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one of my favorite tropes in chinese literature is when a guyâs wife is clearly a ghost/demon/fox fairy and he just canât see it. iâm reading a story where this guy keeps getting arrested because his wife will just magically steal steal shit out of sealed boxes and give it to him as a present, and whenever someone is like dude i think somethingâs up with his wife he asks her and sheâs like iâm literally normal. so he turns around and says yeah guys sheâs literally normal
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Y'all for real please do these. Even if you're certain your posture doesn't suck. One day you will wake up with impinged shoulder pain like I did and let me tell you it fucking HURTS. Do these exercises even just once a week and it will make such a difference. Especially my fellow creatives out there, stop shrimping over your work and go do these right now. RIGHT NOW.
male entitlement in academic spaces is so boring. canât tell you how many times iâve been in a class and a girl gives a short, insightful analysis, and then a dude raises his hand and says âjumping off of thatâŠâ then says literally the same thing she said but longer and worse.
I hate to be that guy, but it doesnât just happen to women. The assholes who do that will do that to anyone whoâs analysis isnât sufficiently complex and long winded for them.Â
Been done to me by people of both genders.Â
Also I have been guilty of doing this, so I apologize. Because I was overly excited and just couldnât wait to talkâŠ. yeah.Â
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âàœČ âż đąđŹđĄ. a tender chronicle of two souls intertwined through secret languages and stolen kisses, as they shatter beneath society's frost only to thaw into truth under courage's warm light.âââââââââââââââ
[cw.] â a narrative shaped by Spring Into Summer by lizzy mcalpine; an au where the crash never occurred. jackie, constrained by compulsory heteronormativity, navigates the complexities of longing and self-discovery in 1996âs quiet ache.
jackie taylor was born in december, a winter child with snowflakes in her hair and frost on her eyelashes. you could see it in her eyesâhazelnut blonde, wide and unblinking, framed with lashes so thick they cast shadows on her cheeksâthe innate understanding that beauty was both weapon and armor. she resembled a wide-eyed doll come to life, porcelain-perfect and untouchable, a girl who learned early how to smile just right, how to laugh at jokes that weren't funny, how to hold herself with the straight-backed posture of someone who knew she was being watched.
you were born in april, a spring child with pollen dusting your shoulders and petals unfurling in your lungs. your curls were the color of soil after rain, rich and earthy, framing a face that was all soft planes and curious eyes. you had lips that naturally pouted, as if perpetually on the verge of asking another question. while jackie stood straight, you moved like water finding its way downhill, following currents invisible to others, bending but never breaking.
the first time you met, you were both four years old, playing in a sandbox that was really just a glorified cat litter box behind wiskayok elementary's pre-k building. jackie had a plastic shovel and a determination to build the perfect castle. you had nothing but your hands and an imagination that transformed each grain of sand into universes.
"you're doing it wrong," jackie said, watching you pat formless mounds with your palms.
you looked up, squinting against the late summer sun, and replied, "there's no wrong way to play."
jackie considered this with the serious expression of a child contemplating philosophy for the first time. then she handed you her extra bucket.
"here. now you can make towers."
instead, you filled the bucket with dandelions and placed it atop her meticulous castle like a crown.
that was how it beganâthe bunny and the doe, an unlikely pair bound by the mysterious gravity that draws children together before they learn to question why they like who they like.
â
in the arithmetic of childhood friendships, you and jackie defied every equation. she was all clean lines and planned adventures; you were smudged margins and spontaneous detours. she collected friends like trading cards, carefully arranged and displayed; you collected stories and kept them pressed between the pages of your mind like wildflowers.
jackie's house was a showcase of suburban aspirationâgleaming hardwood floors that her mother polished every sunday, furniture arranged at perfect right angles, family photos in matched frames documenting their collective perfection. the refrigerator door was a museum of accomplishments; jackie's straight-A report cards, certificates of achievement, newspaper clippings of her youth soccer victories.
your house was a labyrinth of booksâstacked on stairs, teetering on tables, forming makeshift furniture of their own. your father, an english professor, believed in the sanctity of the written word; your mother, a nurse with the soul of a poet, believed in the healing power of stories. they gave you a childhood scripted by dickens and alcott and austen, letting you run wild through fictional worlds when the real one seemed too constrained.
in jackie's bedroom, everything had its place. trophies on shelves, stuffed animals arranged by size, clothes sorted by color and season. you spent countless afternoons lying on her pink carpet, watching her organize her life into perfect compartments while you read aloud from whatever book had captured your imagination that week.
"don't you ever get bored?" jackie asked once, sitting at her vanity, practicing french braids on her own hair. "reading about other people's lives instead of living your own?"
you looked up from your dog-eared copy of "anne of green gables" and said, "i'm not reading about other people's lives. i'm living a thousand lives in addition to my own."
jackie's expression flickered between confusion and fascination. "i don't think i could ever be like you," she said finally.
"why would you want to be?" you asked. "i already have me. the world needs you to be jackie."
she smiled at that, a rare genuine smile that reached her bunny eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. "you're so weird," she said, but she said it like it was a compliment.
in your room, books formed a fortress around your bed. posters of the cranberries and your favorite french movies covered the walls. your dresser was a archaeological dig of half-finished stories written in notebooks, fragments of poems on loose paper, quotes copied from favorite books onto index cards.
"how do you find anything in here?" jackie would ask, perched primly on the edge of your unmade bed, afraid to disturb the creative chaos.
"i don't find things," you'd reply. "things find me when i need them."
she'd roll her eyes but submit to the ritual of lying beside you on the floor, heads close together, while you pointed out shapes in the textured ceiling and spun stories about cloud kingdoms and star wars, years before either of you had heard of george lucas.
between your houses lay wiskayok itselfâa town too small to hide in but too big to truly know everyone. you navigated its streets like parallel rivers, sometimes converging, sometimes diverging, but always flowing toward some shared, unnamed sea.
the summer before sixth grade was the summer of secret languages. twelve years old, teetering on the precipice between childhood and something more complex, you and jackie created ways to communicate that no one else could understand.
it began with a simple codeâreplacing letters with numbers, leaving notes in each other's lockers, giggling when others couldn't decipher them. then came the elaborate hand signals, each flick of a wrist or tap of fingers conveying entire sentences. by july, you had developed an entire vocabulary of facial expressions, able to conduct silent conversations across crowded rooms.
it was also the summer jackie's body began its betrayal, developing before yours in ways that drew new kinds of attention. boys who had pulled her hair in fourth grade now found reasons to stand close to her, to brush against her in hallways. girls who had been friendly rivals now measured themselves against her, finding themselves wanting.
you watched this metamorphosis with a scientist's curiosity and a poet's heart, cataloging the changes in your best friend like phases of the moon. the way she started wearing her hair down instead of in the practical ponytail of her soccer-playing days. the careful application of lip gloss where once she'd just slathered on cherry chapstick. the measured pace of her walk, slowed from its former eager bounce to something more deliberate, more aware.
"do you think i'm pretty?" she asked one night, both of you lying on the trampoline in her backyard, the august sky a tapestry of stars above you.
"you know you are," you answered, turning to study her profile in the dim glow of distant porch lights.
"no, but do you think i'm pretty?" her voice had an urgency to it, a need that transcended the typical reassurance-seeking of preteen girls.
you propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at her faceâthose wide eyes reflecting pinpricks of starlight, that perfect nose, those lips now slightly parted in anticipation of your answer.
"i think you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen," you said, the truth spilling out before you could filter it through the appropriate lens of girlhood friendship.
her face changed then, softened and opened like a night-blooming flower. "show me," she whispered.
and there, beneath the indifferent gaze of distant galaxies, you leaned down and pressed your lips to hers in a kiss that lasted three heartbeatsâone for courage, one for discovery, one for a revelation neither of you was ready to name.
when you pulled away, jackie's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, her lashes dark crescents against her cheeks. when she opened them, there was a new language being born between you, one with no words or gestures, one written in quickened pulses and hitched breaths.
"we should practice," she said finally, pragmatic even in this uncharted territory. "for when we kiss boys."
"for boys," you agreed, though even then, you knew no boy's lips would ever fit against yours the way jackie's did.
that became another secret languageâkisses stolen in the shadows of her basement during movie nights, in the back corner of the library behind the reference section, in the equipment shed after soccer practice when everyone else had gone home. always under the guise of "practice," always followed by giggles and performance reviews, as if you were merely rehearsing for some future that required this skill.
by the time school started again, you had become fluent in each other, able to translate the slightest change in breathing, the smallest shift in posture. it was a dictionary written in skin and breath, a grammar of touch and taste.
a language destined to become a dead one far sooner than either of you could have imagined.
â
eighth grade arrived with the subtle seismic shifts of tectonic platesâimperceptible to most, but you felt the tremors beneath your feet. jackie joined the advanced soccer team, began spending weekends at tournaments in neighboring towns. you joined the literary magazine, disappearing into the cocoon of the newspaper office during lunch periods.
the kisses became less frequent, though more intense when they happened. there was a desperation to them now, as if jackie was trying to memorize the feel of you before something took you away from her.
"jeff sadecki asked me to the harvest dance," she told you one october afternoon. you were lying on your stomachs in her bedroom, algebra homework spread before you, though neither of you had written anything for twenty minutes.
"are you going to go?" you asked, carefully keeping your voice neutral, tracing the edge of your textbook with one finger.
"i think so," she said, watching your finger move. "my mom would literally explode with joy. she's been hinting about me and jeff since his mom and her started that book club."
you nodded, understanding the invisible architecture of expectations that had been built around jackie since birth. good grades. soccer excellence. student council. and now, the perfect boyfriendâhandsome enough, smart enough, from the right kind of family. jeff sadecki with his easy smile and varsity jacket already as an eighth grader, being groomed for high school glory just as jackie was.
"he's nice," you offered, because it was true, and because you knew that was what jackie needed to hear.
"yeah," she agreed, not meeting your eyes. "he's nice."
that night, when she kissed you goodbye at your front doorâa risky move given the well-lit porch and curtainless windowsâthere was a finality to it that made your chest ache.
"just because i'm going to the dance with him doesn't mean anything changes with us," she whispered against your lips.
but you were the reader of stories, the one who could see foreshadowing in everyday moments, who understood the inevitable trajectory of narrative arcs. you knew an ending when you tasted one.
"nothing ever stays the same, jackie," you said, pulling back to look into those bunny eyes, now shining with unshed tears. "that's okay. that's how life works."
she shook her head, suddenly fierce. "not us. we're different."
you wanted to believe her. for a moment, standing there with her cold hands framing your face, you almost did.
the fault lines continued to spread throughout that year. jeff became jackie's boyfriend in the official, going-steady sense. you started spending lunches with lottie, who shared your interest in astrology and tarot, and laura lee, whose fervent christianity somehow complemented your more pagan sensibilities rather than clashing with it. different lunch tables became different social circles became different weekend activities.
the last time you and jackie kissed was the night before high school started. she had come to your house, unexpected, climbing the tree outside your window like she used to do in elementary school when her parents were fighting and she needed escape.
"i'm scared," she admitted, sitting cross-legged on your bed, looking smaller than she had in months.
"of high school?" you asked, closing the book you'd been reading.
she shook her head. "of everything. of not being good enough. of being exactly what everyone expects and nothing more. ofâ" she paused, looking down at her hands. "of how i feel when I'm with you."
the confession hung between you, heavier than any silence you'd shared.
"how do you feel when you're with me?" you asked, though you knew. of course you knew. you felt it tooâthe rightness, the completion, the sense of coming home that no other friendship or relationship had ever given you.
"like i'm real," she whispered. "like i don't have to pretend."
you moved then, crossing the small distance between you, taking her face in your hands as she had held yours so many times. "you never have to pretend with me."
the kiss that followed was different from all the othersânot practice, not play, but promise. a vow written in the press of lips and the tangle of tongues, in the way her hands fisted in your shirt and yours threaded through her hair. you tasted salt and realized she was crying, or maybe you both were, tears mingling in the seam where your mouths met.
when you finally broke apart, breathing hard, foreheads still touching, jackie spoke words that would echo through the empty corridors of your future;
"i can't be this. i'm sorry, but i can't."
"this?" you gestured between you. "you mean being friends?"
"you know that's not what i mean." her voice dropped to a whisper. "the other stuff. it has to stop. it'sâit's not right."
the words landed like a slap. "not right?"
"it's disgusting," she said, but her voice wavered on the word, betraying the lie. "i'm with jeff now. i think i love him."
you stepped back as if burned. "you don't mean that."
"i do," she insisted. "we're not kids anymore. it's time to grow up."
high school dawned crisp and clear, a perfect september morning that felt like a mockery of your shattered heart. the hallways of wiskayok high were wider than those of the middle school, the ceilings higher, the social hierarchies more rigidly enforced. by lunchtime on the first day, everyone knew their placeâor at least, knew where they were supposed to aspire to sit.
jackie slid effortlessly into her predetermined role; freshman soccer star, girlfriend of sophomore football player jeff sadecki, potential homecoming court material despite her young age. she walked the halls with a confidence that looked genuine to everyone who hadn't spent a decade learning her tellsâthe slight tension in her shoulders, the too-wide smile, the way she checked her reflection in every available surface.
you found your niche in the spaces between expectations. too smart to be dismissed, too pretty in your unconventional way to be entirely outcast, too unapologetically yourself to be fully embraced by any single clique. you spent your lunch periods in the library or the courtyard with lottie and laura lee, an unlikely trio bound by your shared appreciation for the mysteries that existed just beyond the veil of everyday life.
lottie, with her dark eyes that seemed to see straight through pretense, never asked why you flinched when Jackie and her soccer teammates passed your table. laura lee, whose faith gave her a compassion rare in the gladiatorial arena of high school, simply passed you extra cookies from her immaculately packed lunch on the days when jackie and jeff were particularly demonstrative in the hallways.
you watched from a distance as jackie became more polished, more perfect, more packaged for public consumption. her natural grace on the soccer field translated to a carefully choreographed performance of ideal teenage girlhood off it. by sophomore year, she was captain of the jv team, dating the varsity quarterback, maintaining a gpa that kept her solidly in the top ten percent without threatening the true academic overachievers.
you bloomed differentlyâunfurling rather than constructing, growing toward whatever light called to you rather than the one you were expected to seek. your essays won state competitions. your poems were published in literary journals that usually only accepted college students' work. a short story you wrote about two childhood friends who communicated through a secret language earned you a summer workshop at the state university, where professors spoke of your voice as "astonishingly mature" and "hauntingly authentic."
for two years, you and jackie enacted an elaborate performance of polite distance. you acknowledged each other with nods in hallways, exchanged bland pleasantries when mutual activities forced interaction. to outsiders, you were former friends who had drifted apart as childhood companions often do. only you knew the truth of what had been lost.
until junior year, when the fault lines that had been dormant suddenly ruptured.
â
it happened at shauna shipman's halloween party, one of those high school gatherings that seemed destined for disaster from its conception. parents out of town, a house too nice to risk trashing but too tempting not to use, alcohol flowing freely despite most attendees being years from legal drinking age.
you hadn't planned to go. parties were jackie's domain, not yours. but lottie had insisted, claiming the veil between worlds was thinnest on halloween, and what better place to observe the unmasking of true selves than at a costume party?
so there you were, dressed as ophelia in the depths of her madnessâflower crown askew on your curls, vintage nightgown artfully torn and stained with watercolors to suggest river water, eyes dramatically lined to hint at beautiful despair.
"bit on the nose, isn't it?" lottie commented when she picked you up, herself resplendent as some pagan goddess with antlers woven into her dark hair.
"literature is always on the nose," you replied. "that's why it hurts so much."
you didn't plan to stay longâjust enough to appease lottie, maybe talk to a few people from your ap literature class who might appreciate your costume's details. what you didn't plan for was jackie, three drinks past her usual limit, dressed as a playboy bunnyâan outfit that played up both her soccer-toned body and the nickname you had given her so many years ago.
she saw you from across the room, those wide eyes growing impossibly wider. for a moment, the carefully constructed mask slipped, and you saw your jackieâthe girl who had handed you a sand bucket, who had let you read aloud for hours, who had kissed you beneath a canopy of stars.
then jeff's arm slid around her waist, and the mask snapped back into place.
you retreated to the relative quiet of the kitchen, hoping to find water or perhaps even a quieter exit. instead, you found yourself cornered by travis, a quiet boy from your calculus class who had been working up the courage to talk to you for weeks.
"your costume is amazing," he said, sincerity evident in his voice. "you actually look like you stepped out of a pre-raphaelite painting."
you smiled, genuinely surprised by his art history reference. "thank you. i wasn't sure anyone would get it."
"i did a project on millais last year," he explained, then launched into an enthusiastic if slightly nervous discussion of victorian art that was actually interesting enough to distract you from your desire to leave.
you didn't notice jackie watching from the doorway, her bunny ears askew, her eyes narrowed with an emotion too complex to name.
later, you would piece together what happened from fragmented accounts and your own blurred memories; jackie, drunk and emotional, confronting jeff about some perceived slight. jeff, equally intoxicated, saying something careless. jackie, storming off to the bathroom. you, excusing yourself from travis to get some air on the back porch. the paths crossing in the hallway.
"having fun with travis?" jackie's voice had an edge you'd never heard before.
"he's nice," you said, echoing her words about jeff from so long ago.
"nice," she repeated, almost sneering. "is that what you want? nice?"
"what do you think i want, jackie?" the question came out tired rather than confrontational.
she stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the vodka cranberries on her breath, could see the smudge in her otherwise perfect eyeliner. "i think you want what you can't have."
"that's rich, coming from you."
"what is that supposed to mean?"
"it means you're the one who walked away, not me." the words came out sharper than you intended, years of carefully contained hurt suddenly finding release.
jackie's face contorted, a kaleidoscope of emotions shifting too quickly to track. "you think i wanted to? you think i had a choice?"
"we all have choices, jackie. every day."
"easy for you to say." her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "you get to be you. free and artistic and not caring what anyone thinks. i don't have that luxury."
"it's not a luxury. it's courage."
she recoiled as if slapped. "so i'm a coward now?"
"i didn't say that."
"you didn't have to." jackie's eyes filled with tears that she angrily blinked away. "you've always been so fucking superior, haven't you? so sure you know everything about everyone's heart."
"i never claimed to know everything," you said quietly. "just yours."
something broke in her expression thenâthe final wall crumbling. "you don't, though. you don't know what it's like to feel like you're rotting from the inside out. to know that everything you're supposed to want, everything you've been raised to chase, feels like ash in your mouth compared toâ" she stopped abruptly.
"compared to what, jackie?"
"compared to one minute with you," she whispered, defeat and revelation mingling in her voice.
what happened next was inevitable as gravityâher hands finding your face, your bodies colliding against the hallway wall, mouths meeting with the desperate hunger of the long-starved. it was nothing like your childhood kisses, nothing like your tentative teenage explorations. this was excavation, archaeology, mining for something precious thought lost forever.
and like all such desperate digs, it caused a collapse.
"what the fuck?"
jeff's voice shattered the moment. you broke apart to find him standing at the end of the hallway, face twisted in confusion and dawning anger. behind him, a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the promise of drama.
jackie froze, her face draining of color. you watched as her eyes darted from jeff to the onlookers, saw the exact moment when panic overtook every other emotion.
"it's notâshe justâi was trying to get her off me," jackie stammered, stepping away from you as if burned.
the words hit like physical blows. you stared at her, unable to process this ultimate betrayal.
"jesus, i always knew there was something weird about her," someone in the crowd murmured.
"fucking dyke," someone else said, not bothering to lower their voice.
jackie looked at you, naked terror in her eyes. "i'm sorry," she mouthed silently.
but you were already moving, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the taunts and whispers, running from the house with flower petals from your crown scattering behind you like ophelia's sanity breaking apart on the current.
the aftermath was as brutal as high school could make it. for you, at least. somehow, jackie emerged relatively unscathedâthe popular girl who had been accosted by her strange former friend, the victim rather than the participant. jeff, after initial anger, took her back. her soccer teammates closed ranks around her. the story morphed in the retelling until you were the predator, she the innocent prey.
lottie and laura lee stood by you, fierce in their loyalty. travis, surprisingly, became another ally, walking you to classes when the whispers grew too loud, sharing his notes on days when you couldn't face the hallways. but high school was still high school, and the weight of being suddenly, unwillingly visible was suffocating.
winter came early that year, november bringing snow that usually waited until december. you watched it fall from the window of your bedroom, wondering if the universe was mocking you with its metaphorsâjackie's season descending before its time, burying the world in cold silence.
you didn't see her outside of classes you couldn't avoid. she kept her eyes down when forced into proximity, her face a mask of practiced indifference. only once did you catch her mask slipâin the girls' bathroom during fifth period, when she thought herself alone. you entered silently, saw her gripping the sink, staring at her reflection with such naked self-loathing that you almost went to her, almost reached out.
then she noticed you in the mirror and the mask slammed back into place. she left without washing her hands or saying a word.
december brought holiday preparations and the temporary reprieve of everyone being too busy with exams and family obligations to maintain active torment. you threw yourself into writing, producing a series of poems that your english teacher described as "disturbingly beautiful" and urged you to submit to collegiate competitions.
january crawled by, february a blur of gray skies and slush-covered sidewalks. you survived by disappearing into books, into words, into the worlds you created where endings could be rewritten and love didn't collapse under the weight of expectation.
and then came march, with its false promises of thaw, its teasing glimpses of sun between snow flurries. you were sitting in the library during lunch, lost in sylvia plath's "ariel," when a shadow fell across your page.
"can we talk?"
jackie's voice, so familiar yet strange after months of silence. you looked up to find her standing awkwardly before you, clutching the strap of her backpack like a lifeline.
"i don't think we have anything to say to each other." your voice came out steadier than you felt.
"please." one word, but it contained oceans.
you gathered your books slowly, giving yourself time to rebuild the walls her presence immediately threatened to crumble. "fine. where?"
"the old equipment shed? after school?"
the location choice wasn't lost on youâthe site of so many of your secret meetings in earlier days, now abandoned as the school had built newer facilities closer to the main fields.
"i'll be there at 3:30," you said, not looking at her. "i won't wait long."
she nodded and left quickly, as if afraid you might change your mind.
you told yourself you wouldn't go. told yourself it was masochism, not closure. told yourself there was nothing she could say that would matter now.
but at 3:25, you found yourself walking across the still-frozen field toward the shed, your breath clouding before you in the march chill.
jackie was already there, pacing the small interior, her varsity jacket pulled tight against the cold. she stopped when you entered, her eyes wide and uncertain.
"you came," she said, as if she couldn't quite believe it.
"i said i would." you remained near the door, unwilling to step fully into this space so laden with memory.
jackie took a deep breath. "i need to apologize. what i did at the partyâthrowing you under the bus like thatâit was unforgivable."
"yes," you agreed. "it was."
she flinched but continued. "i was scared and drunk and stupid, but that's not an excuse. i've been a coward for years, and that night was just the worst example."
you said nothing, waiting.
"the thing is," she continued when you didn't speak, "i've been thinking a lot about what you said. about choices. about courage." she paced again, unable to stay still under the weight of what she was trying to say. "i don't want to be a coward anymore."
"what does that mean, jackie?" you were tired, suddenly, of riddles and half-truths.
she stopped pacing and looked directly at you for what felt like the first time in years. "it means i'm in love with you. i think i have been since we were kids. and i've been running from it because i thought there was something wrong with me for feeling that way."
the words hung in the cold air between you, crystallizing like frost.
"you hurt me," you said finally. "not just at the party. every day since eighth grade when you decided i was too dangerous to your perfect life."
"i know." her eyes filled with tears. "and i will regret that for the rest of my life. but i'm here now, telling you the truth, finally. for whatever that's worth."
"and jeff? the soccer team? the perfect jackie taylor life?"
she swallowed hard. "jeff and i broke up last week. the rest... i don't know. i just know i can't keep pretending. it's killing me." she took a tentative step toward you. "i don't expect you to forgive me. i don't expect anything. i just needed you to know that you were rightâabout me being a coward, about me making choices. i'm trying to make better ones now."
you studied her face, looking for signs of the old jackieâthe girl who would say whatever was necessary to maintain appearances, to keep her world spinning on its prescribed axis. but all you saw was raw honesty and fear.
"i don't know what to say," you admitted.
"you don't have to say anything. i just..." she wrapped her arms around herself. "i miss my best friend. i miss the person who knew me better than i knew myself. i miss you."
the simple truth of it cracked something in your carefully maintained armor.
"i've missed you too," you whispered.
jackie's eyes lit with cautious hope. "really?"
"every day."
she took another step toward you, then another, until she was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, could smell the familiar scent of her shampoo.
"i can't promise i won't mess up again," she said softly. "i can't promise i'll be brave all the time. but i want to try. with you, if you'll let me."
you reached out slowly, touched her cheek with fingertips that remembered the feel of her skin from years of memorizing it in secret moments.
"i don't need you to be brave all the time," you said. "i just need you to be honest. with yourself, most of all."
she turned her face into your touch, eyes closing briefly. "i can do that."
outside, a tentative sun broke through the clouds, sending shafts of light through the shed's dusty windows. somewhere in the distance, a bird began to singâthe first herald of spring's approach.
"it won't be easy," you warned, thinking of the world waiting beyond this momentary shelter.
jackie opened her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "nothing worth having ever is."
she leaned forward then, hesitant, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn't. when her lips met yours, it felt like recognition, like remembering something essential you had tried to forget.
it felt like spring melting winter, like currents too strong to fight.
it felt, at last, like truth.
â
spring came late that year, but when it arrived, it came with a vengeanceâgreen exploding across the landscape, flowers erupting from soil that had seemed dead only weeks before, the world renewing itself with reckless abandon.
you and jackie moved cautiously at first, relearning each other in stolen moments between classes, in weekend hours spent in the sanctuary of your book-filled bedroom, in long walks through forests just beginning to wake from winter's dormancy.
the rest of junior year unfolded in unexpected ways. jackie quit the soccer team, causing a minor scandal that was soon overshadowed by prom drama and graduation preparations for the seniors. she joined the literary magazine staff, revealing a talent for photography that complemented your words in ways that surprised you both. together, you created a series of photo essays that won the publication its first national recognition.
lottie and laura lee welcomed jackie into your lunch table circle with minimal skepticism, though lottie made it clear in her eerily perceptive way that second betrayals would not be tolerated. travis became a friend to you both, his quiet intellect and complete lack of interest in high school politics making him a safe harbor in still-turbulent waters.
there were still whispers, still sidelong glances in hallways. but as spring progressed into summer, as junior year gave way to the promise of senior year and beyond, those voices seemed to matter less and less.
on the last day of school, you and jackie returned to the equipment shedânot out of secrecy now, but out of sentiment. you brought a blanket to spread over the dusty floor, a small basket of strawberries and chocolate, a bottle of sparkling cider smuggled from your parents' fridge.
"do you remember the first time we came here?" jackie asked, lying beside you on the blanket, her fingers intertwined with yours.
"seventh grade," you said. "after you scored the winning goal against westfield. you were so pumped up on adrenaline you practically dragged me in here."
she laughed. "i told you i wanted to show you something important."
"and then you kissed me."
"and then i kissed you," she agreed. "best impulse i ever had."
you turned to look at her, at the face you had loved in so many different ways throughout your shared life. "we took the long way around, didn't we?"
jackie's expression softened. "maybe we needed to. maybe i needed to understand what i'd be missing if i kept making the wrong choices."
"and now?"
"now i know." she shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you. "i know that nothingânot popularity or parental approval or some cookie-cutter futureâis worth giving up what i feel when I'm with you."
you reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "and what do you feel when you're with me?"
"real," she said simply, echoing words from a night years ago. "like i don't have to pretend."
you pulled her down to you then, a kiss that tasted of strawberries and possibility, of winters survived and springs renewed.
outside, summer was asserting itselfâthe sun high and hot, the world lush with life. inside the small shed, time seemed suspended, the past and future collapsing into a perfect present.
later, walking home with your hands swinging between you, unafraid now of who might see, jackie stopped suddenly.
"what is it?" you asked.
she was looking at you with an expression of wonder, as if seeing you for the first time. "i just realized something."
"what?"
"im happy," she said, sounding surprised. "actually, genuinely happy."
you smiled, feeling the truth of it in your own chestâa lightness that had been absent for too long. "me too."
as you continued walking, you thought about the cycles of seasons, how winter always gives way to spring, how spring inevitably yields to summer. how nothing is permanent except change itself.
đąđ đ àŁȘ ➠đ§đšđđ âż yuri is life :3 who missed me?
Iâm watching Splash (1984) which is a romcom about a guy who falls in love with a mermaid, and when she chooses a human name she chooses Madison and guy says âthatâs not a real name, but alrightâ which seems to imply that Madison was not a name until at least the 80âs and all girls named Madison are actually named after the mermaid. thought you should know
I love you PBS I love you NPR I love you public libraries I love you wikipedia I love you project gutenberg I love you librivox I love you libby I love you hoopla I love you openlibrary I love you internet archive I love you resources that make information free and accessible to the public
pairing: Jackie Taylor x f!reader
summary: You're her French tutor. Your methods may be a little controversial. College AU.
note: any dialogue line in italics is French I saved us both time by not translating all of it. minors dni. Jackie Taylor praise kink i know that's right.
Part Two
Jackie takes the textbook resting in your lap and tosses it to the floor, ignoring your shocked gasp in favor of swinging one leg over your hips and settling on your lap.Â
âJackie, whatââ
She cuts you off as she grabs onto your shoulders, looping her arms behind your neck and claiming your lips. It's messy, impatient, and everything you imagined it would be. Thinking about kissing Jackie had taken up such an embarrassingly high amount of your time recently that you're almost not sure what to do with it once it's become reality.Â
Almost.Â
Your hands flail for a moment before settling on her hips, sliding down to palm at her ass through her jeans and pulling her firmly against you as she grinds down against your thigh. She groans into your mouth as you prop your thigh up, giving her something to really rub herself against. Jackie gasps, hips stuttering as the seam of her jeans digs in with enough pressure to make her head spin. She rolls her hips again, harder now.Â
âWhat are you doing?â You murmur.Â
âStudying.âÂ
âStudying?â You laugh breathlessly. The answer seems so ridiculous with how wrecked she looks on your lap, but it's such a Jackie answer that you can't help yourself from closing the distance to kiss her again.Â
Jackie's tongue brushes achingly slowly against your bottom lip. Her hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, her thumb brushing against your skin as she tilts your head back. She tastes sweet, a mix of the strawberry lip gloss she carries around and the mint gum you'd watched her hastily spit out when she'd seen you coming earlier.Â
She takes your lips parting as what it is: an invitation. Her tongue traces yours, slipping inside your mouth with no further preamble. Jackieâs just teasing you, more than anything, retreating whenever you press forward only to push forward again a moment later. You tighten your grip on her ass, squeezing hard as you grind her down on your thigh which earns a breathy moan that vibrates against your skin.
Droplets of spit glisten on her lips as she pulls back just long enough to suck in a desperate breath before diving back in, utterly unbothered by the mess sheâs made of the two of you. Her lips glide against yours, so warm and slick that you think you could happily get lost in them forever.
She takes your bottom lip between her teeth as she pulls away, grazing the skin as she pulls away with a pop. Her lips are swollen from the effort. A string of saliva connects you until Jackie slowly licks at her lips and swallows it.Â
âFrench kissing,â Jackie says.Â
Her lips brush against yours with every word. She can't even bring herself to pull far enough away to breathe, so intent on making you lose your mind.Â
âWhat?â You ask dazedly.
âFrench. Kissing,â Jackie repeats slowly, like she's explaining something simple to someone stupid. You can feel her smug grin forming on her lips.Â
Jackie leans closer without warning, tracing the seam of your lips only to press a chaste kiss against them before pulling away. âEducational, see? Iâm learning so much already.â
âFrench kissing, huh? Missedâmissed that on the syllabus,â you try weakly, eyes falling to her lips.
You just barely catch the way Jackieâs eyes narrow in confusion at the words, far too focused on the way she feels as she leans back and uses you for leverage as she rolls her hips.Â
âShut up.âÂ
âYeah, okay. Sounds good.â
You drag her back and forth on your thigh, not so much assisting Jackie as moving her altogether. She seems content to let you move her hips as you please, far more intent on mouthing at where your neck meets your shoulder and moaning into your ear. Her thighs tremble from the strain, so slick and warm that you can feel her even through the denim of her jeans.Â
Her hips start to move sloppily as you pull your hand away, pausing just long enough for wandering fingers to pop the button of her jeans.Â
âGod, fuck, look at you,â you murmur.
Her face is flushed, hair sticking to her forehead as she looks at you with wild eyes as your hand rests above her waistband.Â
âHow do I look?â
You almost laugh before you realize she was serious. âSo pretty for me. Mon jolie fille.â
Her breath catches audibly as the word leaves your lips, her hips jerking forward against nothing. She blushes, looking both like she's feeling shy and like she doesn't want you to know. You'll let her have this one. You trace idle patterns just above her panties, fingertips teasing across soft skin.
âDoes the French do something for you?â You muse. âIs that why you jumped me in the middle of tutoring?â
Jackie scoffs weakly. âNo.â
You slip your fingertips beneath her panties, sliding into the cramped confines as you canât bear to pull away long enough to get her jeans all the way off. Jackie whimpers as your fingers find her soaked, shifting to spread her knees apart so that you would please touch her.
âYouâre paying me to tutor you, you know,â you say, palming her deliberately slowly. âWe might as well practice your French.â
âNon.â Jackie rolls her eyes, but the effect is undercut by the way she clutches at your shoulders.
âI think itâs the perfect time to work on your pronunciation.â
âI think itâs the perfect time for you toââ
Jackieâs hips twitch as you graze her entrance, her moan muffled against your neck as you slid inside. Sheâs so ready for it, like you suspect sheâs been for the last twenty minutes. The silk of her panties rubs pleasantly against your hand as you thrust into her, and without even sparing them a glance, you knew they were much too nice just to wear to a tutoring session.
âJackie,â you say, watching her eyes flick over to yours.
âMmm?â
âDid you wear these for me?â
Her eyes dart away as she realizes she was caught before finally nodding.Â
âGood. Good girl.â If there was one thing Jackie responded to, it was praise. Jackie clenches hard around you, predictably. It was the only way you could get her to study. Figures that it would work here too.
Sheâs so wet that it truly was an accident when you slipped back in with two fingers, but all Jackie does is moan again as she rolls her hips half-heartedly. God, sheâs just so perfect.
âFeel good?â You ask, unnecessarily. Even you know that. But you just want to hear her say it.
âYeah. Just, IâI wantâŠâ
She bites at her lip as you grind your palm against her clit, crying out in protest when you pull it away again. Jackie tries to chase it, but you grab onto the back of her jeans with your other hand to stop her.
âStop playing and make me come,â she snaps.
âEn Français,â you interrupt. She stares at you for a moment, like she canât believe youâre doing this to her, before continuing irritably.
âJe veux jouir, idiot.â Her accent is rough, like always, but it brings a smile to your face.
âNot a direct translation,â you muse, grinding your palm where she wants it. âClose enough.â
âJerk.â
âEn Français,â you sing-song.
âEn Français,â she mocks under her breath, but the way you curl your fingers takes the words right out of her.
âOh, fuck, pleaseâs'il vous plaĂźt.â
âThatâs it, Jackie,â you say, your fingers picking up the pace as Jackie all but collapses in your lap to bury her head in your shoulder. âThat was good. Just put it together.â
Jackie whines, shaking her head.Â
âTell me what you want so I can give it to you.âÂ
âMake me come, please.â
You were too far in to stop again at this point anyway, but what Jackie doesnât know wonât hurt her. Sheâs almost riding your palm as she comes, dragging her clit up and down your palm like it was going out of style. The moan she lets out is obscene and far too loud for your neighborâs sake, but you wouldnât change a thing as her thighs clamp down around you.
She whines as you pull your hand away, accidentally brushing against her clit and making her hips jerk away.Â
âSorry,â you murmur, peppering kisses against her neck till she relaxes. Jackie seems to like that, sitting straighter in your lap and propping her head back to give you more room to work with. She slides the fingers of one hand up your neck, curling absently in your hair as she lets out pleased little sighs when your lips press against her jaw. Her other hand starts to slide down your arm, her fingertips tracing little lines.Â
You need to get the rest of her clothes off next time. And there will be a next time; of that at least you were certain. And with the way Jackieâs wandering fingers were making their way to the hem of your shirt, next time might be a lot sooner than you were counting on.
âŠ
Four Months Ago
âHey!â Comes a voice across from you, far too perky for this early in the morning. You try not to react too harshly, as it's not this girl's fault you're already in the library the first day of the semester.Â
âHey.â You glance around the library curiously, seeing more than one empty table. Did she seriously want to sit at your table when it was so empty? You're sure your irritation shows on your face as you start to move your things to one side of the table.Â
âJackie. Jackie Taylor. Listen,â she starts, taking the seat across from you. âYou tutored one of my friends in French last semester, and she really recommended you.â
You smile, a little pleased at the comment. Still, you don't usually start tutoring this early in the semester. It's hard to know what someone's struggling with before class even starts. You say as much, and she gives you an embarrassed shrug.Â
âI tried taking it during the spring semester and failed, soâŠâ She trails off expectantly. Ah.Â
Retaking.Â
âYeah, I mean, I guess. What exactly do you think you're struggling with?â
Jackie frowns, propping her head up on her hand. She taps her fingers thoughtfully against the table. You can't quite bring yourself to look away from her, not when the angle does insane things for her jawline. She's easily one of the prettiest girls you've ever seen. You're not looking forward to how distracting it will be to sit across from her to try to teach her.Â
Keep it professional.Â
âWhen it stops being in English,â Jackie says finally.Â
You laugh. âEverything, then?â
âIs that going to be too muchââÂ
âNo, it's fine. Just bring me your syllabus and I'll look it over. What professor are you taking it with?â
Jackie's eyes widened slightly, something strangely panicked coming over her face. âOhâuh. I'm not sure.â
You give her a curious look, but don't comment on it. âWho'd you take it with in the spring?â
âI don't remember,â Jackie says hastily, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Your eyes can't stop from focusing on it. âI'm just bad with names. So bad. It's a fault.âÂ
â... Right. Well, when you get it, just give me a ring.â You rip a corner out of your notebook, jotting down your phone number before handing it off to her. âSounds good?â
âExcellent,â Jackie says primly, her smile a touch too wide as she looks back at you.Â
You return the smile awkwardly, squirming beneath the weight of her stare. Jesus, did she look at everyone so intensely? It felt like she was drilling a hole through your head.Â
âAnything else, orâŠ?â You prompt gently.Â
âOh!â Jackie stands up, shouldering her bag again. âNo, thatâthat was it.â
She waves your phone number around before adding, âI'll call you!â
You watch her curiously as she walks off, eyes drifting before you tear them away. Right. You shake your head, turning your attention back to your textbooks with a long exhale. This was going to be a long semester.Â
âŠ
Jackie huffs dramatically as she sits across from you, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back in her chair. You almost want to laugh. Itâs funny, really, watching her try so hard to let you know sheâs unhappy with the situation.Â
Obviously, Jackie.
When you firmly told her that your tutoring sessions would in fact have to take place in the library from now on, you thought her head was going to explode. She was so mad you wondered for a moment if she might start yelling as you dragged her by the arm over to a familiar table in the corner.
Sure, youâve met her in one of your rooms more than once, but obviously that wonât work anymore. Not after what happened last time. Jackie really did need all the help she could get to pass, and sitting across from her on her bed certainly wasnât going to lead to anything of note being accomplished.Â
So the library was good. A nice, neutral ground with witnesses. It would keep the both of you accountable. At least, you thought it would. Judging by the amount of times youâve had to reach under the table and pluck Jackieâs foot off your thigh, shame wasnât as the universal motivator you hoped it would be.
Which brings you to Jackie looking over at you expectantly as she finishes her latest sentence prompt.
âThatâs not bad,â you say, giving Jackie a smile. She was at least trying to put in some kind of effort, even if it seems to involve a lot of leaning forward to give you a view straight down her shirt. That seems dangerous. You lean further back in your seat, which proves to be a mistake as Jackieâs bored smile starts to turn concerningly smug. âHow about this one: What would you say ifââ
âBoring,â Jackie interrupts, tapping the top of your paper as she pins it to the table beneath a single manicured finger. She crosses one knee over the other. In that skirt. With those legs. Deceptively long legs and impossibly distracting. Jackie just sits there, but the sight of her makes it hard to breathe. Jesus Christ.
âJackieâŠâ you warn, but Jackie barrels right through you like usual. Youâve got to give it to her: she's persistent.Â
âWhat? Teach me something useful. We keep talking about libraries. When am I ever going to go to the library when you arenât there to drag me there?â She pauses for an answer and continues on when you struggle to find one. âHow about this? What would I say ifâŠâ
âIf?â You were definitely walking right into it.
âIf I wanted to ask the hot tutor for her number?â
âThatâs not bad. Very good,â she says with a mocking lilt. The wink that follows makes it feel more playful than anything else.
She picks your pen off the table, grabbing your hand with hers as she slowly writes it across your hand. Her fingers are warm as they brush against you, making you hyperaware of each swooping motion. Jackie takes extra care to touch you as much as she can during the process, trailing her fingertips down your skin as she pulls away.
You donât realize until later, but she stole your pen too. All you can manage is a weak protest, âI already have your number.â
Jackie tilts her head to the side as she asks mirthfully, âThen why did you ask?â
You stare at her wordlessly, and Jackie just laughs. She leans forward to rest her head on her palm, reaching out a hand to brush stray hairs away from your eyes. Before you can even get your hand up to slap it away, her hand has retreated, curled innocently over her notes.
âAre you going to study, or are you here to flirt? Because it seems like thatâs all youâve come here to do today.â You canât help how frustrated the words come out; honestly a little miffed at all the teasing sheâs done today. Your tone is harsher than you intended it to be, and Jackie takes notice of it instantly. Sheâs spent the last hour just trying to make you squirm, and you were embarrassed how much sheâs succeeded.Â
Jackie looks shocked at being called out, her foot that was brushing against your ankle quickly retreating again. Like a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar. She clears her throat before nodding awkwardly.
âTough choice,â she admits. âBut I think Iâm here to study, prof.â
âYou know what?â You ask slowly, watching as Jackie freezes. âHow about we just work on your pronunciation today, since we didnât get a chance last time.â
âI think Iâm okay,â Jackie tries.
âI didnât ask.â
âOhâokay.â
âWeâll start off easy. Vous avez fait du bon travail.â
Jackie lights up, just the way you expected she would. âYouâve done a good job today?â Thereâs just the faintest hint of a question there, a bid for approval.
âGood, Jackie. I knew youâd get that.â You say it just for the way it clearly flusters her.
âEasy,â she deflects.
âDecided that on the first question, have we?â You feign disapproval, but thereâs no hiding the affectionate look on your face.
âI canât help that Iâm your favorite student.â That was definitely true. You wouldnât put out half this effort for anybody else. Thereâs just something about her that draws you in and makes it impossible to leave.
âLetâs not get ahead of ourselves, hm?â
Jackie gasps as you flip through your notes.
âNow,â you say. âJ'en veux un autre.â
A hesitation now, her confidence faltering. Has she noticed so quickly?Â
âI want another,â she says slowly.
âSay it like you mean it, Jackie,â you add, keeping your voice carefully neutral. If she was looking at you to see how she should respond, she wasnât going to find anything useful.
âI want another.â Breathier this time, even as she still manages to meet your eyes.
âBetter. Plus vite, s'il vous plaĂźt?â
âFaster⊠please?â She repeats, a dawning look of comprehension crossing her face. âI donât know when I would need this.â
âNo? You canât think of a single time?â The way her eyes dart away is answer enough.
âYouâre messing with me,â she accuses.
âYou donât find it useful?â
Jackie flushes, fingers tapping against her arms as she looks at you. âI think this is enough practice for today, donât you thinkââ
âGood job. You were right, Jackie. I donât think the sentences I was having you practice before were very useful to you.â
âNo?â She asks quietly.
âNo. I think youâre much more likely to need to know these, right?â
Jackie gapes.
âYouâre so mean,â she says finally, her voice almost a whine.
âŠÂ
Three months ago.Â
"Okay," you say slowly, smiling encouragingly over at Jackie. "Let's try this in French, okay?âÂ
You wish that you could find the enthusiasm to mean it, but that felt like an impossible task. What was the definition of insanity again? Doing something over and over again and expecting different results.
Right.
Jackie nods. âDuh.â
Your smile becomes strained around the edges. âMy name is Jackie. I play soccer."
She scrunches her nose in thought, her pen tapping occasionally against her notes. You canât help but notice how she makes no move to actually check her notes. Usually that kind of thing would be encouraging in someone you were tutoring. It meant that they were confident enough to try it without help. With Jackie, however, youâve learned that she was probably so confused that she never wrote anything down in the first place. Or, better yet, something about a verb and a bunch of question marks.
Itâs not that Jackie was dumb, far from it if you looked at her other classes. Those textbooks she hauled around always seemed appropriately thick, with little notes scrawled on sticky notes in the margins and tabs sticking out the sides seemingly at random. She insisted that she had a carefully maintained method for everything, but you were starting to wonder if she just added a tab when she felt like it. It felt like something sheâd do, though you didnât know her all that well yet.
It was an impressive class load to maintain with how much time sheâs clearly dedicated to her soccer team. If it wasn't their practice nearly every day, it was Jackie going out by herself. Youâve passed by the soccer field a few times on your way back from the libraryâby accident, you assure yourselfâand have found her out there more than once lit by nothing but the floodlights. Youâre not sure how she made time to breathe, let alone maintain her courses and still manage to make an appearance Friday nights.
Youâve seen her around campus a few times, and she always seems to have an excited wave locked and loaded. Her face lights up the second she catches sight of you, rocking slightly on her feet as she waves just a touch too enthusiastically. Thereâs a genuine warmth to it, just as inviting as it was disarming.Â
There was something about French that just wasnât clicking for her. Sheâs improved somewhat under your tutelage, but not as much as you usually expected. If she werenât such a hopeless case at times, you would have advised her to try a different tutor. But there was something about the way she smiles at you when she gets something right that has you hesitating.
This was your latest attempt: appealing to her love of soccer.
âOkay, uh⊠manâno, Mon! Mon nom est Jackie.â She pauses, leaning back in her chair as she forces out a breath through pursed lips. âAnd⊠Je⊠jouer soccer.â
Jackie claps her hands together, looking at you expectantly. She looks proud of herself, the most interested youâve ever seen her in French yet. You think your new approach is definitely working. It figures that all it would take was throwing soccer in there. Something about the way sheâs staring back at you makes you feel bad for what you're about to say next.
âThatâs not bad,â you start off encouragingly, but Jackieâs face falls almost immediately. Thereâs a part of you that wants to take the words back to see the smile come back to her face, but you quash it to the best of your ability. âBut remember what we talked about? That you canât just translate words individually from English to French?â
âBut itâs so much easier that way,â Jackie complains, her lips falling into a pout. It seems to come so naturally to her. That expression should be illegal in all fifty states.
âBut thatâs not how languages work.â
âIt could be,â she mutters under her breath, but waves a hand at you to continue.Â
She may not internalize anything you say, but at least you could trust Jackie to actually listen when you spoke. Some of the other people you tutored couldnât be bothered to raise half the effort. It wasnât even that Jackie didnât try. Jackie tries so hard sometimes, almost embarrassingly so. Youâve seen her mouthing the words along as she reads her homework, trying to make something stick, but nothing seems to land.
âJe m'appelle Jackie. My name is Jackie.â
Jackie frowns thoughtfully. âWhatâs the difference?â
âItâs not wrong, per seââ
âGreat, more FrenchâŠâ she mutters.
You gape at her for a moment. You canât tell if sheâs serious or not. âThatâs not⊠never mind. Look, itâs not incorrect. Itâs just very literal. If you say mon nom est, people will know youâre not a native speaker.â
âPeople will know that the second I open my mouth,â Jackie counters, winking over at you. You canât help but laugh, nodding your head in agreement.
âOkay, fine. Je m'appelle Jackie.â
âBon travail. Uh, good job,â you add, intercepting the question before she can ask it. You could already see the words forming on her lips. Jackie squirmed slightly at the words.Â
Interesting.
âNow, the rest of it. Je joue au football.â
âBut I donât joue football,â Jackie protests immediately. You groan. Sheâll die on this hill, you swear. âI joue soccer.â
âThe French call it football.â
âThe French are wrong.â
âEvery last one of them?â
âEvery one of them that calls it football, yeah.â She leans forward in her seat, waving her finger at you.
âTu joues au football,â you tease.
âTu joues au soccer,â she insists.
âI donât play soccer, no.â You laugh.Â
Jackie couldnât seem to get conjugations down either. She sighs, her shoulders slumping dejectedly before she buries her head in her hands in frustration.Â
âWhy is this so hard?â She whines.
Small hairs stick up beneath her fingers, and much to your despair, the disheveled look only seems to add to her allure. Youâre in danger of doing something stupid the longer you spend in Jackie Taylorâs presence. You thought it was a passing fancy at firstâhoped, more likeâbut the longer youâve spent with her, the more youâve found yourself inexplicably drawn to her.
Jackie peeks out at you through her fingers, her eyes meeting yours. âIâm hopeless, arenât I?â She asks, quiet and self-deprecating. Itâs said teasingly, but thereâs a helpless sense of resignation there that makes your heart ache.
âNo,â you promise. âYouâre not hopeless.â
Jackieâs shy smile makes your heart race. Her eyes search yours, but youâre not sure what sheâs looking for. Something suspiciously close to smug passes over her face. She leans closer to you, bracing her elbows on the table.
âJe suis trĂšs jolie,â she says confidently. I am very pretty.
You laugh quietly, which doesnât seem to be the reaction she was looking for as her face falls. She frowns at you.
âYou are very pretty, Jackie,â you agree with a smile.
Jackie groans, tapping her fingers against the desk. She thinks for a moment before she tries again, making sure to emphasize every word. âTu es trĂšs jolie.â You are very pretty.
âOh,â you say quietly, eyes widening in surprise. âThank you.â
She seems to take it as a victory. Youâre not entirely sure why.
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summary: having the yellowjackets captain jackie taylor as your girlfriend
authors note: omg hi⊠guys my evil twin requested this⊠guys what do i say.. iâm so nervous omg⊠anyway once again i didnât give reader a specific gender but i had fem in mind. this is pre-crash!jackie
word count: 0.6k || masterlist
jackie taylor would never judge you for anything. it doesnât matter what you look like or what you dress like, jackie has and never will judge you for it. there may be some things she would never wear herself, but she doesnât care because she knows you feel comfortable with how you look and she loves that.
jackie taylor loves to have sleepovers with you any weekend thatâs available. she makes sure her room is clean and a comfortable temperature, she has food and drinks you like, and even has a playlist ready full of songs she either knows you like or thinks you would like.
jackie taylor loves to show you off. it doesnât even matter where you two are or what youâre doing, sheâs letting everyone know you two are together and how much she loves you.
jackie taylor would love it if you get along with her bestfriend shauna shipman. youâre her two favourite people in the world and she wants you two to be friends or at the very least get along and have a decent relationship. sheâs definitely invited shauna to a few sleepovers with you.
jackie taylor always has a hand on you. when youâre sitting together sheâs either got a gentle hand on your thigh or around your shoulders. if youâre walking together sheâs holding your hand. if youâre laying together sheâs either got her arm lazily wrapped around you or sheâs holding both of your hands.
jackie taylor leaves lipstick marks on your face. sometimes sheâll do it when you two are alone, just gently take your face in her hands and kiss the hell out of you, or throughout the day sheâll see you in the hallway and make it look like sheâs just going to hug you, only to leave a pink mark on your cheek or forehead.
jackie taylor plays with your hair whenever she can. she doesnât care about the length or texture or anything, she just finds it comforting to play with. she likes to run a quick hand through your hair if youâre sitting or laying together. sometimes if youâre both bored in class sheâll just start braiding it.
jackie taylor who also loves to play with your hands. hers are very soft with a few small sport scars, but other than that theyâre perfect. long nails painted to perfection, but she loves yours far more than hers. sheâd especially love rings if you wear them, and would like to twirl them around your fingers and try them on.
jackie taylor would come if you called her. it doesnât matter if itâs the middle of the night or if sheâs already got plans, if you called her and asked for help sheâd cancel whatever she has going on immediately and find a way to you.
jackie taylor also loves to talk about the team with you. itâs not explicitly talking shit, but she will voice any frustrations she has. mostly she talks about who on the team sheâs closest with, who she really likes talking to, just about anything with the team that comes to her mind.
jackie taylor would invite you to practices if you werenât already on the team. she knows you donât have to be there (and she gets somewhat distracted when you come) but she likes when you come along. she proudly boasts that a goal was for you when literally anyone hits a goal.
jackie taylor loves to buy you gifts, and loves to receive them in return. sheâll give you something she thought youâd like if she sees it, and sheâd be extremely happy if she got something in return. especially if it was handmade.
jackie taylor would want you to come to nationals with her, if youâre not on the team. she knows you canât and it wouldnât make much sense, but sheâd still really want you to be there.
pairing: Jackie Taylor x fem!r
summary: You've picked up a summer job cleaning pools, and Jackie Taylor has just returned home from Rutgers. Too bad that Shauna's studying abroad all summer, and she's just so bored.
note: minors dni. blame the usual suspect for encouraging me heavily on the idea of jackie in a bikini.
You glance over your shoulder as conspicuously as you can manage, but it doesn't matter. Not with the way Jackie's blatantly staring right at you through her sunglasses. Someone should really tell her the lenses weren't nearly as dark as she thought they were. The second your eyes meet, her eyes dart away guiltily.Â
She fumbles with the magazine propped on her stomach as she turns to the next page, the glossy papers rustling together as she thumbs through them. Jackie must be really interested in the pictures to be holding it upside down the way she is.Â
Whatever.Â
Maybe you would care more if it wasn't for how impossibly long her legs looked as she stretched out on the pool chair, tanned skin glistening in the sun with one knee bent up like an invitation. There was a faint shimmer to her skin, some kind of sunscreenâstupidly expensive, knowing herâthat serves to pull your eyes back just as much as it protects her from the sun. Every slow shift of her body has to be purposeful. The way her back arches as she gets comfortable in her chair, how her abs flex as she turns over to prop herself on her elbows to sun her back, even down to the way her thighs brush against one another as she adjusts her position. You refuse to live in a world where it isn't on purpose.
How was it even possible for someone to just look like that? Like she was something that should have been on the pages of a magazine instead of gracing you with a glimpse of heaven in her parents backyard. Sometimes it felt like Jackie Taylor existed only to tempt youâsomething that she seems to take more than her fair share of pleasure in.Â
The girl has been driving you mad since she got home from college, and it doesn't seem like she plans on stopping anytime soon. You hadn't even met on the smoothest of terms. You still remembered watching her practically skip out to the pool in a bikini top that didnât match the bottoms the day after she got home. Her hair was messily tied back, stray strands effortlessly framing her face in a way that would make anyone else look like they just rolled out of bed. She had her earbuds in, probably blasting some generic pop song judging by the beat she was humming along to as she had set her towel down on the chair. She stopped with a mortified squeak as she caught sight of you, eyes wide with shock and something else, before turning on her heel and darting back inside like you'd caught her in the middle of a crime. Jackie had even left the towel.
At first you thought that maybe she was just shy. It seems unlikely for how gorgeous she was, but some girls were just like that. It quickly became clear that you were mistaken on that front. A shy girl would not let the strap of her bikini top sit that low on her shoulder, only to make a show of slowly tugging it back into place when she caught you looking over as you skimmed leaves out of her parents' pool. A shy girl definitely wouldnât twirl the rim of her sunglasses around delicate fingers in a lazy, almost absent-minded way that was almost obscene. You almost fell in the pool the time she made deliberate eye contact with you while doing it.
That first time had to have been a fluke, because it felt like she had declared war on you since.Â
This wasnât how you expected to spend your summer after you picked up a gig cleaning pools. It was supposed to be easy money, mostly old people who complained about their grandkids not visiting enough and the occasional divorcee. And thatâs all it was for the most part. Sure, you had gotten a few jokes about it from your friends about the whole bored housewife thing, but that sort of thing doesnât actually happen in real life. Or, at least, it didnât until Jackie had rolled back in from Rutgers with a tan, a smirk, and a dream.
She wasnât exactly a housewife, but you werenât exactly disappointed. You knew of her in high school. Everyone did. Captain of the Yellowjackets. Prom queen. The kind of girl so beautiful you want to die a little inside after seeing her. Untouchable. Too good to be real.
If there was a word for it, Jackie was probably that.
But if you had to describe her lately, you would settle on tease.
âŠ
Jackie looks up hopefully from her book as you turn the corner, only for it to turn into a frown as she gets a better look at you. She pouts, turning her attention back to the book sheâs been suffering through your last few visits. Itâs some classic that she doesnât seem to care forâseeming to prefer her fiction modern and tropeyâbut that Shauna had been talking her ear off about over the phone. Shauna, who apparently was spending a summer abroad in France, was the sole reason you were fighting off bikini-clad blondes with a stick.
Seriously, did anyone else on Earth own as many as she did? You donât think youâve seen her repeat any yet, each seemingly showing more skin than the last. Every week you think itâll be impossible to beat the last, and every week she surprises you. By the end of the summer sheâll be lounging by the pool with nothing but strategically placed strings at this rate.
âNo swimsuit. Youâre not getting in today, huh?âÂ
Itâs phrased as a question, but not a single part of her sounds like sheâs asking one. Just commenting on her apparent disappointment as she places her bookmark carefully between the pages of her book. It closes with a soft thud, leaving her fingertips to settle on a side table less than a second later.Â
Discarded.
âNo,â you agree, turning your head to look at her. âYou could get in, though, if you wanted. It wouldnât bother me much.â
That wasnât exactly true; it would be pretty inconvenient, but you didnât want to deny her anything.
âMm, no,â Jackie says simply.
You hum thoughtfully, tilting your head to the side in consideration.Â
âYou know, I don't think I've ever seen you actually swim.âÂ
Jackie laughs, shrugging her shoulders loosely. âWouldnât you like to know?â
âBet you canât,â you accuse, but Jackie doesnât even acknowledge the bait as she reaches over to grab a bottle of sunscreen sitting on the side table.
She flips the cap with her thumb in a practiced motion, which it might as well have been with how much time she seems to spend out here, squeezing some out on her palms before rubbing them together. As she stretches out her legs, going straight to the most dangerous option, you force yourself to look away. Desperate to find anything else to look at besides her thighs as her fingers glide over smooth skin.
âCould you get my back?â
âYour⊠your back,â you repeat dumbly.Â
Jackie waves the bottle of sunscreen pointedly.Â
âSunscreen. You know, you squeeze it on your hands and then rub it into your skin so you donât get burned? Itâs pretty simple stuff, really. I could help you ifââ
âI know what sunscreen is, Jackie.â
âYou sure?â She teases. âItâs just, you looked a little lost, is all.â
âShut up,â you mutter, crossing the space between you to snatch the bottle from her hands.
âGrumpy,â she accuses, not sounding put out in the least as she leans forward in her chair so you can reach her back. You have to remind yourself not to take advantage of the view the position affords you: the sheer drop down her top as the material gapes just enough to hint at whatâs beneath.
Keeping her eyes firmly on her back doesnât help much either, not with the long stretch of tanned skin and the peek of pale skin just visible beneath her top. Jackie gasps as your fingers touch her skin, the cold press of sunscreen making her shiver and jerk away.
âHey!âÂ
âBaby,â you mutter, pulling your hands away and rubbing them together to warm them up before rubbing it into her shoulders.
Jackie lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a moan, her shoulders relaxing as she tilts her head temptingly to the side. You almost drop the bottle of sunscreen as you fumble with the lid, squirting more on your hands in lieu of what you really want to do: lean down and press your lips against the side of her neck to coax more of those little sounds out of her.
You slip your fingers briefly underneath the straps of her top, ignoring her sharp intake of breath to rub it into her skin almost clinically. Anything that you could do just to be done with it before you go and do something stupid. Her lower back was simpler in comparison, much less temptation as you methodically cover up her skin.
âThere,â you say, surprised by the hint of disappointment that enters your voice as you pull away. More surprising is the way itâs clearly mirrored on her own face.
âThanks,â she says quietly, grabbing the bottle from your hands as you hold it up in offering. Her fingers brush against yours a touch too long to be accidental, but neither of you has the nerve to acknowledge it as she pulls away.
You get caught up in the moment, staring at her fingers as they pull away from your hand. Youâve never quite noticed them before, not with the amount of skin exposed for your viewing pleasure lately, but now youâre finding yourself struggling to look away. Thereâs something aboutâ
âThe pool,â she interrupts.
âWhat?â
âYou need to clean the pool,â she says in a low whisper, hand cupping her mouth as if letting you in on a little secret. Jackie looks far too pleased with herself, like the cat that ate the canary.
âRight,â you answer stiffly, turning on your heels and walking back to your equipment.
Days that you came to the Taylorsâ seem to stretch on forever. Jackie makes sure of that. Itâs the only thing youâve ever seen her commit to besides soccer and Shauna. Though, you have to admit, those were the only two things you knew about her prior to cleaning her pool.
âDonât let me distract you, after all,â Jackie continues, stretching out on the lounger as she watches you move around the pool.
That wasnât even the worst part. It was working so damn well that it was embarrassing. She was playing you like a fool, and you still werenât sure if she even wanted you to give in. Maybe she was just the type to play games.
Maybe you were just screwed.
âI wonât,â you say unconvincingly.
Jackie doesnât even pretend to believe you, taking a sip from her drink as she holds the straw loosely between her fingers. She makes no move to pick up her book again, content to just stare. Part of you wishes she would, if only to free yourself from the intensity of holding her attention. But you donât want that, not really. You like the way it makes you feel.
Special.
Her attention was never won that easily in high school. In fact, youâre not sure youâve ever seen anyone hold it but Shauna. Not even her ex-boyfriend, who seemed to exist on the fringes, ever held her attention for long. It makes you feel important to be part of that exclusive club, no matter how much you claim to have outgrown that need for recognition that had plagued you as a teenager. Somehow she brought you right back to it.
Half your summer has been plagued by old people complaining about whatever nonissue they'd decided to fixate on, curious housewives bringing you a glass of water simply for the thrill of it, and the occasional perving teenage boy that you had to chase away with the business end of your skimmer. There was a brief bit of excitement when it came to the Matthewsâ, but you'd quickly realized that Lottie was only interested in flirting with you when that blonde girl was around to watch. That had been quite the bummer.Â
But it was safe to say that you'd gotten more than your fair share of attention this summer, to the point that you'd normally do just about anything to get out of the spotlight.Â
You were surprised by how much you didn't mind the attention when it came from her. It was different somehow. Jackie never made you feel like you were a commodity, no matter how much time she spent eyeing you like a bag of meat. At least she spent an equal amount of time badgering you about anything and everything under the sun. You're not sure anyone's ever asked you as in-depth questions about yourself as Jackie has in the last few weeks, and especially not with the genuine desire to listen.Â
Right now, though, Jackie was far too concerned with the way you bent down to mess with something near the surface.Â
Maybe you're giving her too much credit.Â
âŠÂ
As you park your car in the street in front of the Taylorâs houseâyouâve learned how particular rich people can be about seeing your car parked in their drivewayâyou can vaguely see the curtains shift by the front window out of the corner of your eye, but you just wave it off as an errant burst of wind from the air conditioning. Still, a part of you wondersâŠ
But no, that would be crazy, right? Jackie Taylor sitting around waiting for you of all people seems unlikely. Having to get up so damn early to clean pools every day was really starting to get to your head. You hadnât expected that this sort of job would involve getting up so early, but it seems like most of your clients preferred that you were neither seen nor heard. Jackie was an exception to that rule, but that girl seems to be an exception to most things.
Gorgeous and kind just wasnât fair.
By the time you had gathered all your equipment up and slipped through the side gate out to the Taylorâs pool, Jackie was already lounging back on her chair, phone in hand. She turns her head lazily to look over at you, reaching up to prop her sunglasses on her head to get a better look at you. Her eyes flick up and down slowly, taking in the sight of you in your swim trunks with something almost bordering on excitement. Jackie was always strangely helpful the times when you actually had to get in the pool to clean it.
For the sake of your own mental health, you try not to question it all that much. You especially donât question the little flutter your heart gives as Jackie waves her fingertips at you briefly in greeting before pulling her sunglasses back down. The sight of her tanned, glistening skin has you looking away as you pretend to fidget with your equipment and hope it doesnât look as obvious as it feels.
Someone needs to tell her that itâs 9 AM.
You're surprised to find her up this early with how many times she had completely missed homeroom in high school. Truthfully, it was half the reason you had made your way out to the Taylorsâ so early in the first place. It was completely out of schedule, but you had hoped to swing by and be gone before Jackie had even gotten up.Â
Yet, here Jackie was out by the pool with her drink, looking like something that just walked out of one of those magazines she was always toting around. Her hair was still damp, the strands clinging to her skin in a way that was entirely too pleasant. She wore a bikini that looks more complementary than practical, which makes you suspect her hair was evidence of an early morning shower than the dip in the pool you were expecting.
âYouâre up early,â you comment, giving her an awkward smile as you pull your pool skimmer.
Jackieâs nose crinkles in confusion, her lips pursing slightly as she pulls one of her headphones out of her ear. The faint drone of her music drifts out of her earbud, breaking the silence of the morning.
âWhat?â
You wince, revisiting the urge to bury your head in your hands.
âYouâre up early,â you repeat.
Jackie grins, slow and lazy, lifting her sunglasses up just high enough to give you a wink.Â
Jesus.
âSo you were wondering, huh?â
You scoff, tightening your grip on the skimmer and hoping she doesnât catch the hint of a flush gracing your cheeks. Of course she notices, because why wouldnât she? Lately it felt like she was studying up on all things you. The constant scrutiny made you squirm, and you wish you could say that you hated it. Then again, youâre not sure anyone could hate being on the receiving end of those eyes.
âI mean, you came all the way out here, right?â Jackie continues, undaunted. âYou had to be thinking about me at least a little bit.â
âThis isâI work here,â you sputter unconvincingly. Itâs not like the accusation was untrue. You had been thinking about her. That was obvious enough.Â
Thoughts of Jackie have been taking up more and more of your conscious mind lately. And, embarrassingly enough, your unconscious mind as well. The thought of what happened in your dream last night made you blush for real, trying not to think about how soft her skin had felt beneath your hands before you woke up.
Itâs why you came over so early in the first place, trying to avoid seeing her in the flesh after waking up with the taste of her on your tongue. You didnât expect to find her here, especially not looking like a Vogue model. But that was your life lately.
âBut you put some thought into whether I was awake or not.â
âThe thought may have crossed my mind somewhere between the car and the gate,â you admit finally. The answer felt safe enough.
âThatâs sweet.â
âItâs not sweet. I just didnât expect you to roll out of bed before noon.â
Jackie pouts, lifting her drink up to her lips to take a drink from her straw. She must really be going through those little umbrellas. Youâve never seen her drink anything without one. The condensation drips down her wrist, and a part of you wants to trace the line with your tongue. You clear your throat as you step away to dump the leaves from your skimmer.
âIâm very responsible now,â she protests, bringing a small smile to your lips despite yourself.
âIs that right?â
âYeah, just look at me. I wake up early now, make my own breakfastââ she pauses, glancing down at the cup in her hand before shrugging. âWell, there's some orange juice in this, anyhow.
You grin, shaking your head. âI can see I was mistaken.â
âYouâre making fun of me,â she accuses.
Jackieâs still studying you, waiting impatiently for your reaction. When you donât say anything, she lets out a quiet laugh.
âYou know, if you wanted an excuse to see me so badly, you couldâve just said something. No need for the whole âwow, Jackie, I canât believe you're awakeâ thing.â She twirls her hair around her finger in a playful mockery, watching you over the rim of her glass.Â
You drag the skimmer back through the pool more aggressively than necessary as you pass by what youâve deemed as her side of the pool, glowering down at the water. She has a way of getting you all tripped up and turned around without looking like she was even trying all that hard. It was infuriating.
âYou're cute when you get all mad. Did you know that?â
âIâm notââ You take a deep breath before releasing it with a sigh.
Jackie giggles behind you.
There was no point in trying to win when it came to Jackie. She just wouldnât let you, stubborn to the end. You think she just might try to convince you that the sky was green if you let her go on enough. Worse yet is that you might have to âyes, dearâ your way into pretending to believe her. There was just something about that self-satisfied look on her faceâa smug little smile with just a hint of teeth, chin tilting upward as she preensâthat makes you melt every time without fail.
You step up to the pool stairs, checking out the waterline if only to confirm what you already knew: you needed to scrub the tiles. Normally, it was something you could do by kneeling by the edge and reaching over. But it was so hot out, and some part of you is wary of spending so long bent over in front of Jackie. You dread the thought of what jokes she would make with you right in front of her. Plus, it was just embarrassing to crawl around in front of pretty girls.
Which left you with the other option of getting into the pool, and that meant having to take your shirt off lest you have to work in a wet t-shirt all day. Again, something that wasnât usually a problem. With Jackie so intent to watch you at all times, it could become one. Whatever. You turn to look over in her direction.
Jackieâs looking right at you, glass held loosely in her hand as her mouth struggles to meet the straw. It would take less than a second for her to glance away from you to find it, but she canât seem to bear the thought of it. Your fingers twitch at the bottom of your shirt, taking a deep breath before finally pulling it over your head. Itâs not like you were indecent. The top you wore beneath it was something you wouldnât think twice about wearing to a beach. The way Jackie coughs as she chokes on her drink makes you reconsider that assessment, but you were too far into it to quit now as you took the stairs into the pool.
Despite how committed you are to avoiding Jackieâsomething increasingly necessary for you to get any work done at allâas she stares at you nearly open-mouthed, you couldnât help but revel in her attention. She was more than content to give it as you swim over to the wall, muscles in your arm flexing as you get to work scrubbing grime off the tiles.
You're facing the wrong way to see her approach, but the sound of her glass settling against the ground and the water splashing as her feet enter the pool is unavoidable. Feeling like a horror movie protagonist, you slowly look over your shoulder to find her right behind you like you were expecting.
That was, perhaps, a bit of an exaggeration. She was sitting on the edge of the pool almost directly behind you, sipping her drink as her legs kicked idly through the water. Somehow it still feels like she was breathing down your neck, even from all the way over there. Maybe it was just the intensity of her presence, unavoidable even from across the pool.
Maybe you were just gay.
Itâs not exactly glamorous work, just scrubbing at the tile until your arm felt like it was going to fall off and then moving onto the next stretch of tile, but you wouldnât be mistaken in assuming it was just based on Jackieâs eager expression as she watches behind you. Every time you dare to glance back, there she is. Still just as happy to watch, eyes focused intently as she watches without even saying anything. It might be the longest youâve ever been in her presence without her pestering you about something.
It would be unnerving if not for the way you wanted to squirm beneath her attention.
The way you start to hesitate as you round the pool toward her feels unavoidable. Were you seriously going to be expected to scrub tile with her thighs so close to your face? Sheâs so completely visible in your sight line that you briefly consider closing your eyes. Only the thought of how completely that would go to her head stops you from doing it. You would be lucky to fit her ego back through the door if you did that. If you thought about it, it was really for her own good that you kept your eyes open to occasionally sneak glances at her legs.Â
And her stomach.Â
Andâ
You reach close enough to her that you almost brush her skin, and her sharp breath tells you that sheâs just as aware as you are. Thereâs a moment, as you look up at her, that you consider just asking her to move her leg for you. Itâs obviously what she wants. The look on her face is almost expectant, like sheâs just been sitting here waiting for it. But sheâs been spending so much time teasing lately that you want to get one over on her just this one time.
Also, youâre nervous as hell.
You feel something in your stomach twist at the sound of Jackieâs disappointed little whine as you move around her to start cleaning further down, but you do your best to shake it off. Stay strongâ youâve just got to stay strong. Even if that means ignoring the scantily clad girl almost begging for your attention. Why did you think this was a good idea again?
âWhere are you going?â Jackie asks suddenly. You tense, glancing back over your shoulder almost guiltily with one hand on the railing and the other wrapped around the handle of your scrub brush.
Her head is tilted to the side in some facsimile of confusion that you would almost believe to be genuine if not for the way her fingers tap excitedly against her thighs. You take a deep breath, hoping to find some strength in it. That girl was going to be the death of you.
âOh, well, I meanâŠâ You gesture vaguely toward the side gate. âI just need to add some more chlorine, and then Iâm out of here today.â
You hope your smile looks more confident than it feels.
âYou missed a spot,â she says gently, kicking her feet lightly through the water in front of her. The small waves she leaves in her wake brush up her shins, drawing your attention straight to her legs just like she intended.
âYouâre uhâyouâre sitting there.â
âThatâs okay. I donât mind.â
She wouldnât, would she? You wouldâve scoffed if you had it in you to be brave in this moment.
You turn around reluctantly, feeling like you just got caught doing something you shouldnât, only to be graced with Jackieâs sharp smile with just a hint of teeth. Oh God, she could sense weakness. She was like a shark who just smelled blood in the water.
Jackie doesnât look away the whole time you make your way over to her, the familiar trip across the pool feeling like it took years as her eyes bore into your head. You clear your throat as you settle by her legs, one hand on the concrete beside her thighs to hold yourself up in the deep end as your feet just barely brush the concrete below. She glances down slowly at your hand before meeting your eyes again.
âWell?â She asks in that soft voice of hers as you grip the handle tighter between your fingers and hesitate. You look up at her from where sheâs towering over you from her position on the concreteâskipping past the temptation that was her legs crossed at the ankle right beside your shoulder.
You get to work, slowly scrubbing the tile and trying to reduce the number of times your hand brushes against the smooth wet skin of her thighs as you do. You almost want to cry every time her sun-kissed skin brushes yours, but that has nothing on the breathy little noises that leave her lips when you do. Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, but it does nothing to keep her quiet or to keep the last of your restraint from pulling away.
Finally, as you run out of tile to scrub that her thighs werenât blocking, you set your brush down momentarily on the concrete beside her to tap meaningfully at her knee. If she wants to play games so badly, you could too. You werenât fooling yourself into thinking you could beat her in them, but at the very least you could compete instead of just being the victim. It was the least she deserved after showing herself off this entire summer.Â
You were tired of pretending like she didnât know what she was doing, and apparently so was she.
You donât even see it coming until it happens, five manicured fingers cupping the back of your neck and tilting your head up, and then a pair of soft lips pressing against yours. She tasted like a mix of sunscreen and cherry chapstick, presumably the same one youâve seen her tote around all summer. She likes to make a show of putting it on, knowing how it drags your eyes straight to her lips. They were impossibly soft as they moved against yours, just long enough for your mind to go blank until everything caught up to you.
Jackie smiles as you pull away, that brilliant gleam in her eyes slowly fading as her lips downturn at the look on your face.
âIâve got⊠Iâve got to go,â you say in a rush, feeling some indescribable mix of shock and confusion that you canât quite wrap your head around. As much flirting as sheâs been doing all summer, you didnât expect her to actually mean it. Girls like Jackie never did, did they? That had proved true again and again this summer, but there she was. You werenât sure what it even meant, or if she meant it the same way you wanted her to.
You need to go before you say something stupid, while you still have time to think.
You bring your hand up to press against your lips in surprise as you back away, heading for the stairs without looking away from her. Jackie stands up looking panicked, so utterly distraught that it makes you sick to look at. So you donât, tearing your eyes away as you take the stairs two at a time on your way toward the gate.
âWait!â She calls out, just a step too far behind to stop you from reaching it. âI shouldnât have⊠without asking. Iâm sorryââ
But you were gone, and you didnât even know why.
âŠÂ
You shut the door of your car so quietly behind you that you're tempted to double-check that it even caught the latch, but youâre already starting to catch stray eyes from some nosy women in the house across from Jackieâs. Itâs with a hint of reluctance that you wave, already knowing youâre going to catch a comment from her parents about how late you stopped by. They werenât even home and havenât been for days, but they were so concerned with what the neighbors thought of them that they couldnât allow you to just stop by.
A bigger concern is what, if anything, Jackie would say to her parents when they finally got home about what happened tonight. Likely it would be nothing. You couldnât imagine Jackie having real conversations with them as much as she complains about them. But itâs not like she would have to tell them what really happened. Youâre sure she could make something up just bad enough that youâd lose out on any jobs in her neighborhood without much effort on her part.
Thereâs not really anything you can do about it, as frustrated as the thought makes you feel. Itâs not like sheâd even be out of line for doing it. You went ahead and fucked that up royally in a matter of minutes. It was a surprise, to be certain, but it probably shouldnât have been. Jackie was a little too genuine not to mean it when she was flirting with you, much to your embarrassment.
A pretty girl had kissed you, and what had you done?
Ran.Â
Away.
You couldâve slapped yourself if you hadnât already spent the majority of your day beating yourself up for the choice. It had felt so real in the moment, so utterly mortifying that you had to flee. Now you mostly just felt stupid and small.
And here you were having to crawl back at the end of your workday to put a jug of chlorine in their pool because you freaked out at the feeling of Jackie Taylorâs lips on yours. Who the fuck runs away when Jackie Taylor kisses them? You were certifiable.
You certainly feel that way as you sneak back through the back gate, lifting it up on one side to stop the gate from squeaking as you carefully shut it behind you. That lesson had been learned one too many times for you to fall victim to it now. Damn gate was always giving you away to a girl intent on preying on you. At least now you were content in the knowledge that you wouldnât be running into her again today, not whenâ
She rises out of the depths like something from a movie, each step revealing more and more skin to your eager eyes. You feel guilty about even seeing it, like you should call out and let her know that youâre getting the show of a lifetime as she finishes up her swim. Water drips down toned shoulders, pooling beneath Jackieâs feet as she carefully squeezes water out of her hair as she steps out of the pool.Â
You stop in your tracks and just stare.
Jackie turns her head to look at you over her shoulder, expression painfully neutral as she tugs the towel up her back and wraps it under her shoulders.Â
âI didn't know you could swim,â you mutter stupidly at the sight of water droplets teasing their way down her skin, dripping down her thighs and making a path all the way down to her ankles that you can't help but follow with your eyes. Add in her wet hair plastered to her face, and you think you might have died and gone straight to heaven.Â
âYou came all the way back here to say that?â She asks, rounding the edge of the pool as she finally lets herself meet your eyes head-on. Jackie's holding the towel tightly around herself, almost like armor.Â
There's something hopeful in her eyes as she looks at you, up until her eyes trail down and she catches sight of the jug of chlorine held loosely in your hand. Oh, she mouths, face falling as a look of embarrassment crosses it. She pulls the towel tighter.Â
âI uhâI forgot the chlorine earlier,â you confess in an embarrassed whisper, rubbing the back of your neck with one hand as if it could somehow save you. It just makes you feel all that much more ridiculous. Nothing could save you from Jackieâs wrath if she was feeling like acting on it.
âWhen you ran away without a word?â
ââŠYeah. Then.â
The silence stretches on for what feels like ages, Jackie just watching you with something on her face a little thoughtful, before her face softens and she waves toward the pool. Itâs not as dismissive as it could be, but itâs also not all that inviting. Sheâs closed a part of herself off as she holds onto the towel, and you canât say that you blame her for it.
You watch her back as you move around the pool, carefully finishing up. She doesnât seem to mind your attention, even when most people would. Thereâs something about her that makes her look so much smaller than she usually seems. Maybe itâs the lack of that smug confidence that usually makes her seem larger than life, but itâs unsettling to say the least. There are none of the teasing remarks that would usually accompany you doing something so blatant, not even a single comment.
âIâm sorry,â you say finally, not able to take the silence any longer.
Her eyes narrow, head tilting to the side in an expression of confusion. Always so expressive, that one.
âWhat are you sorry for?â
âEarlier. I shouldnât have run off like that.â
âI shouldnât have kissed you. I just thought thatâŠâ
âYou werenât wrong,â you admit.
âThen why did you leave?âÂ
She sounds frustrated now, but that familiar pep has already started to re-enter her step. Her hold on the towel is already starting to loosen, making it just a little more difficult to hold onto your train of thought. But didnât she always?
âI freaked.â
âNo kidding,â Jackie says, unimpressed and not shy of showing it. God, you were already stumbling over yourself.
âI didnât think you ever meant it when you were, yâknow. I mean, youâre,â you pause to gesture to the whole of her with your hand. âYou.â
âYour story is that you were so pleased that I kissed you that you just had to run away? Iâve got to say, I'm not a fan of those reflexes.â
âIt was the only thing I could think of.â
âHow reassuring,â she says dryly.
âIf it helps, I regretted it almost immediately.â
âDid you?â The towel slips out of her hands onto a chair as she shrugs out of it. âDid you think about it all day?â
âYeah,â you sigh, eyes widening as she stalks closer.
âYouâre an idiot.â
âYeah.â You nod.
âWell,â she says finally, âI am, like, a great kisser. Iâd probably run off too if I kissed me.â
âHumble,â you tease, trying to feign some sense of dignity. It all but fled you at the sight of her before you, so close that you could reach out and touch her. The thought of resting your hands on your hips, fingers pressing into soft skin as you pull her forward is all-consuming.
Jackie hums. âArenât I just?â
Before you can even think of something to say, feeling like anything you could come up with would be useless, Jackie steps toward you and any words you couldâve fumbled your way through dry up in your throat.
âIâm going to kiss you again,â she declares evenly, settling her arms around your shoulders.
âOkay,â you mumble, hands settling on her hips like they belong there. Jackie certainly seems to like it, eyes flicking down briefly to land on your hands before meeting your eyes again.
âIf you run off again,â she says in a whisper, her lips so close you could feel them brushing against your skin. âIâll tell everyone that you tried to kiss me but got so flustered you fell right into the pool. Splash.â
âThat didnât happen.â
âTheyâll believe me.â
âBlackmail, Jackie?â
âI prefer to think of it as a form of persuasion. Sounds nicer that way, donât you think?â
âOh, youâre evil,â you murmur, charmed despite yourself.
âMaybe, but I'll tell everyone. Shauna, your friends, Lottie. I might even call up your parents.â
Lottie? Why would she even know about⊠Oh, shit. That damn soccer team.
You laugh, feeling less confident than you appear. âYou wouldnât.â
âTry me,â she says with a grin, her eyes shining with mirth. âI just think you need a little incentive.
Both because you're lacking a quip and because you hope itâll throw Jackie off her game, you lean forward and close the distance between the two of you yourself. Jackie squeaks in surprise, nails digging into your neck as her fingers flex before she catches herself. Thereâs a moment where it feels like you're kissing a brick wall before Jackie responds, meeting you beat for beat as she practically glues herself to your front.
You lost track of the amount of time you spent like that, wrapped up in her and pulling away just far enough to breathe before sheâs right back on you. Sheâs so incredibly eager that it makes your head spin, and you know you must look about the same. Itâs hard not to, not when youâre so caught up in her orbit that you canât even think of ever leaving. Where else would you even go?
Jackie doesnât seem to have the same constraints, pulling away just enough to have you chasing after her lips step for step as she backs up. Stupidly, it reminds you of chasing after a pie in a cartoonâyou could be floating after her for all you care, as long as it got you closer. Almost as if she could sense your thoughts, Jackie giggles, rewarding you with another kiss as she stops.
âInside?â You ask finally, dragging yourself away from her lips regretfully as you skim your hands up her sides.
âMm, no,â she sighs.
âN-no?â You start to pull away, but Jackie doesnât let you.Â
Deliberate fingers wrap around your wrists, leading your hands all the way up her sides to cup her breasts through her damp top. No one has to tell you twice. Your fingers flex instinctively as you start to give them some attention, thumbs brushing along the curve of her breasts that quickly become deliberate. She presses into the touch with a quiet sound that wouldâve earned your devotion if she hadnât already had it.
âWe're not getting pool on my bed,â she protests through kiss-swollen lips, making the subsequent pout all that more devastating.Â
You sigh, not bothering to argue as you move her back. Jackie lets you back her up without a fight, a little too trusting that you aren't about to push her in the pool. She glances back only as the back of her knees meets her favorite lounger, a pleased look crossing her face as she sits back.Â
The look only grows as you slip to your knees in front of her, shifting to get comfortable on the concrete below you. You tug at the string to her bikini, slowly pulling it down her thighs. Jackie scoots down without a word as you lift one leg over your shoulder, planting her other leg on the pavement beside the chair.Â
Thereâs a thought of voicing a complaint as the uneven concrete digs painfully into your knees, but it leaves you at the sight of her bare before you. There could be glass beneath you, and you arenât positive it would even register right now.
You press your lips against the side of her knee, tasting the chlorine still clinging to her damp skin as you kiss your way up her toned thigh. Her muscles flex involuntarily beneath the touch, a pleasant feeling that has you spending longer than strictly necessary there before reaching her cunt. Jackie lets her displeasure be known with a tug of your hair as her heel presses into your back.
It only digs in more as you run your tongue along the length of her, firmly keeping you in place between her legs as she tosses her head back. As if you would be going anywhere with Jackie spread out in front of you like some kind of offering. You wouldnât leave even if her house was burning down in front of you.
âFuck,â Jackie whines, throwing the arm not buried in your hair over her eyes to shield herself from the sun.Â
God forbid the sun shine in her eyes while you're eating her out.
âYouâre soââ She cuts herself off as your tongue presses somewhere sensitive, shifting beneath you as her fingers curl in your hair. A warning and a plea all at once, wrapped up into a single buck of her hips.
You settle in, grabbing her hips tighter to hold her steady beneath you as you drag your tongue where she wants you most in deliberate little strokes that have her thighs trembling in response. You could do this for hours, giving her every last thing she wants if only to earn those bitten-off moans as she tries and fails to keep her quiet. If only she had let you take her inside where she could be as loud as she wants, echoing off the walls if she so desires.
But thereâs no rush. Not when sheâs so wet and wanting.
Jackie shifts again, an impatient noise leaving her lips that has you bracing for another demand only for her to mumble, almost to herself, âWhere did I put my sunglasses?â
Disbelief floods through you so strongly that you still for a moment, drawing a quick complaint from Jackie that turns into a relieved noise as it gives her enough brainpower to find where sheâd knocked her sunglasses off the side table.
She reaches out with her newly freed hand to grab at the one settled across her hips, tangling your fingers together and squeezing tightly. Any lingering irritation vanishes at the realization of why exactly she needed her hand to be free. You squeeze back after shifting your grip to accommodate her.Â
âPlease,â she murmurs, hips moving to meet you in greedy little circles as you lap at her clit. Her hand on the back of your head holds you right where she wants you as she moves, bracing her foot on the ground for leverage so she can chase every flick of your tongue.Â
You couldn't hold her down if you tried, not with how soaked she still was, but you're more than okay with letting her do whatever she wants as long as it ends with her falling apart on your tongue. You weren't picky when it came to the how.Â
Your name slips through her lips, soft and desperate, and it sounds like coming home.Â
A girl could grow addicted to this.Â
âŠÂ
âThirsty?â Jackie asks, sitting down at the edge of the pool with a glass of water in hand. You smirk at the sight of her, specifically at the sight of the yellowing marks youâd left on her thighs. The memory of her little gasps, the way her thighs trembled, her hands tangled in your hairâit was enough to pull you away from any task.
âI could be.â
She lifts the glass pointedly, tapping her fingers along the rim as she gives you a knowing look. You push off the wall, away from the ladder youâve been scrubbing. It makes you feel like a dog coming when called, but there were far worse things to be. Like someone who didnât get to go down on Jackie Taylor.Â
Thatâs how you were separating your life now: before Jackie and after.
Her smile is so sweet that water could melt it, thighs spreading just enough for you to stand between them as you look up at her. You rest your hands on the concrete beside her, grinning at the way the splash makes her grimace as the water drops pool beneath your hand and make its way to where sheâs sitting.
âHey,â she greets, just shy enough that you want to take her cheeks between your palms and squish her face.
You reach up to grab the glass, only for her to pull it away before you can reach it.
âHeyââ you protest, but sheâs having none of it. She presses a finger to your lips, giggling when you press a wet kiss against her fingertip.
âShush. Here.â
She lowers the glass down to your lips, watching you closely until you part your lips and let her slowly pour it. Jackie cups the side of your face with one hand as she tilts the glass all the way up, rubbing her thumb across your cheek as she pulls the glass away.
âBetter?â
âAlmost.â You trail your hand up one of her warm thighs, leaving little rivulets of pool water in your wake. Her eyes lock onto your hand, shifting to press her thigh further into your hand.
âYou looked too warm in here,â she says distractedly, gasping breathily when you push your thumb into one of the bruises youâd left.
âYou look hot up there.â
âMm, wellâŠâ Jackie shrugs in acknowledgment, scooting forward so she can slide her way down the wall and into your arms.
You hold on to her thighs to steady her as her legs wrap around your hips, her arms curling around your shoulders as she leans in for a kiss that you happily give. Jackie lets out a pleased hum as she pulls away, peppering kisses along the curve of your jaw.Â
âI thought you had plans today,â you murmur distractedly, squeezing Jackie's hip before sliding around to cup her ass.Â
âIt'sâit's your fault,â Jackie accuses.Â
âYeah?â
âHow was I supposed to go? I can't wear my bikini anywhere because of you and your stupid mouth. I had to pretend I was sick.â
âOh, anything but that,â you tease, eyes trailing down to her chest just where her breast meets the fabric of her top. She had other bikinis, of course, but this one was her favorite. Still, you hadn't heard her complaining when you had her skin in your mouth in the first place.
âYou should make it up to me.âÂ
âShould I?â
âDon't be mean.â
âAm I so mean to you?â
âThe worst,â she confirms, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she speaks. Itâs less of an accusation and more of an invitation to make it up to her. You canât say that you feel particularly guilty about it, but youâll take the opportunity to have her any time she offers.
Jackie squeals in delight as you lift her higher, the water making the move feel almost effortless as her thighs wrap around your sides. It turns into a moan as your hands trail up her back, fingertips tracing the tie of her bikini top. She barely has time to register it before you pluck the string loose, letting it fall below her breasts before you duck your head to bury your face between them.Â
Jackieâs breath hitches, her back arching up off the concrete behind her to offer more of herself up to your mouth. She grabs at the back of your head to keep you right where she wants you. Right now, thatâs mouthing at her nipple as her nails scratch at your scalp.
âYeah,â she murmurs, hips rolling against your stomach in slow, thoughtless circles as she chases her pleasure. One thing youâve learned about Jackie is how damn impatient she is, but her whiny little moans do more to make up for it than anything she couldâve said. Not, of course, that you care with the way her abs flex with each and every roll of her hips.
âFeels good?â You ask, glancing at her spit-slicked chest briefly as you move to mouth at the other. The faint taste of chlorine fills your mouth as your tongue flicks across her nipple. Itâs an unpleasant taste, all things considered, but not enough to pull you away from the warmth of her skin.
âDonât sound soâso smug.â
You roll your eyes, slipping your hand between your bodies to cup her through her bottoms. She gasps at the touch, your hand almost cold compared to the warmth of the water.Â
Jackie tenses as your palm brushes against her, rolling her hips as you give her something firmer to grind against. The whine that escapes her is almost inaudible over the rippling of the water with each and every shift of your limbs, but youâre far too focused on her to miss it. You nip at the curve of her breast, too pleased with yourself to resist leaving a matching hickey as you suck a mark into her skin.
Youâve seen how she looks by the poolside, and the longer you can keep her away from showing offâjust existing in a bikini around othersâthe better. Plus, she makes the prettiest little sounds when you press on the bruises youâve left behind.
She lets go of your shoulder just long enough to pull the strings of her bottoms herself, impatiently tugging the fabric away so that you can touch her bare.Â
Impatient today, as always. You tell her as much, a smug grin pulling at the corner of your lips as you tear your mouth away from her chest. A sacrifice, if you were being honest.
âShut up and touch me,â Jackie mutters, a hint of a plea entering her voice as her nails dig into your shoulders. She tips her head back against the concrete ledge of the pool behind her, her hips rolling lazily against your hand. You donât make her wait.
You feel around briefly, happy to give her what she wants as you press a finger inside.
âMm,â Jackie murmurs breathlessly as you curl your finger, slipping in a second finger on an outstroke that has her searching out the friction of your palm once again. The muscles in her thighs tense, flexing pleasantly beneath your palm as you hold her close.
She slides her hand up your shoulders, cupping the back of your neck as she tilts your head up to meet her as she leans in. Itâs messy and broken, desperately trying to get closer while mostly succeeding in breathing in your airâless of a kiss and more of occasionally remembering to press your lips together in between moans. Itâs the perfect way to spend your afternoon as your hand works steadily between tanned thighs to coax out all those little sounds.
Jackie melts into you, all limp and pliable, and you have to back her up further against the wall to keep her where you want her. Her lips part around stuttering gasps, clenching hard around your fingers as you curl them just right. She lazily chases your palm with slow, rolling hips. More instinctual than any real attempt to help you get her off, seemingly happy to take what you give her.
Youâre sure that would change in a second if you stopped giving her exactly what she wantedâsheâs not exactly one to suffer in silenceâbut you didnât feel like denying her anything at this moment.Â
When she comes, itâs not with the loud cry youâd grown accustomed to, but with a shocked little gasp as if she couldnât believe she was coming this quick either. Thereâs something almost like disappointment on her face as she comes down, like she canât decide whether or not she regrets how fast she fell apart for you.
You canât have that, not when she went through the trouble of wearing your favorite of her bikinis. If sheâs going to go through the effort of teasing you, the least you could do is leave her wrung out and spent.
âI'm notââ Jackie trails into a soft moan as you pull your hand away. âI'm not convinced I should forgive you.âÂ
âIs that right?â
She nods. You trail your fingers up her arms, pulling them away from where they were wrapped around your shoulders and leading them up to the concrete.Â
âUp,â you murmur against her lips, giving her one last kiss as you grab at her thighs.Â
She slowly unravels her legs from your hips, pulling herself up the side of the pool to sit on the concrete as you help her up. There's a look of confusion that turns into delight when she realizes where the position puts your mouth, a happy little hum leaving her lips as she shifts to spread her legs wider.
Jackie sighs at the little kisses you press against the inside of her thighs, letting herself be led back to lie against the concrete as you throw an arm over jerking hips and make your way up between her legs.
A small, impatient whine leaves her lips as you take a second to nip at the mark you left on her inner thigh, taking a moment to worry the flesh between your teeth until it looks brand new again.
âSee? Mean,â she says smugly, fingers twitching uselessly on the concrete before she leads them up to tug at wet hair expectantly.
âMaybe I should stop, then,â you murmur against her thigh, dragging your tongue across a trail of water dripping down her skin as you follow it up and up until her hips jerk beneath the weight of your arm.
Thereâs something about the way she looks right now, sun-kissed skin splayed out across the poolside as muscles tense beneath your touch, that has you giving in immediately to her wordless demands as you press yourself fully against the concrete wall to take her into your mouth.
Her back arches off the concrete, a whimper forced from her lips as you force her back down with a hand stretched across her stomach. Thighs twitch beneath your palm, instinctively trying to press together, but your hand is already there to pull them apart. As much as you enjoy the feeling of her thighs pressing against your ears, it was a little too early to have to work with that little room.
âYouâre such aââ Jackie starts, but anything she could have said is lost in the ensuing whine as your tongue flicks across damp skin.Â
You love watching her like this: torn between warring instincts of needing your attention and still being sensitive enough that she struggles to take it. Love the way her thighs twitch, the way the muscles in her stomach tense beneath your palm, the little sounds she makes under her breath as she tries to force herself quiet. Always so aware of the potential of an unwanted audience. If you spend enough time here, braced between her thighs as your tongue works its magic, sheâll forget where youâve got her on her back and get loud enough that youâre sure someone must hear it.Â
But thatâs a problem for a later you.
âInside,â she demands, shifting on the concrete to make more room for you. Like she could take more of you that way.
You end up doing this awkward little dance as you figure out how to get your fingers where she wants while still holding yourself up on the side, but itâs all worth it to hear the way the air sounds punched from her lungs as you sink two fingers inside without warning.
âFuck.â Her voice is wrecked, making something in your stomach twist as you move up to her clit. Between that and the steady curl of your fingers, Jackie becomes a desperate little thing in what feels like no time at all.
The way she reacts is so intoxicating, so completely at your mercy and eager for more. You keep the pressure steady as restless hands grab and pull at you anywhere she can reach, and it doesnât leave her with much to work with. She mostly just settles for pulling at your hair and crossing her ankles behind your back, which seems effective enough to settle her out as she chases the feeling.
You can tell from the way her thighs start to tremble something fierce that sheâs reaching the edge long before that final desperate cry leaves her lips as she tumbles right over it. Sheâs tense, every muscle in her body seeming to seize at once. So tense that you rub absently at the muscles in her thigh as you work her down until she collapses bonelessly back against the concrete. Her thighs tremble against your shoulders, almost shaking you with the intensity of it as her hips twitch absently.
Jackie seems dazed as she stares up at the sky, blinking pathetically when you remind her not to look at the sun before she nods absently and closes her eyes. Still breathing heavily as a lazy grin takes root on her face.
All in all, it's been a pretty productive summer.Â
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