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hi! would you write rooster giving his shy girl cuddles when she's on her period and feeling lonely? thank you <333

anon how did you know this is me rn? so, for you (but also me): you get your period for the first time since you've started seeing rooster and he is just like, the best ever | fluff, fem!reader, 1.4k

The dull ache in your abdomen wakes you earlier than you'd like for a Saturday. You blindly reach for your phone and check the time and then the date -- ugh. Yeah, it's about time for your period.

Mercifully you have not bled on your sheets so you sort yourself out and change from comfy pjs to comfy clothes and resign yourself to a lonely day on the couch. The first few days are always the hardest on you -- you feel sluggish and bloated and tend not to do anything if you can help it.

But lately, your life has taken on a kind of shine you're still getting used to. The biggest thing is the guy you've been seeing: Bradley. It's been just shy of a month and you see him every few days. You've met his aviator friends and he's stayed over at your place once, you at his a few times. He's funny and kind and so handsome and you hope that it changes from "seeing each other" to something more official soon.

That's what stops you from texting him. Maybe if he was officially your boyfriend you'd ask him to pick up some stuff and come over, but you feel shy about doing it for some reason. So you wrap yourself in the sweatshirt he left at your place and settle on the couch to watch something that'll probably make you cry.

Then your phone chirps.

rooster: are you busy today? do you want to walk the boardwalk? i'll buy ice cream : )

Something in your chest starts to ache. You'd mentioned wanting to take advantage of the weather and try the new ice cream shop that opened up by the water.

you: not feeling great today : ( rain check?

Your screen changes a second later, Bradley's contact photo taking over as he calls you. It's a selfie he took on your phone when you were in the bathroom. Oh, you think. Why is he calling you?

"Hi," you say. It sounds a little pathetic.

"Hey," he replies. You imagine him at his place, maybe fresh from his morning run, brows drawn based on the concern in his voice. "Are you okay?"

He's calling because you said you were sick? You don't really know what to do with that. "Yeah, just woke up feeling off. I'm sorry about not going to the boardwalk today."

He hums down the line. "Don't apologize, silly," he says. "Do you need anything? I can get anything you want from the store and bring it over. Do you have lemons? My mom swore by lemon tea when she wasn't feeling great --"

Bradley goes on about the things he could get you at the pharmacy and you feel like laughing and crying at the same time. He's known you for less than a month and he's calling to see if you're alright. God, you think. I could love him someday.

Maybe that's why you just blurt it out, embarrassment tingling in your cheeks. "Bradley," you say, and he stops talking. "I'm not like, sick sick. I just...have my period and feel blah."

Something rustles like he's shifting the phone from one ear to the other. "Oh, sweetheart," he says. He's never called you that before. Your name, yes, and shortened versions of it, yes, but a pet name? Not really. You love it. "I can still buy you stuff for that. You might have to send me pictures of the brands you use, though, because there are so damn many in the aisle."

You will not cry. That would be very cliche of you, and frankly, this is what every girl deserves. But damn if your heart doesn't feel like it's bursting.

"You don't need to buy me anything," you say, softly. You will your shyness away. "But uh, if you don't mind sitting on the couch with a kind of grumpy girl watching nature documentaries all day, you could come over?"

"I absolutely do not mind doing that," he says and you feel like you can hear his smile. "I'll be over in an hour?"

It feels big, somehow, him coming over because you're on your period and feel like shit. Thus far you've spent time together doing things -- going to the Hard Deck or out to eat and, a few times so far, learning each other in bed. You haven't really had a lazy day.

So when he knocks, you slide in your socks to the door maybe a little too fast for the ache you feel all over. You forget that you're in ratty shorts and his sweatshirt until you open the door and he looks you up and down.

"Hi," he says. "Cute." You tug on the sleeves and scrunch up your nose, moving aside to let him in. It's then that you notice he's carrying a bag from the pharmacy.

"Bradley, I said you didn't have to buy anything." He toes off his shoes and shoots you an incredulous look.

"Well, don't get too excited," he says. "I didn't know what flavor of stuff you like so I went kind of basic. I can go get more if you hate all of it."

He sets the bag on your counter and starts to unpack it. You watch him as he does -- damp hair like he showered before he came, workout shorts and a t-shirt that looks oh-so-soft. The scars on his face stand out with his recent tan and you find one you haven't noticed before on his neck. It's fun, the newness of what you have. You're still learning him.

The counter is now full of various ice creams and sweet snacks, as well as some pain medication and...a lemon. "What is your favorite flavor, anyway?" he says, packing the cartons into your freezer.

You tell him and he taps his temple like he's storing it. "I'll remember next time."

Next time.

"Bradley," you mutter. He hears you, turning his head and shutting the freezer. "Thank you for coming over and bringing this stuff."

His eyes go soft and smiles your favorite Bradley smile so far -- it's soft, tender, pleased. "Of course," he says, reaching for you. You take a step and meet him halfway. One big hand tangles with yours and the other cups your jaw, thumb moving slowly over the skin of your cheek. "Thanks for letting me," he adds. He knows that you get shy, that you're still getting to know the private parts of each other.

He kisses you softly and you sigh into his mouth until a wave of cramps hits and you wince. Bradley pulls away with concern on his face until he puts it together. "Sorry," you say. He hushes you.

"Let me make you some of that lemon tea and then we can sit on the couch? I seem to remember you mentioning nature documentaries?" He taps your chin with a knuckle when you nod.

"I like the sound of that," you say.

You try to stay upright as you wait, you really do. But the cramps are coming in waves and you're tired, so you end up horizontal on the couch by the time Bradley brings over the mug.

"Oh," he says, frowning. "Do you want some meds?"

You shake your head. You already took some before he arrived. He puts the mug on your table and cracks his knuckles. The movement gives you an idea.

"Bradley," you say. "I have an idea." He sits on the edge of the couch and puts his hand on your knee.

"Anything."

"Your hands..." you swallow. The shyness creeps up your throat but you persevere. "If you put them here --" you pat your abdomen -- "they'd be like a heating pad."

"Say no more," he says. "Scoot." Bradley actually does all the arranging, settling himself between you and the back of the couch. Your legs tangle and he hooks his chin over your shoulder. "Here?" he asks, putting his hand over the waistband of your shorts.

"Yeah, almost." You can already feel the heat radiating from him and you move his palm so it's on your bare skin under your top, a few fingers sneaking under the waistband of your shorts. It should be sexy, honestly, and while it is intimate, more than anything it's comfortable. "Perfect," you sigh. It really is. He really is.

Bradley relaxes behind you and presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he says. "Now let's watch some badass shit about monkeys or something."

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