not requested but a mediocre something for the light of my life @gr-lestrade <3 love youu ///also i just want to say please keep in mind that everyone deals with dysphoria differently :( ///
Greg Comforts Y/N While They're on Their Period
Show: BBC Sherlock
TW: periods, graphic description of pain, dysphoria, mention of nausea, mention of anxiety
Character(s): Greg Lestrade, Y/N (gender-neutral, reader has uterus)
Groaning in pain, you tried to ignore the agony in your legs, back, tummy, pretty much everywhere and anywhere, while you lied down on the sofa. You were cold but you didn't dare move from your position in an attempt to try and resolve this, as for one, you were too tired and just couldn't be asked, and second, you couldn't risk more suffering by walking to the bedroom. E-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e s-t-e-p was like walking on shards of glass-
The ceiling looked quite interesting, and after pondering it for a bit, you must've fallen asleep because the next thing you knew, you could feel the weight of a duvet and a warm kiss on your forehead. You opened your eyes to see the one and only Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, for whom you put on the showcase of a rare smile during such an abysmal week.
Greg smiled back, standing at your bedside. "I was hoping not to wake you up. Found you on the sofa out like a light, but your little nose and feet were freezing."
"Well, I never would've gotten to wake up to your handsome face if I didn't wake up now," you reasoned, holding your arms out. "Cuddle?" you simply asked.
Greg didn't need to be asked twice. He gladly crawled into bed next to you and upon seeing him wearing your fluffy pink cat socks, you giggled.
"Your socks!" you pointed, sitting up.
"Oh, I wanted to match with you! Look," Greg said, slightly pulling the duvet up a bit to expose your fluffy-yellow-cat-socks-covered feet: the very doings of Greg himself.
To say the least, you were enamoured by this small gesture on his part, and filled with love, you laid your head in the crook of his neck and hugged him. "I love you," you mumbled.
"I love you too, darlin'," Greg replied, wrapping his strong arms around you and kissing the top of your head. You stayed cuddling like that for a while, before Greg asked you how you were feeling.
"Well, I do feel better after you came home, but everything still hurts," you grumble.
Greg, ever the lifesaver, had already placed a glass of water and some paracetamol on your bedside table.
The rest of the evening encompassed more cuddling, lots of kisses, pizza in bed, TV, Greg making sure you were staying well hydrated, and of course, painting each other's nails.
As soon as Greg put an arm around your waist, you froze, making Greg panic.
"What's wrong? Was it me? Oh my-"
"No, no just." A wave of dysphoria had rolled over you, making you feel both nauseous and anxious. "Hold me tight." You closed your eyes and Greg did as he was told, holding you close in his grip.
With his free hand, he stoked your hair and whispered soothing words to you, telling you how much you meant to him (a lot) and how captivating you were (very much so), while tracing words and shapes on your back and even the little things (like how much he likes the smell of your cologne, or how your freckles look like constellations).
When you recovered, you went back to cuddling on the sofa or in bed, wherever you chose, and Greg confirmed that he has your full consent henceforth if he wanted to hold you or cuddle or anything that made you sensitive.
He loves you and wanted to make sure he could do anything to ease your week, never afraid to show his passion and feelings for you.
