You and your boyfriend, Clay, had been dating for a few months now. He was as sweet as honey, always talking softly with you, always craving cuddles. Most of the time he was high, but when your parents came around he tried his best to sober up. You two never fully went all the way yet, it was early in the relationship and despite you two being college students, it was his boundary that he wanted to take things slowly. You respected that, especially since he more than made up for it by being sweet and romantic with you. Today though you'd been cramping pretty badly, laying on your couch and groaning in annoyance. If you could kill your uterus, you would. She was a bitch after all, a cruel bitch who was making you cramp and swell and you were hormonal. Switching between being desperate to be touched, and ugly sobbing feeling like nobody understood you. You knew it would pass, sniffling to yourself as you mumbled “stupid period”. You thought about taking some midol, or maybe having a heated blanket but they never fully helped. Never got rid of the pain and nausea enough to make it ok. Eventually you found a position on the couch that was comfortable, hand against your abdomen pressing up against the flesh where your ovaries laid under, one leg propped up, one leg draped off the side, other arm hanging over the arm of the couch. You looked like someone murdered you, but you were comfy and that's all that mattered. Until your sweetheart idiot boyfriend got up for the day and saw you in the living room. Clay knew by now when you were on your period, he knew your body language and words like muscle memory as he shook his head. “Babe, I thought we agreed on not dying today.” He joked softly, before moving out of the way just in time to avoid the throw pillow you launched at his head. The pillow landed on the kitchen counter, before he picked it up and tossed it over like some shitty basket he was trying to make. You'd be lying if it wasn't adorable to see him like that. The little swoosh motion of his hands and the way his shirt rode up slightly. If your own hormones weren't the reason your ovaries were going to explode, it would eventually be him. He drove you wild even if it was innocent and on accident half the time. Clay got himself a sprite from the fridge before opening it and taking a sip. He made his way over to where you were sprawled on the couch, lifting your legs up over his lap so he could sit down on the couch, a hand lazily rubbing against your calves. “So I'm guessing you just started today. You know I haven't lit up in a few hours if you wanna smoke with me.”