#it's a pack of three pads and i'm taking three classes so. perfect!

[supercantaloupe]

had a lovely afternoon out

[wol-fica]

-𝔼𝕩𝕔𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖-

pairings - taracarpenter x fem!reader

summary - tara and you are head over heels for eachother, but one trip away from New York could change that bliss…

warnings - 18+, eventual murder, eventual smut, eventual angst, fluff, clingy!tara

an - here we go with another series that will take 40 years for me to finish :)

———————

“Are you sure you’re good?” Tara asked yet again, sitting closely to you as you packed your suitcase. 

“Yes, I'm fine.” You said, turning to face her.

She looked tense, searching your face for any sign of hesitance or anxiety. You were leaving for a short trip to Canada for an internship program and would be gone for a week, so Tara made sure that you were 100% on leaving. 

The two of you have been dating for awhile now, hopelessly in love ever since you tripped on her backpack in your film studies class. She laughed at you, you smiled, that was the first spark you ever felt between you both. Tara was very certain about you, going from a closed off nobody, to a happy-go-lucky girl who swooned you head over heels. She had you wrapped around her finger; nowhere else you would rather be. 

“Just making sure.” She said, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

You grinned, resting your head on her shoulder as she wound her fingers into your hair. 

“I’m gonna miss you.” Tara said softly, watching as you relaxed against her.

“As will I.” You replied, leaning back so you were laying on your bed.

Tara joined you, tucking herself into your side as you opened your arm for her. A sigh pasted her lips, her head laying against your shoulder while you pulled her closer. 

You laid in silence for a while, just enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and one another in general. At one point, Tara moved so she was straddling you, her lips meeting yours as you cupped her cheeks.

“God, I'm really going to miss you.” She repeated before going back in for another kiss. 

You hummed, caressing her skin with the pads of your thumbs before you suddenly flipped her over onto her back. The look on her face of utter shock made you laugh and bury your face into her neck as you pressed your weight into her. Then you decided to tickle her.

“Y/N!!” Tara practically squealed as your fingers danced across her skin, “S-stop!”

Laughter filled the space as you tickled her, tears appearing in her eyes while she smiled. Time seemed to slow as you gazed at her, a smile gracing your lips while you stared. 

Tara was incredibly beautiful, with clear-tanned skin and dusty freckles that highlighted her gorgeous brown eyes, she was breathtaking to you. Her lips were a perfect cupid shape, extremely plump and kissable that had you melting into her every time she pressed them to yours. She was always on your mind, invading your senses from all angles just by walking into a room; it was crazy.

“Baby…” Tara whispered softly, her hands cupping your cheeks, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, pressing your lips to her forehead as a reassurance. She hummed, not believing your pitiful lie, and wrapped her arms around your waist to pull you to lay atop her.

“I’m not stupid.” She said, guiding your face into her neck, “What’s on your mind?”

“You.” You murmured, your voice muffled but Tara heard it clear as day.

“Me, huh.” She chuckled, kissing your shoulder, “How romantic.”

You sighed, sinking your weight into her while your breath fanned down her shirt. She held you close, rubbing a tender spot in between your shoulder blades that had you groaning in satisfaction. 

“Mmph…I gotta go soon.” You murmured, pushing yourself up by your arms so that you straddled Tara’s waist.

“Already?” 

“Yep, the plane departs in like three hours.” You said, fixing her shirt before hopping off of her to grab your bags, “Can’t miss it.”

“What if I kidnap you? Force you to stay.” Tara said, standing up to hand you your hoodie, “No one will ever know.”

You smiled, leaning in to softly kiss her lips. She immediately recuperated, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer. She was desperate, everytime you pulled back, she chased you down. You were breathless by the time you got away, Tara’s lipgloss smeared all over your mouth. 

“I have responsibilities, you know this.” You murmured, caressing her face with your thumbs, “I’ll call you every day though.”

She pouted, leaning into your hand as a final attempt to woo you over into staying. You chuckled, pecking her forehead before slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder and grabbing your suitcase. Tara followed you out of your apartment building, stopping to lean on the frame of the front door to watch you put your stuff in your car. 

“Don’t be sad my love.” You said to her after pulling her back into your arms, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded softly, gazing up at you with her big brown eyes. You bumped your nose against hers before kissing her softly, reaching up to cup her face and pull her closer. Her lips tasted of cherry coke and old lipgloss, the perfect combination that always made your heart beat a mile a minute. 

“Be safe.” She murmured against your mouth, halfway chasing your lips when you pulled away.

“I always will be.” You replied, pulling her into a hug and kissing her temple before you slid out of her arms, “I’ll call you once the plane lands.”

She nodded, waving at you as you got into your car and drove away. You honked the horn a few times, before disappearing around the corner. You knew she would miss you, desperately waiting for you to return. Tara had always been a super protective and clingy girlfriend, which was perfectly fine for you as you loved attention.

What you didn’t know though, was that all hell was going to break loose while you were gone….

——————————

comment below to be added to the taglist!

@cartierdreamx  @tundra1029 @red1culous @vorsdany @thatonesexymotherfucka @andsoigotabutterfly @theafterofnevermore @yomomisgay @house-of-lovin @slvt4lanadelrey @thenextdawn @nepobaby08 @dunohilly @somekindofpoet

[mandoalorian]

Loving You For You [Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord is struck with a panic attack when he's getting ready to shoot one of his famous infomercials. He's hit with the trauma of his youth and begins to spiral, until you, his loving partner, show him that it's okay to feel afraid and it's okay to find admittance in his struggles.

Warnings: descriptions of poverty, starvation, body dysmorphia, panic attack, general insecurity, brief mention of addiction (alcohol and gambling), brief mention of abuse.

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2000>

Author's note: So many of you loved 'Perfect to Me', which was about a reader who had their own body dysmorphia (you can find it in my Masterlist under ‘Maxwell Lord’, and asked me to write more. I put a little twist on things and wrote this, a one-shot in which Maxwell suffers from body dysmorphia and struggles to leave his past behind him. Reader discretion advised.

Masterlist

When Maxwell Lorenzano was 6 years old, he owned one pair of shorts and two t-shirts. He had no choice but to wear them throughout the coldest winter in history, his knees red raw from the cold, and they lasted him for two years until he quite literally was growing out of them. When he finally parted with them, his mother gifted him with a dark blue knitted sweater, and Maxwell swore it was the best present he'd ever received. He'd finally feel the warmth he craved so desperately. The warmth that other children got from their parents embrace...he was getting from an itchy sweater that smelt like cheap beer and cigarettes. But it was his, and it was all he had.

After Maxwell's father stole all of the money for his gambling and alcohol addiction, he left Mrs Lorenzano with just five pesetas to feed the small family for a week. The brown eyed boy remembered that winter as the worst one yet. The bedwetting had gotten bad again and he had never gone so hungry. He remembered his stomach rumbling in class and his cheeks would flush as the other kids teased and laughed at him for it. He remembered stealing a banana from another kid's packed lunch, getting caught, and told that if he continued to steal, he'd be nothing but a criminal low-life just like his father. But he was just hungry. His shoes had holes in them so his toes poked out. He bathed in a tin bucket once a week right up until he was a teenager.

And thirty years later, Maxwell Lorenzano, or Lord, as he now went by, was staring at himself in the full length bedroom mirror. Everything was perfect. He'd proved everyone back home wrong. He became someone. Someone esteemed, someone important and someone with a heightened self worth. People asked for his autograph in the street and preached to him about their love and admiration for his work. He was a man who could make dreams come true. Everything was perfect… or so it should've been.

It didn't fit. Maxwell picked at the way the pale pink polo shirt clung to his body. He turned to the side and sighed when he saw the way it highlighted his little tummy. He sucked in his breath, trying to flatten it, but it didn't really work. And for a split second he considered how many meals it would take to lose that little bit of weight. This whole outfit had been tailored for him just two weeks ago and it was perfect but now he hated it. He didn't just hate it. He felt disgusting.

It was weird. Sure his insecurity about his body image was rampant as he took in his appearance, but he didn't feel like himself.

Truthfully, when he changed his name from Lorenzano to Lord he had done it to start anew. That name was his father's and he wanted no association with the man who had abused and tormented him and his mother. But when Maxwell Lorenzano became Max Lord, it was like the struggle ended. He'd fought for so long and so hard trying to fit in with the modern-day example of a successful businessman. He was the least American all-American man. He dyed his hair blonde, even seeked a vocal coach to try and rid himself of his accent. And it worked. Everything was being handed to him on a silver plate. He was the coverboy of Forbes, the owner of three country clubs and day spas across America. The Wall Street Journal were constantly on his case, wanting to interview him. He was swimming in cash. He had everything he could ever want. But it wasn't him.

He felt like a fraud. A liar. A con-man. And as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he saw nothing but the broken little boy he was thirty years ago, wearing ill-fitted clothes and a fake smile. It wasn't meant to be like this. He was spiralling.

"Hey honey?" he heard your sweet voice call from the next room, your footsteps approaching down the corridor. His tense composure relaxed ever so slightly when he heard you coming, and he grabbed the white suit jacket from the top of the dresser, quickly pulling it over him. He didn't want you to see him like this. See his tummy and the way the stupid shirt didn't fit him the way it did two weeks ago. You'd seen him naked plenty of times and deep down Maxwell knew that you wouldn't care, but he just felt so vulnerable in his own skin. "The camera crew are waiting downstairs in the lobby and they're getting antsy," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration as you padded into the bedroom. "The director is insufferable, Max. I keep telling him this is your infomercial, not his, but he just-- hey, Max? Are you listening?" you narrowed your eyes with concern. Maxwell hadn't looked at you once since you walked into the room.

"Hmph? Oh yeah." he murmured, turning back around to see if his tummy poked out even wearing the white jacket over the shirt. It didn't, which was a relief for him, but the padded shoulders of the jacket made him look huge and boxy. And it was just another thing he began to hate about himself.

"Are you okay?" you asked, biting your lip and walking towards him. You wrapped your arms around his waist and placed your hands over his tummy. He winced. "Max?"

"Yeah I'm fine." he said quickly, pulling out of your grip and buttoning up the suit jacket.

As he was about to leave the bedroom to start shooting the latest infomercial for his company, Black Gold Cooperative, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. You popped open to the button of his suit jacket, freeing his tummy, not that you noticed. "You should keep the jacket undone," you hummed. "I like you in pink." You placed the palm of your hand on his chest and subconsciously began to brush him down, straightening his collar so he looked as smart as possible.

"I might get changed. Don't really like this outfit." Max muttered with a frown that made your heart ache.

"Wh-what? You loved it when you tried it on for me at the tailors the other week. And you look so good. Is there something going on?" you asked curiously as Maxwell stepped away from you.

He sighed in defeat (and slight frustration), before ripping the jacket off his body and letting it pool to the ground. "Look." he said, pointing his finger aimlessly at his tummy.

"What?" you asked, genuinely bewildered.

"Look." he repeated again, wiggling his ring clad finger this time.

"Maxie you gotta help me out here," you replied. "What am I looking at?" You noticed Maxwell's lips begin to quiver and tears prick his dark glazed eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat that he didn't realise he had before slapping his hand over his face in shame and breaking down into a heaving, sobbing mess. "Oh Max," you cooed, taking him in your arms and guiding him over to your bed. You sat him down on slid next to him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into your chest. "Baby what is it? You can talk to me."

"Nothing fits," he hiccuped, and you felt his tears dampen your own blouse. "I feel disgusting. I feel fake and. Disgusting. It fit two weeks ago- and now-"

"Max," you hushed him, running your fingers through his golden locks of hair. "It fits you perfectly. You look amazing, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your partner, I'm saying it because it really truly does. You look so handsome." you promised him.

"When I look in the mirror all I see is the old me. The me who wet the bed, who starved and stole and who couldn't save my mother from my father's horror and abuse. I moved here to escape it all, but it still haunts me. It follows me and I can't- I just want it to stop." Maxwell confessed, the tears now streaming down his face.

You had dated Max Lord for three years now, and you were both deeply in love with each other, but he had never quite opened up to you about his past trauma. You knew little things here and there but you never expected it to be so bad. Your boyfriend was suffering and you felt so helpless.

"I hate myself." he continued through a choked sob. He began to feel so constricted in his clothes, tugging his pink shirt. It felt like he couldn't breathe, and you saw the panic on his face.

"Hey, breathe with me. Let me help you." you whispered, cupping his face with your hand and wiping away his tears. He found himself subconsciously leaning into your touch and he followed your breathing. Inhale for seven seconds and then exhale. And repeat. It was working. As he followed your breathing, you gently began to undress him and as you discarded the garments of clothing he began to feel better.

Leaving him on the bed, you promised you'd be back in one second, quickly darting into the walk-in closet and bringing out some of his comfiest cashmere pyjamas.

"I- I can't," Maxwell panted. "I have to shoot the- the infomercial."

You shook your head, unfolding the pyjamas. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, okay? This is your infomercial. Not anyone else's."

"I can't let them down." Maxwell insisted, looking back at the clothes that were pooled on the floor. He had to be brave. For once he had to be brave.

"No," you said sternly. Maxwell looked at you with doe eyes. "I want you to change and get into bed. I'll be back in one minute, I'm just going to let the crew and the director know that we'll do this another day."

"Yeah but-" As always, Maxwell Lord was the most stubborn man on the planet. "I can do it. I can- I can-"

"Sweetheart," you whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead. "There's no shame in admitting when you can't do something. No shame in struggling. I love you all the same."

"You aren't embarrassed of me?" he sniffed wearily.

"How could I be? I feel like the luckiest person on the planet because I scored with you. You're the most amazing, gentle, compassionate guy I have ever met. Max, I wish the rest of the world got to see you the way I see you. You are perfect." you smiled and Maxwell felt his cheeks flush pink.

"I love you so much." he confessed, and you giggled, leaning in to brush your lips against his.

"I love you too," you smiled warmly, nudging your nose against his. "Get comfortable and I'll dismiss the crew. I'll bring a VHS up and we can watch a movie in bed too. Anything you fancy?"

Maxwell pondered for a second, trying to remember his wide selection of filmography he kept in one of the living room cabinets. He could always go with one of his favourites— a guilty pleasure he liked to indulge in when he craved comfort. "Breakfast at Tiffany's?" he asked with a hopeful glint in his eye.

"Oh yes, we haven't watched that one in a while! I'll make us both some herbal tea too," you exclaimed, handing him a comb so he could brush out all the hair product and reveal his natural waves. "We've been needing a movie day." you commented.

"Let's not do anything," Maxwell grinned. "For once. Let's just relax and cuddle and watch movies."

"I can't think of anything better." you smiled cheerily, pinching his cheek and giving him another kiss.

Permanent taglist: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat

[lethargicsunlight]

'Demon': Prologue ♡ BakugouXFem!Reader (Book 1)

Alright I'm doing it.

I'm doing the thing.

It literally keeps me awake at night I gotta write thisss *cough* okay

Originally I was only going to post this unto Wattpad, but getting traction on their website is a little more difficult than good ole' Tumblr, so I'll be posting it on both. Feel free to visit my Wattpad here: LINK if you want to support my writing on that end. (I would so appreciate it)

This post is going to run pretty long, as it will host both the prologue of the story and my author's notes. Just a heads up.

Summery:

A slow-burn action/romance where you begin in the bowels of a Villain base and rise up to join U.A.'s top Hero Class. This life was your choice. In the event of learning then losing the love of a friend, you make a decision that changes your reality at the core--to become an imposter among villains and bring them down from the inside out. The organization that ruined your premature perfect life was known as H.H., after their leader Head-Honcho. His crime of choice: intelligence. Training and conducting espionage agents and assassins across Japan as a means to further the dark underground network. Your training began at thirteen, after managing to impress the multi-faced villain with your stealth and your conviction. Rumors would soon spread through the dark alleys of Naruhata City of a masked assassin known as Demon, whose bare face could steal the souls of her targets. Everything appears to be going to plan; but the Hero Agencies you've been slipping information to are calling for an end to your superior sooner than you had anticipated. Your time as 'Demon' is limited. What will happen when your world comes crashing down? Where will you go, when everything you had known you helped to destroy?

AUTHOR'S NOTES

This is a slow burn fan-fic; and I am not italicizing those words without reason. This is going to be an agonizingly slow action-packed adventure-romance. This is a self-insert story, just like my three-part series 'Some Combat Training' (link) where you as the protagonist will not be described outside of being female, general physique, and a generalization of your uniform(s). Skin, hair, eyes, etc. will not be described at all--besides ambiguous adjectives. That said, I am taking liberties with physique and stature due to the nature of the story. You're abilities rely on stealth as well as close and fast combat, therefore you are described as 'small', 'lithe', 'athletic', and all of those other fancy little ninja woman words. Your personality has been shaped by the events of your life and the people within it; but if I were to describe it I would choose words like: Intelligent, determined, self-sacrificing, quiet, humble, and studious. The story will follow along with the anime for the most part starting at around the time of the USJ event, though at some point the story will branch off and become more my original concoction. (Such as, fast-forwarding the time-line to when the characters are older.) Some information about you as the protagonist will not be written here, as I plan for those to be revelations within the story. There will be angst, blood and gore, adult-humor, trauma, death, bad language and warnings will be listed with each chapter as needed. Feel free to comment on those chapters as soon as you see something that isn't mentioned that might make someone (if not yourself) feel uncomfortable. I will not be offended. This story is meant to get a little dark. Please comment if you can about your opinions! I have never posted an on-going fic before, and anything you have to say I would appreciate! <3 Now, please enjoy this short prologue~ Chapter 1 is being reviewed and edited, to be release very soon! 👹🖤⛓🔪💣 ...four...five...six.. You counted the footsteps behind your left ear, round the corner of the dim abandoned subway. You'd been stationary; still so long that your digits had all but numbed. Turn... one...two...three... The footsteps were distancing from the hall your attention had been set upon. A T-section, where the entity had gone down and away from your destination. You had to cross that 'T' to get to the junction--where you needed to leave a note completely undetected. The slightest mis-step would lead to suspicion. Suspicion would lead to investigation. Investigation lead to the five percent chance they could find that note--and no percentage was too small. It all hinged on absolute perfection. Nine...ten...eleven... This was their fifth round. A patrol. You had to make sure their movement were predictable before this would work--despite having successfully delivered the note fourty-two times and counting--you did not have the luxury of assumption. Only if their stride was even, only if you absolutely knew they were moving at a certain pattern, could you depend on the following information: It took fifteen steps before they would reach the broken light on their route. The haze of the dust and pollutants reflected in the working lights prior to that was your cover. Cross the 'T', leave the note, and cross it again. Out of sight and out of earshot, mission successful. Fourteen... f-- You turn, and it takes three steps to arrive at the drop to the tracks. You bunch and leap, and even the quietest friction of fabric from your uniform creases your brow. You land, just outside of the light's reach on the thin concrete slab beyond. Your eyes track the metals, the jutting wall tiles; that with which the barest touch could emit a sound--and you maneuver around them. Under, creeping low--and over, leaping to land on the balls of your feet and checking your balance before moving forward. Careful to not cast a shadow into the hall. Paced, so as not to move too quickly nor too slowly. Counting, because every second was controlled and calculated. You reach the juncture, and once again

edging the light you propel yourself to land back on the main thoroughfare. The next obstacle--removing the loose brick. Behind a metal bench centered between two closed-in stair cases, where the tile meets what had once been a decorative brick mosaic; eight bricks right and eighteen bricks up, was your note's destination. Just above your head, where you had to bend at an awkward angle to reach. Not practical, less detectable. You're wearing tight fabric gloves with grips on the pads, but thin enough you can feel the texture of the brick as you gently lace your fingers at each of the corners. Lifting, centering, and pulling the brick from its slot. Holding it just right, you can avoid the loud scrapes and grinds--but you have to hold it perfectly centered. Success. In goes the note. As does the brick, back into the wall. But you're only half-way done. Leap. Quiet, maneuver, avoid, measure. Silent. Leap. Hide. You're back is once again at the wall, the footsteps of the lackey you'd been avoiding closing in proximity to the Hall you'd just left. Four... five... six... Your eyes focus on the wall opposite of you as you ground yourself. The next few seconds determined a new reality. Either they followed their pattern, or they didn't. You had to be flexible. No assumptions. If they move towards the junction, you have to follow. If they move towards you, you'd calculate on your feet. Seven... eight... nine.. Turn. ...one...two...three.. You don't relax. Even after you count their steps to fifteen, even as you slip away back through the hall, even as you exit the unattended vent and breathe in fresh air--you don't relax until you're sitting on the floor in your room, calming down, your mask in your hands. After checking to make sure your door had not been opened, and no one had looked for you. No tracks in the dust. Only then do you allow yourself to ruminate on the contents of the note you had written, because you could still see every letter of it in your mind. ------ 55-1, Minami Senju 5-chome, Musutafu Target: Fukui Mitsuo Floor 8 3 AM. 7. Accompanied. Head. ------ For the briefest moment, you feel your hands shake. They always did on these nights. Realistically, you'd left no openings. Tested and re-tested every method. Calculated every movement. Left nothing to chance. But the 'what-if's' still linger, and you let them. The fear is good. It keeps you on your toes, your mind on edge, your tongue to the roof of your mouth. If he found out, you wouldn't know it until it was over. So you pretended he already did. Below you, underground in his base, plotting how to get at you when you were most vulnerable. Tear you to pieces, throw you in a pit or in a cage. No--too risky, he'd just kill you. A dead-end is better than a possibility. You'd learned that from him. You swallow, head turning so the amber morning sky is in your peripheral. All things considered, you would still unfortunately need sleep. You cherished the brief moments of sunlight and let your mind swim in the memories of your childhood spent in the daytime; before retiring to the broken and borrowed mattress. Seven days. You would check the location of your note in two. If there is another note in response, you would create a reactionary plan. The pattern continues. Until he finds out. ...Until he finds out.

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

Hello!! If your requests are open a draco x reader on her period apologies of its too cliche or whateva make it NSFW if you could I just got my period couple hours ago and I'm craving for all possible draco and reader fics where she's in pain coz who am I kidding...this is utter torture coz I don't have draco. :( and I'm ranting so please and thank you in advance if you write this😭😬😣😌😪😃

Bro I felt this on an entirely NEW LEVEL. Periods. Suck.

Warnings: Uh... Blood? And Nsfw

You were cramping

It fucking sucked

You gripped the edge of your desk trying not to scream from the pain and then it hit you

You needed to wear a pad or something.

You raised your hand and asked to use the bathroom and Snape said yes

But you grabbed a bag and he asked why you needed that

You just snapped and said "I'm a teenage girl. You've taken an anatomy class at some point. Take a wild guess."

Snape scowled but you just left and Fred was nearly pissing himself when he heard

You sat in your common room wanting to die and Draco found you.

"What's wrong Love?" He asked.

"Eve decided to pick a fucking apple so now I'm paying for her misdeed." You groaned.

"Aahh. Do you need chocolate?" He asked.

You sat up. "Chocolate!?" You asked.

He went to his room and came back with chocolate.

He also made you cocoa and gave you a heating pack.

"Draco it hurts." You whined, your head in his lap as he read.

"I know darling. I've heard Pansy explain in GRAPHIC detail what this is like." Draco said softly.

You groaned and curled into the fetal position.

Draco is honestly the boyfriend you want to have for this kind of thing

He keeps scrunchies and pads in his bag in case you need something

Along with chocolate.

It's usually dark chocolate because he prefers it. But he takes good care of you.

Course when you get... Particularly randy...

He doesn't want to put you in any more sort of pain (your legs are always sore after.)

So he asks that you be patient like a "good girl" and then uhm

Perhaps fucks your brains out afterwards.

You definitely will walk funny for a few days

You may or may not have to skip classes for a few days

All anyone knows is that Draco will come out of his room putting on his tie and they'll hear a thud followed by you stumbling out and him trying to help you

But you're always like "I'm fine!" Right before falling over

I honestly don't think he'd have a problem having sex on your period

He honestly just worries about your pains and cramps

The boy is always careful not to say the wrong thing in case you're emotional

(I don't know about you but my emotions tend to be all over the place on my period)

He still makes you cry because he's so fucking considerate and it upsets you because you feel like you're being an ass

Draco apologizes for making you cry

You cry more

He's sitting there like "fuck fuck fuck-- what do I do!?"

He treats you like a QUEEN

If any of the boys tell you "you're over reacting" Draco will actually fight them

Like he has actually punched a boy for saying something afterwards

After three days/a week you're finally back to normal and you're apologizing non-stop

He's always telling you "Darling, you're fine. Stop."

And you're like "But I was a bitch, and I don't deserve you"

And he's always like "Darling, you go through and bleed non-stop for three days/a week. If I were in your shoes I might DIE. You're not overreacting. You're perfect just the way you are"

Draco honest to God is not too upset over the way you act on your period

He's patient and occasionally tries to make jokes to bring you out of your "the world can bite my ass" bit.

Which it works. Because it's Draco.

Honestly. He's a amazingly perceptive over it