you were in the middle of being spooned by toji when you felt something drop in your stomach.
your period.
it was midnight and toji was deep into whatever dream land he was in, snoring in your ear. his arms wrapped around you like a comfortable warm protective bear holding you tightly.
he slept like one too, you eventually pealed his hands off you. soft grunts and moans of pain leaving your lips as you slid out of bed.
you hadn't even moved two seconds. "what you doing?" toji mumbled tired into his pillow, then you heard the bed creak and before you knew it your feet were off the floor. your arms automatically grabbed at him to stable yourself.
"you need to pee?" he mumbled eyes barely open. you shook your head, "poo?" you smacked his chest, it barely felt like anything to him, tiredly he laughed. "what's it then?"
"i got my period." you pouted toji cooed sitting you down on the toilet. he knew exactly what to get you. a new pair underwear, a pad and maybe a heatpack if you were really in pain.
he came back, pad already stuck onto your underwear like he had done a million times before. he handed you a wet wipe. he would do it for you blood wasn't something that bothered him but you preferred to do it yourself so he let you.
after you were done he carried you back to bed, "is it hurting really bad?" you could still hear the sleep in his voice and how tired he was. you hesitated, you were dying. yet you shook your head no. "alright, i'll get it."
why must you be so stubborn.
within 5 minutes he was back and you couldn't thank him enough when the heatpack finally pressed onto your stomach distracting you from the cramps. toji scooped you back up into his arms careful not to touch the heatpack because he on the other hand died of the heat whenever that thing touched him.
he wiggled you right back into place. his legs intertwined with yours and his arms snug around you, his face in the back of your neck. "there, all nice and cozy. feel better?" as if he hadn't just been up and doing everything for you he sounded right back to how he did when he just woke up.
you nodded a soft smile on your lips. you were spoiled. "i love you princess," he pressed a kiss to your cheek. "wake me next time please. don't want you in more pain then you already are."
you nodded closing your eyes. "good, g'night baby."
you sleepily whispered a "goodnight baby." back.
im never gon stop writing tummy ache fics bc i need them to live
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synopsis. Gojo Satoru has faced down special grade curses without flinching. He's looked death in the eye and laughed. But none of that — none of it — prepared him for the terror of your period mood swings. Or: five times he walked on eggshells, and one time he didn't have to.
pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader
content & warnings. fluff, established relationship, period comfort, mood swings (anger and crying), gojo is SCARED of you (affectionate), soft gojo, he memorized your cycle like the nerd he is, snacks, heating pads, forehead kisses, pet names galore, cinnamoroll plushie agenda.
word count. 1.8k+
A/N. im going out to the mall so i quickly posted this, hope you guys will enjoy!! <3
The first time Satoru Gojo realized he was genuinely, truly afraid of you was a Tuesday.
Not because you were scary in the normal way — you weren't a curse user or anything that could actually hurt him. You were just... you. Soft. Warm. The person who fell asleep on his shoulder during movies and traced little patterns on his chest and called him "toru" when you were feeling extra sweet.
But Tuesdays were different.
Tuesdays were dangerous.
Because Tuesday was Day Two.
He'd memorized your cycle three months into dating.
Not on purpose — okay, maybe completely on purpose. He couldn't help it. He noticed things. The way you'd start craving salty stuff instead of sweet. The way you'd curl into a tiny ball and refuse to be touched, then cry because he wasn't touching you. The way you'd text him "i love you", then five minutes later "actually i'm annoyed at you" and then "no i'm not come over"
He'd started marking it on his phone after the third time you'd burst into tears because he "looked at you wrong."
(He had looked at you. Normally. With his normal eyes. It was terrifying.)
So yes. Satoru Gojo — the strongest sorcerer alive, the honored one, the man who could stop a bullet with his brain — had a recurring calendar notification on his phone.
Day One: heating pad. chocolate. do NOT make jokes about her appetite.
Day Two: TREAD LIGHTLY. DO NOT EXIST TOO LOUDLY. BUY MORE CHOCOLATE. oh and maybe a stuffed animal. something round.
Day Three: she'll be hungry and sad. prepare offerings. do not take it personally if she cries at you.
Day Four: almost over. you survived. you did good. buy yourself a treat.
Today was Day Two.
Satoru stood outside your apartment door — your apartment, not his, because he'd learned the hard way that you needed your own space when you were hurting — and listened.
Silence.
That was either very good or very bad.
He knocked. Soft. Gentle. The way you'd knock on a door you weren't sure would open.
Nothing.
He knocked again. "Sweetheart?"
Still nothing.
He used his key — you'd given it to him after he'd camped outside your door for three hours because you'd texted "don't come over" and he'd learned that "don't come over" actually meant "please come over but i'm too proud to ask."
"Just come in," you'd said afterward, exhausted and tear-stained. "Even if I'm mad. Even if I say I don't want you there. Just... come in. Please."
So he did.
The apartment was dark.
Not the nice kind of dark. Not the "let's watch a movie and cuddle" dark. Not romantic dark. Not sleepy dark. The kind of dark that said "I've been lying here for hours thinking about how much everything hurts and also I hate the sun."
He found you on the couch, wrapped in approximately seventeen blankets, with your face shoved into a pillow.
"Hey," he said softly.
The pillow moved. He thought maybe you were looking at him. It was hard to tell.
"I brought things," he said, holding up the bag like a peace offering.
The pillow shifted again. This time, he was pretty sure you were glaring.
"What kind of things," you said. Your voice was flat. Emotionless. Terrifying.
"Good things," he said carefully.
"Define good."
"Chocolate things. Warm things. Soft things." He pulled out the offerings one by one, like a man trying not to startle a wild animal. "Your favorite tea. The expensive one. And- look- I found that heating pad you said was better than your old one. And-" He held up the last item. "A friend."
You sat up.
The blankets fell away from your face. Your eyes were red. Your hair was a disaster. You looked like you'd been crying and also like you wanted to commit murder.
"That's not a friend," you said. "That's cinnamoroll."
"He's friend-shaped."
"He's a stuffed dog, Satoru."
"He's round," he said defensively. "And soft. And he has blue eyes like my eyes. And you said you wanted something to hold onto at night when I'm not here, so-"
"I said that months ago."
"I remember everything you say."
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Your lip wobbled.
Oh no, he thought. Oh no no no.
"Don't cry," he said. "Please don't cry. I'll do anything. I'll buy you twenty cinnamoroll plushies. I'll fight the moon. Just-"
You burst into tears.
He was on the couch in half a second.
Not touching you — he'd learned that lesson the hard way (you'd thrown a book at him. it was a paperback, but still). But close. Present. There.
"I hate everything," you sobbed into your hands.
"I know, pretty girl."
"I hate my body. I hate that it hurts. I hate that I'm crying over a stuffed dog that looks like you and I don't even know why."
"I know, baby."
"I hate that you're being so nice because it makes me feel guilty for being mean to you earlier."
He bit back a smile. "I know, sweetheart."
"And I hate that you know."
He paused. Considered his options. "...I'm sorry?"
You looked up at him, tear-streaked and furious and absolutely beautiful. "Why are you sorry?"
"Because you're crying?"
"Don't apologize for my feelings, Satoru."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
You stared at him for a long moment. Your chest was heaving. Your hands were shaking. He could see the war happening inside you — the anger and the sadness and the exhaustion, all tangled up together.
Then you pointed at the floor.
"Sit."
He sat.
"On the floor?"
"You're too tall. You make me feel small. Sit on the floor."
He sat on the floor.
From below, he could see your face better. The redness in your cheeks. The way you were holding the stuffed-toy to your chest now, even though you'd pretended not to want it.
"I'm not gonna hit you," you said quietly.
"I know."
"Even though I thought about it."
"...I know."
You let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, my love."
"You just said-"
"I know what I said. I'm allowed to change my mind." He tilted his head, looking up at you. "I'm not scared of you, you know."
You raised an eyebrow. "Liar."
"I'm not scared of you. I'm scared of... hurting you. Or making it worse. Or breathing too loud and having you cry harder." He paused. "Okay, maybe I'm a little scared of you."
Your lips twitched. "A little?"
"Terrified," he admitted. "Absolutely terrified. I'd rather fight a thousand curses than watch you cry and not know how to fix it."
You were quiet for a long time.
Then you reached down and grabbed his hand.
"Come here," you said.
He climbed up onto the couch — slowly, carefully, like he was approaching a small angry animal — and you immediately curled into his side. Your face pressed against his chest. Your hand fisted in his shirt. Cinnamoroll was squished between you.
"Cinnamoroll is stupid," you mumbled.
"I know, princess."
"He has blue eyes like your eyes."
"I know, baby."
"That's why I love him."
His heart stopped. "Yeah?"
"Don't sound so surprised." You looked up at him, and your eyes were still red, but you were smiling. Just a little. "I love you even when I'm angry. Especially when I'm angry. Because you don't leave. Even when I tell you to."
"You told me to leave once."
"And?"
"You texted me 'come back' before I got to the elevator."
You buried your face in his chest. "I was emotional."
"You were," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your hair. "You were also holding a spatula and crying about eggs."
"I don't want to talk about the eggs."
"Okay, sweetheart."
You stayed like that for a long time — him holding you, you holding cinnamoroll, the heating pad warming your abdomen and stomach and the chocolate waiting on the table.
"Satoru?"
"Hm?"
"I want the chocolate now."
He reached for it without moving you from his chest. Because he'd learned. He always learned.
"You're doing that thing," you murmured, mouth half-full of chocolate.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you're all gentle and it makes me want to cry again."
"Should I stop?"
"No." You pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Never stop."
He pressed a kiss to your hair. "Wasn't planning on it, pretty girl."
Later — much later — you were asleep on his chest. Still on the couch. Neither of you had moved. The blanket was pulled up to your chin, tucked around you like a cocoon. Cinnamoroll was tucked under your arm — soft, round, white, with little blue eyes. You'd looked at it with swollen eyes and said "His eyes look like your eyes." and he'd almost cried. The heating pad had been kicked somewhere into the blanket nest. The chocolate was gone. There were crumbs on his shirt. He didn't care.
His phone buzzed.
Satoru looked down at you — at your messy hair, your tear-stained cheeks, the way you were holding little Cinnamoroll like it was the most precious thing in the world. A strand of hair had fallen across your face. Very carefully — so carefully — he tucked it behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the curve of your cheek. You didn't stir. Just breathed softly, warm against his chest.
A/N. satoru's replying to shoko!!
He put his phone down and wrapped his arms around you tighter, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders. The apartment was quiet. The only light came from the street outside, filtering through the curtains, painting everything in soft gold.
You stirred, just slightly. "Toru?"
"Go back to sleep, my love."
"Mm." You nuzzled closer, the plushie squished between your chests. "Love you."
"Love you too, pretty girl."
"Even on Day Two?"
He smiled into your hair. "Especially on Day Two."
You laughed softly, breath warm against his neck. "You always say that."
"Because it's true."
"Still." You tilted your head up, eyes half-closed, lips curving into a sleepy smile. "You're gonna wear it out."
"Then I'll find a new one." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Day Two and a half. Day Two point five. Day Two-"
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Kiss me and go to sleep."
"Yes ma'am."
He kissed you — soft, slow, tasting like chocolate and your lip balm and something that was just you.
"Go to sleep," he whispered against your mouth.
"You first."
"That's not how it works."
"Don't care."
He laughed quietly, pulling the blanket higher around both of you. His fingers found your hair again — just playing with it now, twisting the ends around his fingertips, feeling how soft it was against his skin. You sighed, melting deeper into his chest.
Cinnamoroll watched from between you, blue eyes round and unblinking, white ears flopped to the side.
"Goodnight, my love."
"Goodnight, Toru."
You were asleep in seconds — your breathing slow, your body heavy against his, your hair still tangled in his fingers.
He stayed awake a little longer.
Counting your breaths. Tracing the shape of your shoulder. Memorizing the way you fit against him. Letting your hair slip through his fingers like silk.
He pressed one last kiss to your hair.
"Yeah," he whispered.
"Especially on Day Two."
A/N. SO CUTE !! and yes, i wrote this since im on my period and i need this man to comfort me 🥹💞
Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3
|| Warnings; reader on her period, brief mentions of killings, small intimate moments, short drabble
|| Summary; when Jinx finds reader on her period, she gets the idea of distracting her with art. Only... reader's Jinx's canvas.
Requests closed!
Started; November 29th
Finished; November 30th
Author Note; inspired by Jinx and Ekko drawing on each other 🫶 didn't think I would get this out today, but I did.
~~~
Jinx entered her workshop to find you curled up on the couch, heating pad across your stomach. Looking as though you'd seen... well, better days. To put it lightly. Just by the grimace in your expression Jinx could figure out what was wrong. Shark week. Honestly, she didn't blame ya. It killed her too.
She walked over and laid herself on top of you, a small smirk on her lips. "Dancing with the sharks?" Jinx asked, you gave a small nod. Followed by a whimper. Jinx hated seeing you in any kind of pain, normally she would kill whoever caused it. But she can't exactly kill this. Which just frustrated her more.
You glanced at Jinx, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her even closer. She let you. After all, if she could be any closer to you she would want to be. But the heating pad between the two of you made that a little difficult. Despite that, Jinx didn't move it. Knowing it was helping you better than she probably could have. She sighed quietly at the thought. Resting her head to your chest and tracing soft circles with her fingers over your arm. When she got an idea, glancing at her fingers. Then to the sketches all over her walls. A small smirk forming.
"Wait here." Jinx told you, you raised an eyebrow at her. Giving her a look that basically said 'where else would I go?'. She jumped off you, skipping over to where she kept her neon markers. She lifted them and looked at you. A goofy grin on her face," wanna be my canvas?"
You rolled your eyes, but you figured it might relax you. Even distract you from the cramps you were feeling. So you gave a reluctant nod," yeah, whatever." With your permission Jinx didn't waste any time. Immediately coming back over to you. Straddling your hips as she drew scribbles on your arms. Her signature monkey, some x's and various other things. At first it was a bit ticklish. But you relaxed into it. Finding it rather soothing. The marker brushing your skin, creating whatever visions Jinx was having.
Jinx giggled, clearly happy that you were letting her do this. She drew all the way up to your neck. Even giving your cheek a few small hearts. Before she would switch to the other arm. When she was done, she spread her arms off to the side like a grand reveal," bam! What do-ya think?"
Sitting up a bit to get a better look, you glanced at all the sketches she drew. "Looks good, baby." She smiled at the praise and kissed your cheek. Right where the hearts were drawn. It smudged with her lips, which made her huff and pout. She ruined her drawing. You laughed at that. Seeing the bit of pink marker on her lips.
"Let me get that," you murmured. Jinx tilted her head in confusion but quickly understood when your hand came up. Cupping her cheek and bringing her closer. Your lips met and you eyes closed. Enjoying the softness of the moment. Jinx always had her own special ways of making you feel better.
hey pookie I love your writing so much. if this is awkward for you to write feel free to ignore it but can I politely request Gale x a reader who gets really bad menstrual cramps and pain. just a touch of Gale comfort. asking this anonymously because im shy. thanks so much I love u 💖
Hi lovelyyy!! I'm so sorry for being 4 months late answering this 🥲
Thank you so so much, and it's not awkward at all! I hope you're still around to see this. 🧡 I am on day 1 of my monthly bodily exodus today, so I figured that seeing this today was a sign it needed to be done! hehe
♡♡♡
The aches persisted. Those damned tidal waves of throbbing, blinding pain never seemed to acquiesce to healing potions, balms, or even the herbal tonics Halsin mixed that appeared to cure everything else. The malignant force your body transmuted into upon each moon cycle sent you to your knees—or rather, to your bedroll—to waste away in prolonged agony.
It was on one such night that your lover found you, hidden away in the corner of a tent that had gone long unused since you moved into his, curled tightly into yourself, mumbling fevered pleas of "please, make it stop" amidst weak groans and pitiful waves of tears.
"My love!" he exclaimed, his footsteps hurrying closer to you, muted against the noise of blood rushing in your ears. "What is it? Where are you hurt? Please, unfurl and allow me to assess you." Gentle, anxious palms passed over the parts of you he could reach, sending signatures of cool, soothing magic into your skin. It burrowed deep, finding purchase in your haze, and loosened the angry knot ever so slightly—if only enough for you to catch your breath and meet his auburn gaze.
"Moon cycle," you mumbled, your lips swollen from biting the insides, and your mind foggy, yet still clear enough to reach for him with feeble hands. When he slid closer to wrap you in his arms, your curled position merely shifted around his torso instead of your own; limbs folding over him like an envelope sealing closed, and when he chuckled, you managed a weak grin against his soft tunic.
"Well," he said gently, securing you in his hold as he rose, "I believe I am well-equipped to aide you, my darling. I have warming stones in my tent that might ease some of your pain, and stowaway sweets precisely for times such as this. Promise me you will come to me from now on? I cannot bear to see you suffer alone."
Your throat closed, affection choking you oh, so sweetly, and nodded, pressing a gentle kiss into his neck with what you hoped was enough emotion to properly convey your gratitude. When his arms tightened around you and his lips pressed tenderly against your temple, you felt certain he understood.
Synopsis: Yasmin learns that all her worries and silly crying can be handled by one person. Her husband, Iqbal.
Word count: 1018-ish words
Warnings: noneeee pure fluff, just some orthodox thoughts mentioned.
Authors note: i've tried to make this one a bit longer than the last two and am still pretty insecure about my writing skills so please bear with me :,) anyway enjoyyy!!
CRYING PRINCESS
“Do you really have to go?” Yasmin mumbled, toying with the small tassel of her red dupatta as she stood by the dresser where she was looking at her man, known to the world as Major Iqbal, getting ready to leave as he buttoned the cuffs of his uniform.
She never asked him to stay back or complain about the ungodly times he had to leave. At the time of their Nikkah, she knew, as the wife of the most respected member of ISI and Pakistani politics, she simply won’t have any choice. She always understood and never demanded his undivided attention, no matter how the loud the silence would be after she watched his car drive away. Sometimes she would sit by the door for hours, unable to bear the dullness of the house.
Today however, she really tried to let him go silently, suppressing her emotions like always; it wasn’t even a special day like an anniversary or birthday. Just an ordinary day. But maybe It was just…a wife tired of letting her husband first belong to the world and then her.
She missed her husband’s smirk, as he finished cuffing his uniform, looking at her through the mirror “Finally the begum speaks, hm?” deep down Iqbal felt a pang of guilt too, every time he left the warmth and softness of his Yasmin to go back to the brutality of his world, which was the only thing he knew before her. At times he silently wished she’d ask him to stay back or maybe throw a tantrum, but of course his ever-understanding begum wouldn’t. So today, where she barely spoke and refused to tell him what was wrong, He was glad she finally let her sweet voice fall on his ears.
The thing was, they both were cuddling on the couch, because Yasmin was bit clingier than usual (not like Iqbal was complaining) when his phone rang, few words exchanged and the words Yasmin wish won’t be uttered- “I need to go, jaan”.
And that’s how they ended up near the dresser.
“Its not like I’m ignoring you, Iqbal I just..”
Iqbal turned to her now, fully dressed and ready to go, but he needed to check on her first. He gently placed his hands on her hips, his thumb gently soothing her. “Finish your sentences, pretty girl”
Yasmin gulped, looking away “I.. wanted you stay home today” her voice growing fainter with the words.
Iqbal sighed, not in frustrated or tired way, but a in a “husband-trying-hard- not-to-cave-into-his-pouting-wife”
“And I want you to talk to me, princess. You’ve barely spoken all day while you usually love to talk my ear off. I need to know what’s goin’ in that brain of yours. I can't leave knowing my begum is not feeling her best”
God, why did this ruthless major have to be the sweetest with her? She knew, brushing it off is not going to happen, her husband is the literal expert of getting people to open their mouths.
“uhmisjus’onmyreoids”
“….darling what-“
Yasmin flushed, and was about to leave from just sheer embarrassment-
“Are you on your period?”
okay, okay. Yasmin knew this was not the 1800s where the female menstrual cycle was a shameful topic, but the way she grew up, her mum always hushing the 14-Year old Yasmin about the topic whenever males were even around. Naturally it was made taboo for her then. And to tell her husband something she never talked about with her own father was.. uncomfortable. What if he actually finds it disgusting? What if he gets awkward? What if-
“Yasmin.”
“yes?” she quickly answered
He wordlessly picked her up, making her squeal
“I-Iqbal! Put me down!-“
He gently put her down on the sofa, and knelt and made eye contact with her, making her tap his shoulder, telling him to get up
“Iqbal! Please get up why are you kneeling?- its not-”
“What kind of man would I be if can’t kneel Infront of my cute, embarrassed, kind begum, hm?”
“Iqbal..”
“that’s why you’ve been so clingy and a bit moody hm?”
Yasmin looked away.
His fingers rose, gently turning her chin making her eyes look at him. He understood this habit of hers, she’d always not make eye contact when she was embarrassed or felt small at times. He didn’t like his wife thinking low of herself, it was simply unacceptable.
“The last person you should be scared to talk about blood is me darling.”
that earned a soft smile which made his cold heart melt every time.
he continued, tenderly brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, “I need you to know that something so natural is not something to be ashamed of, jaan. I’ll always be here to listen to you, no matter how small or embarrassing it might me. Never make yourself small to fit into a space which doesn’t deserve you. And a man who finds these natural things shameful doesn’t deserve to be called a man.”
And them it came. The lip tremble, the tears forming in those pretty eyes and small sniffles. Iqbal rose a bit, enveloping her into his shoulder where she scrunched up his uniform and held him tight.
Maybe it was the hormones, but she knew it was her husband’s words. His straightforwardness; He always knew what to say, when to say and what she needed. She pulled back, and kissed him. Pouring what she wanted to say through her kiss. She wasn’t the best with putting her own feelings into words but she could love just as fiercely as he could, hers was just more subtle.
“There she is, my crying princess.” Iqbal smiled, wiping her tears away with his rough thumbs.
she softly hit his chest, smiling slightly. She looked at the time and he should have definitely left by now, so she stood up, hand on his forearms to make him stand too. He did, towering over her now.
“You’re getting late Iqbal”
he sighed, nodded. He solemn was late, but she needed him first. He’s left her countless times for work, going late one day won’t hurt.
she toyed with his buttons, “How about.. you.. try coming home early, bring me some shawarmas for my cravings, and we’ll have a movie night?”
He smiled. He was proud of her for asking her what she wanted too, not just adjusting for his schedule
“Anything else, my begum?” She smiled, pretending to think, her hands linking behind his neck, making his hands automatically shifting on her waist.
“Hmm.. how about.. a foot massage?”
he grinned, “As my madam wishes.”
HIEEEEEEEE SO HOW WAS IT POOKIES? I HOPE YALL SOMEWHAT ENJOYED IT ISTG I FEEL THE MOST SINGLE DURING MY PERIOD SO HERE I WAS FULFILLING MY SCENARIOS
taglist: @tere-naal-nachna @y0uneversawmehere @sparksfromhell @cloudmast @wan2bey-n @marlena-marlena @scentedwolfdragon @sanpiece @tojisloft @manjari08 @mariaaysbusjs @aaglagibastimainhumapnemastimain @kajuuuukatliiiiii
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
How would your monster bf take care of you during your period?
Your dragon, if a fire breathing one, makes sure to warm his throat just enough so he can lay his head across your lap and warm your belly. If they don't breathe fire, they make sure you have the best medicine there is to stop the pain. After all, they can afford it.
Werewolf makes you a nest with all his most comfortable clothes. And who can forget the werewolf blanket? Aka him.
If you're dating a tentacle monster, they massage your stomach to the point you're surprised their limbs aren't going numb.
Ghosts? Be ready to see a bunch of floating things as they try to help you with chores so you can rest!
Centaurs carry you on their back whenever you have to go anywhere to make sure you get the most rest you can.
Your orc husband makes sure to drape you in as many furs as it takes to get your cramps to go away. Don't mind him bragging about how he caught and skinned every single one himself, he just wants you to praise him!
Oh? This hurts? This feels weird? Sorry! Your alien bf is just so curious about the human anatomy!
[a/n: I hate being on my period, fucking hate it….i’ve literally been in bed all day because i can barely stand. here’s some period comfort.]
fluff with a smidge of smut so this is 18+ mdni
Just as the soft morning light grazes the skin of your cheek, yours eyes flutter open. There’s a short lived peace that envelops you before your body catches up with you and a soft groan is leaving your throat.
Your hips are throbbing, thighs sore and achey. A crick in your lower back makes it painful to shift beneath the warmth of your duvet.
But then, you feel it. Your eyes snap open in panic.
There’s a slick feeling coating your underwear and it’s threatening to slip down past your thighs.
“Fuck…” You mutter, rushing to leave the warmth of your little sanctuary. “Fuck…fuck…fuck-“
You rush to the en suite bathroom but it’s too late. Gravity your enemy as you feel the blood pooling before it finally starts to trickle down your inner thighs. It’s extremely uncomfortable and irritating. Your face scrunching up as disbelief hits you.
You hated your period.
It was a monthly menace that made your life that much more miserable.
Stiffly, you turned the handle of the shower. The head sputtering to life before the sound of a steady stream of water echoed against the tiled walls.
As the water warmed, you hesitantly peeled of your sleep shorts and underwear. The fabric heavy with the absorbed bodily fluids.
Grimacing you dropped it into the sink, opening the tap to fill the basin with cold water. Shutting it off, you pulled off the hoodie you were wearing before stepping into the shower and under the warm water.
Your tense muscles relaxing under the pressure.
When Frank stepped into the apartment, he was confused by the sound of the shower running in the bathroom.
He’d gone on a quick run and stopped by the coffee shop you both had become regulars at, wanting to surprise you with breakfast.
A regular black, drip coffee and breakfast sandwich for him. A sweet and creamy latte and blueberry bear claw for you.
It was 8am on a Sunday morning. The last thing he expected was for you to be up and showering already.
Placing the coffee tray and paper bag into the kitchen counter, he ventured into the room.
A small frown etched into his brow. You clearly got out of bed in a rush. Duvet thrown haphazardly, almost falling off the bed. Slippers still sitting at the edge of the carpet.
As he got closer to the bed, that’s when he noticed. The small blood stain on the sheets. Mentally checking the date, he realized that it was the last week of the month, usually when your cycle starts. That also meant that your cramps were gonna be hell.
He remembered you telling him that the first day was usually the hardest.
So, guessing that you’d be in the shower for a hot second, he got to work.
He changed the sheets and put the previous ones in the washing machine, prepping it so you could toss your pajamas in as well. He shuffled through your drawers to gather up some clothes for you.
Grabbing one of the many pairs of underwear you had dubbed as your “period panties,” a pair of soft, black sweatpants, fluffy socks, and one of his old marine crew necks. Worn out and a faded deep blue.
It was your absolute favorite. Now, it was more yours than it was his. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He tossed them into the dryer on a low setting to warm them up just a bit.
And just as you shut off the water, he took them out and folded them up, placing them on the bed just as the door creaked open.
You looked tired. Eyes heavy, shoulders hunched over as a cloud of steam followed you out of the bathroom.
“Frank?” Your voice was small, soft. Indicating just how weak you felt.
“Hey sweetheart, rough morning?” It wasn’t a teasing question. It was laced with concern, with tenderness and care.
The moment tears filled your eyes and a pathetic frown pulled your lips downward, he sighed and pulled you into his arms. The warmth seeping deep into your bones. You were still a little wet and wrapped in a towel but he didn’t care.
He smelled like his earthy, warm body wash mixed with the heady scent of sweat and sun.
It was comforting. Grounding you before you spiraled over something that was, in reality, a minor inconvenience.
“I’m sorry baby. I’ve got your clothes all nice and warm for you to slip into. I also grabbed some coffee and that pastry you like.”
There was a small silence that hung between you before you meekly asked, “The blueberry bear claw?”
He smiled softly, gently kissing the damp crown of your head. “That’s the one.”
“Okay…” You pulled away from him, reaching up to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Thank you, Frankie.”
Rubbing your back, he gazed down at you lovingly. “Don’t mention it, anything for you baby doll.” He sent you off with a kiss on the nose and your warm clothes piled into your arms.
After having changed and settled into the corner of the couch, Frank tucked a blanket around you to keep you warm before taking a quick shower.
Once he was done, your coffee had been drank and bear claw inhaled. You were curled into yourself, trying everything to find a comfortable position to alleviate the pain and discomfort of your uterus attempting murder.
He cooed at the sight. “Oh baby…”
You let him maneuver behind you, pulling you to sit against his chest. The warmth seeping deep into your skin, the ache in your back slowly dissipating.
He wrapped his arms around you, big paws resting on your lower stomach. Gently adding pressure, massaging your cramps away.
He felt a bit of pride swell in his chest when you melted into him. If you could, you’d be purring.
“That feel good baby?” His deep rumbling voice sent a spark of something down your spine.
“So- mmm, so good Frankie.”
His teasing sweet nothings whispered against your skin and his warm hands feeling you up, it had you embarrassingly aroused.
He caught the moment that your breathing stuttered and you started to squirm in your seat. “Shhh, shhh, shh…just relax baby. Lemme make you feel good, okay?”
He kept one hand resting on your lower stomach, the other disappearing underneath your sweatpants and panties. “B-But Frank, the blood…”
“Nothin’ I can’t handle.” He soothed you, placing hot, open mouth kisses under your ear and down your neck.
You whimpered when his fingertips met your poor, aching clit. The gentle pressure driving you crazy.
drabble where Peter Parker takes care of you when you’re on your period
Peter didn’t know exactly what was going on except you were in a shitty mood. You woke up grumpy, went to work grumpy, and came home grumpy. He tried cheering you up, attempting to put a smile on your face, but it was no use.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he wondered, both of you sitting on the sofa watching some nature documentary he was really excited to put on.
“I wanna watch Stranger Things,” you whined.
“No, not that,” he scowled, turning off the television completely. “You’ve been in a… mood.”
“In a mood?” you were the one scowling now.
“You’ve been in an awful mood all day,” he explained. “Tell me what’s going on, love.”
“Ugh, you really want to know Peter?” you rolled your eyes. “I’m on my period, okay?”
Peter blinked back at you, not really sure what to say.
“You know what a period is, right?” you looked at him quizzically. “Aunt May taught you what a period is. Right?”
“I know what a period is,” he argued, instantly defensive. “I’m not stupid. We learned about reproductive rights in science class and the menstrual cycle and all that good stuff.”
“Well it’s that time of the month,” you sighed. “I’m PMSing. That’s why I’m in such a mood.” You said dramatically, exaggerating to make him feel bad.
“Well what can I do to make it better?” Peter hummed, pulling you closer to him. He held you in his arms, resting his head atop yours. “Do you need a massage? Chocolate? Tylenol? Tampons? Pads?”
“All of the above,” you grumbled into his chest. “Yes please.”
“Haha okay baby, we can make that happen,” he smiled. “You just gotta talk to me. Gotta work with me.”
“And Stranger Things,” you added. “This documentary is putting me to sleep, Peter. I feel like I’m swimming with the fishes.”
“Aw come on, you like fish,” he insisted, and you rolled your eyes again, earning a scoff from him. “Fine, I’ll change it. I’ll watch the fish on my own.”
