Indulging in myself rn, here is the goose gang with reader who tries to thug out period cramps (not projecting totally not...)
Court
He notices before you say anything. You’re quieter, movements tighter, and he registers it instantly.
“You’re hurting. Don’t tell me you’re not.” It’s not accusatory, just… certain.
He sits close, one arm draped over you, thumb rubbing slow circles against your side where it aches most. If you try to brush it off, he gives you a look. “You take care of everyone else. Let me do my job.”
Lowkey will threaten anyone who inconveniences you that day. Traffic? Annoying coworker? He’s already irritated on your behalf.
He guides you to the bed, stripping you down with efficient, gentle hands and sliding a warm heating pad over your lower belly. As he settles behind you, his large frame enveloping yours, he begins to massage your hips and lower back with firm, rhythmic pressure. "Just breathe for me, darling. I've got you.." he whispers against your ear, his voice a low rumble. The friction of his chest against your back and the heat of his palms eventually turn your pain into a dull throb, leading to a slow, languid session of grinding and heavy petting that focuses entirely on your pleasure and relief.
Colt
Immediately goes into over-the-top caretaker mode, but in a way that’s actually helpful.
“Okay, okay—what d'ya need? Snacks? Trash TV? Heated blanket? I’m your guy.” Tries to make you laugh when you’re curled up and miserable, doing dumb impressions or dramatic reenactments of your cramps like they’re an action scene.
When it gets really bad, he tones it down, brushing your hair back and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Hey… I got you. You don’t have to tough it out.”
He pulls you onto his lap, letting you lean your full weight against him while he rubs your stomach in slow, heavy circles. "You're acting all difficult because you're hurting, huh?" he teases, though his eyes are soft. When you moan into his neck, he shifts, sliding his hand down to massage the tension in your thighs. The intimacy is raw and grounded; he keeps the pace slow, focusing on deep, soul-searching kisses and the comforting weight of his body pressing you into the mattress until the cramps fade.
Lars
A little unsure at first, but deeply attentive once he understands.
He’ll research quietly—what helps cramps, what foods are good, how to make you comfortable—then carefully put it into practice.
Makes you tea, a bit nervous handing it over. “I read this might help. But you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.” If you grab his hand during a bad wave of pain, he freezes for half a second, then gently squeezes back, grounding you.
He spends an hour just kissing your forehead and temples before his hands wander lower, slipping beneath your clothes to provide warmth with his palms. "Does this feel better?" he asks in that soft, breathy tone. As he begins to stimulate you with slow, teasing fingers, he watches your expression intently, ensuring every touch is soothing. The resulting sex is slow and emotional, a rhythmic, sliding friction that makes you forget the pain in favor of the overwhelming warmth of his skin.
Ryland
Panics a little at first because he hates seeing you in pain.“Okay...scale of one to ten? No wait, that’s a dumb question, I can see it’s bad.”
Goes full mom mode trying to optimize your comfort—heat distribution, hydration, timing meds correctly. Talks to distract you, rambling softly about space or random facts when you’re curled against him.
Genuinely impressed by you. “You deal with this regularly? That’s… wildly unfair.”
He focuses on the sensitive spots he knows you love, using his tongue and lips on your skin to drive you crazy while his hand provides a steady, warming pressure to your abdomen. It’s a playful yet sensual encounter, ending in a slow, deep fuck that leaves you breathless and completely relaxed.
Driver
Doesn’t say much—but he’s there.
Notices the way you curl in on yourself and silently adjusts everything around you—lights dimmed, blanket pulled over you, water within reach.
If you wince, his jaw tightens slightly. He hates that he can’t fix it. “…Stay.” That’s all he says when you try to move away to hide it.
He spends a long time just holding you, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ear that grounds you. When he finally moves, it's to slide his hand under your shirt, his calloused palm radiating heat against your cramping muscles. "Sit still.." he commands softly, his voice a gravelly hum. He uses a combination of pressure and light, teasing touches to shift your focus from pain to arousal. The sex is quiet and intense, characterized by long silences and heavy breathing, as he fucks you with a slow, deliberate pace that feels like a physical cure.
Holland
Just thinks you’re in a mood until he sees you double over a little. Then it clicks and he panics, His late wife was very open about this so now he doesn't know what to do when you are being difficult.
“Oh—oh my god, is it… internal? Do we need a hospital? I’m not great with hospitals.” (idiot.)
You explain and he’s immediately hovering, but kind of clumsy about it. He tries to act like he’s got it handled, but he’s clearly winging it—still, he cares so much it comes through anyway.
When the cramps get really bad, he quiets down, presses a soft kiss to your hair. “Alright, alright… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Once he settles down, he becomes surprisingly attentive, using his expressive hands to massage your lower back with a focused, almost academic precision. "I've read that counter-pressure helps, so just tell me if I'm hitting the right spot, okay?" he asks, (he doesnt read someone told him when he panicked) his voice a mix of concern and eagerness. As the tension breaks and your moans shift from pain to pleasure, he lets his goofy idiotic side slide away, replacing it with a hungry, desperate need. He focuses on slow, wet kisses and a rhythmic, grinding friction that turns your discomfort into a sharp, needy heat, leaving you both tangled and breathless in a heap of blankets.
Sigh. I hate cramps.
