore spot, hoping for any kind of relief from the excruciating ache that seemed to have taken over your entire head.

Alex raised an eyebrow, "Is everything okay, YN?" his tone was laced with concern as he looked at you, puzzled by the dark bathroom and your reaction to his entrance.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just have a bit of a headache," you replied, your voice barely above a murmur as you tried to hide the pain that seemed to radiate through every fiber of your being. Despite your best efforts to sound nonchalant, your words came out strained, revealing the true extent of your discomfort.

Alex's eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice to a whisper, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would cause you more pain.

"That doesn't look like 'a bit of a headache' to me," he said concerned, his gaze moving to the beads of sweat glistening on your forehead and the tears that had escaped your eyes when he let the light into the bathroom.

You didn't answer, but nodded your head slightly, causing a sharp wave of pain to run across your body. He closed the door as silently as he could and moved closer to the tub. As he walked toward you, you couldn't help but notice the sound of his shoes hitting the floor. They were those shiny, fashionable leather shoes, with a subtle heel that you loved so much. It echoed through the room, adding elegance to the already luxurious bathroom.

He knelt by the tub, gently reaching out to caress you, a sense of comfort washed over your body as he touched you. His touch was gentle, and at this moment, you knew that he was the one person who could ease your pain and bring you peace.

"How can I help, baby?" he asked softly, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I don't know, Al, but it hurts so bad" you whined, finally letting the tears run down your face.

"Let's start by taking this off, shall we?" he whispered, referring to a scrunchie that was holding your hair in the messiest of buns. "Don't cry, darling, you're going to make me crumble completely" he joked, knowing that you loved when he used references from his lyrics.

You let out a faint smile, and before you could even think of it, his long, skillful fingers were working on removing your hair tie. The feel of your hair being let down helping to soothe the pain a little, you hadn't realized, but the tight bun was making it worse. Some loose strains reached your back and fell ever so softly into the water.

You leaned into his hand, closing your eyes as he wiped the tears with one of them and ran the other through your hair. His touch became more soothing as he began to massage your scalp. The warm water, the soft candlelight, and his touch all combined to create a sense of calm that you desperately needed.

"Have you taken anything for it, doll?" he asked smoothly, and you nodded your head against his hands in agreement. "Hmmm..." a mumble escaped his lips, he was clearly trying to think of something to help you.

The water wrapped your body like a warm blanket, the steam rasing from it filling your lungs. Alex's strong, yet delicate hands made your head feel a bit better, but the pain was still radiating throughout your skull.

After what felt like an eternity, Al's whispery voice reached your ears again. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the sound of rushing water. You managed a weak smile, too exhausted to form words.

He got up and started to get undressed. As he removed his leather jacket, his toned arms and sculpted chest were revealed, a beautiful blue shirt hugging his body. His marvelous tattoo peeked out from underneath the fabric, adding to the allure of his physique. Even after being together for half a decade, you never grew accustomed to the sight of him. Anticipation rose in your chest, your heart beating faster.

Locking eyes with you, Al studied your reaction to his body, a mischievous glint in his eye. Even with the flickering candlelight casting constant shadows on his face, you could have sworn he winked at you.

"I've an idea," Alex's voice filled the space, mixing with the sound of his footsteps as he turned around and left. He was careful to open the door just enough for to get by and closed it as quickly as he could, so the light wouldn't hurt your eyes.

You heard some rustling coming from outside, but your mind was too focused on the pain to wonder what Alex was up to. A few minutes later, he returned, his shirt nowhere to be seen, making his muscular chest exposed. Taking a big breath in, you tried to stabilize yourself, not being able to handle those kinds of thoughts right now. Not when your head felt like it was being constantly hit by a hammer.

"Close your eyes, me darling, I have a surprise" he whispered, placing something on the counter and closing the door.

You obeyed, closing your eyes shut and letting your other senses take over. As you sat there, embraced by the water, the sound of a cap unscrewing and the distinct scent of peppermint wafted over to you. You breathed in deeply, the aroma calming your nerves.

You've always liked the smell of peppermint, it helped you calm down when you had a long day or when you were feeling ill. It reminded you of your early years. As a child, whenever you got sick or upset about something, your mum would brew you some peppermint tea and watch your favourite movies with you all night long.

"I hope you don't mind it, I went through your bedside table to find this." his whisper bringing you back to reality as he added a few drops of the essential oil to the bath water, the heat of it making the smell wash over the entire room.

As you allowed the calming scent of peppermint to engulf you, your mind began to wander to memories of your childhood. You remembered the cold nights snuggled up on the settee with your mum, wrapped in a warm blanket, drinking tea, and watching animated kids' movies on the TV. Those were simpler times, and the scent of peppermint always brought back those happy memories. Al's thoughtful gesture of adding the essential oil to the bathwater not only helped reduce your pain but also brought you comfort in the form of sweet nostalgia.

You opened your eyes to see Alex looking at you with a mixture of concern and love. It was moments like these that made you realize how lucky you were to have him in your life.

"I have another surprise for you," he said with a mischievous tone, and you heard the distinct sound of a champagne bottle being popped open. "Since the medication isn't helping, I thought we could try something else." He seemed pleased with his idea, even though it was a terrible one. You didn't want to hurt his feelings, so you reached out for the glass he was offering and took a small sip of the cool liquid before setting it aside to watch him finish undressing.

Alex slowly lowered himself into the tub, causing the water to ripple around you. He sighed contentedly as he settled in next to you, his body fitting perfectly against yours. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to him, his chest pressing against your back, and rested his head on the edge of the tub.

The warmth of the water and the feel of his skin against yours, his steady heartbeat and the sweet fragrance of peppermint started to work their magic. The pain in your head began to subside, and you let out a deep breath of relief. You knew that you had a lot of work to catch up on, but for now, all you wanted to do was stay in this moment with Alex.

Alex reached for something on a nearby shelf, moving slightly. He retrieved your favorite shampoo and carefully squeezed the bottle into his hand, applying the contents to your scalp and massaging it gently. The moment was nothing short of perfect, with his skilled hands washing your hair and soothing your head, and a gentle hum emanating from him and creating a pleasant sensation on your back.

You loved it when Alex sang to you, and he knew it. The soft melody of "Love is a Laserquest," one of your favorite songs, drifted into your ears, sending shivers down your spine and making you feel loved in a way you never thought possible.

"Feel better, love?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

As you nodded your head, Alex flashed a warm smile and gently pushed your hair to one shoulder. Then, he showered you with delicate kisses around your neck and ears, finishing off with a playful bite.

"I hate seeing you in pain," he whispered in a tender voice.

"I know," you replied, turning your head to gaze at him. "But you always make it better."

A wide grin lit up his face, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "That's because I love you, me doll," he said, his passion for you evident in his words.

With your hair now clean, you leaned back against his chest, enjoying the comfort of his embrace. His hands continued to roam over your body, occasionally making you ticklish. The pain you had been feeling earlier had dissipated, but you remained still in the quiet of the candlelit room, afraid to move or speak and break the enchanting moment.

Alex continued humming different tunes for you until the water turned cold, snapping you back to reality. Thanks to him, you felt revitalized. You turned slowly, gazing at his face. He was so perfect, it was impossible to resist him.

"I love you, Alex. Thank you for taking care of me," you smiled at him, admiring his chiseled jawline and striking nose before leaning in for a kiss.

His lips were soft against yours. Though it wasn't your intention, things heated up a bit as he explored your mouth with his tongue, causing you to let out a faint moan. You broke away with a smile against his lips.

"I love you too, darling. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I mean it," he declared, his voice full of conviction. "Now, let's get you to bed," he said, extending a hand to help you out of the tub.

He wrapped you in a soft, white towel, the fluffiest one you had ever seen, and led you towards your bedroom. As he began to dress, he tried to share his thoughts with you, but you were too busy admiring his perfectly shaped body to listen. "What do you think about that, love?" he asked, interrupting your daydreams.

"Hmm, could you repeat that, Al? I wasn't paying attention," you sheepishly admitted, your lips still moist from licking them. Alex chuckled, making you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

"Come on, doll, let's get you some rest. You could use a nap. I'll wake you up for dinner," he suggested. You nodded in agreement and followed him to the bed. As he tucked you in and kissed your forehead, you felt grateful to have someone like him in your life. You were almost drifting off to sleep when you heard him whisper softly, "Sweet dreams, little miss." And with that, you fell into a peaceful slumber, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Please, bare with me while I get back into writing.

I really, really hope you guys enjoyed it, it took me ages to get this finished. Being a perfectionist sucks.

Thanks for reading 💕

[bunniekittiee]

Birth Control Crisis

Doing this for all of my mfs who have had bad experiences with birth control and it made them depressed, bipolar, crazy, etc. I was right there too, and I just started another brand of pills because my last ones were not making me feel good. So I'm writing this from my own experience, think of it as a vent piece. Also this is with a fem. reader btw

Characters: Raiden and Bi-Han

Warnings: Mentions of self harm, suicidal thoughts, mental health crisis

Raiden-

The Thunder God did not understand the purpose of oral contraceptives right away until his girlfriend explained it to him. After learning more about it, he felt guilty. Although she was taking it because her periods were draining and horrific every month, it still did not settle with him that there were many side effects that could harm her. Blood clots, skipping periods, spotting, diabetes, heart disease, strokes, absolutely anything could go wrong if her body reacted to them negatively. But what made him the most concerned was the mental health part of it. Raiden read over the big paper that came with the pills that described instructions and side effects, and the most alarming one to him was the mental toll it could possibly take.

But he hoped for the best, and he supported her no matter what.

Adjustment was hard. Her breasts were sensitive to touch and ached for a couple of weeks. Wearing a bra made it more uncomfortable, but any fabrics that rubbed against them also made it worse. Raiden would gently massage them for his girlfriend if she asked. She frequently got headaches that turned into migraines which made it hard for her to go out for dinners or be around bright lights. But Raiden still did his best to make sure she was well. He knew it was just the adjustment period and she would be okay in the end.

That was, until her moods began to change. More agitated, she was snappy with her boyfriend. Sometimes she picked fights, sometimes she took something Raiden said out of context, or sometimes she straight up ignored him.

As much as he tried to sympathize for her, his feelings were hurt. His thoughts screamed at him that she was beginning to experience the worse side effects of the birth control pills, but he continued to tell himself that she would adjust.

One fateful day that changed his whole perspective and attitude was a very eventful one. She had known prior of Raiden's crush on Kitana due to Kung Lao's gossiping, but she had never brought it up to Raiden. Raiden didn't think much of it, and one day he was catching up with Kitana at the Wu Shi Academy when from afar, she had spotted them together. Sitting on a bench. Close proximity.

This scene warped her mind. With the depression, pent-up anger, and extreme mood shifts, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. Anger flaring and her emotions at a high, she turned away quickly from them, walking back to her and Raiden's home that they shared. Her mind was frazzled. How could he do this to her? Didn't he know how sensitive she was? How miserable in her body she was? Was it because she gained weight since starting the pills? What was it?

Why wasn't she good enough?

Raiden bid goodbye to Kitana and made his way home, a little anxious to get back. He felt impending doom, like he was going to arrive to something that was very alarming. It made him quicken his pace.

Their home was a disaster. Raiden felt his heart lurch as he saw photos of them broken on the floor, glass strewn about. His immediate thought was that she was in danger, so he ran to their shared bedroom where she was shoving her clothes into bags.

"My love, what are you-"

"Shut up Raiden." She growled as she narrowed her eyes at him. "Do not play dumb with me, you fool."

He was taken aback. She was much more aggressive than before. This was something he was not used to at all. "What is this all about? Please, my love, we can talk about this. What is going on with you?"

"Go to your other lover since she's so great. I knew I should have never trusted you. You are still hung up on her." She chuckled bitterly. Her eyes flashed with anger at him.

He pieced it together in his head what was going on. "Honey, Kitana and I were just catching up. There was nothing else behind it, I promise you."

"You speak lies, snake." She spat as she abruptly stopped packing. "How can I trust you? I don't believe a word out of your mouth!" Her voice was beginning to raise, and Raiden felt his patience was being tested.

"When have I ever broke your trust?" He questioned as he slowly began to approach her. "Please, you are being irrational and we can easily talk this out."

Jaw clenched, she grabbed a bag and pushed past Raiden. "Out of my way. Irrational? I'm being irrational now."

"Please come back. Let us try to figure it out." He pleaded as he followed her.

"Figure what out Raiden? There is nothing to figure out, and there is nothing you can say that will make it any better. Just let me go." She said angrily. He could not let her leave, not when this issue was unsolved.

"I cannot let you do that. Please, what is going on with you? You have been so mean and callous. What have I done wrong?" He asked her, standing in front of her and looking worried. "This is so unlike you."

This seemed to falter her movements, and it stunned her almost. The silence was long as she avoided eye contact and the stare boring into her face from him. He was waiting for his answer.

"You would not understand. And it is none of your concern. It is mine only." She said thickly.

Raiden grabbed her by her shoulders. "No. It is my concern whether you agree or not. Tell me what is going on."

She struggled to get out of his grip. "Let go!"

"No. Not until you tell me. Do you realize how much I love you? I cannot let you walk out that door without knowing what is going on inside of your head." He gently laid a hand on her cheek to pull her gaze to him. Her eyes watered as her anger burned, yet the misery she held began to crack. Raiden saw this right away and he knew he was getting somewhere. "Talk to me, my love."

She cried, she cried for a very long time. And Raiden held her, listening to her miserable cries that hurt his heart too. But he knew that it had to storm before a rainbow could form. So he let her cry, explaining to him between sobs that she felt depressed, on the verge of hurting herself, and how angry she was at everyone in her life. How it was easy to take it out on Raiden because he was the one she saw everyday. How jealous and bitter she was. How she sometimes wished she could go to sleep without waking up.

No doubt it would haunt Raiden for quite some time. His worries before her getting on those pills were now a nightmare come true, and now he had to pick up the pieces. First, she had to get off of those pills immediately. And Raiden did not want her on any type of contraceptives for a long time. Not until she fully recovered. It took a while to see his normal, bubbly girlfriend that he was used to seeing. She was not her normal self for some time, and Raiden made sure to be with her every step of the way. He took extra time to spend with her, he made sure she was kept busy while he was away, he took her out for dinner once, maybe twice a week so she had something to look forward to.

He wanted to help her no matter what. That was all that mattered to him. He just wanted her normal self to be back again, and he wanted her to be okay.

Bi-Han-

The Grandmaster was a busy man, and he thought his wife understood this well. Bi-Han did research on birth control pills for her wife as her periods were intolerable for her, and he almost did not want to give her the option of it. Of course, he did not want to see her in any pain, but the side effects and health risks concerned him. Really concerned him. So much so, he made her do check ups once a month to make sure that she wasn’t at any risk of forsaking her health.

The last visit, the medic had said she gained a little bit of weight which was normal on the pills, but she took it as an insult. Like there was something wrong with gaining weight.

Bi-Han did notice her weight fluctuations but he did not care enough to tell her or make it a big deal. Because it wasn’t. He still loved her all the same and thought she was just as beautiful as the day he laid eyes on her. Weight gain would not make him stray. As if anything at all would make him stray.

But she focused on it a lot. Sometimes, Bi-Han would catch her staring at her body in the mirror and tugging at her skin. Examining her body. He would tell her how beautiful she was, but she never seemed to believe him.

Bi-Han decided to plan to take her out on a date to Madame Bo’s. They hadn’t went out for some time, and he told her to get ready. As she was getting ready, Liu Kang had arrived to the Arctika with urgency. He grouped the brothers together and told them that he needed them now for a mission. There was an intruder in the timeline that they needed to take care of. Bi-Han did not want to go, as he had planned a date with his wife, but he had no choice.

So he walked back to his shared chambers where she was putting the last few touches of her makeup. “My love,” he said as he entered the room. “I am very sorry to say this, but I must cancel the date. Liu Kang needs us for a mission as it is urgent. I am very sorry. I will take you out sometime when I get back.”

She looked at him and frowned. “Okay. Be safe, Bi-Han.” He went to hug her, but she hugged him back stiffly. He wanted to question her but he had to leave as soon as possible.

On his mission, his mind was occupied as his brothers could tell. She was on his mind. Sure, she was disappointed that he had to leave, but it seemed like there was something more behind her behavior. He was worried. Really worried and anxiety flooded through him the longer he was gone. And unfortunately, the mission was longer than he had expected. He was gone for five days, and during those five days he was ridden with anxiety. He wanted to get back home to see his wife.

And the day finally came. He and his brothers rushed to get home. They were worried about Bi-Han because he was quieter than usual and did not sleep much. They wondered if there was something wrong with his wife, but they did not ask.

Entering the palace, he rushed to their chambers in hopes that she was there waiting for him. But he was stopped by Sektor.

“I am happy to see you back. I need to talk to you.” Sektor said.

“Talk to me later, Sektor. I do not want to deal with work at the moment.” Bi-Han replied dryly as he tried to walk past him. But Sektor stopped him again.

“It is about your wife.”

“Is she okay?” The anxiety was now making him nauseous.

“After you left, she, what’s the best way to describe it?” He thought for a moment as Bi-Han impatiently waited. “She had a very bad episode and reaction to you leaving her. She did not leave your chambers, she stopped eating, she only slept and cried from what the servants told me.”

Bi-Han felt his heart pang. “Is she in there now?”

Sektor grimaced. “She tried to hurt herself, Grandmaster. I was lucky to find her in enough time to stitch her wounds. She is in the infirmary.”

The Grandmaster did not know whether to be angry at her or really sad. He stalked off to the med bay to see her. He was full of mixed emotions. Why would she do this to herself? Why did she do this to him? Why was she like this?

But the most important question that haunted him was…

Why did he not notice beforehand?

He was before the door to the infirmary and pushed his way inside. One of the medics had informed Bi-Han where she was, and Bi-Han had many questions.

“Did she say why she did this? Are her wounds grave?” He asked rather quickly.

“Her wounds will scar. There was quite a lot of them, but they were small. And we assessed her mental health and she is not well, Grandmaster.” The medic explained as his heart panted more. “She is mentally unstable. I believe it is due to her contraceptives.”

He nodded his head. He was hurt. Hurt that she did this to herself and he was not there to help her. He arrived at her room and entered. She was asleep, arms in bandages as she curled into a small ball. Bi-Han walked to sit beside her, and she awoke at the sounds of the chair.

“Bi-Han.” She breathed.

“Why did you do this to yourself?” He asked gruffly. “Are you pathetic?” He was angry. Angry at the world he supposed.

Her eyes watered. “If you are going to berate me, then leave me alone.”

“I don’t understand you.” Bi-Han replied. “Why did you do it? Was it for attention? I don’t get it.”

“Why would you?” She said with her voice raising. “You don’t understand how I feel. What I feel. You never will!” Tears now streamed down her face. Bi-Han’s heart fell to his stomach.

“Then talk to me and tell me what is going on.” He said as he crossed his arms. “Please, I want to know what is going on with you. I want to hear it from you.”

She cried very much, but she explained it all to Bi-Han. How much she hated herself. How she felt depressed and suicidal. How she felt like no one cared and how she felt like a burden. He listened to her intently as he held her hand, gently holding her as well while she sobbed into his shoulder. She told him that she felt unloved when he had to cancel on her, despite it not being his fault, she still could not help but feel that way. And it made her feel guilty.

Bi-Han was incredibly hurt that she felt that way and she did not tell anyone. He was angry at himself rather than her for not knowing what was truly going on. How he ignored the signs.

But now, it was clear to him. And he wanted to make everything right again. He took care of her wounds despite how much it affected him seeing those self inflicted wounds on her body. He made sure he was with her almost 24/7. He made sure she was okay mentally, and although some days were harder than others, she battled them like a true warrior.

And he made sure to make up him bailing on her that day. He took her out to eat and let her eat as much as she wanted. And afterwards, he took her to the shops and bought her a few gifts. Seeing her smile and face light up was all worth it no matter how much he spent. Because he understood that he could have lost her that week he was gone.

Things were never normal at first, it took a very long time for her to return back to her regular self. And Bi-Han had made sure she never returned onto oral contraceptives again. He could not bear to lose her again to medication. He lost her once, he would not do it again.

[cinnamonest]

I'm thinking about Childe fuckboy sex pest whiny dramatic little bastard tendencies again. It's haunting my brain and compelling my fingers to type so endure my ramblings

His most infuriating tendency is just being so pushy and self-centered. Very overdramatic and whiny about it too. He's that typical boy who just cannot process there being anything that should take priority above him getting his dick wet.

He does genuinely care about you though. Like, if you get sick or something he understands. Will hold your hair back while you're sick and will get you water and stay by your side and hold you and all.... but once it's over and you're finally feeling less queasy after your multi-hour sickness session, laying there in bed, he sort of snuggles up to you, hard-on pressing into your thigh like "so you're feeling better now right 👉👈"

Or you're exhausted, you have a headache, you're just worn out and he's all "But? :( my dick tho? :(" because God forbid he have to so much as conceptualize going without getting to empty his balls in you for a span of over 12 hours. He will get sad if he can't get his dick wet at a moment's notice. As in, he expects you to just drop everything you're doing.

Which is a pesky thing of its own. You, unfortunately, have this tendency to do things, to perform tasks and activities, which is problematic because these things often get in the way. How, pray tell, is he supposed to get the necessary daily dose of pussy if you're doing things you can't immediately drop? It's literally a matter of his well-being and health?? And yet you say "just a minute" or "let me finish this" as if it's not a dire situation, because you are heartless and/or don't understand what he's going through. So he'll just be sure to stand there moping and looking dejected until you can get to a pausing point of whatever you're doing, so you understand the importance of the matter.

Sometimes it's worse and you are actually committed to some task. Yes you have that huge test you have to study for or that thing you have to do for your work but like... what about him. Where does he fit into that schedule of yours, because you mentioned how you're gonna divide up your hours for the night and not once did you mention taking regular breaks to give him attention and pussy and love. Do you just not care, is that it? You don't love him. You clearly hate him and you want him to suffer. Heartbreaking.

He gives you the standard "you wouldn't understand you're not a guy" speech, that you can't comprehend how strong the urges are, the fact that it is preposterous to expect him to exhibit any self-control when horny or to endure the agony of tfw no pussy. You wouldn't get it, it's literally a need and he can't be expected to function normally without getting to cum. No jerking off won't suffice, he can't go back to that because it's not good enough anymore, he has to cum and it has to be in you or else he will be in an unwell state of health and you will be responsible. This is literally like starving a person to death. Cruel. Barbaric. You would never do this if you really loved him. Would never want someone you really love to suffer like this.

He just lays there flopped on the bed or couch next to you, looking utterly miserable. Occasional dramatic groaning. If you're not paying enough attention he'll shuffle closer and wriggle his way under your arm to rest his head on your lap. Following by more "pay attention to me" groans.

And yes he will try to compare his lack of pussy to whatever objectively much worse ailment you're undergoing. He really does feel bad for you with your chronic pain or period cramps or migraines and all that — BUT, blue balls is equivalent to if not worse than any of those. Difference is you're inflicting this suffering on him. Imagine if he was inflicting your ailment on you, that would be unthinkably cruel right? So logically you should feel bad and pity him and fix the problem.

Why are you looking at him like that. Are you upset? ...You know what would probably make you feel better? Oh, now you look more mad. Why are you picking that thing up like you're about to throw it at him. So mean.