Could I request a Roy Harper x ex-villian reader, just domestic stuff. Reader had been out of control of their body when they were a villain, and Roy was someone who helped them get away from that
Pairing: Roy Harper x ex-villain!gn!reader
Summary: Today is a bad headache day
Warnings: Implied mind control
You wake up with a groan to the light hitting your eyes through the curtains and immediately have to shut your eyelids right back.
Today will be a bad headache day.
You don’t roll over. Moving your head will feel like your brain is rattling around in your skull, and the pressure behind your eyes will nearly blind you with pain.
“Hhhn-” you grunt and slowly move your arm, carefully not jostling the pillow under you, to tap Roy on the shoulder.
You have to extend your arm all the way to be able to tap on his skin.
Most times, you are thankful for the massive bed Oliver Queen gifted you two when you moved in together. It means you Roy doesn't accidentally touch you during the night and activates your fight-or-flight response, and that you can have separate blankets.
But it also means Roy can just move a little to the left to escape the touch of your fingertips.
“Fuck,” you whimper out. The migraine is building with every second the light filters into the room. You forgot to roll down the blackout shutters and the remote is out of your reach.
“Roy,” you say, louder than you’ve meant to. The noise out of your own mouth shoots a jolt of pain through your entire body, ending in your skull.
The man huffs a single time and doesn’t stir.
“Roy, darling, everything hurts.”
You try gently saying it, even though you know throwing a plush or yelling would get this over faster.
But you told yourself to always try to be gentle first.
This time it doesn’t work.
A pang of white-hot pain forces a pitiful, high-pitched sound from your mouth and you lose your patience.
The man flinches with his full body and rapidly moves - not having a sliver of awareness over his surroundings - and falls off the bed, thankfully landing on the soft carpet. A grunt of surprise and pain escapes him, and you can hear shuffling around as you assume he stands up and looks around in quick succession.
“What?!” he yelps and you hear air whooshing, as if his arms are flailing around. Any other day, you would smile at the goofy air-karate movements he is doing in his infusion, but not now.
“The light…” you gasp out, “my head’s exploding, I think I need meds.”
This has happened enough times for Roy’s body to go on autopilot. He reaches into his nightstand and takes the remote. You hear quiet whirring and see the light fade, even through your eyelids. The headache doesn’t magically get better, but the sharp stabbing behind your eyes gradually gets easier to deal with.
The sigh of relief is quickly followed by your other hand reaching around into your own nightstand. Now that the blinding pain lessens, your ability to think goes from 5% to 10% and you try to reach your emergency meds.
“Sorry,” Roy whispers as his hand touches yours. During the few seconds you were calming down, you didn’t even hear him get to your side of the bed and take a single pill out of the plaster. His palm opens in yours and the chalky texture of the tablet hits your skin.
You instantly drop it inside your mouth, wincing when the opening of your jaw makes the joint throb.
“Sorry, sorry. Here’s your water,” he says quietly and touches a straw to your lips.
Normally, you would chastise his need to apologize for your headache, but today you don’t have the energy.
You know the headaches aren’t his fault. Hell, you’d rather get the occasional headache than still be under mind control, but one did indirectly cause the other.
The doctor working for the Justice League theorized as such, telling you that Roy snapping you out of the mind control too fast rewired your brain a bit incorrectly. The headaches started a few weeks after physically recovering from your injuries and blood loss, under the watchful eye of the Green Arrow and his menagerie of misfits.
You take big gulps of the water and swallow down the pill. It tastes vile, as always, but you’ve learned to associate it with relief in a few minutes.
Your eyes stay closed. You feel lips pressing against the back of your palm, oh so gently.
A silent “I’m here, you’ll be okay soon”.
You move your hand, going from passively within Roy’s grasp to reaching around until you feel his stubble under your fingers. Your attention (and hand) lands on his cheek as you slowly stroke over the skin.
A silent reply of “I love you, thank you”.
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