Cramped and Cranky
- Pairing: Y/N (Butcher’s niece) x Soldier Boy (Ben)
- Summary: Request: Y/N has more pain during her period after taking tempV. Nothing seems to help. So Ben offers a somewhat alternative solution.
- ⚠️ warnings⚠️ This story is NOT for everyone. 18+! MDNI! Sex during period, mentioning of blood.
- This request is so old I forgot who asked me and I can't seem to find the conversation anymore. It's has been sitting in my drafts for soooo long, I'm glad I finally finished it.
I have to be honest, I had no idea how to start this. Please if it's not your cup of tea do NOT read it. I hope the person who requested it finds it 🙈
- English isn't my first language.
- Please do not copy my work. Sharing, liking and comments are appreciated.
Read warnings before reading this story, this might gross some people out and it's totally ok.
You didn’t sign up for this.
Well, technically, you did. You agreed to help your uncle. Uncle Billy doesn’t ask for much unless it’s everything. And apparently, “everything” now included babysitting rhe most psychotic, narcissistic, 1940s man-child Supe in the country.
Soldier Boy was parked in front of the motel’s TV, flipping through channels like he owned the damn place. You were hunched in the kitchenette, gripping the counter like it might save you from the hellscape that was your uterus.
Temp V hadn’t just messed with your nerves and muscles — it had dialed your cycle up to demonic. You felt like your insides were staging a mutiny with knives.
“You okay?” Annie peeked in, concern knitted between her brows. “You look... pale. Have you tried working out? That sometimes helps.”
You whipped around, eyes flashing. “Working out? I can barely crawl to the bed, Annie. How the hell do you expect me to drag myself to a gym?!”
From the other side of the room, Soldier Boy chuckled low. “Well, there is another kind of workout, sweetcheeks. One where you don’t need to leave he bed."
Your face twisted in confusion — then realization.
You blinked. “Ew. That’s gross.”
Ben just shrugged, eyes still on the TV. “It gives the same endorphins as sports. Besides a little blood never hurt nobody.”
“Moisture is moisture,” he replied with a smirk, finally glancing over his shoulder at you. “If you need someone to lend a hand... or anything else, just yell.”
You gave him a withering glare before locking yourself in the bathroom with the loudest door slam you could muster.
The next few days were hell. Pain. Cramps. Nausea. Temp V withdrawal. More cramps. Soldier Boy’s suggestive comments. You’d screamed into a pillow more times than you cared to admit.
But on day four, you cracked.
You stumbled out of the barhroom, sweat-slick and dead-eyed, collapsing next to him on the couch. Your body felt like it had been through war, and even the shitty motel couch felt like heaven.
Ben raised a brow. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” you muttered. “Feel like it too.”
He shifted slightly to make room. “You here to take me up on that offer?”
You snorted weakly, resting your head back. “Only if you promise I'm not gonna to die halfway through.
“Sweetheart, I invented halfway through.”You cracked a tired smile. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
You shook your head, but you didn’t move. Not yet. You were too tired. Too sore. Too everything.
But for once, he didn’t push. He just turned the volume up and let you rest, the heat of him radiating against your arm.
Maybe, just maybe, this whole “babysitting” thing wasn’t entirely hell. Well not if he kept his mouth shut.
You sat there in silence for a long moment, eyes fixed on the screen but not really watching. Your body was a war zone, every nerve ending firing off like a bad fireworks display. Still, maybe it was the fever haze of pain or the desperation for anything to distract you that made you speak again.
“So... let’s just say someone wanted to... have sex while...” You gestured vaguely at your abdomen, grimacing. “You know. Theoretically, obviously.”
Ben slowly side-eyed you, his brow lifting. He reached forward and turned the volume on the TV down, a small smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.
“Theoretically?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” you said stiffly, arms crossed over your stomach. “Theoretically.”
“Well,” he started, casual like this was an after-dinner conversation and not completely unhinged. “Theoretically, it all stays the same. Boy meets girl..."
"Yeah I know the bees and birds crap Ben. I mean what about, you know the mess one might make." Ben shrugged. "Could put a towel in bed. Lay on top of that.”
Your expression twisted like he’d just suggested using a white couch. He noticed, of course. “Or,” he added smoothly, “the shower. Clean. No mess. No stains. Everything washes right off.”
You blinked at him. “The shower?”
He leaned back, one arm slung lazily over the couch, looking a little too pleased with himself. “Yeah. Hot water, slick bodies, less of the whole murder cleanup situation.”
You stared at him like he’d just done calculus in front of you. Then, suddenly doubling over with another sharp cramp, you grabbed your stomach and hissed through your teeth.
Ben didn’t move to help, just watched with a tinge of concern—and maybe, annoyingly, amusement. "You know way too much about this,” you groaned.
He shrugged one shoulder, all nonchalance. “A man learns things in seventy years. Some things stick.”
He grinned. “And you’re the one asking me how to bang on your period, theoretically.”
You let your head fall back against the cushion, hand still clutching your stomach. “God, I hate that this is somehow the most helpful conversation I’ve had all week.”
Ben reached for the remote again. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents. And for you I'm free of charge."
You snorted. “Yeah, okay. Let me survive this uterus apocalypse first.”
“Take your time, sweetcheeks. I ain’t going anywhere."
Later that night, the TV was playing some rerun he wasn’t watching, and the dim lamp by the bedside barely cut through the motel’s perpetual gloom. Ben’s attention flicked from the screen when he noticed you get up slowly, one hand on your lower back, the other cradling your stomach, and shuffle toward the bathroom.
“Need a hand?” he asked, voice light, teasing.
You grunted something that sounded suspiciously like *go to hell* and closed the bathroom door behind you.
Ben didn’t move. Not right away. But he listened.
You stood there for a moment, just breathing, one hand on the sink’s edge, staring at yourself in the mirror.
The cramps hit hard again, a sharp, twisting pain that pulled a whimper straight from your throat before you could stop it. You hated being weak. Hated needing help. But the pain was relentless — and, annoyingly, the stupid Supe lounging out there might be the only one who could distract you from it.
“Ben,” you called out, voice tight and shaky.
There was silence. Then the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.
The door creaked open a few inches. “Yes?” he asked, feigning innocence like he didn’t already know damn well what this was about.
You swallowed, trying to focus on anything other than how flushed your skin felt. “If we do this,” you started carefully, “if we try it, and I don’t like it—”
“We stop,” he finished easily, his voice softer than it had been all night. “Simple.”
You looked at him. Really looked. There was no smirk. No joke. Just heat behind his eyes and something unexpectedly patient.
You nodded once, lips pressed into a line. That was all he needed.
Without a word, he stepped inside and pulled the curtain back."After you."
You should’ve felt awkward dropping your towel. Shy. Something. But as the warm water ran down your skin and Ben stepped in behind you, tall and solid and radiating heat, all you felt was the faintest flutter of something else entirely—something that, for once, wasn’t pain.
“You sure?” he murmured, his voice close against your ear now, steam curling between you.
You took a breath, still clutching the edge of the shower wall for balance.
“No,” you admitted. “But I’m tired of hurting.”
The water poured steadily between you, steam curling around your bodies. Ben’s hands found your hips first — warm, steady, not rushing. You expected something crude, immediate. But instead, his touch was patient. Slow.
His fingers moved deliberately, rubbing small circles along your lower back, then upward between your shoulder blades. The tension in your body was impossible to miss — you were practically locked up, muscles clenched like you were bracing for pain.
“Relax,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “You’re tighter than a damn vice, sweetheart.”
You huffed, half a laugh, half frustration. “Yeah, well... maybe if you hurried up I wouldn't think about it too much. ”
Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough against your neck. “That’s not how this works,” he said, planting soft kisses against your damp skin, trailing down the curve of your shoulder. “If you don’t ease up, it won’t help. Your body would just be fighting me the whole time.”
You exhaled, long and slow, eyes fluttering shut. His mouth, his hands — they were still gentle, still coaxing instead of taking. It was disarming in a way you hadn’t expected from him.
You didn’t even notice you were leaning into him until you felt his chest against your back, solid and warm, anchoring you.
Then his hand moved lower. Fingertips brushing between your thighs, slow, testing, teasing. You stiffened instinctively and your hand shot down, grabbing his wrist.
“Relax,” he said again, softer this time, voice more coaxing than before. “I got you.” You held your breath for a beat. Then you let go. And just like that, the pain didn’t feel so loud anymore and you focussed on his touch.
When Ben felt you were ready — really ready — his hand gently guided your hip, turning you toward the tiled wall. His voice dropped, commanding but low, not cruel, just... certain.
“Bend over,” he murmured. “Hands on the wall.”
Your body hesitated. Just for a second. Because this — this — was Soldier Boy. And this moment wasn’t supposed to be this vulnerable. Not with him. But his touch was steady, patient. His warmth surrounded you.
The first moment he pressed against you, it was strange — not painful, not intense, just... surreal. The kind of moment you never imagined you’d live through. You braced yourself, heart hammering — and then he started to move.
Slow. Careful. Gentle in a way you didn’t think Ben even had in him. And for some reason you need to feel more of him. Gradually you moved to stand up straighter, wanting to feel his chest against your back while he dipped in and out slowly.
“Good girl,” he murmured against your neck, one hand steady on your waist, the other tracing light, grounding circles along your breast. “You’re doin’ so good. Just breathe. Relax.”
The words. His voice. They did something.
You started to move without thinking, syncing with the rhythm he set — gentle, measured, built more around soothing than pleasure, though somehow, it gave you both. Every time his hips met yours, another layer of pain peeled away, like your body was finally letting go.
“Ben,” you breathed, barely a whisper. He kissed the side of your neck, still cooing in that low, reverent voice. “I got you, sweet girl. I’m right here.”
And for the first time in days, you believed it.
You weren’t just easing the ache in your body — you were finally letting yourself feel something other than pain. You moved for him. Grinding against him. Guided by the sound of his voice and the heat he left on your skin.
And for once, in the middle of a shitty motel bathroom with a literal war relic whispering soft praise into your ear, you forgot the pain.
And then — he shifted just slightly, angle changing, and hit that spot that made you see stars. You cried out, a broken, breathless sound that echoed off the tiled walls, sharp but laced with something sweeter. Relief. Release.
Ben stilled for half a second, then his voice came low, rough, but tinged with a little smugness. “That it?” he asked against your ear, lips brushing skin.
“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, yes… oh god, yes.” It came out like a prayer, desperate and grateful all at once.
He adjusted his grip on your hips, grounding you with strong hands as he started to move faster — not rough, but with intent. Purpose. Each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, until your thoughts scattered like ash.
Your hands slipped a little against the wall, knees weakening with every stroke. And then you were gone — falling over the edge with a shuddering gasp, hips stuttering as pleasure rolled through you like a wave.
Ben followed right after, a sharp grunt of breath at your shoulder. He pulled out fast, just in time, one hand guiding himself down as he spilled into the tub with a low groan, keeping his other hand steady next to yours on the wall.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Just the sound of the water and your shaky breaths filled the space. You turned your head slightly, blinking back at him with your lips parted, legs still trembling beneath you.
He caught the look and softened — just barely — leaning in to press a kiss to your damp, overheated forehead.
“Take your time,” he murmured, voice gentle now. You nodded, still catching your breath, your fingers gripping the wall for one last moment of stability.
And for the first time in days, your body didn’t feel like a battleground.
The moment you walked out the bathroom you noticed the bed was semi made and a glass of wine on the nightstand. Ben was watching the tv but got up to guid you to the bed.
Instead of telling him to leave you alone, like you would have any other time, you held his arm will sliding into the bed. "I... I eh.." He smiled, a genuine soft smile and nodded, climbing in begin me.
You lay there in the quiet, wrapped in Ben’s warmth, his hand still gently moving over your belly. The pain had dulled to a low hum now, manageable, distant — and your mind had space to think again.
“…Why’d you do that?” you asked, voice soft against the hush of the room. He didn’t answer right away. His thumb kept drawing slow, absent-minded circles.
“My ex,” you added after a moment, “he would’ve never. Not when I was… like this.” Ben scoffed under his breath — not at you, but at the idea of the guy.
You turned slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder
“Why would you?” you asked. “Why not be grossed out or weird about it like every other guy?”
Ben’s hand stilled for a second before he pulled back just enough so you could fully turn and face him. He was propped slightly on one elbow now, looking down at you, serious — maybe more serious than you’d ever seen him.
“Real men don’t give a damn if you’re shaved, if it’s that time of the month, or any of that bullshit,” he said, voice low, firm. “Your bodies? They’re incredible. You carry life. You bleed, you break, you keep going anyway.”
He touched your face, knuckles brushing your cheek.
“If a man can’t handle that — can’t respect it? Then he’s not a man. He’s a coward. And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you, sweetcheeks.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how much weight his words carried — like he wasn’t just saying them to soothe you, but because he believed them.
Your fingers found the side of his chest, holding him there. You stared up into his eyes, the space between you almost buzzing with something new — something real.
Ben held your gaze, then leaned in, kissing you softer this time. Slower. And before you could even process it, he shifted, gently moving you onto your back, his body pressing against yours with care.
You felt him, hard and ready, But he didn't act on it — no rush, no teasing. Just heat and connection. Eye to eye. It was different now. He was different.
Or maybe it was you who saw felt something else for him. Something... deeper. More intimate. There was no pain this time. No tension. Just the soft sound of your breathing the quiet rhythm you fell into together.
Your fingers curled into his shoulder. He kissed you again. His forehead rested against yours, both of you quiet in the soft glow of the motel lamp, tangled together in the after heat.
You didn't move. You didn’t want to. You loved the weight the feeling of him close.
His hand brushed your side again, thumb stroking light, lazy patterns over your skin. There was something almost... reverent in the way he touched you now. Like he knew exactly how fragile this moment was, and didn’t want to be the one to break it.
“You’re not what I expected,” you said into the silence. He huffed, a soft laugh vibrating against your ribs. “You never took your time to get to know me.”
You glanced up at him, and he was already looking at you. That stupid cocky glint wasn’t there this time — just quiet intensity. “Still think I’m disgusting?” he asked with a half-smirk.
You smiled, lips quirking. “Maybe. But you’re disgustingly sweet, which might be worse.” He chuckled again and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Don’t go spreading that around.”
You were about to reply when — *bang*. The motel door slammed open. Ben didn't flinched, groaning like a man who already knew what was coming.
You scrambled to yank the sheet up as a very furious, very loud voice filled the room.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?!” Butcher stood in the doorway, eyes wide, face a redder shade of fury you didn’t know humans could turn.
“Uncle,” you said flatly, heart pounding. Ben didn’t move an inch from where he lay with you, one arm still slung across your waist. The other holding his weight above your head.
“Billy.” He said in his grumpy soldier boy voice.
Butcher’s gaze flicked between the both of you — you, flushed and half-buried in sheets; Ben, looking smug and completely unapologetic.
His eye twitched. “You were supposed to babysit him,” he snapped at you. "You told me to watch him." You shrugged. “Technically, I still am.”
Ben smirked. “She did a thorough job.”
“Jesus Christ,” Butcher muttered, already turning to walk out, probably to punch a wall or throw something. “I’m gonna be sick.” The door slammed again, leaving the two of you in stunned, awkward silence.
Then you burst out laughing. Ben looked amused seeing you feel so good but most importantly without pain. "So," he said. "How about a movie and wine?"
You kissed his lips and whispered "Sounds perfect."
Ben draped himself behind you facing the tv. He kissed your ear and whispered. "Just yell whenever it starts to hurt again. I place a few towels in bed."
You elbowed him and joked. "you’re disgusting".
