#1000 words

[omegashenangians]

I'm hitting Dennis with the trans beam specifically because I'm having awful cramps and would like to put him through my pains.

Anyway, Dennis with cramps and being upset because it's movie night with Jack! He doesn't want to be cramping and bloated while it's date night. So he's grumpy, in pain, and Jack just wants to help out a little... WC: 1000

Dennis is grumbling and huffing as he plops on the couch and lets Jack pull him back to chest to cuddle while he turns on the movie they chose to watch. There's the cramps and the bloating and everything else that comes with his period, but mostly he's upset about the emotions that come with it. Not only does it hurt, but he can't stop the tears when they start and he really hopes the action movie doesn't have any scenes that usually get the waterworks going.

They're only a few minutes into the movie when Jack lowers his arm to grab at Dennis' hip. He's been shifting around a lot, trying to get comfortable under their blanket. Nothings worked because nothing does work when his cramps get this bad.

"What's wrong, baby?" Jack asks. Dennis glares at the actor on the TV as he says some cheesy one-liner.

"Cramps."

"Ah." There's a shift and the hand on his hip moves to tease at the waistband of his shorts. "I mean... There's an easy way to help with that."

"I just shoved an ultra tampon into my vagina. Absolutely not."

"Are you telling me I can't play with my pussy?" Jack presses kisses to Dennis hair and temple. He keeps his hand exactly where Dennis stopped him. It would be nice if his hand was a little lower, where Dennis' uterus sat just so something was holding it. Something warm and there to put a little pressure and small comfort. It takes a minute for Jack's words to process.

"It's not your pussy." Dennis leaves off the "it's mine" part. The part that would stop it all together. Because, yeah orgasms always help with his cramps. They've been used time and time before to help. It's just the fact that he really doesn't want to cry and Jack has this way of pushing Dennis in such a way, it doesn't matter if how he plays with him. Dennis ends up crying. Usually it's good.

"Hm," Jack's hand lowers, the pinky teasing at Dennis' boxers, "You won't have to do anything. You can just sit there and watch the movie."

"Jack."

"Dennis." There's an explosion on the TV. Dennis watches as the characters scramble around. The pinky runs along the waistband. Jack's hand is in the perfect position for that warmth to help with his cramps, even just a little. It's a good comfort.

"Fine." The hand easily slipps into Dennis' shorts. Kisses trail up and down his neck as he shifted his hips so Jack can have easier access.

Dennis tries to keep his eyes on the TV and his mind focused on it, but it's hard. Jack sucks on his neck, keeps his fingers on either side of hi dick to slowly stroke, and occasionally mutters sweet nothings into his ear.

"For someone who said I could just watch the movie, you're talking an awful lot," Dennis says. Jack hums, fingers dipping to slip through his folds.

"Feels to me like you're enjoying it," he says. Dennis shivers as his vision slides from the TV. He tries to put up a facade. Tries to fake not paying attention to his boyfriend, but it doesn't work. Not when he moves his hand like that while he sucks a mark right behind his ear.

There's no more focus on the pain as Dennis rolls his hips, trying to get more friction from Jack's fingers. From anything, really. Jack responds with a chuckle as Dennis moans and tries to hide his face in Jack's neck. His lips press sloppy kisses as he keeps moving his hips in time with Jack's hands.

"There you go," Jack murmurs into his hair as Dennis grunts at a particular stroke, "Isn't that better?" Dennis nods as he sucks a hickey into Jack's skin. He's not supposed to leave marks where they're visible, but he knows he'll be forgiven for this one.

"Wanna come," Dennis huffs.

"Whenever you want, baby," Jack tells him. Dennis whines and Jack's fingers dip to collect more slick to ease the way again.

It doesn't take much longer for Dennis to bite onto Jack's neck as he comes, eyes squeezing shut as he keeps moving his hips. Jack keeps stroking him through it. When he lets go and squirms for release, Jack obliges. He moves his fingers away but not out.

There's a few minutes where Dennis is sitting there, panting into Jack's neck. Jack gives him soft kisses, says him how good he was, and rubs his free hand up and down Dennis' side.

"One more?" Dennis asks once his breathing is evened out. Jack hums and moves his fingers back.

He's teasing and stroking and Dennis is huffing and panting again. His hips twitch and try to pull away. Jack laughs outright and pins his hips in place with one hand. Dennis let's his head fall back against Jack's shoulder. His eyes stare up into the ceiling.

It's not the first time he's been overstimulated and it won't be the last. Compared to previous sessions, this is nothing. It's still enough to have him complaining it's too much while Jack only coos at him and keeps stroking.

Dennis asked for it. He'll see it through. Even though there's tears building in the corners of his eyes and that sets him off. Makes his hips jerk into Jack's hold as the tears fall and he comes for the second time, cunt fluttering while he cries.

"Good boy," Jack says, "There you are. See? Isn't that better?" Dennis groans and shakes his head. "Mhm. Liar."

Dennis sniffles and shakes his head again as Jack pulls his hand out of his boxers. There's a sucking sound as he cleans off his fingers before wiping them on Dennis' shorts.

"I didn't want to cry," Dennis hiccups. Jack holds him tighter. One arm moves and then a straw is pressed to his lips. He listens to the silent order and takes short sips to help calm himself down.

"You're alright," Jack soothes as Dennis drinks, "Does it still hurt?" Dennis shakes his head, unlatching from Jack's water bottle. Jack swipes away the tears. "Are we good?"

"Yes," Dennis says. Jack always needs a verbal answer to that one. "I'm just snotty now. And we don't know where we stopped paying attention!" Jack laughs as he reaches for the remote and the tissue box.

"We can start the whole movie over. It's alright, baby."

[epellucid]

[twin1twina]

I've had FFX-2 on my mind, so I drew the 1000 Words scene 🌩🌧🌩🌥⛅🌤☀️

[rockingrobin69]

well-defined

“What’s this?” to the pile on the kitchen table.

“A present,” Harry said, awfully innocent with the smile. “For you.”

Draco didn’t roll his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why—” would I want a lumpy jumper or possibly a whole wardrobe made of yarn. No, that was rude and not what he meant to say. Why—would you give me anything at all. But that was a bit open; Draco didn’t, er, do, open. Really. Not on a Sunday morning in the kitchen, barely nine and not enough caffeine.

“I just thought you’d like it,” Harry said. “You deserve a nice treat.”

“A nice,” Draco said, “treat,” choking a bit. Harry’s grin grew wider.

“Exactly. You’ve been working so hard, sweetheart.”

Dryly, “Have I.” The whole place smelled of coffee, of Harry, of garlic and thyme from last night’s dinner. His head was still spinning with the wine. With Harry here, morning-fuzzy, stayed over. Making coffee in Draco’s kitchen. Bringing—presents.

His grin was such a gentle thing. “You have,” he said, nonsensically. Draco swallowed.

“All right,” he said. Idiot.

“So, are you going to…” with his eyebrows, towards the lump. Something fluffy and dark green. Draco made his way like an inmate to the gallows, doom-laden, and it really was—yarn. A jumper, maybe. Did Harry make this, he thought, horrified.

“Did you,” no, he couldn’t. “Did—”

“You look like you’re about to have a heart attack,” Harry found it, somehow, funny. Coming closer, “Sweetheart, breathe.”

“What?” swatting away his hands, Harry could be so alarmingly tender in the worst of times and what if this was a gesture, a—

“Draco,” into the crook of his neck. “Breathe.”

Draco had been breathing, he thought. But this tight squeeze in his chest. Oh.

“Did you make this,” he eventually asked, defeated.

“What?” laughing, such a prick, at all times and unbearable, “of course not—sweetheart I wish I were this talented but your silly boyfriend is middling at best, craft-wise, and, oh, what, what did I say?”

To Draco’s face, mouth gaping like a fish. “Nothing,” he said.

“Nothing?”

With that eyebrow. Draco said, “Why did you get me a jumper?”

“Hmm? It’s not a jumper.”

“What,” oh. It did have an odd shape. For a jumper. It was really more of a throw cover, or something; Draco could never trust himself enough with definitions, all borders were spongy and sinuous and malleable and he was, ah, being corralled, boxed against the counter and the Harry.

“Sweetheart,” said the Harry. Draco blinked. Harry smiled at him.

“Yes?” testing it. The pet names were a new development. Draco was only half certain Harry even meant him, and they were alone in the kitchen.

“Sweetheart,” again, delighting in it.

Draco said, “Yes.”

Brighter, unbearable, “Sweetheart—”

“Fine, yes, yes, you got me, I’m—Harry, why?”

Harry laughed, impossible and reckless, and kissed the edge of Draco’s nose. “For your horrible sofa,” he said, like an explanation. “You always say how it’s scratchy and uncomfortable but you refuse to replace it, because—”

Borders and uncertainties, yes—

“—and I really want to snog you rotten but I can’t bear the thought of your bare arse on that fabric, so—”

“You can’t be serious, you’re not thinking of fabric when we—what do you mean snog me rotten—”

“I mean,” crowding him tighter, both hands on Draco’s face, fixing it forward, “snog you so spoiled and happy and loose you’d—you’d—”

Terrified, “So I’d what?”

Harry thumbed his bottom lip, a slow, deliberate motion. “You’d laugh,” he said. Shook his head, smiled. “You’ll be so loose and happy you’d want. To be mine.”

To be—Draco closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure. Which one of them was the greater fool. “Harry,” he said, pleadingly.

“I know,” Harry chuckled. Peppered his face with kisses, first the one cheek and then the other, the dip of his chin, the spot between his eyebrows. “I just. Sweetheart.”

Draco despaired of him. “Fine,” he said, taking Harry’s own chin to stare at his eyes, “fine,” again, stressing it. “I hear I’ve been working very hard.”

Harry’s eyes were so bright. “You have,” he said.

“And that I deserve a treat.”

Brutal, “You do.”

“And my horrible sofa might need a small upgrade.”

“It does,” laughing again, thank Merlin.

Draco didn’t really do open. Certainly not before nine in the morning at the kitchen counter, still smelling of garlic; dizzy with all this Harry-ness, silly and warm and terribly precious.

“You deserve only nice things,” Draco said, hoping he’s coherent, that there was any chance he’d be understood, “but nevertheless—you have me. I mean. I am. Yours.”

Harry leaned in to rest their foreheads together. He was so close, his breath was so warm, smelling of coffee. Draco swooned.

“And if you wanted to snog me rotten,” surrendered, “or anything else. I am yours.”

A shiver sent between them. Harry said, “You have no idea—sweetheart, all the things I want, you’ve no clue.”

“That’s all right,” Draco said. It was odd to feel the sturdier one for once. “You’ll tell me.”

“Yes. I will.”

“Darling,” Draco tried. Harry beamed at him. “I can’t believe you bought me a bloody blanket, come here,” and then they were kissing, and Draco had the sense he might be snogged rotten any moment now, so loose and happy and tittering with it, already on the edge of something frightening or other. It was still Sunday morning and there was yarn in his hands and it would probably clash terribly with his sofa. Harry had no eye for colour coordination. But he had other charms to him, certainly, a non-spongy, non-malleable fact. A well-defined shape fitting seamlessly in place.  

“Fiend,” Draco told him, when he was able to speak again. Harry licked him in response.

The cover remained a pile on the kitchen table. They made do with the horrible sofa, for now.   

In celebration of @phoebe-delia's existence.

[calaisreno]

100 Words: Chapter 23: Under Cover

Once, people looked at me. I danced, they watched. 

But there’s no one so invisible as an old woman. 

It’s my cover, my costume. Foolish old lady, nattering on.

Living here, with a detective and his doctor, it comes in handy at times. Not that those two ever ignore me. They’re both lovely, but they simply never knew Martha Sissons.

Sherlock says I would have made a good MI6 agent. I’ve never told him, obviously. He knows my past, the parts I’ll admit to. But I’ve never said what I was doing in Florida.

Or how I met his brother. 

Read on Ao3

Thank you for reading/reblogging! Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged ❤️

@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @copperplatebeech @lhrinchelsea

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @missdeliadili @redmondcollege

@naefelldaurk @chinike @peanitbear @raina-at @7-percent

@readingwithgwen @loves-to-read-fanfic @helloliriels @a-victorian-girl

[violenttulips]

Brave

For @drarrymicrofic. 1000 words, because a bingo square demanded it. 1k was hard for me after writing 50 word micros for so long—this is the most I’ve written in ages! Rated M for implied sexual content.

Draco adjusts his robes before knocking on Potter’s office door. He’s being stupid, Potter might not even be in there right now, Draco should come back another time. He won’t say yes, anyway. 

“Come in!” 

Fuck.

Draco pushes the door open. 

Harry is sitting behind his desk with a pile of parchment in front of him, but he looks up when Draco walks in and closes the door behind himself. 

“Draco,” he says, and he smiles that dazzling smile that crinkles his eyes behind his glasses. Oh, Draco is not going to survive this. “What brings you to my office this afternoon?” 

“I was wondering if you would, er, if you would…” 

Harry sets his quill down and focuses on him even more intently, giving him a curious look. It doesn’t help. 

“...be willing to speak to my seventh years about the ethics of Veritaserum use from a law enforcement perspective?” 

“Oh.” Harry takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “Yes, of course. When is your Advanced Potions class again?” 

One day, Draco is going to be brave enough to ask him the real question. 

**************************

“It’s not as if I can just…ask him out!” Harry vents through the Floo. 

Ron and Hermione look unimpressed. 

“Why not?” Hermione asks.

“We’ve been friends for years. If he’s not interested in me—” 

“Unlikely,” says Ron, rolling his eyes.  

“Or what if we date and it doesn’t work out and then we can’t work together anymore and one of us has to leave Hogwarts!” 

Hermione huffs. “You’re not teenagers anymore, Harry! You and Draco are both perfectly capable of behaving like adults after a breakup.” 

“Sure,” Harry mutters, thinking of the months Draco spent curled up on his sofa after his breakup with Stephen. They’d barely been friends then, five years ago now, but with Neville gone for that summer there really hadn’t been anyone else in the castle for him to go to. The memories aren’t bad. They started listening to professional Quidditch matches on the wireless and eating far too much ice cream, and, to both his surprise and delight, Neville came back to find them thick as thieves. 

“Harry.” Hermione pulls him out of his reverie. “Just ask him. Pining for years on end isn’t healthy. Even if he does turn you down—which is not what I expect to happen, mind you—at least you’ll have your answer and you can move on.” 

Ron nods encouragingly beside her. “She’s right, mate.” 

**************************

“Hey, Draco…” 

Neville freezes with his fork partway to his mouth. Is it actually happening? Is one of them actually going to make a move? Of course it’s going to be Harry, the brave Gryffindor. Hannah will to be so excited. 

“Are you, er—” Neville watches it happen; he panics and changes the question mid-sentence. Fuck. “Are you chaperoning Hogsmeade this weekend?” 

Draco doesn’t seem to notice. He takes a bite of his lemon tart before answering. “No, I was supposed to, but I’m doing a remedial lesson with a few of my struggling First and Second Years. I switched with Aurora. Are you?” 

“Yes, I switched with Filius to go this weekend so that I could, er, do something next time.” 

Smooth, Harry. 

Surprisingly, Draco doesn’t push it. Neville bites his own tongue. They have to figure this out on their own, Hannah always says. And she’s right, of course. 

Clang! 

Whoops. Neville hadn’t meant to drop his fork onto his plate with that much force. Both Harry and Draco turn to look at him. 

“Everything alright, Nev?” 

Neville forces a smile. “Sure, I’m just getting tired. I think I’ll head home for the night since I’m finally off nighttime patrol duty.” 

“Right,” Harry smiles back. “I’m sure Hannah will be thrilled to see more of you.” 

“Oh she will definitely be seeing more of me tonight,” Neville says with a wink, just to watch Harry blush. He does, beautifully. 

Draco just rolls his eyes. “Sod off, Longbottom,” he mutters. 

Grumpy, Neville thinks. Like someone who desperately needs to get laid. 

**************************

“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” Draco jumps out of Harry’s armchair and paces, long fingers buried in his hair making it stick up.

The announcer on the wireless continues to chatter about the match. Harry exchanges a look with Neville on the sofa beside him. 

“Do what?” he asks. 

Draco’s been increasingly on edge lately, and Harry doesn’t know why, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to find out. 

“Do you want to go out with me?” Draco turns around and glares at him. “Harry?” 

Harry swallows. Neville gets up from the sofa. “I think I’m just going to…” 

“Yes.” 

“...go.” Neville inches toward the door. 

“How long?” 

“What?” 

“How long have you wanted to go out with me?” 

Draco is advancing on him now, his expression still alarmingly angry. 

“I dunno.” Harry winces. “Ages.” 

“Why didn’t you ask me, Potter? You’re supposed to be brave!” 

Harry stands up to face him, so that their bodies are only inches apart. “I can be brave now,” he whispers, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. 

Draco slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth and a hand into his hair, like he’s been desperate to do this for ages. Harry grabs him by the waist and matches his energy, pulling him impossibly closer. 

The door closes, but Harry’s pretty sure he heard a whispered, “Yes!” just before it clicked shut. 

**************************

They collapse on Harry’s bed, sweaty and sated, bodies heavy as they untangle themselves. Harry casts a cleansing charm on both them and the sheets. Draco curls against his side, warm and happy. 

“I want you,” Harry says. 

“Oh, darling, you’ve had me.” Draco leans in to bite his ear and whisper salaciously, “Twice.” 

“No, I mean—Draco, I want to do this thing. I don’t want a casual fling with you. I want to be your, er.” 

He sounds so nervous, Draco takes pity on him. He supposes he can be brave, too. 

“I want that, too, Harry.” 

1000 Words, Onomatopoeia, Harry POV, Draco POV, Outside POV, POV Change, Present Tense, & Older Drarry. Turns out you can hit a lot of squares with 1k words! Also: BINGO!

[sleeplessshadows]

Transcription (Random Flash Fiction)

My name is Vince Grant. I am 24 and alone. I have no family. I have no friends. I have nobody. All I have is my job. All I have is this. And yet I find myself wondering why I even volunteered for such an unexciting position in the first place. 

I’ve been working on these audio recordings for what seems like the past few days or so. When they first hired me, they told me it would be a simple job. All I had to do was listen to the tapes and write down what was said. 

What they didn’t tell me was how damn tedious this all was. I’ve heard every single word in the fucking human vocabulary at least three times this day. And I’m barely done with the first couple of tapes. But who could I blame? I should’ve known that it was too good to be true. 

I mean, working from home? With benefits? Hell, I signed up as soon as they told me. And as soon as they hired me, I spent my sign-on bonus almost immediately on some cheap liquor and some “good” times. What I should’ve spent that money on was a better chair. 

It’s been almost a month now, and all I’ve got from this damn job is a guarantee of arthritis at some point in my future. But the pay is good. So I'd better stop complaining and just keep working. I mean, it’s better than others can say. 

I mean, my friends for one…

Or, well, the friends I had. The last time I saw or heard from them, they were looking down bottles of booze. We were all really struggling to find work. So it was really a miracle that I even found any. 

In any case, I haven’t heard from them in some time and I doubt it’s going any better. It makes me wonder where I would be if I hadn’t found this job. 

That’s when the horrid realization comes to mind. What in bloody hell am I doing? I just wasted this last hour or so complaining to myself. 

The laptop in front of me stared blankly. It was filled with white space. A whiteness that could blind your eyes. Meanwhile, the person in my ears continued to speak. The audio tape did not wait for me to catch up as it continued to ramble on and on. 

To be fair, it’s not my fault. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself lately. Or as lately as I often zone out mid-session. Most of these audio tapes are the same boring corporate lingo. They’re often recordings of corporate meetings or random academic interviews. A bunch of fancy words being thrown around all over. 

Frankly, I sometimes listen to them when I go to bed. They help fall asleep faster. A couple of words and I'm out. Mentions of depreciation, equity, and some liabilities are a great way to knock yourself out if you ask me. 

Anyways it’s probably a sign that I should take a damn break. I can start to feel my ears burning from how long I’ve had these damn headphones on. I yank the worn headphones off my ears. The headphones themselves have seen better days, but they’re all I have to work with. Even then, at least they weren't falling apart like my chair. 

I stand up. Slowly, because I don’t want to tumble from the quick movement. After sessions, I’m usually disoriented. I push myself away from the desk as I drop my headphones on it. My body moves heavily across the room as I enter the kitchen. 

Then the brilliant thought comes to mind. Maybe a snack could help wake me up. Afterwards, I can get back to work. I do need to get all those tapes done by this Sunday after all. I lean toward the fridge and hold it open. There isn't much inside. 

Except for a single slice of pizza. How fucking depressing. Reminds me of the rest of this damn apartment. Empty except for a few pieces of furniture and my work equipment. Well, beggars can’t be choosers.

In any case, I reach for the cold pizza. And I take a quick second to catch my breath. 

Crash!

What was that? It sounds like it came from my room. I’m not sure what to expect, but I walk away from the kitchen and drop the pizza slice onto a nearby counter. I slowly open the door to my room. 

And I find that it was one of the hinges on my desk breaking. Looks like the hinge made my whole desk collapse on itself. Great. Just what I needed right now. Guess it's a sign that I should get back to working. My head is still pounding, and my eyes are still heavy, but it wasn't like I had much of a choice. 

I sit down on my bed and put on the scratchy, annoying headphones once again. I grab my laptop from the broken desk and lean back into the bed. I press play on one of the audio recordings and begin to transcribe once more. 

My eyes are starting to feel like rocks dragging me down. My room is starting to fade to black. And now I can’t see anything anymore. But there’s something different. Something off. I open my eyes and look around. It’s nighttime outside, and the damn recording is still going. 

But… Now it's saying something different. Is it.. No..

The audio recording chirped while my ears were still burning. 

Your name is Vince Grant. You are 24 and alone. You have no family. You have no friends. You have nobody. All you have is this worthless job. All you have is discontent. So why did you volunteer to take this Boring. Unexciting. And Stupid Job?

[the-pessimists-paradigm]

• SLOW SIPPING | M.B. •

wc: 1001

a/n: my first madison fic! (also my first 1k wc?!) I noticed there's been a bit of a drought in her fics recently so I made a fluffy little contribution <3

summary: what would you do if Madison Beer showed up at your house one morning? you've been texting for weeks, but this is your first meeting in person.

⪻────𖤓────⪼

You never expected a famous singer songwriter to show up at your door at 7am, smelling like coffee and vanilla. Let alone, Madison Beer, dark brown locks shining, a subtle smirk that only accentuated her lip bite, a soft nose, a perfect-

laugh

"You gonna talk or what?"

God. You could hear the tease in her tone, the subtle tilt of her head, hazel eyes peering down at you. You exhaled, but her gaze kept you paralyzed, tiny sparks catching fire over your arms, face, and legs.

"I mean- I'm just...surprised, okay? It's not everyday an angel knocks on my door."

You stammered, ending with a pathetic scoff that did nothing to hide how starstruck you were. At this statement, she seemed to take a little pity on you, eyes softening as she replied.

"Look, y/n, I get why you called. We both needed distractions from our respective breakups, and I can't always be pouring myself into music. But we don't have to do anything yet, or even today, just let me know when you're ready. You do look adorable today, so sweet."

Not do anything? No way, you knew you deserved better than your ex. But would a rebound hookup really be worth it? Then again, it was THE Madison Beer. Maybe she had a few tricks up her sleeve, a few toys in her pocket.

You took a deep breath, fire melting your veins, fingers trembling with sweat.

"Madison, I don't want to make you uncomfortable either, let me know when you want to stop, and I'll stop."

You looked up at her, biting your lip, waves of heat crashing through your chest and thighs. Oh, fuck. She nodded with that trademark smirk and cooed:

"Alright baby, we can take it slow."

This woman. Did she know what she was doing to you? Could she have seen the shivers in your legs, the growing heat between your thighs? All from just being her calm, gentle, and assertive self. Besides, the grey hoodie she wore didn't really matter to you anyway, simple, comfy.

She entered your doorway, placed her bag by the dining table, and kneeled down to untie her shoes.

She smiled up at you.

"I wasn't sure if you took off your shoes here, I know some houses do."

You couldn't help but smile at her sweetness. After all, it was the respect and friendly smile that she showed on interviews that drew your interest. You tucked a strand of hair behind your glasses and replied:

"I appreciate the gesture regardless, would you like some water, maybe matcha?"

She nodded and sat at the dining table in the round wooden chair with white cushions. You felt her eyes on you as you poured water into the kettle, but she looked at the countertop plant when you nearly caught her gaze.

Madison Beer, shy? What universe were you in? Maybe she felt awkward or wasn't sure what to do? She did say she had a lot of social anxiety in an Elle interview. Crap, did you look bad?

The water boiled as you inspected your pink striped pajamas for any stains. Madison smiled again, eyes crinkled like the ribbon bow on gifts.

"I like your apartment, very bo-ho. Cute pajamas, by the way. Victoria's Secret?"

She tilted her head, pleased as you stirred the powder. You smiled in return, a nervous giggle and nod as you poured the boiling water into magenta rimmed mugs. Just as you were about to give a mug to her, she reached for it at the same time, her longer fingers brushing over your smaller ones.

You blew on the tea before taking slow sips, sometimes peeking at her above your cup. She mirrored you, standing by the fridge, leaning by the countertop, eyes fluttering as she sipped the tea.

"Madiso-"

Your hands trembled, you exhaled. You're just gonna ask to kiss her. Not a big deal. Who are you kidding? Wait, would that be too forward-

"Yeah, y/n?"

She asked, looking at you sideways as she put her cup in the sink, opening the tap to fill it with water. It would be easier to clean that way, nice of her to do that.

You looked up at her again, the blend of brown and green in her eyes a swirling comfort. This wouldn't be that hard, she even hung up her jacket by the coat rack and zipped it.

"W-Was the tea...good?"

You stuttered. Crap, way to flirt, safe though. Pools of warmth crowded your face as you glanced at her lips, then at your own shoes.

She bit her lip slightly to hold back a smile, leaning towards you just slightly, peeked at your lips before looking into your eyes. Her signature smirk was doing its job, subtle, like a mischievous cherub.

"Was that...all you wanted to ask, y/n?"

She replied, her smirk softening as she saw your averted eyes. You took a deep breath, it was time to shoot your shot, and a no was an acceptable answer as well.

You stepped towards her, gazing into those hazel eyes, her lashes were so long and dark. Her hair so dark and regal. Lips plush, nose dainty, elegant chin. Truly rare. Wait, were your lips chapped? Another swipe of balm wouldn't hurt.

"Madison, can I kiss you?"

She looked down at your lips as she nodded, cupping your face. Your breath hitched as you felt her fingers trace your cheeks. The second her lips grazed yours was heavenly, soft, somewhat commanding, gentle, tasted like strawberry mints. Your lips quivered as you held onto her arms, toned and warm. She clearly knew what she was doing, slow and teasing. God, everything about her was both comforting and exhilarating. You missed it right as it broke. She exhaled, looking back at you with a grin, eyes half lidded.

"You ready for more y/n?"

She brushed a hair from your face, a little drool from your lips. Your thoughts were blurring, thank the heavens you caught your breath.

"Yes, Madison, are you?"

You looked back up at her. Little did you know that a simple yes would be an amazing decision. Thankfully, you figured that out the next morning, tangled in sheets, skin, and her.

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