tiktok made me do it gf! vs tf 141 bf
Your boyfriend gets cocky and agrees to try one of those period cramp simulators with you. Except what he doesn’t expect is for you to be completely unbothered. Chill. Unflinching. Meanwhile, he’s gasping like he’s been shot. And the longer it goes on, the more he realizes: this is your normal.
CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE — “Do I look like a man who taps out at level five?”
It started as a joke.
You were in one of your chaotic TikTok moods—messy bun, oversized hoodie, devious little grin—and John should’ve known something was up when you said, “Baaaaaabe… you love me, right?” while setting up the simulator on the coffee table.
“Not a chance in hell,” he said immediately.
You pouted. You begged. You reminded him of that time you made him a steak dinner and didn’t film him falling asleep mid-bite like a Victorian grandfather. He sighed. “Fine.”
You strap the simulator to both your stomachs, grinning like the demon you are. He glances at the controller like it’s a live grenade.
“Ready?” you ask sweetly.
He nods, all masculine pride.
Level 1: Nothing.
Level 2: Still nothing.
John smirks. “S’not bad.”
Level 3: He shifts in his seat. “Alright. Bit of tension.”
You’re completely chill, sipping your iced coffee.
Level 4: His eyebrow twitches.
Level 5: He lets out a grunt. “Okay. Now it’s… yeah, alright, it’s uncomfortable.”
You glance at him. “You wanna stop?”
He glares. “Do I look like a man who taps out at level five?”
Level 6 hits and he flinches hard. “Bloody—fuckin’ hell, that’s not tension anymore, that’s a punch.”
You’re still sitting pretty, scrolling on your phone.
Level 7.
He jolts. Actually jolts.
“Jesus CHRIST—" He’s gripping the edge of the couch, sweat beading at his temple. “What the hell is wrong with this machine?”
You: “That’s my Monday morning, babe.”
Level 8.
He growls. Growls, like he’s in a firefight. One eye closed. Breathing through his teeth. “How are you—how the fuck are you still—talking?”
You shrug, smirking at him a little bit. It was oddly satisfying watching your big strong man experience the things he and most of society brushed off as normal pain that you and billions of other women were forced to continue to live life through without acting like it bothered you. “I usually get nauseous around this point. Sometimes I puke.”
He blinks. Stares at you like you just told him you walk on glass every day for fun.
Level 9.
He rips the strap off. Rips it off. Slams it on the coffee table and stands, breathing heavy like he just ran a 5K.
You're really not shocked. “That’s your limit?”
He looks at you. Then slowly sits back down beside you, rubbing his hand over his mouth.
“You go through that. Every month?”
You nod. Shrug.
He just stares for a second.
Then leans over, presses his forehead to your shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
You kiss his head. “It’s okay. Now go fold the laundry while I bleed in silence.”
He does.
With extra snacks.
KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK — “i'm seeing god, she's mad at me.”
Kyle thinks he’s tough.
He’s run half-marathons. Rucked uphill with a 70lb pack. Taken hits in training and grinned through them.
So when you say “Let’s do the period cramp simulator,” he laughs. Laughs.
“Easy win, babe. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
You just smile, quietly connecting the pads to his lower abs, and flip on the app. You’re both in sweats on the couch, your phone filming the whole thing. You press start.
Level 1: He shrugs. “Tingles. Cute.”
Level 2: “Okay, it’s a little weird.”
Level 3: He winces. “Bit stabby.”
Level 4: He clutches the throw pillow. “Okay—wow. That’s... that’s actually rough.”
You’re beside him, not even blinking, watching the show.
Level 5: He yelps. “Wait. People live like this? On purpose?”
You: “Not by choice, babe.”
Level 6: His eyes widen.
Kyle: “Oh my god. It’s like a cramp. Inside a cramp. And it’s angry.”
Level 7: “BABE I’M GONNA PUKE.”
You laugh a bit. “That’s normal.”
Level 8: He keels over sideways, curled on the couch, gasping.
Kyle: “I’m going to pass out. I think I’m hemorrhaging.”
You arch a brow at him. “Want me to go up another level?” You wiggle your eyebrows, teasing him.
He doesn’t respond. He just lifts a single finger like he’s drawing his final breath.
Level 9: He rolls off the couch entirely and lays on the carpet.
“I’m seeing God. She’s mad at me.”
You turn it off, having a good giggle to yourself as you watch him. "You okay down there baby?"
Kyle lays there a minute.
Then, very quietly asks “...You go through that every month?”
You nod. “Since I was thirteen.”
He blinks. Looks at the ceiling. Then at you.
“I don’t know if I wanna fight you or hug you.”
You: “Why not both?”
He crawls back onto the couch, pulls you into his arms, and whispers, “I’m buying you a heating pad and a Costco pack of chocolate tomorrow. I swear to God.”
SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY — “That's internal combustion.”
Simon sits down like it’s nothing.
“You sure?” you ask, raising a brow.
He scoffs. “How bad can it be?”
He’s seen combat. Been tortured. He thinks he’s built different.
Level 1: “Huh. Feels like static.”
Level 2: “Bit annoying. Like pins and needles.”
Level 3: “Okay, bit of a pinch.”
Level 4: “...Starting to think this is a trap.”
You’re relaxed beside him, arms folded.
Level 5: His leg twitches.
Simon: “Did the setting change?”
“Mmhmm.” You munch on a cracker from the small bowl sitting next to the couch.
Level 6: “What the fuck was that? That’s not a cramp. That’s a curse.”
Level 7: He sits up straighter. “Nope. Nope. That’s internal combustion. That’s demons.”
You, sipping water respond calmly. “That’s ovulation cramps combined with regular ones.”
Simon looks at you like you’ve been suffering war crimes in silence.
Level 8: He rips the velcro off and tosses the simulator like it insulted his mother.
“Turn it off. We’re done. That’s it.”
You almost laugh. “Tapping out, pookie?”
He stares. Hard.
Then his voice drops low.
“You go through that. Every month. And still do everything.”
You nod slowly.
Simon doesn’t speak. He just walks out of the room.
When he returns, he has a blanket, painkillers, and a hot water bottle.
Then he pulls you into his lap and wraps you up.
“You ever need anything—anything—you tell me. No questions.”
JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH — “That's a dragonslaying cramp!’”
Johnny’s too confident.
“Piece o’ piss, lass,” he says, strapping the pads on. “I’ve dislocated my shoulder before, can't be any different. I’ll be fine.”
You smile sweetly. “Ready?”
“Bring it.”
Level 1: “Tickles.”
Level 2: “Okay. Weird. But nothing wild.”
Level 3: “That was a twitch. Did it twitch? Or was that me?”
Level 4: “Aight. This is... it’s makin’ my leg bounce.”
Level 5: “HOLY HELL.”
You watch him start shifting like a toddler who has to pee.
Level 6: “SWEET FUCKIN’—WHAT IS THAT?!”
You’re laughing. He’s grabbing your hand.
Level 7: “That’s not even funny anymore, babe. That’s a dragonslaying cramp.”
You: “It lasts 6–8 hours, minimum.”
He stops. Eyes wide.
Level 8: He’s wheezing, clutching his stomach like he’s giving birth.
“I—can’t—I need—a priest.”
You turn it off.
He flops sideways, panting.
Then lifts his head, looking at you like he just saw an angel of death.
“You deal with that every month?”
You nod.
He stares.
Then bursts into a fresh round of whining. “I AM SO SORRY. I’M BUYING YOU FLOWERS. I’M BUYING YOU A NEW CAR. I’M—I’M NEVER ASKING FOR SEX AGAIN IF YOU’RE ON YOUR PERIOD I SWEAR.”
You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “You said that last month.” You take yours off too. "I'll take you up on that new car offer if period sex can still be on the table..helps sometimes, with the cramps.."
He whimpers.
Then crawls across the couch and kisses your stomach gently like an apology to your uterus.
“Yer a fuckin’ warrior. My warrior.”
You forgive him for all the times he's dismissed your pains before, or asked why you hadn't put on real clothes, or why you were crying when nothing happened to make you cry..
But only after he does your chores for a week and buys you that new car like he said.
MORAL OF THE STORY:
your big bad bf is just as easily taken out by cramps as you and the rest of vagina owners everywhere have been. you feel bad, but only a little.
