Fluff. Fluff fluff, fluff. So much fluff you'll probably puke.
Lord this was a long time coming and it somehow changed from sex to periods to vom-worthy cuteness and I'm publishing it anyway.
It's s'pposed to be Parmiga, but if you'd prefer Violate, then by all means do so. It's not too hard to picture, considering only one name is used once throughout the story.
Happy reading!
(credit Taissa's smell/scent/perfume/whatever to booboodaddy on Tumblr.
because I'm not creative enough to think of that crap alone).
Let's face it, most men rather avoid a woman while she is menstruating and that is too bad, because we should not ditch our second half just because she's bleeding between her legs.
His eyes dart over the page and his thumb taps her palm. Her hand is clammy and so is his, but she's curled into a ball in the middle of the mattress and is too doped up to realize it.
Take some time to understand her period from both an anecdotal (from her experience) and educational point of view, use books, magazines, articles, online, etc. to find information pertaining to her body and menstruation.
He is careful not to jostle her when he reaches for her phone, leaning over her pallid form. His tapping stops and she stirs, but he is huddled up to her side once more with her phone in his sweating hand before she fully wakes. He pulls up her dictionary app and taps out the word 'menstruating,' and is referred to the word 'menstruation.' His prior knowledge of women's cycles disregarded, he clicks on the linked word and eagerly awaits it's definition.
The discharge of mucosal tissue and blood from the uterus, he reads, in nonpregnant women and females of other primate species. He finds no explanation for the corresponding menstrual cramps, so he takes to Google and searches 'Period Pain.'
He skims over repetitive articles and webpages and exits the browser empty handed. The only new thing he learns is that sex is particularly helpful in terms of pain relief, but he doubts she'll wander within an inch of his dick.
At a temporary loss of what to do, he changes the background on her phone to a pouting picture of himself and grins triumphantly at the finished product. He locks the screen and slides it onto his side table, and pulls up a webpage on his laptop, the heading of the article he'd previously read black and bold and big in the centre of the page. He picks up where he left off, commits the author's words to memory.
If she has cravings, let her have it, there's nothing worse than resisting a craving because all that does is cause crankiness. If there's something she asks you to do and it's reasonable, try to accommodate her.
She had mentioned cream cheese earlier in the morning, and he remembers, but she always mentions cream cheese so he can't figure out if it's something she actually craves. He chances a glance at her near-snoring figure and finds no answer. He will later skip to the store to buy her her cream cheese, but for now he wrinkles his nose and returns to the webpage.
Let her fall asleep in your arms, skin-to-skin contact with someone she cares about is an excellent psychological relief. Just be remember that you have to be understanding and sometimes be willing to bite your tongue.
He shifts closer to her because he isn't close enough already and moves his hand under her t-shirt to rub the tiny swell of her bloated stomach. She tenses, effectively traps his palm between her thighs and belly and he can't move it in the slightest. So he holds it there, his skin warming hers and hers warming his and uses his free hand to scroll further down the page.
If you two are ready to engage in sexual activities, I should suggest to you that one of the best natural pain-relievers for cramps or otherwise painful periods is an orgasm. You can either allow her to do that on her own, or do it for her. She might be resistant to it, but mind you she will be glad afterward because many girls report that an orgasm or sexual stimulation helps alleviate their cramps.
She shifts around his hand and gives a little sigh and he wonders if she's dreaming about what he's reading. He looks forward to the weekends because they're mostly spent in bed, making love and sleeping and eating cheese pizza. It's now Sunday and he's barely kissed her since Friday morning, and he's tempted to wake her up and ask for both their benefits. He chooses not to in the end, because he won't push her for anything especially when she's in pain, ever.
However, he does wriggle his fingers and press firmly into her abdomen with the heel of his hand, as he's seen her do to herself over the last twenty-four hours. She sighs in her sleep and he can't help smiling. She sounds so cute and he loves that he can help ease her pain, even if only in the slightest.
Here's the most important thing you can say to her, "How can I help you?" … only she will know what you can do to make her feel best!
He reaches the end of the article and closes the laptop, flicking it off of his knee with a wave of his hand. It lands on the edge of the mattress, and he isn't even concerned when it teeters on the lip and falls. It's ancient and it's tough, and he's too busy fretting over her furrowed brow to think of much else either way.
He rolls onto his side and shuffles up behind her, curling his body around hers and hiding his face in her curls. She smells like velvet honey and lavender, and paired with the steady rise and fall of her waist beneath his arm he is lulled to sleep, near perfectly content in the middle of a summer's Sunday.
It's still light out when he comes to, his chest still glued to her back and his face still buried beneath her hair. He thinks she's asleep and moves to pull away but she's not and she grips his forearm and holds him to her.
"You're warm," she says, as if it isn't 77 degrees outside. He smiles at the back of her head and presses a kiss to the curve of her ear, because he doesn't know what else to say. He wonders if she's still doped up on the too-heavy and surely illegal painkillers her sister gave her, so he shifts onto his elbow and examines the side of her face.
She's half grinning and half grimacing, and he reaches for the pills once more. While they hadn't worked all the way- hadn't alleviated all of her pain, they'd done a good job while they had lasted, and clearly they'd worn out at some point he was spooning her, unconscious. He fumbles with the container for a few minutes and when he clocks the childproof lock he shakes one out onto his hand.
"Eat it," he says, holding his palm out in front of her nose. "I'll get you juice."
She puffs her cheeks out and looks up at him with sad eyes, shaking her head.
"I can't," she mumbles. "Every eight hours. It's only been two."
He glances at the clock and finds that she's right, and drops the container and pill onto the bedside table. She pouts and he frowns, and all he can do is kiss her.
"How are you feeling?" He asks. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Just cuddle me."
So he does.
When he returns from the store she's up and about, hauling a basket of laundry- his laundry around the room. He drops the paper bag and kisses her again, because she's still taking care of him when he's in pain and he think he might just marry her because of it.
"Put the washing down," he says. She obliges and barrels into his arms without invitation. "You're affectionate today," is his mumble and he's kissing her more and she's kissing him back.
"Did you get the cream cheese?" She asks when they surface for air. He just nods and looks bashfully to the crumbled bag of groceries lying on the floor by the door.
"And potato chips."
She's out of his arms then, and he's tripping over the laundry basket at his feet in his haste to follow her. She rips into the bag and pulls out her cream cheese and chips, and hooks the carton of pineapple juice under her arm.
"You got Skittles!" She observes gleefully, and he tells her that it's a special occasion. The words are all wrong but she grins anyway.
She kisses his cheek and he's thanking God for the return of her usual affection, stolen from him this weekend. He's not religious and he almost thinks that in doing so he'll jinx himself and she'll stumble back to her 'don't touch me' phase, but he's too happy with the new developments to allow negative thoughts to creep.
He finds himself at her side and then he's eating cream cheese dipped skittles with her, and she's talking about lemon cheesecake.
"Try the yellow ones," she says as he lifts her onto the counter. "It's exactly like lemon cheesecake."
He nods and smiles, lifting a spoonful of skittles and cream cheese to his mouth and humming as he chews. He'd established each flavor long ago, before he'd even introduced her to the combination, but he plays along for her benefit. He plays along because he loves her.
By the end of the night she's on the couch watching reruns of Murder House and groaning and laughing at every single thing her character does. He watches her from the kitchen, in between rolling out balls of cookie dough, and chuckles along with her.
"'Go away, Tate,'" she quotes along with Violet Harmon. "Go awa- oh, wrong timing."
She grins at him and he pushes the tray of cookies in to the oven, dusting his hands off on the apron his ex-girlfriend got him two years before. He saunters over to her and kisses her on the head, and as she pulls him down next to her wonders how he'd ever kept his lips off of her prior to the start of their relationship.
"Would you ever tell me to go away?" he asks when she drops her legs onto his lap. She threads her fingers through his cookie dough coated ones and shakes her head.
"Never," she says, so seriously he blushes a little. "I love you."
And he repeats it, as on the TV her whines turn into stage tears and she mourns her sinful relationship. He repeats it and pulls her closer, meaning it more than the last time he said it and not nearly as much as the next time he'll say it.
"I love you."
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