i have an idea for your summer fics <3 shauna and jackie are married and hire a pool girl for their new house and yk how that goes
» jackieshauna x fem!reader
— warnings: pool girl!reader. implied age gap (reader is 18+). nsfw content. mdni. ‘accidental’ voyeurism. strap-on usage. threesomes. semi-public sex. skinny dipping. oral sex.
jackie who hires you in the first place, spending her wife’s money on a local pool company to get somebody to clean the pool she’s been wanting but has absolutely no desire to clean herself whatsoever. why should she, she reasons with shauna, chin held high in refusal, if it’s all gross like that and they have all the means to pay someone else to do it. shauna, albeit reluctant, does relent eventually, having to admit that her wife has a point: they can indeed afford the extra help, and she would much rather pay that money than argue with her wife over it.
it is also jackie who lets you in the very first time you show up to their place: barefoot & in loose linen pants, she greets you right at the door and steps aside to invite you in, leading you through the house & making some smalltalk along the way: asking where you go to college, if this is only your summer job or your actual job, etc etc. all the while, she guides you through their living room and out into the backyard, where the pool awaits.
you don’t catch sight of shauna until the third or so visit. truth be told you didn’t really know of her existence up until that point. sure, you’d caught glimpses of wedding photos in the hallway, some signs pointing towards jackie not living on her own (aside from the huge fucking house, that is, which you were already pretty sure she didn’t occupy all by herself), but you never meant to pry/make her uncomfortable by outright asking. so, you only get proper confirmation when shauna is actually around for one of your pool maintenance days, supervising your work from behind a pair of sunglasses as she sits reading on a nearby lawn chair.
from the start, she is different from her wife, making noticeably less smalltalk & also showing far less interest in finding out anything about you. shauna is no less attentive, though, always picking spots for her afternoon sunbathing that keep you right in her line of sight, then shamelessly staring at you for as long as you stick around to work (which normally is as long as you can possibly drag it out for, enjoying being the center of her attention).
eventually making a whole show of it, knowing you’ve got at least one woman’s eyes on you at all times? wearing gradually shorter clothes to your shifts at the shipman-taylors’, tighter tops & shorts…? exaggeratedly stretching and bending over whenever you notice them watching…...?
jackie who picks up on that first. chances are shauna knows, too, which you assume she does, given how often she’s taken the bait of your little outfits & how many times you’ve caught her staring at your ass while you worked. but with her out of the house on most days, jackie is still the one who spends more time around you, calling you over even on days when there is, frankly, nothing you could be doing; their pool clean and well taken care of. still, you pretend not to notice, busying yourself around the pool house and acting like there’s stuff left for you to do so you can stay around longer. you figure that, if they didn’t enjoy your company, they wouldn’t keep calling you over this frequently, and you’re very much willing to make the most of it.
jackie who returns your teasing in full force, then: out in the yard as well, and close to the pool, she’s oiling her toned legs in languid motions, one knee bent as she runs her hands up & down her calf, all without ever taking her eyes off you.
“are you busy right now?” she’ll call over to where you’re crouched by the filtration system, ‘inspecting’ the pool’s pressure gauge.
“hm?” afraid to have been caught wasting time, you stumble to your feet and turn around, only to find jackie holding a bottle of sunscreen out to you, her freshly oiled legs now glistening in the morning sun.
“can you do my back?” she asks innocently. “sorry, i know you’re busy, but shauna isn’t here to do it, and i can’t reach it myself.”
jackie is your boss, so what else are you supposed to do if not say yes? had you known what you’d actually be getting yourself into, and that she wouldn’t let you stand there & do it, but instead lie down stomach first on the lounge chair, expecting you to kneel over her, legs bracketing either side of her hips to work the sunscreen into her shoulders, you wouldn’t have agreed quite so easily!
and as if that, in itself, isn’t bad enough already, jackie has untied the straps of her bikini top, too, leaving her entire, sunwarmed back bare under your hands. her skin is so soft as you spread the sunscreen outward from the line you’ve squeezed down her spine, trying your hardest not to pay those fucking sounds she’s making any mind. they might be muffled by the cushions, but you swear you can hear jackie moan as your fingers dig into her back.
jackie who knows no stopping, after that sunscreen incident. you do wonder if the couple has talked about this in private, and if they now have some plan to flirt with you together (if so, they’re succeeding), because even when shauna is around, she keeps up with it, seeking out your touch & being close to you. “it’s so unfair that you have to work under the sun all day,” she’ll pout, for example, squeezing your upper arm as she walks past on her way back inside. other days, she will simply lounge in shauna’s lap, the two women simply watching you work together.
shauna who, while less one to take so much initiative herself, is still constantly watching you with such intensity you cannot help but squirm as soon as her eyes land on you. even with jackie sitting on her lap like that, and shauna’s hands running over her wife’s body (squeezing her hips & her thighs like you’re not standing right there, a few feet away, pretending not to watch them right back because that would be unprofessional), her gaze will still be set on you the whole time from over jackie’s shoulder.
shauna who, for her lack of flirting, at least still partially wants you around for your work. or so you think, until, one day, while you’re, for once, actually cleaning their pool, she suddenly appears behind you. as focused on skimming leaves from the water as you are, you don’t hear her approach, startling at the sudden touch. you’ve never felt either of them so close, yet here’s shauna, whose strong hands land on your hips. her mouth is right by your ear, like that, the whole length of her body pressed against your back when she murmurs: “you missed one.” for another second or two, she stays like that, very much in your personal space, before finally stepping back with one last squeeze to your waist. when you leave later that same day, they’re both on their chairs again, jackie waving goodbye while shauna is doing what she does best: watching you like a fucking hawk.
walking in on them one day…..you’re sure they must have planned it, knowing damn well when you’re meant to show up by now. their front door is left unlocked & ajar when you get there, your knock enough to nudge it open all the way. perhaps your first mistake is going inside, then, and not just turning on your heel and making a run for it. but jackie & shauna have always let you in before, and it doesn’t seem all that unusual at first. so, instead, you venture into their living room, where the patio doors stand open wide and you can hear the sounds of birds chirping from the backyard. no sign of jackie or shauna, though, neither in there nor out by the pool.
you’re about to call for them, fingers tracing over the kitchen countertop as you glance toward the backyard again, when suddenly, you hear it: it comes from the second floor, far enough away to be the tiniest bit muffled, but without a doubt a moan. and once you’re actually listening, frozen in place, there’s no unhearing it: from the room directly above the kitchen, which must be their bedroom, comes the steady creak of the couple’s bed, headboard slamming into the wall to the rhythm of their bodies moving together.
quietly, you dare take another step forward, and then another, until you eventually find yourself standing at the foot of the stairs, where the sounds are so clear you wonder if they’ve left the door to their bedroom open as well. not only do you hear the creaky bed & the moans; there are even the rhythmic wet thrusts of whatever it is that they’re doing up there. “shauna,” jackie moans, over the slapping of skin against skin. “shauna- s-so fucking big…you’re so deep, baby!”
you feel a throb between your legs, holding onto the nearest wall for dear life so as not to outright faint & fall over. at least that answers your question, then: the wet squelches must be the sound of jackie’s cunt around shauna’s strap. shauna groans in response, the pace picking up. even so, jackie cries out: “harder! harder, shauna. fuck, please!”
with every word from her, the throbbing between your thighs increases. already, you can feel the fabric of your underwear clinging to the slick there, your clit twitching, aching for relief beneath the thin barrier. “yes,” jackie moans, and you wish you could see them, take a peek into their room to put a picture to the voices crying out. “oh my god, yes baby, like that.”
it goes on like that, their fucking, until the sounds eventually begin to subside, then stop altogether, and you remember the position you’re in just in time for a door upstairs to be pushed open. you can already hear their footsteps coming down the stairs as you hurry back outside, racing across the yard and heading straight for the pool, getting there right when jackie steps out onto the patio in a silky robe. she smiles when she spots you and, stretching her arms out over her head, says: “ah, good, you let yourself in.”
shauna who, on a particularly hot afternoon not long after that, invites you to stay for a swim after your job is done. ever since you overheard them, thoughts of the two of them together have occupied your every waking thought. matter of fact, even in your sleep, you’ll sometimes wake from a dream with your sleep shorts soaked and your heart racing in your chest. “come on, it’s too hot for you to go home,” she says, leading the way back outside, where jackie is waiting with her legs dangling into the water. she doesn’t say anything when she sees you, only watches as you peel off your shirt & pants.
jackie who, once you’ve waded out into the deeper end of the pool, slips in after you with a small splash, shivering as she floats over to you while shauna still sheds her own clothes on the lawn. not stopping once she’s within reach, you soon feel the warmth of her body against yours below the surface, her nipples poking through the fabric of her bikini, then her fingers as she takes your chin in hand & tilts your head towards her.
it’s jackie who kisses you first, her lips slowly moving against yours, and coaxing you into reciprocating it despite shauna standing right there beside you. if you ever so much as try to turn your head in her direction, though, the grip jackie has on your cheeks tightens, fingers sinking into the skin as she holds you close to herself and pries your lips apart with her tongue. your hands land on her slick shoulders, too scared to outright reach for her waist yet, while her own drape around the back of your neck, lips soft even as your tongues slide together.
getting fucked in their pool, then, held between their bodies, with shauna joining in, too, groaning close to your ear from having watched you & her wife make out for so long. thankfully, their backyard is pretty private, well shielded by tall trees surrounding the property & fences keeping the next door neighbors from seeing much of anything that goes on in their pool.
with shauna’s lips attached to your neck, without a doubt leaving marks on your skin, and jackie’s still moving against your own, they push your bikini bottoms aside with ease, one of them (though you’re not entirely sure who it is) locating your clit and rubbing it in tight circles. the water splashes around you as you let your head fall back against shauna’s shoulder, who welcomes you with open arms as your eyes roll back in pleasure, moaning shamelessly and rocking your hips into the touch.
“that’s it…” she praises, lips wet where they trail along the back of your neck while the hand between your legs picks up its pace, applying more pressure to your already swollen, sensitive clit.
shauna who, after that evening in their pool, makes sure you understand that it wasn’t just a one-time thing where all three of you acted on a whim, the next time you arrive at their place, nervous out of your mind, only to find out jackie isn’t home. it’s shauna, who answers the door and reveals that ‘jackie had errands,’ as she leads you inside for a drink. shauna who steps up behind you until you feel the bulge in her shorts, who bends you over the kitchen counter right then & there, in a frantic series of movements and fucks you hard & fast from behind, panting about how she’d been waiting to finally fuck you with her cock, until jackie gets home.
jackie who watches………? entering the living room, she doesn’t seem all that surprised to find the two of you there, with your legs kicked apart, and your chest pressed flat to the counter as shauna thrusts her hips at a relentless pace, leaving you no choice but to let out all those moans, even when you hear the key turning in the door. it damn near seems like jackie expected to find you like this, smiling as she takes in the sight of you, pinned beneath her wife like that, while shauna groans and buries her dick inside you to the hilt.
skinny dipping in their pool, late at night!! letting the two of them take the lead and guide you into the water, where they will let you float and playfully splash water at them, before you eventually end up close together all over again, and they practically pass you back & forth between their naked bodies, until the early morning hours, at which point they will take you back inside, up the stairs and into their shared bedroom. doing it in an actual bed, for the first time...? still naked, with shauna kneeling between your legs while jackie straddles your chest, waiting for your nod before moving further up.
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Where the Blades Meet the Bleachers (Alysa Liu x Reader)
(a/n) ahhhh! okay my bbs this is a long piece (around 12,000 words...oops) and is pure fluff (sorry not sorry) 🥹🫶🏻
A popular UCLA cheerleader, an alt-girl athlete with a habit of walking into bike racks, and a romance that updates the campus lore. From private ice rinks to crowded bleachers, this is the story of two very different athletes finding their perfect rhythm.
The California sun is usually a blessing, but today it was actively conspiring against Alysa Liu.
Stepping out of the air-conditioned sanctuary of the rink and onto the bustling UCLA campus, Alysa adjusted the straps of her backpack. She was wearing her absolute staples—the Nike track pants that practically lived on her body, and a fitted white Team USA tee that cut off just high enough to flash a sliver of her midriff whenever she moved. Her hair, a perfectly chaotic cascade of brown and blonde striped chunks complete with choppy bangs, caught the breeze. Her smiley piercing glinted against her teeth as she hummed a song stuck in her head.
Alysa knew she stood out. She was an alt girl who also happened to spend half her life spinning on knives on the ice. She was loud, she was goofy, and she was currently completely, utterly distracted.
Because there you were.
You were on the grass just off the main pathway, practicing a routine for the upcoming football game with three other cheerleaders. Alysa’s feet slowed down to a crawl. To Alysa, you were a literal goddess. The epitome of femme perfection, moving with a sharp, graceful precision that made Alysa’s skater brain appreciate your athleticism, while her gay brain just completely short-circuited. Every twist, every high kick, every curve of your body in that practice gear had Alysa entirely intoxicated.
She’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny, Alysa thought, staring openly as she walked. Probably straight, definitely popular, and absolutely lethal.
You caught her looking. It wasn’t the first time, either. Over the past few weeks, you’d noticed the striped hair and the intense, wide-eyed stare across campus. It was honestly endearing. As you transitioned into a brief water break, you caught her eye and flashed her a bright, genuine smile.
Alysa’s heart did a triple axel. Her brain completely detached from her motor functions. She offered a frantic, goofy grin back, her eyes entirely locked on you—
CRASH.
Alysa’s shins violently collided with the bikes on a metal bike rack.
The impact sent her stumbling forward, her backpack shifting wildly as she barely managed to catch herself from faceplanting onto the concrete.
Over on the grass, the girls giggled. Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide, trying to suppress a laugh at the sheer suddenness of it.
Alysa felt her entire face turn a vibrant shade of crimson. Her cool factor had instantly plummeted to zero. Gathering what was left of her dignity, she stood up straight, rubbed her shin, and kicked the bike rack lightly with her sneaker.
"Who put this here?!" she announced loudly to the open air, trying to play it off with maximum confidence. She looked over at your group, squinting dramatically. "The sun blinded me! Totally invisible!" She cleared her throat, flashing a cheesy peace sign. "Routines looking great, guys! Keep it up!"
With a quick, stiff nod, she turned on her heel and practically power-walked away, muttering curses to herself.
You watched her retreating figure, a soft smile tugging at your lips. There was a faint blush on your own cheeks. "Who is she?" you asked, your voice laced with amusement as you turned back to the group.
Steph wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "That’s Alysa Liu. She’s a Team USA athlete. Figure skater. Massive fucking dork, though!"
"Just your type," Jess added instantly, nudging your shoulder with her elbow and winking.
You didn't deny it. Your eyes drifted back down the path, watching the girl in the striped hair and Nike pants navigate the crowd, thankfully avoiding any more stationary objects.
"She's cute," you murmured, a playful spark in your eyes as you picked up your pom-poms. "Like a puppy. I like puppies."
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
Later that afternoon, the aroma of roasted coffee beans and the hum of espresso machines at the campus café offered Alysa a temporary haven from her earlier embarrassment. She was waiting near the pickup counter, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her shin still slightly throbbing from its morning encounter with the metal bars.
Then, the glass doors swung open.
Alysa’s eyes darted over, and her breath instantly hitched. It was you. You had apparently come straight from practice, dressed in a pair of tight Nike Pro shorts, a matching sports bra, and an unzipped oversized hoodie that draped loosely off your shoulders.
As you scanned the room for your friends, your eyes locked onto her. A brilliant smile broke across your face, and you raised a hand, waving enthusiastically as you started walking over.
Alysa’s internal monologue instantly went into a panicked tailspin. Is she waving at me? Can’t be. Is there someone behind me? No, she’s looking right at me. Is she walking towards me? Nah… wait… fuck! She is… stay calm Alysa, play it cool. Do not trip over a stool.
"Hey, Alysa!" you said, stopping right in front of her. Your voice was bright, completely melting whatever composure she had left. "I wanted to check on you after your little run-in with the bike rack earlier. Are you okay?"
Alysa’s brain temporarily shut down as her eyes did a quick, completely involuntary scan of your outfit. The athletic shorts, the hint of skin beneath the sports bra and how perky your chest looked, the effortless beauty of the whole look. Hot… so hot, her brain screamed in a loop.
Pulling herself together by a thread, she let out a loud, slightly forced laugh. "Hey! Pfffft, yeah, I’m totally fine! The bike rack definitely got the worst of it."
"Good," you giggled, tilting your head slightly. "Are you coming to the football game later?"
Alysa didn't even have to think about it. "Yeah! Definitely. School spirit, am I right?" The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and she immediately wanted the earth to swallow her whole. School spirit? Who even says that? Why do I sound like a 1950s youth counselor?
Fortunately, before she could dig her hole any deeper, the barista called out your name.
"Oh, that's me, my friends order for me." you said. You stepped over to grab your iced latte, swirling the cup slightly so the espresso mixed with the milk. You turned back to Alysa, offering a playful, devastatingly beautiful wink. "Great! See you there. Oh, and Alysa? Try not to crash into any bike racks on the way!"
Alysa let out a genuine, self-deprecating laugh, raising her hands in defense. "Hey, no promises, but I'll do my best!"
"See ya," you called out, turning on your heel to head toward the exit.
As you walked away, Alysa’s eyes completely betrayed her. She couldn't help but look down, her gaze tracking the perfect curve of your ass in those tight shorts as you moved gracefully through the café doors.
The door clicked shut behind you. Alysa stood frozen by the counter for a long, quiet moment.
"Fuck," she muttered flatly to herself, letting her shoulders slump in defeat. "Why must it always be a straight girl?"
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
In the stadium locker room, the air was thick with the scent of hairspray, body glitter, and pre-game adrenaline. You stood in front of the brightly lit mirror, carefully applying a final touch of lip gloss.
"Just checked the crowd, absolutely wild tonight," Steph announced, pushing the locker room door open with her shoulder. She caught your eye in the mirror and smirked. "Oh, and your puppy is here."
You spun around instantly, your gloss forgotten. "Where’s she sitting?"
Steph burst out laughing, raising her hands. "Wow, someone is eager! Calm down, she’s sitting in the third row on the bleachers right where we cheer."
Turning back to the mirror, you quickly smoothed down your skirt. "How’s my hair and makeup?"
"You really like this alt dork? Damn," Jess chimed in from two lockers over, shaking her head with a fond grin. "She really is your exact type, but honestly? I’m here for it, little lesbo."
Steph stepped up beside you, giving you a reassuring nod. "Your makeup is perfect. And your tits look amazing in that uniform by the way."
You beamed, a rush of pure excitement hitting you. "Look, you guys just don’t understand! She’s still an athlete, nonetheless, so cheerleader-slash-athlete dating stereotype? Check. But I just love a dorky puppy of a woman. They are just so... attentive."
"Whatever you say, Romeo. Let's move!" Jess called out.
A few minutes later, the bright stadium lights hit you as the squad burst onto the field. The energy of the crowd was electric, but as you took your positions, your eyes instinctively scanned the third row of the bleachers.
Up in the stands, Alysa was already staring. Watching you lead the routine, her heart felt heavy but hopelessly captivated. Your performance went amazingly—every stunt flawless, every smile radiant. Alysa just sat there, completely mesmerized, inwardly torturing herself. Why am I even here? she thought miserably. Why am I crushing this hard on a straight girl? Little did she know, she couldn't be more wrong.
The routine ended to a roaring ovation, and the cheerleaders made their way off the field, settling right in front of the bleachers for a quick water break.
Taking a sip from your bottle, you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead and looked up. Finding the familiar brown and blonde striped hair, you didn't hesitate. You raised your hand and gave Alysa an enthusiastic, lingering wave, accompanied by a soft smile meant entirely for her.
Alysa’s brain short-circuited for the third time that day. Her arm went up automatically, returning a slightly stiff, panicked wave.
Beside her, Alysa's friend Josh blinked, looking back and forth between them in sheer disbelief. "Uh... why is a hot cheerleader waving at you?"
"I don’t know?!" Alysa hissed under her breath, her face turning pink. "She’s been nice to me since I walked into a fucking bike rack earlier today!"
Josh rolled his eyes, sighing sympathetically. "She’s probably dating a football player."
"I know," Alysa groaned, burying her face in her hands for a brief second before looking back down at you. "Fuck, I hate when straight girls wanna be my friend. They collect me like I'm a fucking Pokémon. Always!"
Despite her internal crisis, Alysa couldn't tear her eyes away from you for the rest of the night. She watched you cheer, watched you laugh with Steph and Jess, and completely lost track of the actual game.
UCLA ended up winning by a landslide, but Alysa wouldn't know that. She only had eyes for one person on that field.
As the final buzzer sounded and the bleachers began to clear, you didn't waste a second. You jogged over to the metal railings separating the stands from the field, effortlessly hoisting yourself up to stand on the lower edge. Holding onto the railing for balance, you scanned the crowd until you spotted the familiar striped hair.
"Alysa! Alysa!" you called out, your voice cutting through the stadium chatter.
Alysa blinked, her eyes widening as she realized you were calling her. You made a clear "come here" motion with your hand, pointed directly to the cheerleaders' bench on the sidelines below, and then hopped gracefully back down onto the track.
Alysa turned to her friend Josh, entirely frozen. They shared a silent, wide-eyed look before Josh grabbed her arm, shoving her toward the stairs. "Go!"
When they finally made it down to the field, you greeted them with a brilliant smile. Without missing a beat, you wrapped Josh in a quick, friendly hug before turning and pulling Alysa into a warm, lingering embrace. The scent of your perfume and the sudden, close contact completely short-circuited Alysa’s brain. She stood there stiff as a board for a split second before her arms tentatively wrapped around your waist.
"I’m so glad you came!" you said, stepping back with a bright grin.
Alysa let out a nervous, breathless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah? Football isn't really my thing, but I thought... why not?"
Before you could reply, Steph and Jess interrupted, jogging over with a burst of energy. "Hey, come on, we need a group photo before we head out!" Steph said, nudging you.
"Oh! Hold on," you said, turning back to Alysa. You handed her your phone, which was already unlocked to the camera app. "Could you take a quick picture of us?"
"Yeah, totally," Alysa said, taking the phone.
As she turned it over to position her hands, her eyes caught the back of your phone case. It was covered in a chaotic collage of random stickers—but one in particular practically jumped out at her. Right there, unmistakable and bright, was a lesbian pride flag sticker.
Alysa’s heart stopped. She slowly raised her eyes to Josh, who was standing just behind you. Josh had clearly seen it too; his jaw was practically on the floor, his eyes screaming do you see this?! A massive, uncontrollable smile began tugging at the corners of Alysa’s lips. Her hands were slightly shaking, but she managed to snap a few perfect, clear pictures of you, Steph, and Jess posing together.
"Got 'em!" Alysa called out.
You jogged back over to her, and Alysa purposefully handed the phone back with the case facing straight up, her thumb deliberately brushing right next to the pride flag.
You caught her gaze, noticing where she was looking, and let out a soft, slightly shy laugh. "I like stickers. Stupid, I know."
Alysa just smiled, her eyes incredibly warm. "Not stupid at all. I think it's cool."
You held her gaze for a second, a playful spark returning to your eyes. "Well, I actually have to go because the team planned to go somewhere together to celebrate. But tell you what..." You gently took Alysa's own phone right out of her hand. "Let me give you my number so we can meet up sometime."
Alysa stood there in a blissful daze, watching your short manicured fingers quickly tap across her screen. You typed in your number, saved your name, and added a single, definitive "💋" emoji right next to it.
Handing her phone back, you gave her one last, tight hug that left her spinning. "See you soon, Alysa." With a final wink, you turned and jogged back to Jess and Steph, laughing as you walked away.
Alysa and Josh walked in absolute, stunned silence all the way to the stadium exit. The moment they stepped out into the cool night air away from the crowd, Josh grabbed Alysa by the shoulders.
"Alysa..." Josh gasped, his voice a strained whisper.
"Holy fuck, Josh..." Alysa choked out, her hands flying to her head as she stared down at her screen. "She’s a lesbian! Fuck! Holy shit, I can’t breathe! Look! Look how she put her name in my phone! Josh, the cheerleader is a fucking lesbian!"
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
By 10:30 PM, the adrenaline from the game had finally worn off, leaving Alysa completely restless. She was sprawled flat on her back in her dorm room bed, staring blankly at the popcorn ceiling, her phone resting on her chest. Every three seconds, she’d look down at your contact name—complete with that devastating little lips emoji—before staring back at the ceiling.
Just text her, her brain screamed. No, it’s too late. What if she’s asleep? No, she went out for food. Just do it.
Taking a deep breath, she unlocked her phone and typed out a message with slightly trembling thumbs.
Alysa🐶: hey
Alysa🐶: it’s alysa🥴
She barely had time to lock her screen before her phone buzzed in her hand. Her heart did a violent flip.
You💋: Hey Lysa!☺️
You💋: Sorry for not staying to chat, you know how it is!
Alysa stared at the screen, her cheeks instantly flushing. "Lysa." Nobody really called her that. Reading that nickname from you tickled something deep in her chest, making her kick her feet against her mattress like a total 14-year-old girl.
Alysa🐶: pffft don’t worry about it at all!! just wanted to say you guys were amazing out there. genuinely!!
You💋: Thank youuu!! honestly I was just trying not to mess up because I knew a certain athlete was watching me👀
Alysa🐶: ATHLETE?! omg stop with the structural damage to a campus bike rack i don’t know how i made the national team😭
You💋: Details, details. I think it showed character. Very passionate. Highly athletic fall.
Alysa🐶: i’m never going to live this down am i?
You💋: Nope, sorry! It’s my favorite ucla lore now. So what are you up to, Lysa? Besides hiding from public infrastructure?
Alysa🐶: literally just staring at my ceiling lmao. my roommate is knocked out and my brain won't shut off. what about you? how was the team celebration?
You💋: It was fun! just loud. Everyone was celebrating, didn’t eat anything though so I'm super hungry! But honestly I kept getting distracted thinking about how cute you looked in your white Team USA tee today.
Alysa nearly dropped her phone directly onto her face. She sat up in bed, her eyes wide as she reread the text. She thinks I look cute. She was thinking about me at her dinner. Oh my god.
Alysa🐶: wait really? even after i almost broke my shins?
You💋: Haha yes, really! It was a memorable first impression, let’s put it that way. You had great form.
Alysa🐶: 😂 whatever, i’m glad someone got some entertainment out of it. you looked great out there too, the whole routine was super sharp.
You💋: Thanks! We worked really hard on it this week, so I’m glad it paid off. Did you enjoy the game?
Alysa🐶: yeah, i mean i stayed for the whole thing! i honestly don’t understand football that well though, i just clapped whenever everyone else did.
You💋: Omg no way 😂 Next time I’ll have to sit with you and explain the rules. It’s actually pretty fun once you get it.
Alysa🐶: deal. i definitely need the help.
Alysa smiled, her eyes warm as she checked the time. They had been texting back and forth for over an hour, the conversation flowing so easily she forgot how nervous she had been.
Suddenly, the typing bubbles popped up from your end, disappeared, and popped up again. Then, a new text notification slid down.
You💋: I’m outside your dorm
You💋: Wanna grab In-N-Out? I’m craving a shake and animal-style fries🤤
Alysa threw her covers off so fast she nearly tangled herself in the sheets. Throwing on the first things she could find—a ridiculously oversized grey Rad Dad shirt and a pair of baggy plaid pyjama bottoms—she grabbed her BMW keys and practically bolted down the dorm hallway.
She opened the heavy exit doors of the building, her chest heaving slightly, and instantly froze.
There you were, leaning lightly against the concrete wall. You looked devastatingly soft and perfect in the dim campus lighting, wearing a pair of cute little plaid pajama bottoms, a delicate white strappy top with lace details, and an open sweater draped over your shoulders. To finish it off, you were wearing Ugg slippers just like Alysa, unintentionally matching.
Alysa’s heart skipped a massive beat. She suddenly felt very aware of her Rad Dad shirt.
"Hey," you smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you looked her up and down. "You made it and we’re matching!"
"Hey! We are and yeah, of course," Alysa said, her voice dropping an octave as she tried to summon an ounce of coolness. She cleared her throat and jingled her keys. "My car?"
"Sure," you said.
When you reached her BMW, Alysa quickly stepped ahead and pulled the passenger door open for you. It was a small gesture, but as you looked at her and muttered a soft "thank you," a sudden flutter of butterflies brushed against your stomach.
The drive to In-N-Out was filled with the low hum of the radio and easy chatter, though Alysa was secretly driving with the precision of a chauffeur. When they pulled into the bright, retro-lit parking lot, Alysa practically sprinted to the ordering window. She insisted on paying, sliding her card over with a casual shrug when you tried to reach for your wallet. Gotta impress the cheerleader, she thought proudly.
With a tray of a strawberry shake, chocolate shake, and a massive boat of animal-style fries between them, they sat in the front seats of the car, talking and eating under the parking lot lights.
At one point, Alysa said something completely goofy with a fry halfway to her mouth, and you couldn't help but giggle. "Hold on, don't move," you laughed, pulling out your phone to snap a quick picture of her.
As you turned the phone to look at the photo, the bright parking lot lights illuminated the back of your case. There it was again. The lesbian pride flag sticker.
Alysa swallowed a bite of her fry, her heart doing a nervous little flutter. She decided to just go for it. "So... I have to ask," she started, gesturing vaguely toward the back of your phone. "The sticker?"
Your smile softened, a faint, shy blush creeping up your neck. You looked down at the case, tracing the edge of the flag with your thumb. "Yeah. I’m... yeah. Look, I know I don’t exactly look like the stereotype, and being a cheerleader usually comes with certain assumptions... but yeah. I like women." You looked up, meeting her eyes. "How about you?"
Alysa let out a breathless laugh, taking a dramatic sip of her milkshake through the straw before gesturing entirely to her own chaotic outfit and striped hair. "I mean... look at me?! Is it not completely obvious?"
The tension instantly broke, and you both burst out laughing, the sound filling the quiet interior of the car as Alysa’s internal monologue screamed in absolute, victorious relief.
The laughter from the In-N-Out parking lot carried all the way back to campus, fading into a comfortable, charged silence as Alysa pulled her BMW up to the curb outside your dorm block. She put the car in park, but neither of you made a move toward the door handles.
The soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated the space between you. You shifted in your seat, tucking one leg under you so you were facing her, your fluffy slippers brushing against the leather.
"Thanks for the fries, Lysa," you murmured, your voice a little softer, a little lower than it had been all night. "And for not making me eat them alone at midnight."
"Anytime," Alysa said, her voice dropping too. She rested her wrist on the top of the steering wheel, looking at you through her choppy bangs. The goofy, energetic puppy from earlier had quieted down, replaced by a sudden, intense focus. "Honestly, I'm just glad you didn't think I was too much of a dork."
"I told you," you said, your eyes dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze again. "I like the dorkiness. It's cute."
The silence that settled over the front seats of the BMW was thick, heavy with the kind of anticipation that makes your pulse beat right in your throat.
Alysa didn’t look away. For someone who usually filled awkward gaps with loud laughs or self-deprecating jokes, she was entirely still now. Her fingers subtly tightened on the leather steering wheel.
"Cute, huh?" Alysa repeated, her voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent a sudden spike of heat straight down your spine. A small, confident smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, completely erasing the clumsy girl who had taken out a bike rack just hours prior. "You’re pretty bold for a cheerleader who just met me today."
"Maybe I just know what I want," you replied softly, leaning just a fraction of an inch closer. Your eyes flicked down to her smiley piercing, catching the way it glinted under the dim dashboard lights.
Alysa let out a breathy laugh, her shoulders finally dropping as she unclipped her seatbelt. The mechanism clicked loudly in the quiet car. She shifted her weight, turning fully in the driver's seat to face you, mimicking your posture. One of her knees brushed against yours, a spark of electricity snapping through the soft fabric of your matching pajama bottoms.
"Yeah?" Alysa whispered, her gaze locked onto yours, intense and unblinking. "And what's that?"
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you reached out, your short manicured fingers gently catching the hem of her oversized Rad Dad tee, tugging her forward just enough to close the remaining distance between the console.
Alysa didn't hesitate. She closed the gap, her hand coming up to gently cup the side of your jaw, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone. Her skin was warm, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside. When her lips finally met yours, it wasn't the frantic, clumsy rush you might have expected from her daytime energy. It was slow. Deliberate. A soft, lingering pressure that completely melted the remaining space between you.
Your hands found the fabric of her shirt, gripping it tightly as she deepened the kiss, her smiley piercing cold against your lip for a fraction of a second before everything blurred into pure, intoxicating warmth.
When she finally pulled back, just an inch or two, her forehead rested against yours. Both of you were breathing a little heavier, the windows of the BMW starting to fog slightly at the edges.
"Wow," Alysa breathed, a genuine, completely smitten smile breaking across her face. The intense skater focus faded right back into her familiar, goofy puppy warmth. "Okay. Yeah. Football games are officially my new favorite thing."
You let out a soft giggle, your fingers running through the choppy blonde and brown chunks of her hair, smoothing down the messy bangs. "Told you. You just needed someone to explain the rules to you."
"I think I'm learning pretty fast," she murmured, leaning in to press one more quick, sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth before reluctantly letting you go.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
The California sun was back at it, streaming through your dorm window and hitting your eyes. You groaned, rolling over and reaching blindly for your phone on the nightstand.
Unlocking the screen, a fresh text message notification was already waiting for you, sent just twenty minutes earlier.
Alysa🐶: hey so full disclosure i did not crash into anything on the walk back to my room but i did accidentally wake up my roommate because i was smiling too loud if that makes sense
Alysa🐶: anyway... free for lunch after my morning session today? i promise to stay away from the bike racks.
You rolled onto your back, a massive smile instantly taking over your face as you began to type back.
You slide your thumb across the screen, the warmth from last night still humming in your chest as you type out a reply.
You💋: Smiling too loud? 😂 That is incredibly on-brand for you, Lysa.
You💋: And yes, lunch sounds perfect. I have a class that wraps up at 11:45 near the quad. Meet me by the fountains? (There are no bikes there, you should be safe).
The reply is almost instantaneous, the typing bubbles popping up before you’ve even locked your screen.
Alysa🐶: bullying a national athlete is a federal crime fyi
Alysa🐶: but yes!!! 11:45 at the fountains. i'll be the one looking dramatically into the water like a main character.
You💋: Can't wait. See you then, main character.
The midday sun is baking the campus concrete, and the area around the fountains is packed with students eating, talking, and rushing between classes. You walk down the steps, scanning the crowd, and it doesn't take long to spot her.
Alysa is leaning against the concrete edge of the fountain, her skate bag slung over one shoulder. She’s back in her element—classic Nike track pants, an oversized black graphic hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and her hair up in a messy claw clip with those trademark chunky blonde and brown bangs framing her face. She’s intently tracking a rogue campus squirrel, a faint, amused smile on her lips.
As if sensing your eyes on her, she looks up. The second she sees you, her entire face lights up. The cool, casual posture vanishes, replaced instantly by that bright, goofy energy you’ve quickly grown to love.
"Hey!" she calls out over the rushing water, stepping forward to meet you.
"Hey yourself," you smile, stepping into her space.
Before you can even ask how her morning session went, Alysa wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you into a quick, firm hug. She smells like the crisp, cold air of the ice rink mixed with a hint of vanilla. As she pulls back, her eyes quickly dart left and right, assessing the bustling quad around you both, before she leans down and presses a swift, daring kiss to your cheek.
Your skin tingles where her lips touched, a soft blush hitting your cheeks.
"Wow, bold daylight moves," you tease, adjusting the strap of your tote bag. "Who are you and what did you do with the girl who panicked over a bike rack?"
"Hey, I've had three hours of caffeine and high-speed spinning to build up my confidence," Alysa laughs, her smiley piercing glinting in the bright afternoon light. She extends her elbow playfully. "Shall we? I am starving. Crashing into infrastructure burns a lot of calories."
"Come on, I know a spot," Alysa says, her eyes flashing with a playful sort of mischief.
Once you both have your food in hand, she guides you away from the chaotic main plaza, navigating the brick pathways toward the older, brick-clad botany buildings. She leads you through a low stone archway draped in heavy green ivy, opening up into a tiny, hidden courtyard. It’s completely quiet here—just a single wooden bench, the shade of a massive oak tree, and the faint rustle of leaves.
"Hidden gem," Alysa says proudly, setting her heavy skate bag on the grass and brushing off a spot on the bench for you. "Discovered it freshman year when I needed a place to have a minor existential crisis about my triple lutz without fifty people watching me."
"It's beautiful, Lysa," you say, sitting down and pulling your lunch from the bag. "And surprisingly peaceful for the middle of campus."
"Right?" Alysa settles in right next to you, her thigh pressing warmly against yours. She takes a huge bite of her street taco, mumbling around it, "Plus, zero bike racks. Safety first."
You let out a soft laugh, nudging her shoulder with yours. "You're never going to let yourself live that down, are you?"
"Never," she says, swallowing and wiping her thumb across her lower lip, her smiley piercing catching the stray glint of sun filtering through the leaves. She turns her upper body toward you, resting one arm along the back of the wooden bench. Her gaze softens, losing a bit of its hyperactive edge, becoming entirely focused on you. "Honestly, though... I'm glad I tripped. Best broken shin of my life."
A faint blush creeps up your neck under her intense, warm stare. You pick at a chip, looking at her through your lashes. "Oh yeah? Even though your cool factor instantly plummeted to zero?"
"Pffft, please. My cool factor was already questionable," Alysa teases, leaning in just a fraction closer, her voice dropping to that lower, gravelly register that makes your pulse skip. "But seriously. I've been watching you practice out on that lawn for weeks. You move like... I don't know, it's mesmerizing. I'm a figure skater, so I'm supposed to understand precision and grace, but every time you did a routine, my brain just went totally blank."
Hearing her admit that—so raw and genuine—sends a flurry of butterflies straight to your stomach. "You were watching me?" you murmur.
"Every single time," Alysa admits, a slightly shy, incredibly sweet smile tugging at her lips. She reaches down, her fingers hesitantly brushing against yours on the bench before she bravely loops her fingers through your own, locking her hand with yours. Her palm is warm and slightly calloused from hours of gripping skate blades. "I just always figured you were way out of my league. Popular cheerleader, probably straight, definitely lethal."
"Lethal?" You giggle, squeezing her hand tightly. "I'm a puppy lover who wears oversized hoodies, Lysa."
"A hot puppy lover," she corrects instantly, her eyes dancing with that familiar, bold spark. "And the uniform? Absolutely lethal. Should be illegal."
You let out a soft laugh, your heart doing a little flip at the effortless compliment. Leaning your head against her shoulder, you look up at her. "Well, for the record... I noticed the striped hair and the wide-eyed stare weeks ago too. I thought it was endearing. Steph and Jess even told me you were totally my type."
Alysa blinks, her hand tightening just a fraction around yours. "Wait... I'm your type?" She gestures to herself with a self-deprecating laugh, indicating her choppy bangs and oversized hoodie. "The chaotic alt dork who fights stationary campus objects?"
"Exactly my type," you smile, turning your body fully on the bench to face her. "I don't know, Lysa. There's just something about a girl who is entirely, unapologetically herself. You've got this incredible, unique style, you're loud, you're funny, and you're a literal elite athlete, but you don't take yourself too seriously. I love a dorky, passionate woman. You guys are just so attentive and sweet. It’s completely attractive."
Alysa’s breathing hitches. The playful banter melts away as she processes your words, a genuine, beautiful warmth flooding her eyes. Her usual frantic energy quiets down completely, replaced by the same magnetic tension from the front seat of her BMW last night.
Her gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, asking a silent, respectful question.
You close the final inch of distance, pressing your lips to hers. The kiss is soft, lingering, and completely intoxicating. Alysa’s hand moves from the bench to the nape of your neck, her fingers tangling gently in your hair, holding you close as the rest of the campus hums invisibly beyond the brick walls.
You break the kiss slowly, the warmth of the sunlit courtyard settling around you both. You glance down at your phone and realize the time. Practice is starting soon.
"Walk me to my dorm and then practice?" you say with a shy smile.
"Sure," Alysa reciprocates, her voice soft and a little breathless.
She helps you gather your things, slinging her heavy skate bag over her shoulder, and the two of you walk side-by-side back toward the residential area. There's a comfortable, sweet energy between you now, your hands occasionally brushing against each other as you navigate the campus paths. When you reach your building, Alysa stops at the entrance, leaning against the brick wall to wait outside while you run upstairs to change into your gear.
A few minutes later, the heavy glass doors swing open.
You walk out wearing a pair of purple Nike Pro shorts and a matching sports bra, with an oversized hoodie unzipped and draping loosely off your shoulders as always.
"How do I look?" you ask Alysa, stopping right in front of her.
Alysa’s eyes widen slightly, doing a quick, involuntary sweep of the purple athletic gear before locking back onto your eyes. "Incredible," she says, her voice a little gravelly.
The walk to the practice field is filled with light chatter, but as you approach the lawn, the atmosphere shifts slightly. The rest of the cheer squad is already gathering, stretching, and chatting. As you and Alysa walk up together, everyone is looking. It’s not an intense, aggressive stare—just a collective, curious look from the team, noticing the Team USA figure skater walking their flyer directly to the field.
You stop on the main concrete path just off the grass. Turning to face Alysa, you step into her space, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her into a warm, lingering hug.
"Thanks for the date, Alysa," you murmur close to her ear, before shifting slightly and secretly pressing a sweet, soft kiss to her cheek right near her jawline.
You pull back, a faint blush on your own face. Alysa is entirely silent, standing frozen in absolute shock, her eyes wide as your words and the kiss register in her brain.
"Bye," you say shyly, holding her gaze for one more second.
"Bye," Alysa manages to choke out, her motor functions temporarily stalled.
You turn and run off toward the grass where the cheer team is waiting.
Date. She thought it was a date, Alysa thinks to herself, a massive, dizzy smile slowly spreading across her face. She stands on the path for a long moment, watching you jog away in your purple shorts, before finally turning on her heel and making her way to wherever she needs to be, her heart doing absolute flips.
As you reach the grass and drop your tote bag by the bench, a loud voice cuts through the rustle of pom-poms.
"Little lesbo!" Jess shouts at you, a massive, knowing smirk plastered across her face.
You quickly jog onto the grass, trying to ignore the heat flaring in your cheeks as you pretend you didn't hear Jess. You slide right into the stretching line next to Steph, grabbing your pom-poms and locking into athlete mode.
Throughout the two-hour practice, your mind keeps drifting back to the concrete path—specifically to the memory of Alysa standing there completely frozen, looking like a beautifully shocked dork. You can't help but smile during the stunts, earning a few raised eyebrows from your teammates.
The second practice is officially called, you drop to the grass to grab your water bottle, unzipping your hoodie a bit more as the afternoon heat starts to cool. You reach into your tote bag, pulling out your phone.
A string of notifications from Alysa🐶 is waiting for you, all sent within a ten-minute window right after you left her.
Alysa🐶: date???
Alysa🐶: wait sorry my brain stopped working on the path
Alysa🐶: did you say date?? because if that was a date then i am officially the happiest person on this campus
Alysa🐶: also my cheek still feels warm where you kissed it. just thought you should know. i am currently staring at a wall in the athletic center instead of stretching.
Alysa🐶: anyway text me when you're done with practice so i know you survived jess yelling at you
You let out a soft giggle, sitting flat on the grass and resting your elbows on your knees as you type back, your thumb hovering over the screen.
You💋: Yes, Alysa. A date. 🥰 And I survived! Jess was just being her usual loud self.
You💋: Are you still staring at that wall, or did you finally manage to stretch?
You barely have time to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear before the phone vibrates in your palm.
Alysa🐶: i stretched exactly one leg before checking my phone. priorities.
Alysa🐶: so... if that was date number one... when do i get to take you on date number two? i need to redeem my athletic reputation.
You trace your thumb over the screen, a playful smile tucking at the corners of your lips as you watch the typing bubbles pop up and disappear.
You💋: I’ll let you call the shots for round two. Show me what you've got, captain. 😉
It takes a little longer for her to reply this time, the anticipation building as you pack your pom-poms into your tote bag. When the phone finally buzzes, the message makes your heart do a familiar little flutter.
Alysa🐶: okay hear me out.
Alysa🐶: i have a private ice slot at the rink tomorrow tonight at 8:00 PM. just me, the coach isn't even gonna be there. come watch me skate?
Alysa🐶: and then... if you're brave enough... i can lace you up in some skates and see if you can balance on ice better than i balance on sidewalks.
You bite your lip, a soft laugh escaping you as you read the text. Letting her bring you into her world—seeing her in the element where she doesn't trip over stationary objects—sounds absolutely perfect.
You💋: An empty rink? Just us? Sounds like a plan. I’m brave enough, Liu. See you at 8.
Alysa🐶: hell yeah. i'll pick you up at 7:45. don't forget thick socks!!!
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
The evening air has turned crisp by the time Alysa’s BMW pulls up to the curb. You run down the steps wearing a cozy oversized crewneck, leggings, and your Ugg slippers, a pair of thick fuzzy socks tucked safely into your bag.
Alysa steps out into the cool night air. She’s wearing her dark blue Team USA track jacket, her striped hair pulled back into a high, slightly messy ponytail, and her smiley piercing flashes in the ambient campus light. She walks around the front of the hood with a confident, easy stride, stopping right at the passenger side.
With a soft, dimpled grin, she pulls the heavy car door open for you, holding it with one hand while resting her other hand on top of the frame.
"Your chariot awaits," she says, her voice dropping into that lower, slightly gravelly register that completely melts you.
"Look at you, being a total gentleman," you smile, a sudden rush of butterflies hitting your stomach at the gesture.
"Hey, I'm trying to establish a new narrative here," Alysa laughs, bowing her head slightly as you slide into the warm interior. "No clumsiness allowed tonight."
She shuts the door firmly behind you and jogs back around to the driver's seat. As she slides in and shifts the car into drive, she looks over at you, practically vibrating with excitement. "Ready to see what I actually do for a living?"
"Oh, you have no idea," you smile back, fastening your seatbelt.
The drive to the arena is short, filled with the casual, easy banter that’s already becoming second nature between you. When you arrive, the facility is mostly dark, the public sessions long over. Alysa uses her athlete security pass to unlock a side door, leading you through the echoing, chilly concrete hallways until you step through the glass doors leading to the rink.
The ice is a pristine, glowing sheet of white under the overhead stadium lights, completely untouched. The air is freezing, making your breath bloom in tiny white clouds.
"Welcome to my office," Alysa says softly, setting her massive skate bag on the player's bench.
She pulls out her skates—pure white, stiff leather with wicked, gleaming steel blades. You watch, utterly fascinated, as she sits down and ties them with practiced, intense precision, her fingers moving like lightning before she tucks the laces away.
She stands up, suddenly looking a couple of inches taller on the blades, and steps onto the ice. The sharp crunch of the steel cutting into the fresh surface echoes beautifully in the empty arena.
Alysa glides backwards smoothly, looking completely relaxed, entirely in her element. She looks up at you, standing by the plexiglass barrier, and winks. "Alright. Watch closely. This is what I look like when there are no bike racks within a five-mile radius."
Alysa glides backward toward the center of the ice, the gentle hiss of her blades fading into the quiet arena. She takes a deep breath, her shoulders dropping as she closes her eyes for a brief second to find her center. When she opens them, she catches your eye through the plexiglass, and that hyperactive, goofy energy completely vanishes.
She skates to the far end of the rink, building up a bit of speed with effortless, deep edges.
Then, she begins.
There is no blasting arena music, just the rhythmic, hypnotic sound of her skates slicing into the ice. She moves into a sequence of beautiful, sweeping extensions, her arms fluid and graceful in the chilly air. Watch her glide across the ice, it’s hard to believe this is the same girl who almost faceplanted onto concrete twenty-four hours ago. She moves with a soft, breathtaking precision, her upper body tilting gracefully into every curve.
She flows into a beautiful, extended spiral, her leg extended high behind her as she arcs across the pristine white surface. As she passes right by the section of the barrier where you’re leaning, she looks up, holding your gaze through the glass with an intense, quiet warmth that makes your breath catch in your throat.
Before you can even recover, she deepens her edge, turning backward into a sudden burst of speed. She steps up, launching her body into the air for a double axel. She rotates with absolute, effortless speed, tight and perfect, before landing cleanly on a single, bent leg, her arms sweeping out to check the rotation. The sharp crunch of her landing echoes beautifully off the empty rafters.
Instead of rushing into another high-flying jump, she slows the momentum down, transitioning into a mesmerizing layback spin right in the center of the rink. Her head drops back, her striped hair cascading beautifully as she spins faster and faster, her hands pulling in close to her chest before slowly stretching outward like an opening flower.
As the spin naturally slows to a stop, she holds the final pose for a lingering moment, her chest heaving slightly, her breath forming thick white clouds in the freezing air.
For a second, the arena is dead silent.
Then, you instinctively slam your hands against the top of the plexiglass barrier, cheering and laughing. "Oh my god, Alysa! That was amazing!"
Alysa breaks her pose, the serious, artistic performer instantly melting right back into the blushing, goofy puppy. She lets out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck as she glides casually back over to where you're standing. Her cheeks are flushed bright pink from the cold and the exertion, and her smiley piercing glints under the stadium lights.
"Yeah?" she asks, stopping right at the barrier and leaning her elbows on the top edge, looking up at you. "Not too dorky for a cheerleader?"
"You were completely mesmerizing," you say softly, leaning down slightly so your face is closer to hers. "I mean it. You look completely beautiful out there."
Alysa's smile softens, a genuine, incredibly sweet look taking over her eyes. "Thanks," she murmurs, her voice dropping to that lower register. "Honestly, I was kind of nervous. Skating for thousands of people at nationals is one thing, but skating for you? Way more pressure."
You giggle, reaching over the barrier to gently tuck a loose strand of striped hair behind her ear. "Well, you passed the test."
"Good," Alysa smirks, her eyes flashing with a playful, challenging spark as she taps the ice with her toe pick. "Because now it's your turn. Go grab those thick socks. Let's see how the cheerleader handles the blades."
You let out a nervous laugh, but you head over to the bench anyway. You pull off your Ugg slippers, slip on the thick fuzzy socks, and let Alysa help you lace into a pair of rental skates she’d set aside. The second you stand up on the rubber matting, your ankles wobble violently.
"Oh god," you gasp, your arms instantly flailing. "Nope. Absolutely not."
Alysa cracks up, stepping off the ice to steady you. She wraps her hands firmly around your waist, anchoring you. "I got you, I got you! Just march like a penguin. Trust the blades."
She guides you to the gate. The moment your foot touches the actual ice, your survival instincts kick in. You grab the top of the plexiglass barrier with a death grip, your knuckles turning white. You look like a cartoon character trying to walk on grease.
"Lysa, I am a flyer. I get thrown fifteen feet into the air," you say, your voice a pitch higher than usual as your left foot slowly glides away from your right foot against your will. "Why is this the thing that feels like imminent death?"
"Because on the lawn, you aren't wearing knives!" Alysa laughs gleefully, effortlessly gliding backward while holding both of your hands. She gently tugs you away from the wall. "Come on, let go of the rail. Look at me, not the floor."
"If I die, Steph and Jess are going to haunt you," you warn, but you slowly let go of the barrier.
For the next twenty minutes, it’s a chaotic comedy routine. You take two shaky steps, lose your balance, and end up dragging Alysa down with you. The empty arena echoes with your combined laughter as you both wipe out onto the cold ice, sprawling out in a tangled mess of leggings and hoodies. Alysa sits up, her ponytail completely messy, wiping ice shavings off her cheek while giggling uncontrollably.
"See? Excellent form," you tease, sitting cross-legged on the ice next to her. "A highly athletic fall. It shows character."
"Hey! Using my own lore against me? Illegal," Alysa gasps, shoving your shoulder playfully.
Eventually, she helps you up, pulling you close against her chest so you can use her for balance. She hooks her chin over your shoulder, her arms wrapped securely around your waist from behind as she slowly glides the two of you in a gentle, lazy circle around the center of the rink. The cold air bites at your nose, but the front of your body is completely pressed against her warmth.
"Better?" she murmurs near your ear, her voice dropping into that quiet, gravelly tone.
"Much better," you breathe, tilting your head back to look up at her.
Alysa slows to a stop right under the bright overhead lights. In the quiet of the empty rink, she looks down at you. The playful, goofy dork is still there, but beneath it is that intense, unwavering focus you saw during her routine. Her eyes track the curve of your face, completely smitten.
Your heart starts doing its own version of a triple axel. Looking at her striped hair, her glinting smiley piercing, and the genuine, sweet way she’s holding you, you realize you don't want to play it cool anymore.
"Lysa?" you say softly.
"Yeah?"
You turn slightly in her arms so you’re fully facing her, keeping your hands rested on her shoulders for balance. You look straight into her eyes, a shy but completely certain smile taking over your face.
"I like you, Alysa. Like, really like you. Not just as a cool athlete friend. I like you."
Alysa blinks. The confession hangs in the chilly air, and for a second, her brain completely short-circuits just like it did on the campus path. Her mouth opens slightly, her cheeks turning a shade of crimson that has nothing to do with the cold.
"Wow," she whispers, a massive, breathless smile breaking across her face. "You... man, you really know how to knock a girl off her feet. And I literally spin on ice for a living."
She doesn't wait for you to reply. Alysa closes the distance, her hands sliding up from your waist to cup your blushing cheeks. When her lips meet yours, it’s sweet, warm, and lingering—a perfect contrast to the freezing ice beneath your skates. You wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her closer, completely safe in her grip.
When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, both of you laughing softly into the space between you.
"For the record," Alysa murmurs, her thumb gently tracing your cheekbone, "I really, really like you too, cheerleader."
"Wait, before we get off the ice," Alysa says, her eyes flashing with that familiar, mischievous spark. "We need photo evidence. Documenting the official training session of the UCLA cheer squad's finest flyer."
"Oh god, no," you laugh, hiding your face in her shoulder. "I look like a newborn deer on wheels, Lysa. No photos."
"Too late, the executive decision has been made," she teases.
She carefully glides you over to the plexiglass barrier near the player's bench, making sure you have a solid grip on the rail before she skates off to grab her phone. She props it up against the base of the glass, tapping the screen to set a ten-second timer.
"Okay, look natural!" Alysa calls out, rushing back toward you.
She doesn't just stand next to you, though. She skates right up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you back against her chest. The sudden movement makes your ankles wobble instantly, and you let out a breathless gasp, clutching her forearms for dear life.
Click.
The flash goes off right as you're throwing your head back, laughing in a half-panic, while Alysa is looking down at you with the widest, most genuinely smitten grin, her smiley piercing catching the bright light perfectly.
"Let's see, let's see," Alysa says, skating over to retrieve the phone. She looks at the screen, and a soft, incredibly sweet hum escapes her. She glides back to you, turning the screen around so you can see.
The photo is perfectly candid, beautifully framed under the glowing stadium lights. It captures the exact, chaotic energy of the night—you looking gorgeous and helpless on the blades, and Alysa looking completely, utterly captivated by you.
"I love it," you murmur softly, leaning into her side. "Send that to me right now."
"Already doing it," Alysa says, her thumbs moving across the screen.
A second later, your phone buzzes in your jacket pocket on the bench. After Alysa helps you wobble your way off the ice and back onto the safe, solid rubber matting, you unlace the heavy skates with a sigh of relief and slide your feet back into your warm Ugg slippers.
You pull out your phone to check the text.
Alysa🐶: [1 Image Attached]
Alysa🐶: official ucla lore updated: the cheerleader is officially mine.
You feel a massive smile take over your face. Without hesitation, you save the photo and set it as your new lock screen background. When you show it to her, Alysa’s eyes go incredibly warm, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks as she slings her heavy skate bag over her shoulder.
"Come on, cheerleader," Alysa says, reaching down to grab your hand, her fingers locking tightly with yours as she leads you out into the cool California night air. "Let's get you back before your squad thinks I kidnapped you."
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
Two weeks later, the mid-afternoon California sun is beating down on the UCLA practice field, but the heat is the last thing on your mind. You’re sitting on the grass during a quick five-minute water break, your black Nike Pro shorts dusted with a bit of dry turf.
You reach into your bag, pull out your phone to check the time, and instantly smile.
The screen lights up, displaying the picture from the empty ice rink. You’re completely mid-laugh, your head tilted back, totally leaning into Alysa’s chest for balance while she beams down at you like you hung the moon.
"Alright, hand it over."
Before you can even lock the screen, a manicured hand swoops down and snatches the phone right out of your grip. You look up to see Jess standing over you, her eyes narrowed in deep, investigative suspicion. Steph is right behind her, hovering over her shoulder.
"Hey! Give it back!" you laugh, reaching up, but Jess is already staring intensely at the screen.
"Oh my god," Jess gasps, her jaw dropping dramatically. "Steph, look. Look at the wallpaper."
Steph leans in, and her eyes widen before a massive, teasing smirk takes over her entire face. "No way. The puppy actually did it. Look at how whipped Liu looks!"
"Let me see!" Jess screeches softly, tapping the screen to keep it from going black. "You guys look so disgusting it’s making my teeth hurt. Look at her holding you! And wait... is that an empty ice rink? Did she rent out a whole stadium for a date? That is such an elite athlete flex, I'm kind of mad about it."
"She didn't rent it out, she just had a private training slot," you facepalm, your cheeks burning a vibrant shade of crimson as you stand up to grab your phone back.
"Details, details," Steph chuckles, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Point is, you've got the Team USA poster girl on your lock screen. So, what's the official status, little lesbo? Are we calling her your girlfriend yet, or are you guys still 'visualizing choreography'?"
You finally manage to swipe your phone back from Jess, locking it safely and sliding it into your waistband. You try to summon your best, most serious cheerleader composure, but the dizzy smile on your face completely betrays you.
"We're taking it slow," you murmur, though your heart does a little flutter just thinking about her. "But yeah... she's amazing. And she hasn't tripped over a single bike rack since."
"Ugh, romance," Jess groans, though she’s smiling fondly as she picks up her pom-poms. "Disgusting. Come on, let's get back to the routine before the coach sees us gossiping about your famous skater chick."
As you step back into formation, you catch sight of the campus path just beyond the lawn—the exact spot where Alysa had crashed two weeks ago.
The coach blows the whistle, calling an official end to the grueling practice. You let out a breathless sigh, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead as you and the rest of the squad head toward the benches to pack up your gear.
"Hey, look who it is," Steph nudges your shoulder, nodding toward the main concrete pathway.
You look up, and a massive smile instantly takes over your face. Walking across the grass toward your group is Alysa. She’s wearing her staple black Nike track pants and a fitted grey Team USA tee, her striped hair up in a slightly messy ponytail. But the best part? She is carrying a cardboard drink carrier balanced perfectly on one forearm, stacked with four large, vibrant smoothies.
She walks up with a confident, easy stride, her smiley piercing glinting in the afternoon sun.
"Afternoon, ladies," Alysa announces proudly, stopping right in front of your trio. She offers the drink carrier like a true gentleman. "I figured you guys worked hard today, so I brought reinforcements. Strawberry-banana, mango, and two green ones because I didn't know what you liked."
"Oh, she brought gifts," Jess says, immediately reaching for the mango one with a grin. "Okay, Liu, you can stay. You're officially approved."
"An absolute gentleman," Steph chuckles, taking a green smoothie. "Thanks, Alysa. We were literally just looking at your face on her lock screen, by the way."
"Steph!" you hiss, your face instantly turning bright pink.
Alysa blinks, her eyes widening in a classic, goofy panic before a massive, proud grin spreads across her face. "Wait, really? The rink picture? Yes! Score one for the dork."
"Don't let it get to her head," you laugh, stepping into Alysa's space and happily taking your strawberry-banana smoothie.
Steph and Jess exchange a knowing, fond look. "Alright, we're gonna head to the locker room and leave you two to your domestic bliss," Jess teases, waving her pom-poms. "See ya, puppy!"
As your friends walk away, giggling and sipping their drinks, the atmosphere between you and Alysa instantly softens. You turn to face her, the casual ease of the last two weeks settling over you.
"You didn't have to do that," you murmur, looking up at her through your lashes. "But it was very sweet."
"Hey, I told you, I'm maintaining the new narrative," Alysa smirks, resting her hands on her hips. Her gaze drops down to your black shorts for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes, completely smitten. "Besides, I wanted an excuse to see you. My afternoon session felt like it dragged on forever."
"Mine too," you admit softly, taking a sip of your smoothie. "So... what are our plans for tonight? Just the two of us?"
Alysa’s eyes light up with that familiar, playful spark. "Well, I was thinking we could keep it super low-key. My roommate is out for the night. I can pick up some takeout—whatever you're craving—and we can just crash at my dorm. We can finally watch that horror movie you said you were too scared to watch alone."
"A horror movie?" You giggle, stepping a little closer so your arm brushes against hers. "Are you just saying that so I have to hold onto you?"
"Hey, a good athlete always utilizes her strategic advantages," Alysa laughs, a beautiful, genuine warmth flooding her eyes as she reaches down, her fingers easily slotting into yours. She gives your hand a tender squeeze. "So, what do you think? Deal?"
"Deal," you smile, your heart doing a little flip. "Pick me up at seven?"
"I'll be there at 6:55," Alysa promises, leaning down to press a swift, sweet kiss to your cheek before giving you one last wink. "Go shower, cheerleader. I'll see you tonight."
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
You stretch out on Alysa’s bed, twisting your fingers into the hem of your top. The AC in her dorm building is blasting, and a sudden chill runs down your arms. "Brr. Is it always this freezing in here, or are you just trying to simulate an ice rink?"
Alysa perks up instantly, her eyes lighting up. "Oh! Hold on."
She springs off the mattress and marches over to her closet, rummaging through a neatly folded stack of clothes. With a triumphant grin, she pulls out a thick, slightly faded grey Team USA hoodie—the official one with the bold navy lettering across the chest and the soft fleece lining.
"Here," she says proudly, tossing it to you. "Maximum insulation."
You slide your arms into the sleeves, and it completely swallows you. The hem hangs down past your shorts, and the cuffs pool heavily around your hands. It smells exactly like her—that clean, crisp vanilla and cold air. You pull the oversized hood slightly over your hair, looking up at her through your lashes.
Alysa completely freezes in the middle of the room. Her eyes do a slow, wide sweep over you, taking in the way her massive hoodie drapes over your shoulders, framing your face. Her chest rises and falls sharply, and her usual dorky banter completely fails her.
"What?" you giggle, tugging at the oversized sleeves. "Does it look ridiculous?"
"No," Alysa says, her voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that instantly sends a shiver of a completely different kind straight down your spine. She walks back to the bed, her movements deliberate and focused. "It looks... insanely good on you. Like you belong in it."
She climbs back onto the mattress, crawling over until she’s hovering right over you, her knees bracketing your thighs. The playful energy from earlier is entirely gone, replaced by a heavy, magnetic focus.
"Can I?" she whispers, her gaze dropping to your lips.
You don't even answer, just reach up and grab the front of her black tank top, pulling her down.
When Alysa kisses you this time, it’s entirely different. It’s deep, breathless, and urgent. Her hands grip the soft fabric of her own hoodie on your shoulders, pinning you gently to the mattress as she deepens the kiss. You tangle your hands in her striped hair, pulling her closer until there isn't a single inch of space left between you. The sheer friction of her lips against yours makes your head spin, her smiley piercing cold and intoxicating against your mouth. Alysa lets out a soft, low groan into the kiss, her weight settling over you in a way that makes your heart race.
CLICK.
The sharp, echoing sound of the dorm door lock turning cuts through the quiet room like a gunshot.
“FUCK!” Alysa gasps, her eyes flying wide in a panic.
In a frantic, chaotic scramble that totally defies her status as an elite athlete, Alysa throws herself off you, violently rolling to the far side of the bed and pulling the comforter over her head like a cartoon character. You frantically sit up, smoothing down the massive hoodie, your heart hammering against your ribs.
The door swings open, and Alysa’s roommate, Maya, walks in, completely out of breath. She’s aggressively digging through her tote bag.
"Hey, sorry, forgot my chemistry binder—" Maya stops dead in her tracks, looking at you sitting flush against the pillows, flushed and breathless, wearing Alysa’s oversized national team hoodie. Then Maya’s eyes slowly drift to the giant, shifting lump under the comforter next to you.
A heavy, incredibly awkward silence fills the room.
From underneath the blankets, Alysa’s muffled, strained voice pipes up. "Hi, Maya. I'm sleeping."
Maya stares at the blanket lump, slowly raises an eyebrow, and then looks back at you. "Right. 'Sleeping.' At 7:30 PM." She grabs her binder off the desk and immediately turns back toward the door. "I'm going to the library. I will be there until midnight. Please do not 'sleep' on my desk."
The door clicks shut behind her.
For three seconds, the room is dead silent. Then, Alysa slowly peeks her head out from under the comforter, her striped hair sticking up in ten different directions, her face a vibrant, violent shade of crimson.
You look at her messy hair, her flushed face, and the sheer absurdity of her hiding tactic, and you completely lose it. You bury your face in the collar of her hoodie, laughing so hard your shoulders shake.
"Sleeping?!" you howl softly. "That was your master plan?!"
"I panicked!" Alysa groans, throwing her hands over her face, though a huge, infectious laugh escapes her too. She rolls back over to you, tugging your hands away from your face. "My motor functions completely detached! Cut me some slack, cheerleader!"
She tackles you back into the pillows, both of you giggling in the dim light of the room, the lingering tension breaking into pure, ridiculous happiness.
The laughter slowly tapers off into a warm, lingering silence, the echoes of the door slamming completely forgotten. Alysa stays right where she is, hovering over you with her weight supported on her forearms, her face just inches from yours. The goofy, flushed expression on her face gradually shifts, her gaze dropping to the oversized collar of her hoodie resting against your collarbone.
She reaches out, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your forehead, her touch incredibly tender.
"You really look perfect in my clothes," she murmurs, her voice dropping back into that low, gravelly register that completely commands your attention.
"Yeah?" you breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs, a completely different kind of anticipation tightening in your chest. You look up into her dark eyes, seeing the absolute certainty and desire reflected there. "What are you going to do about it, Liu?"
Alysa's smile is slow, heavy with a sudden, intoxicating warmth. "I think I'm done being clumsy," she whispers.
She leans down, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that instantly thaws the cool air of the room. It starts slow, a deep, deliberate claim, before turning into something consuming. You wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her down as her weight settles fully over you, the soft fleece of the hoodie pressing into the mattress. Alysa let out a soft sigh against your mouth, her hands sliding down to grip your waist through the thick fabric, pulling you flush against her.
Every touch feels heightened, electric. When her lips leave yours to trace a burning path down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck, a quiet gasp escapes you, your fingers tangling tight into the fabric of her black tank top.
Alysa pauses for a fraction of a second, her breath hot against your skin as she looks down at you, her eyes dark, intense, and utterly searching. "Are you sure?" she asks softly, giving you a chance to breathe, her thumb gently tracing your hip.
You look up at her, your chest heaving, completely sure of everything. You reach up, cupping her cheek, your thumb smoothing over her jaw. "More than sure. Come here."
A beautiful, breathless smile touches her lips right before she kisses you again, deeper this time, closing every remaining inch of distance between you.
Alysa's hands find the bottom edge of the oversized grey hoodie, her warm palms sliding underneath the fleece against your bare skin, sending a delicious shiver straight to your core. The laptop at the foot of the bed continues to play the forgotten movie, casting a dim, flickering glow across the room as the rest of the world fades completely into the background, leaving just the two of you entangled in the quiet warmth of the dorm.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
Fast forward a couple weeks, the mid-June sun beats down on the stadium for the special post-season exhibition game. The air is electric, filled with the buzzing energy of Pride Month. On the sidelines, you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, your uniform crisp, but your eyes keep drifting to the front row of the stands.
Sitting right there, leaning over the railing, is Alysa. She’s wearing a UCLA shirt her striped hair loose and flowing, her eyes completely locked onto you.
A few rows back, a couple of guys from a rival frat are getting loud, their voices cutting through the stadium noise. They start making vulgar, crude comments about your body, laughing sleazily. Alysa’s posture immediately stiffens. Her jaw clenches, and she looks visibly uncomfortable, glaring back at them.
Josh notices. He stands up, looming over the guys with a sharp glare. "Hey. Shut the fuck up. She's dating Alysa, so back off."
The guys look at Josh, then glance at Alysa, bursting into loud, mocking laughter. "Yeah, right," one of them scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Like the hot cheerleader is a lesbian dating a dork. In your dreams, man."
From the sidelines, Steph and Jess overhear the entire exchange. During the next timeout, they jog over to you, their faces tight with anger. "Hey," Steph mutters, leaning in close. "Those guys in section 4 are saying disgusting things about you. Josh tried to call them out, but they’re mocking Alysa now, calling her a liar."
Your heart sinks. You look up at the stands, meeting Alysa’s eyes. She looks so hurt, trying to hold her head high but clearly stung by the casual cruelty. As the whistle blows for the halftime show, you hold her gaze, sadly mouthing, “I’m sorry,” before turning to take your place on the field.
For the next five minutes, you channel all that nervous, protective energy into your routine. You hit every extension perfectly, flying high into the air, but the moment the final cheer echoes and the squad runs back to the sidelines, your sadness melts into pure determination.
"It's go time, girls," you say firmly to Steph and Jess.
You march straight to your duffel bag, unzip it, and dig past your pom-poms. Your fingers wrap around the fabric you tucked away this morning. With a smooth pull, you reveal a large, vibrant Lesbian Pride Flag.
Right on cue, several other girls on the squad—including Jess and Steph—unzip their own bags. A wave of color erupts on the sidelines as they pull out different pride flags to show their support. Most of them unfurl classic rainbows, but Steph proudly waves a Bisexual Pride Flag. She turns to the whispering crowd nearby, a confident smirk on her face.
"Well, surprise! I like both! I'm not kidding, you guys," Steph calls out with a laugh. You and Jess giggle, leaning in to give her a quick, fierce hug.
Turning back to the stands, you drape the lesbian pride flag over your shoulders like a cape, letting the pink, white, and orange stripes catch the wind. You lock eyes with Alysa.
The stadium falls into a sudden, stunned hush as you start walking directly toward her section. Whispers ripple through the crowd like wildfire.
"Oh my god..."
"No way!"
"Wait, is she...?"
Ignoring all of them, you march right up to the brick barrier. Just like that very first football game where you had teasingly called her down, you grip the edge of the railing and effortlessly hoist yourself up, sitting on the wide ledge right in front of Alysa and the staring crowd.
Alysa steps forward, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and overwhelming emotion.
You don't let her say a word. Reaching out, you grab the front of her shirt, gently but firmly pulling her forward.
You lean in and kiss her.
It’s deep, breathless, and completely unbothered by the thousands of people watching. The stadium erupts—Josh is screaming, Steph and Jess are cheering wildly, and the rude guys in the back have gone completely white and silent.
When you finally pull back just an inch, your forehead rests against hers. You look into her beautiful, shining eyes, a soft, proud smile on your lips.
"I love you, Alysa Liu," you whisper loudly enough for the front rows to hear.
Alysa’s dimples break through, her smiley piercing flashing as a breathless, ecstatic laugh escapes her. "I love you too..." she murmurs, completely unbothered by the world around you.
Girls My Age Don't Know How to Love Me Good (Alysa Liu x Reader)
(a/n) as requested by 💄 anon, here's a little age gap (I envisioned someone who is in their late twenties/early thirties) with Alysa being a dominant while reader becomes her good girl...enjoy my bbs 🫶🏻💋
The main arena was always colder than people expected, a vast, hollow bowl of steel and concrete holding its breath before the chaos of the Games officially began. As the head media liaison for the Olympics, you were supposed to be the anchor in that upcoming storm—immaculately tailored, sharp-witted, and entirely unbothered by the proximity of greatness. You managed chaos for a living. You dictated schedules, handled demanding networks, and moved through the press zones with an elegant, untouchable composure that kept everyone else in check.
But right now, during the quiet sanctuary of the first unofficial practice session, that carefully constructed armor felt incredibly thin.
You were sitting higher up in the stands, the glow of the ice casting a pale, cinematic light across the empty seats. Down below, a few skaters were tracing long, quiet arcs across the fresh sheet. And then, she caught your eye.
She was utterly, arrestingly unique. Amidst the sea of uniform training gear and slicked-back hair, she stood out like a sudden splash of color on canvas. Her hair was a striking, beautiful contrast of blonde and brown stripes, framing a face that seemed to carry its own light. When she laughed at something her coach said, the quick flash of a smiley piercing glinted under the harsh stadium rafters.
Then, the music swelled over the loudspeakers, and she moved.
Any warmth or playfulness vanished, replaced instantly by something completely ethereal. You found yourself leaning forward, breath catching in your throat as you watched her glide. She moved with a terrifying gravity—so effortless, so heavy with grace, her body cutting through the air and carving the ice with a lyricism that felt entirely too intimate for a public practice. It was a masterclass in elegance, and you were completely, helplessly transfixed.
"Careful," a quiet, teasing voice murmured from right above your shoulder. "You're going to melt the ice at this rate."
You blinked, forcing your posture to instantly snap back into its usual rigid, professional alignment. Cassie, your assistant, stepped into the row, a knowing, wicked little smile playing on her lips. Without a word, she slid a heavy stack of athlete profiles into your lap.
Right on top, staring back at you from a glossy headshot, was the very same girl.
Cassie leaned in a fraction closer, her voice dripping with amusement. "That's Alysa Liu. Team USA."
Alysa. The name tasted like a secret in your mind. You didn't look up at Cassie; your eyes were dragged right back down to the ice, tracking the exact moment Alysa finished her run-through with a breathless, triumphant spin.
As the music faded into the rafters, Alysa glided toward the boards where her coaches, Philip and Massimo, were already waiting with their clipboards and critiques. But just before she reached them, as if sensing the sheer intensity of the gaze fixed upon her from the shadows of the upper tier, Alysa paused.
She tilted her head, her dark eyes sweeping up past the glass, past the empty rows, until they locked directly onto yours.
The silence of the upper stands felt deafening as those dark eyes held yours. For a fraction of a second, the vast arena shrank down to just the two of you—the seasoned professional frozen in the shadows, and the young prodigy glowing under the ice lights.
Then Alysa blinked, a bright, easy smile breaking across her face as Philip tapped his clipboard to get her attention. She turned back to her coaches, leaving you stranded in the sudden rush of your own racing pulse.
You looked down at the profile in your lap. Alysa Liu. Your eyes skipped past her formidable skating stats, past the list of quad jumps and international medals, and landed squarely on her birth date.
A quiet, self-deprecating sigh slipped past your lips.
Only problem. Alysa was twenty, vibrant and just stepping into the absolute prime of her youth. And you? You were older. You had years of a demanding career under your belt, a reputation built on iron-clad boundaries, and a life entirely removed from the whirlwind of a twenty-year-old athlete’s world. By all accounts of professional ethics and sheer reality, she should have been just another name on a spreadsheet to you. A talented kid to protect from the media wolves.
But looking back down at the ice, watching the easy, confident way Alysa threw her head back as Massimo gave her a high-five, the age gap didn't feel like a simple number. It felt like a sudden, dizzying drop. It was a line you knew you shouldn't cross, which only made the gravity pulling you toward her feel twice as dangerous.
"Hey," Cassie said gently, her teasing tone softening as she noticed the sudden intensity in your expression. "You good? Press conference schedule for Team USA just got bumped up. We need to head down to the mixed zone."
You closed the folder with a crisp, authoritative snap, the elegant, unbothered media liaison instantly sliding back into place. "Perfect. Let's go."
The mixed zone was a chaotic symphony of clicking cameras, overlapping voices, and the sharp glare of television lights. But amidst the noise, you stood as the calm center of the storm. You checked your watch, adjusted your clipboard, and smoothed down the front of your cream-colored silk skirt. It flowed elegantly with every step you took, paired with an oversized, off-the-shoulder knit sweater that draped just perfectly enough to hint at the poise underneath.
When Team USA filed in, your professional mask remained flawlessly intact. But inside, your chest tightened the moment you saw her walking toward your station.
Alysa’s Monologue:
I’m used to people staring at me. Usually, it’s judges looking at my blade placement or reporters trying to guess if I’m nervous. But when I walk into the press room, my eyes go straight to the woman running the floor. It’s her. The one from the stands. Up close, she’s even more intimidatingly beautiful. She’s wearing this soft, off-the-shoulder sweater, and the way the fabric falls leaves her neck and collarbone completely exposed. There’s something so elegant, so clean and mature about the line of her throat. It makes me want to step closer just to see if she breathes as evenly as she looks. She’s older, carries herself like she owns every inch of this room, and it’s completely intoxicating. She’s trying so hard to look like a strict professional, but I saw how she looked at me on the ice. Let’s see if I can make her lose that composure.
Alysa didn't join the rest of her teammates right away. Instead, she wandered over to your coordinator desk, hands buried casually in the pockets of her Team USA track jacket. Her striped hair was slightly damp from practice, and she had an effortless, unbothered posture that defied the high-stakes pressure of the Olympics.
Your Monologue:
She’s walking over. Maintain composure. She is twenty years old, an athlete under your care, and completely off-limits. But god, look at her. She’s surrounded by chaos and yet she’s completely cool, calm, and collected, moving with a nonchalant confidence that someone twice her age would envy. And then she looks up, and there’s that smile. It’s blinding. It’s not the practiced smile she gives the cameras; it’s warm, mischievous, and carries a spark of youthful fearlessness that makes my chest ache. She feels like summer, and I am suddenly very aware of every single year between us. But I can't look away.
Alysa stopped just a step away from you, leaning lightly against the edge of the barrier. Up close, the tiny silver glint of her smiley piercing was mesmerizing.
"Hi," Alysa said, her voice smooth and entirely relaxed. She tilted her head, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a knowing, playful glint. "You're the one running the show here, right?"
"I am," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the sudden heat rising up your neck. You offered a polite, practiced hand. "I'm the head media liaison for this venue. It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Alysa."
Alysa took your hand. Her grip was firm, a reminder of the powerful athlete beneath the casual demeanor. She didn't let go immediately, letting her thumb brush the side of your hand for just a second too long.
"The pleasure's mine," Alysa murmured, her bright smile widening just a fraction as she noticed the tiny, sharp intake of your breath. She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice so the nearby reporters couldn't hear. "I noticed you up in the stands during practice. You have a really great seat up there. Very... observant."
You felt a flush creeping up toward your exposed collarbone, but you tilted your chin up, relying on your years of training to keep your voice cool. "I have to keep an eye on all our top medal contenders, Miss Liu. It's part of the job."
Alysa let out a soft, amused chuckle, finally letting her hand drop back into her pocket. She didn't look intimidated by your professional shield at all; if anything, she looked like she enjoyed the challenge.
"Right. The job," Alysa repeated smoothly, her eyes taking one last, deliberate sweep from your eyes down to the elegant slope of your shoulder before she took a step back toward the microphone. "Well, let's get this press conference started then. Don't look too hard from the sidelines, okay?"
❤︎
The Olympic village was entirely different after midnight. The chaotic hum of daytime media fell away, leaving the concrete pathways quiet, shadowed, and draped in a heavy, frosted stillness.
You walked toward the staff parking lot, the sharp click of your heels echoing rhythmically against the pavement. Your coat was pulled tight against the chill, but the top buttons were undone, exposing the elegant line of your neck to the cold night air. It had been a grueling eighteen-hour day of managing crises, and all you wanted was the solitude of your car.
A sudden, soft scuff of sneakers on asphalt broke the silence behind you.
"You know, walking alone in the dark is pretty dangerous for the head of media," a voice called out, smooth and entirely unbothered by the late hour. "Who’s going to protect you if something happens?"
You stopped, closing your eyes for a brief second as your heart did a sudden, traitorous flip. You turned around slowly, drawing your professional composure around you like a shield.
Alysa was stepping out from the shadow of the training facility overhang. She was wearing an oversized Team USA hoodie, hands buried deep in the front pocket, her blonde and brown striped hair catching the amber glow of the perimeter lights. She looked effortlessly cool, completely unfazed by the freezing temperature or the fact that it was past 1 AM.
"Miss Liu," you said, your voice deliberate, measured, and entirely too formal for the empty parking lot. "Athletes have a strict curfew. You should be in your room resting for the short program tomorrow."
Alysa didn't stop walking until she crossed the distance between you, stepping directly into your personal space. The contrast was dizzying—you in your sharp, sophisticated work attire, and her in her casual athletic gear, yet she held all the power in the quiet space between you.
"Curfew is for people who are nervous," Alysa murmured, tilting her head up to look at you. Up close, the tiny silver spark of her smiley piercing gleamed under the streetlamps. She looked you up and down, her gaze lingering on your exposed collarbone before meeting your eyes with absolute, unwavering confidence. "And I'm not nervous."
"Alysa," you warned softly, the use of her first name slipping out before you could stop it. The tension between you stretched, thick and suffocatingly tight. "You shouldn't be out here. With me."
"Why?" Alysa took one half-step closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her despite the winter air. There was a heavy, magnetic intensity in her dark eyes that made you acutely aware of the years between you—and how little they seemed to matter to her. "Because you're older? Because you're the boss?"
You swallowed hard, your breath pluming in a soft white cloud between your faces. "Because it's unprofessional. And because..."
"Because you like it when I look at you," Alysa finished for you, her voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous cadence that sent a shiver straight down your spine. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, warm and devastatingly attractive. She reached out, her fingers brushing the lapel of your coat, just a fraction of an inch away from your bare skin. "I see the way your pulse jumps right there when I get close. You can play the elegant professional all day, but it’s just the two of us out here."
Your breath hitched. Every boundary you had spent a career building felt like it was crumbling under the nonchalant, fearless gaze of a twenty-year-old who knew exactly what she wanted.
The warmth of Alysa’s fingertips near your collarbone felt like a spark on dry tinder. Every instinct you possessed urged you to lean into it, to let the iron-clad professionalism melt away in the quiet dark of the parking lot.
But then your eyes caught the tiny embroidered Team USA rings on her hoodie.
The reality of the situation slammed back into place with the force of a physical blow. She had the short program tomorrow. Years of her sweat, tears, and sacrifice were culminating in the next twenty-four hours, and you were the adult in this equation. You couldn't let your own longing jeopardize that.
With a deliberate, agonizing slowness, you stepped backward, breaking the magnetic pull between you. You reached up and gently but firmly took Alysa’s hand by the wrist, guiding it away from your coat.
"Alysa," you said, your voice returning to that crisp, elegant tone, though it carried a slight, breathless gravel you couldn't quite hide. "Stop."
Alysa blinked, her confident smile faltering just a fraction as she let her hand drop back to her side. The dark intensity in her eyes shifted into a sudden, quiet vulnerability. "Are you really going to do the 'professional boundaries' speech right now?"
"I am," you said softly, looking at her with an earnestness that replaced your usual strict mask. "Not because of the rules. But because tomorrow is the biggest day of your life. You have worked your entire youth to stand on that ice tomorrow night, and you need your mind completely clear. I won't be the distraction that costs you a fraction of a point."
Alysa searched your face, her nonchalant posture fading into something much deeper. She looked at the tight set of your shoulders, the protective way you held yourself, and the fierce sincerity in your eyes. A slow, different kind of smile touched her lips—one that wasn't trying to flirt or tease, but one that recognized the genuine care behind your restraint.
"You're really something, you know that?" Alysa murmured, shaking her head lightly, her striped hair catching the amber light. She stepped back, giving you your space, though her eyes never left yours. "Fine. I'll go back to the village. I'll skate a perfect program."
She turned to walk away, but stopped after a few paces, looking back over her shoulder with that signature, heart-stopping spark in her eyes.
"But when my short program is over," Alysa said, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet pavement, "you owe me an answer. Without the clipboard."
Before you could respond, she turned and jogged lightly back toward the athlete housing, leaving you alone in the freezing night air, your heart hammering against your ribs.
❤︎
The short program had just ended, and the main media room was an absolute pressure cooker of ringing phones, shouting reporters, and the intense heat of television lights. While the medals wouldn't be decided until after the free skate, the atmosphere was already electric. In the small, curtained-off holding area just backstage—the quiet space where athletes were held for a few minutes before running the gauntlet of international journalists—it was completely still.
You stood by the doorway, a stack of interview cue cards held tightly against your chest. Your knuckles were white. You had watched her on the jumbotron just an hour ago—skating a flawless, breathtaking short program that had the entire arena on its feet, putting her right at the top of the standings. Now, the heavy velvet curtain shifted, and Alysa walked in.
She was still in her stunning, white competition dress, looking flushed, breathless, and utterly radiant.
The moment she spotted you standing near the desk, her expression shifted from exhausted athlete to something sharp, focused, and entirely dangerous. She didn't look at the officials or the other staff. She walked straight toward you, her skates clicking sharply on the rubber floor guards until she was standing close enough for you to smell the faint scent of ice and ozone radiating off her.
You instantly straightened, drawing your elegant, untouchable media mask over your face, though your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "Congratulations, Alysa." You clear your throat. "An incredible short program. Now," You clear your throat again barely able to look at her "before we open the floor to the press, I need to brief you on—"
"Am I making you flustered?" Alysa interrupted smoothly, tilting her head with a cheeky, devastating smirk. Up close, the tiny silver glint of her smiley piercing seemed to mock your strict professionalism. Her dark eyes dropped deliberately to the exposed skin of your neck, watching the sharp, sudden intake of your breath.
"Alysa..." you said, panicked and serious, a wave of genuine anxiety mixing with the heat rushing to your face. Your eyes scanned the room frantically, terrified a stray cameraman or publicist would walk past the curtain. "We can talk about this later... French media have a few questions."
Alysa didn't back down. Instead, she took one half-step closer, entirely unbothered by the chaos just outside the fabric wall.
"I kept my end of the deal," Alysa murmured, her voice dropping into that quiet, confident cadence that made the years between you feel entirely irrelevant. Her eyes locked onto yours, full of a youthful, fierce certainty. "Perfect performance. No distractions. The short program is done."
You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the cue cards until the cardboard bent. "Alysa, the cameras are literally ten feet away—"
"I know," she said, her smirk softening into something a little warmer, a little more intimate, though the mischief never left her eyes. She leaned in just a fraction closer, her voice a breathy whisper against the space between you. "Which means you have exactly until the end of these interviews to figure out where we're going once the free skate is over. Deal?"
Before you could even form a coherent, professional response, she gave you one last, lingering look, turned on her heel, and swept past the curtain into the bright flash of the media lights, leaving you flustered, breathless, and completely captivated in the shadows.
The heavy media rush had finally cleared, leaving the administrative wing of the rink bathed in quiet, low-wattage hallway lighting. In the sanctuary of your private office, you thought you were finally safe to let your guard down. You stood behind your desk, sorting through the stack of post-event interview transcripts, the soft fabric of your blush pink silk skirt catching the light as you moved, paired with a fitted beige cashmere sweater that hugged every line of your figure.
You were so focused on the paperwork that you didn't notice the shadow falling across the threshold.
Alysa stood in the doorway, now changed into her Team USA track suit, her hands casually resting in her pockets. She leaned against the frame, entirely silent, her dark eyes completely admiring the view. She tracked the elegant curve of your waist, the way the silk draped over your hips, and the absolute poise you possessed even when doing something as mundane as filing papers.
"Knock, knock," Alysa said, a slow, familiar smirk playing on her lips.
You jumped slightly, your head snapping up. "Alysa! How long have you been standing there?"
Instead of answering, Alysa stepped fully into the office, reaching back to close the heavy door behind her with a soft, definitive click. She walked toward you slowly, each step deliberate, her nonchalant athletic grace taking up all the air in the small room.
"Long enough to appreciate the view," Alysa murmured, her voice smooth and entirely devoid of the playful teenager act.
"You shouldn't be in here," you said, trying to summon your authoritative media liaison voice, but it came out breathless. "The administrative wing is restricted after hours."
"Good thing I don't care about restrictions." Alysa closed the remaining distance, stepping directly into your space. The sheer magnetic heat radiating off her forced you backward until the edge of the wooden desk pressed firmly against the small of your back.
"Alysa..." you gasped, the word catching in your throat as Alysa placed her hands on either side of you, pinning you against the desk.
"I know what I want," Alysa whispered, her smirk deepening as she leaned in close. She tilted her head, buried her face in the curve of your neck, and inhaled deeply, taking in the intoxicating scent of your perfume mixed with the warm cashmere. At the same time, her hands slid away from the desk, her palms wandering up to frame your hips, gripping the smooth silk of your skirt.
A heavy, shuddering breath escaped your lips, your head tilting back involuntarily. The contrast between your years of rigid control and her fierce, youthful certainty was completely overwhelming.
Alysa’s grip tightened on your hips, anchor-firm, as she planted her first, warm kiss directly against the sensitive skin of your neck.
"Alysa, please..." you gasped out, a soft, helpless moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it. You tried to place your hands against her shoulders, but your fingers only ended up clutching the fabric of her track jacket. "What if someone walks in?"
Alysa didn't stop. She trailed a row of slow, searing kisses along the line of your neck, moving up toward your jaw, while her hands explored the curve of your hips and began to slip lower. "Let them walk in," she murmured against your skin, her fingers sliding beneath the hem of your silk skirt, pushing the fabric up to touch the bare, soft skin of your thighs.
The heat of her touch sent a jolt straight through you, a sudden reminder of the reality you were trying so hard to fight.
"Alysa... I'm much older..." you said, the confession leaving you in a fractured, barely audible whisper—a final, desperate plea to the universe and the ten-year gap between you.
Alysa paused for a fraction of a second, pulling back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. The youthful playfulness was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, undeniable maturity. "Okay..." she said softly, her dark eyes locking onto yours. "But I know what I want."
Before you could think, Alysa leaned in and pulled you into a deep, bruising kiss. Every ounce of your restraint crumbled. Your hands flew to the back of her head, your fingers tangling desperately through the base of her striped hair, pulling her closer as you kissed her back with all the pent-up longing you’d been hiding since the first practice session.
Alysa groaned softly into the kiss, breaking away only to move back down to your neck. She sucked softly against your skin, marking you, while her hand made its way further up your soft inner thigh, her fingertips gently grazing the edge of your lace panties. You arched into her touch, completely lost in her.
Jiggle.
The sharp, metallic sound of the outer doorknob turning cut through the quiet room like a siren.
Alysa broke away instantly, her athletic reflexes moving her back two full steps just as the door swung open. By the time Cassie stepped into the office, clipboard in hand, Alysa was already standing with her hands casually tucked into her track jacket pockets, her breathing remarkably controlled, though her eyes still carried a dangerous, lingering heat.
"Oh, sorry to interrupt," Cassie said, looking between the two of you, her eyes lingering slightly on your slightly flushed face and the way your hands were gripping the edge of the desk.
"No worries, we were just finishing up," Alysa said smoothly, turning toward the door with that casual, nonchalant attitude completely back in place. She paused at the threshold, looking back over her shoulder at you with a sharp, cheeky wink. "I'll speak to you later about improving my answers to those interview questions."
And with that, she swept out into the hallway, leaving you standing trembling against your desk, trying desperately to smooth down your silk skirt before Cassie could notice anything else.
Cassie’s eyes narrowed as the heavy office door clicked shut behind Alysa. She stood perfectly still for a second, her gaze dropping to the slight disarray of your blush pink skirt, then traveling up to the unmistakable flush staining your neck and exposed collarbone. She slowly set her clipboard down on the edge of the filing cabinet.
"What... what's going on?" Cassie suspiciously asked, stepping closer. Her voice lost its usual professional bounce, replaced by a quiet, intense seriousness. "And don't lie. I'm not just your assistant, we're best friends."
That was the breaking point. The heavy weight of the last few days—the secret glances at the rink, the freezing midnight confrontation in the parking lot, and the absolute fire that had just consumed your office—finally collapsed the iron-clad wall of your composure.
You completely lost your cool. You let out a shaky, frustrated breath, burying your face in your hands as your shoulders trembled.
"I'm so fucked, Cassie..." you confessed, your voice cracking as the sophisticated media liaison vanished entirely, leaving only a woman completely overwhelmed by desire. You dropped your hands, looking at your best friend with wide, panicked eyes. "I don't know how she is able to do this to me. I'm supposed to be older, dominant and strong. I run this entire venue, I manage hundreds of people, but with her? I can't control it. I just melt under her touch!"
Cassie’s jaw dropped slightly, the pieces of the puzzle instantly locking into place in her mind. She looked at the door, then back to you, a mixture of shock and deep concern flooding her face.
"Oh my god," Cassie whispered, stepping forward to grab your hands, finding them completely ice-cold and trembling. "You and Alysa Liu?"
"She was just here, Cassie. Right against the desk," you breathed, a wild, helpless laugh escaping you as you touched your own neck, where the skin still burned from Alysa's lips. "She's twenty, she's an athlete, she's completely off-limits, and she knows exactly what she wants. She doesn't care about the rules. She doesn't care about the age gap. And the worst part is... I don't think I do either anymore."
❤︎
The days that followed were a masterclass in psychological warfare, wrapped in the pristine packaging of Olympic professionalism.
If the tension between you before the office incident had been a spark, it was now a subterranean wildfire, burning hot and silent beneath every single interaction. You couldn't look at the edge of your desk without feeling the phantom grip of Alysa’s hands on your hips, and you were hyper-aware that she knew exactly what kind of power she held over you.
But the Games didn't pause for burning secrets.
You threw yourself into your work with a frantic, perfectionist energy, making sure your suits were tailored to immaculate perfection, your hair perfectly in place, and your tone completely unbothered. You were the untouchable head media liaison.
Alysa, meanwhile, played her part with a terrifyingly cool nonchalance.
During the official morning briefings in the mixed zone, she would stand with the rest of Team USA, listening to you dictate the media rotation. To any outsider, she was just a focused, disciplined athlete. But she was torturing you. As you spoke, Alysa would deliberately catch your eye from the crowd, her gaze dropping slowly, pointedly, to the exposed line of your throat before sweeping back up to lock onto your eyes with a heavy, wicked intensity. She wouldn't say a word, but the casual smirk playing at the corner of her lips said everything: I know what's underneath that cashmere.
The worst part was the physical proximity required by your job.
Two days before the free skate, you had to personally mic her up for an international television feature. Your hands, usually steady enough to handle the most aggressive paparazzi, were trembling slightly as you clipped the small black pack to the waistband of her track suit.
Alysa stood entirely still, but as you leaned in, your breath brushing the shell of her ear, she leaned a fraction of an inch closer.
"Good girl, keeping your cool," Alysa murmured, her voice a low, private frequency beneath the ambient noise of the television crew. Her dark eyes gleamed with that youthful, fearless confidence. "But your pulse is racing again."
You swallowed down a sudden, desperate breath, keeping your chin high as you stepped back. "Microphone is live, Miss Liu. Keep your answers concise."
Alysa let out a soft, low chuckle that vibrated right through your chest, turning to face the cameras without a single trace of nerves.
The echo of her voice followed you all the way back to your office, refusing to leave you alone.
"Good girl, keeping your cool."
The words had been a low, private frequency beneath the ambient noise of the television crew, spoken with such casual, devastating authority that it had short-circuited your brain.
Now, the evening had settled over the arena, and you were alone in your office with your head buried in your hands. Your internal monologue was a chaotic, spinning loop, replaying those five words over and over. Good girl. Coming from anyone else, it might have felt condescending. But from Alysa? Spoken with that dark, smoky confidence, it had felt like a command. It made you feel things you had no business feeling—a sudden, heavy ache of submission that completely terrified you. You were an older executive, yet a twenty-year-old figure skater had managed to unravel your entire identity with a single whisper.
A soft click broke the silence of the room.
You looked up, your hands dropping from your face.
Alysa was standing there. She had already slipped past the door, shutting it quietly behind her. She didn't say a word. The playful, teasing smirk was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, raw hunger that made the air in the room instantly turn to glass.
"Alysa..." you breathed, your voice a fractured, desperate plea.
She didn't let you finish. Alysa walked toward you with a sudden, athletic urgency, crossing the small office in three strides. Before you could even stand up fully from your chair, her hands flew to the sides of your face, her fingers tangling deep into your hair, and she pulled you into a deep, bruising kiss.
The collision of your lips was frantic, a sudden, explosive release of the tension that had been torturing both of you for days. Alysa groaned into your mouth, her lips demanding, parting yours with a fierce intensity that left you completely breathless. Your hands gripped the fabric of her Team USA jacket, pulling her closer, your thighs flushing against the edge of the desk as the room spun out of focus. It was messy, desperate, and entirely intoxicating.
But just as Alysa’s hands began to slide down the column of your throat toward your sweater, a sudden jolt of reality cut through the fog in your mind. The rink wasn't safe. The office wasn't safe.
With a massive effort of will, you forcefully pulled your mouth away, gasping for air, your lips tingling and swollen. Alysa leaned in to chase your mouth again, her eyes dark and heavy with desire, but you kept your hands pressed firmly against her chest.
"We can't do this here," you whispered frantically, your chest heaving as you looked at her. "Not in this building. Not with everyone right outside."
Alysa paused, her breathing just as ragged as yours, her dark eyes searching your face. "Then where?"
"Meet me at my car in ten minutes," you breathed, the final boundary officially crumbling. "The keys are already in my bag. Just... don't let anyone see you follow me."
Alysa’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, the thrill of the chase burning bright in her eyes. She took a step back, wiping her thumb across her lower lip, never breaking eye contact. "Ten minutes."
Without another word, she slipped out of the office, leaving the door ajar. You stood there for a fraction of a second, your heart hammering against your ribs, before you grabbed your coat and your bag.
Ten minutes later, the quiet hum of your car's engine cut through the freezing air of the VIP parking lot. The passenger door opened, a rush of cold air entering the cabin before Alysa slid inside, pulling her hood up. You didn't speak. The silence between you was thick, heavy, and absolute as you shifted into drive and left the glowing lights of the Olympic arena behind, heading straight toward the sanctuary of your apartment.
❤︎
The front door had barely clicked shut behind you before the last remaining threads of your control snapped entirely. Your heels were kicked off, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor as you reached for her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her jacket as you pulled her mouth back to yours. The kissing was frantic, a desperate, breathless clash of lips and teeth in the dark entryway of your apartment.
You reached down, your fingers hurriedly grabbing at the hem of her track jacket, desperate to strip away the layers keeping her from you.
But Alysa caught your wrists. Her grip was firm, possessing that sudden, undeniable athletic strength that always caught you off guard.
She pulled your hands away from her clothes, a sudden, dark intensity flashing in her eyes. "Uh-uh..." Alysa said, a slow, devastating smirk cutting through the shadows. She tilted her head, her breathing ragged but her confidence absolute. "Take me to your room... we're doing this my way."
The sheer authority in her voice sent a thrill straight down your spine. You didn't argue. Keeping your eyes locked onto hers, you reached out and took her hand, your fingers intertwining as you seductively guided her down the dimly lit hallway and into the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the window. Instead of pulling you onto the mattress, Alysa guided you to stand right in the center of the room. She stepped behind you, her body pressing flush against your back, the heat of her radiating right through your clothes.
"Stay right there," she murmured against your ear, her breath a warm caress that made your knees weak.
Slowly, deliberately, Alysa began to undress you. Her hands were surprisingly patient now, tracing the line of your shoulders as she slid the cashmere sweater down your arms, leaving it to pool on the floor. Her fingers brushed against the exposed skin of your back, sending a shiver through you as she slowly unzipped your silk skirt, letting it glide down your hips.
As the fabric fell away, Alysa leaned in, pressing her lips to the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder. She kissed you slowly, softly, her mouth hot against your skin as her hands came around to grip your waist from behind.
"I never told you..." Alysa whispered against your skin, her voice dropping into a low, smoky purr that vibrated right through your bones. "But I love older women."
A loud, helpless moan escaped your lips. Your head tilted back involuntarily, resting heavily against Alysa’s shoulder as her hands began to slide lower, mapping the curves of your body with a fierce, youthful certainty that told you she knew exactly how much power she held over you.
The soft glow of the city lights cast a silver edge over everything, illuminating the large, full-length mirror positioned directly across from the bed. Alysa’s hands, warm and completely steady, slid slowly down from your waist, smoothing over the silk panels of your lace panties.
"Look at the mirror," Alysa whispered against your ear, her voice a low, heavy command that left no room for argument.
You forced your eyes open, your breath hitching at the sight. In the reflection, the contrast was dizzying. There you were—completely unravelled, stripped down to your lace, leaning heavily back against Alysa, who was undressed in her own underwear. She looked so solid, so utterly in control behind you, her dark eyes locking onto your reflection before she slipped her hand beneath the lace.
The moment her fingers made contact with your bare skin, your hips hitched instinctively. Alysa let out a soft, pleased hum, her middle and ring finger finding your slick center and pressing down, starting a slow, deliberate rhythm right against your clit.
A loud, broken whimper escaped your throat, your fingers desperately gripping her forearms for support.
"Yeah, just like that," Alysa murmured, her lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Look at yourself in the mirror, my good girl. Look at how beautifully you move for me."
Hearing those words—that deep, possessive praise coming from her—sent a violent shiver straight down your spine. You stared at the reflection, watching your own chest heave, watching the way Alysa’s hand moved rhythmically against you, her touch confident and unyielding.
"Alysa, please..." you gasped out, your head tossing back against her shoulder as the heat between your thighs began to coil tight and suffocating.
"You're doing so well for me, baby girl," Alysa praised softly, her tone dripping with a sweet, heavy warmth that entirely melted your residual defences. She sped up her fingers just a fraction, applying a torturous, perfect amount of pressure that had you crying out into the quiet room. "Listen to those pretty sounds you're making. You're such a good girl for me, aren't you?"
"Yes—yes," you sobbed out, completely abandoning your pride, your hands tightening frantically on her arms as the edge of the climax began to rush over you like a wave.
Alysa watched your face in the mirror, her smirk softening into an expression of pure, intense adoration. She didn't let up for a second, her fingers tracing relentless, perfect circles, driving you higher and higher. "That's it, just like that. Let it go, baby girl. I've got you."
With one final, deeper press of her fingers, the tension snapped. You arched off her entirely, a loud, breathless moan tearing from your lips as your body shuddered through a deep, intense release. Alysa held you tight against her chest, absorbing the tremors of your body, her hand keeping a gentle, soothing pressure against you as you came down.
"So good," Alysa whispered proudly against your neck, planting a soft, lingering kiss on your damp skin as your breathing slowly began to level out. "Such a good girl."
Before your breathing could even fully catch up with you, Alysa shifted. She guided you gently but firmly toward the bed, the mattress yielding beneath your weight as she laid you down right in the center of the sheets. The cool air of the bedroom hit your damp skin, but the chill vanished the second Alysa climbed over you, hovering above your body.
She looked down at you, her striped hair falling forward, framing a face that was flushed with an absolute, terrifying dominance. The small silver glint of her smiley piercing caught the moonlight as a huge smirk curved her lips.
Without a word, she parted your legs, settling herself between them. Her fingers, slick from before, slid easily back down to your heat, tracing the opening before she slowly, deliberately pushed two fingers inside you.
Your back arched off the mattress, a loud, ragged gasp tearing from your throat as your hands flew up to grip the bedsheets.
Alysa let out a soft, low chuckle, her fingers curling inside you, finding the exact spot that made your toes curl. She began to pump her fingers in a steady, relentless rhythm, her thumb locking right back onto your clit with a bruising pressure.
"Look at you," Alysa purred, her voice dropping into a dirty, dark cadence that sent a shockwave straight to your core. "I love when an older woman is a complete mess under me. You always think because I'm younger I can't make you completely lose yourselves."
"Alysa—ah!" you screamed out, your head thrashing against the pillow as the friction built entirely too fast.
"But you know the truth now, don't you, baby girl?" Alysa whispered, leaning down so her breath hot-brushed your lips, her fingers moving faster, driving deep and relentless. Her smirk was palpable against your skin. "I can make you cum harder than anyone else ever could. No one else gets to hear you make these sounds. No one else gets to see the elegant media executive completely unraveled like this."
The dirty talk was entirely too much. Combined with the ruthless, athletic precision of her fingers, your internal walls collapsed completely. You were sobbing her name, your hips frantically rolling against her hand, begging for the release that was coiling violently inside your stomach.
"Please, Alysa, please, I can't—"
"Go ahead, baby girl," Alysa praised loudly, her voice thick with pure adoration and pride as she pushed her fingers deeper, her thumb rubbing mercilessly. "Give it to me. Good girl, cum harder for me. Scream my name."
With a final, desperate hitch of your breath, the wave crashed over you. Your body shattered, a loud, echoing moan tearing from your lips into the quiet room as your walls clamped down incredibly tight around her fingers. You cried her name out into the dark, your hands flying up to wrap around her neck, pulling her down to bury your face in her shoulder as the violent, beautiful contractions took over your entire body.
Alysa held you through it, her fingers slowing down to a gentle, pulsing rhythm inside you, her lips pressing soft, worshipful kisses all along your jaw line.
"So good for me," she murmured proudly, her voice warm and triumphant against your ear. "My beautiful, perfect good girl."
Alysa smiled down at you, a soft, triumphant expression warming her features as the last of your tremors subsided. Slowly and deliberately, she pulled her fingers out from between your thighs, the slick heat glistening in the dim moonlight.
Instead of reaching for a towel, she hovered her hand right above your face. Her dark eyes held a wicked, heavy authority as she pressed the tips of her fingers against your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open.
"Clean them," she commanded softly, the words smooth and entirely unbothered by the sheer weight of what she was asking.
You didn't hesitate. Your pride had long since evaporated into the sheets. You parted your lips, taking her fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them to clean away the sweet taste of your own release. As you sucked on her fingers, your gaze drifted upward, looking up at Alysa through the thick fringe of your lashes, completely vulnerable under her gaze.
Alysa’s breath hitched, the casual dominance in her eyes instantly sharpening into a dark, raw heat.
"Fuck, look at you," Alysa whispered, her voice dropping into a raspy, breathless cadence as she stared down at your face. Her hand twitched slightly in your mouth, her thumb caressing your lower lip. "Sucking a twenty-year-old's fingers like a good little girl."
Alysa slowly pulled her fingers from your mouth, her eyes dark and heavy as she looked down at you. The shift in her gaze was instantaneous—the playful control giving way to a sudden, deep need of her own. She removed her underwear, tossing them onto the floor until she was completely bare before you under the silver moonlight.
She lay back against the pillows, her striped hair fanning out, looking like an absolute goddess on your bed. She parted her legs for you, her eyes locking onto yours with that same unwavering, fearless confidence.
"Your turn, baby girl," Alysa murmured, her voice a low, heavy purr. "Show me what you’ve been thinking about since the rink."
You moved between her thighs without a second thought, the role of the mature, experienced professional returning to you in the best way possible. You leaned down, your breath warm against her inner thigh before your lips finally made contact with her wet center.
Alysa let out a sharp, sudden intake of breath, her fingers instantly tangling into the base of your hair.
"Oh god... yeah, just like that," Alysa praised, her voice already strained as your tongue found her clit, painting long, deliberate strokes. Even as the pleasure began to take over, she couldn't stop the praise. "You're so good at this... such a good girl for me. Look at how well you take care of me."
You swirled your tongue around her sweet spot, using your hands to grip her hips, anchoring her to the mattress as your rhythm grew faster and more intense. Alysa’s hips hitched off the bed, a soft, breathless gasp leaving her lips.
"Fuck, you know exactly what you're doing," she whimpered, her fingers tightening in your hair, guiding your movements. "I knew you'd be perfect... my smart, beautiful girl..."
But as you deepened the pressure, your tongue working with an experienced, ruthless precision, Alysa’s words began to falter. The cocky, dirty-talking persona completely melted away. Her praises turned into broken syllables, then into breathless hitches, until she was entirely silenced—completely lost in the overwhelming tide of pleasure you were creating for her. Her head thrashed against the pillow, her eyes closed tight as a low, desperate moan built in her chest.
She was completely unraveled under you now, all her athletic armor stripped away. You kept the pressure relentless, driving her over the edge until her entire body went rigid.
A loud, echoing cry tore from Alysa’s lips as she climaxed, her hips arching violently against your mouth as the deep contractions took over. She held your head tightly against her, riding out the wave, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps into the quiet bedroom.
Slowly, you pulled back, resting your chin on her thigh as you looked up at her.
Alysa lay there for a long moment, her chest heaving, a soft, dazed smile slowly curving her lips. She opened her dark eyes, looking down at you with a mixture of raw adoration and complete exhaustion. She reached down, her hand gently tracing the line of your jaw.
"God..." Alysa breathed, a soft, breathless chuckle escaping her as she shook her head. "I fucking love the way older women know how to please. You're completely incredible."
❤︎
The city lights outside the window eventually faded into the pale, muted gray of dawn. In the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom, the fierce, breathless intensity of the night had softened into a warm, heavy stillness. Alysa was fast asleep beside you, her striped hair scattered across your pillows, looking small and peaceful without the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Careful not to wake her, you quietly slipped out of bed, smoothing down your silk robe as you walked to the window. Looking out toward the distant, glowing silhouette of the Olympic arena, the panic you had felt days ago was gone. In its place was a profound, quiet certainty.
You were still older, and she was still twenty. The clipboard, the press conferences, and the rules would all be waiting for you in a few hours. But the terrifying gravity that had pulled you together in the stands wasn't a mistake—it was real.
A pair of warm arms wrapped around your waist from behind, cutting through your thoughts. Alysa pressed her face into the space between your shoulder blades, inhaling deeply.
"Thinking too much again?" Alysa murmured, her voice thick with sleep but laced with that familiar, comforting warmth.
You turned in her embrace, resting your hands against her chest. "Just thinking about the schedule. You have the free skate tonight, Miss Liu."
Alysa let out a soft chuckle, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a soft, intense sincerity. She reached up, her thumb gently tracing your lower lip. "I'm going to win tonight. And then, I'm coming right back here to my good girl."
You smiled, the last of your professional armour melting away in the private dawn. "Go win your medal, Alysa. I'll be watching."
18+ mdni, mommy kink, praise kink, bathroom sex, accidental voyeurism, plot? what plot? (pwp), no y/n, pet names, older woman younger girl, light dom/sub, fingering
a/n sorry in advance, i needed to get this off of my mind (part 2 now up!)
you blamed melissa and her old italian doors that didn’t close properly. or you blamed just melissa, for the way things turned out tonight.
the night had started out swell. a small gathering at melissa’s place, you arriving significantly later than the others to not risk being alone with the redhead. ava constantly eyeing you to make a move on mel. janine and gregory shamelessly flirting. jacob’s clumsiness. mr. johnson telling barbara stories that you tried so hard to concentrate on but nothing worked. she was there, with all her glory, swaying around in the comfort of her home and more radiant than ever.
how was it possible? the effect she had on you, her casual remarks that you were sure pre-calculated to drive you insane. ava kept pushing, putting ideas in your head that swam in dangerous waters. ideas about how melissa was down, just like you. ideas that led you to say careless things.
and melissa was not keeping her distance, sitting especially closer to you on her huge couch, letting your thighs touch occasionally. the bumping of a knee, her scent blinding you and she would smirk over, as if you could take your eyes off of her. and the shirt she was wearing… ugh. you wondered about her bra underneath. was it laced? something deep in color, that would pop against her glowy skin. something that barely covered anything and maybe if she moved around too much a nipple would tug out of the fabric and- no. bad though. bad thought.
but it wasn’t like melissa’s presence was helping. the way she kept whispering into your ear all the while barb talked about her night out with gerald. and melissa would lean over, “what do you think hon’? you figure gerald treats her right in the bedroom?” your face had heated up instantly, knocking the air out of your lungs. then as if it wasn’t enough she had placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. you struggled to breath, trying hard to look at barbara. but the words had spilled out of your mouth in an instant.
“you have nice fingers.” you told her and only her, voice so low against her ear. was she blushing? or was it just the light hitting her features? “thanks hon,” she said confidently but then murmured quietly,
“i’d like ‘em better in you.”
“what?”
“what?”
melissa pretended like she didn’t say a thing. but you heard her, you did. so now you were excusing yourself off to the bathroom. melissa gave you a wink as you lifted off the couch and scurried upstairs, to the bathroom.
࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
you hurriedly pushed the door behind yourself, failing to notice the slight gap left ajar. your hands found the edge of the sink, looking up to see your face in the mirror. you looked truly disheveled, your hair a mess. your were gripping the ceramic so hard that your knuckles hurt. you huffed out a breath and pushed away, letting your back rest against the wall. blissfully unaware of the slight gap between the door. you needed her, desperately, more than the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs. and no matter how hard you tried, nothing worked.
you came here to collect yourself, not to think about melissa’s beautiful tits any further. you whined out loud, hitting your head at the wall repeatedly. you rubbed your thighs together with a whimper and felt yourself get wetter by the second. if only she were here right now, the things you would let her do to you. you trailed a single hand down your top, grazing your nipples through your shirt and unbuttoning your pants. just a little bit, you thought. it wouldn’t hurt.
your fingers found your clit, slipping under your panties and you let out a moan. fuck. you rubbed the bud a little harder. gathering your wetness and pressing as your mind wandered to her. her hair pulled up in a ponytail, bangs framing her face. her neck, the skin you would beg to touch. then to her cleavage, her perfect breasts swaying. “unghh- mel… need you-” you realized the words leaving your mouth a little too late. your eyes were still closed and you slipped two fingers in your soaking cunt, spreading your legs from where you stood.
melissa had looked so beautiful tonight and now you were in her bathroom rubbing your clit. her fingers had gripped your thigh and now you had two of your own in your mouth to shush out the whimpers and the dirty words. “i’d like them better in you.” she had said and now your head was tilting back, eyes shut as you swallowed your moans in the narrow space. you kept pumping in your wetness, trying to grind on your clit but it wasn’t working. you were so riled up but nothing was helping. you groaned out loudly and slipped your fingers out with visible annoyance. but then your eyes trailed open and you caught sight of the slightly open door. and behind it stood in the darkness… melissa. with a huge smirk on her lips.
shit. shit. shit.
you scrambled to close the door fully, leaning against it and embarrassed was not a word strong enough to describe how you felt. how long was she standing there? did she see you-? did she hear? did- ugh. it was of no use to stand here, propped up by the door inside melissa schemmenti’s bathroom with your fingers still wet and the ghost of her name still hanging off of your lips. so you straightened up, buttoned your pants and opened the door. you had thought she’d be gone by now.
but no, melissa was still standing there, with the same grin. but now there was a change to the way she held herself, the way her eyes glinted with lust. like she could eat you alive and was barely restraining herself. you tried to open your mouth for her to move over but she pushed you back in the small room. she locked the door with a hurry and pressed your back to the same wall you were just against.
she doesn’t kiss you, lets her breath blow on your lips. you want to close the distance this very second. but you feel her body, pressing against you with insistence, her hands don’t touch you just yet. she lets them hang by her sides as she corners you against the wall. you can’t stand it, your heart straining in your chest and her cleavage is on full display right before your eyes. you need to touch her.
“how long have you been standing there?” you ask, a dare in your words. “hmmm… let me think.” she speaks and her voice is so rough, so raspy your knees buckle. so she pushes a single leg between your thighs and lets you grind on it. you try not to moan but she hasn’t even touched you yet. she continues her sentence, “somewhere between ‘mel- need you mommy’… and now.” shit. did you let that slip? now she knows how fucked up of a mind you have. you think she will leave, keep you all hot and horny in the confinement of her bathroom. you’re wrong, terribly.
instead she invades your space further and kisses you. it’s rough, urgent, filled with want, need. she lets her lipstick smear all over your mouth. you grab her by the waist, by her thighs, any place your hands reach. it’s desperate in all the ways you need her. she pushes her thigh between your legs even further and you hump on it, hanging onto any friction she gives and you moan, deeply into her mouth. she hums in return, your voices swallowing each other, tongues tangling and her spit mixes with yours. you need her shirt off. right now. but you don’t know how she would feel. if she would want to keep going.
your hands play with the hem of her shirt, a burgundy one that’s too well fitting. she chuckles in that breathy voice again and you would let her do anything, anything she wants. and when she speaks, you’re sure she is going to be your end. “are you sure about this sweetheart?” she asks and you will get on your knees and beg if it comes to that. you nod, biting your lip. “darling i’m old enough to be your mother.” you moan at that. “it doesn’t matter mel. i want you i need-” you’re so needy as you pull down the hem of her shirt once again. “aww pretty girl, you want to see my tits?” she smirks, giving in a little. you nod frantically and when she tugs it off you can’t help the drool slipping out of the side of your mouth. she has a lace edged black bra that covers her breasts, barely. it’s like all of your late night fantasies coming true. except she’s way more beautiful in real life.
you hear melissa chuckle. she holds your chin up with one hand and your mouth parts. she licks her lips and leans in further. “baby we need to stop this while i can still control myself.” her voice so raspy, laced with her control that is slipping away and you can see it in the way she holds herself. her exposed chest and neck rising up and down with every breath and you just want to suck one of her nipples into your mouth. you need her to keep going. “please, please mel i need you- i need you so bad-” and she grins further, squeezing your jaw harder and you struggle to breath. “you’re so cute when you beg pretty girl.” she unbuttons your jeans with one hand, keeping the other against your throat now.
“i’m gonna help you with that little problem of yours now sweetheart.” she gestures towards your crotch and if only she knew how wet you are. “then you’re gonna make mommy come. how does that sound sweetie, hmm?” she keeps squeezing your throat and you moan out, looking at her forest green eyes. you nod but that’s not enough. “words baby. i need to hear you.”
“yes- yes please touch me-” you gasp and your hands are digging at the side of her hips now. she tsks quietly as she unbuttons your jeans fully. “such a needy girl. now take them off.” she says, tugging at your pants. you comply quickly, sliding the material down your legs and shove it on the floor. you look up at her now, eyes begging. she brings her hand forward and cups your sex through the fabric of your panties. her eyes widen when she realizes how wet you are, basically dripping and moaning and she hasn’t made any real contact. “fuck- you’re so wet hon’. that all for me?” you whimper and nod frantically, “yes, yes all for you mommy.”
she chuckles wickedly and pulls your panties to the side. you don’t know where to put your hands and melissa closes the distance between your lips once again. she licks your bottom lip as her fingers rub on your clit. her other hand pulling the hair at the base of your neck. it strains lightly and you moan into her mouth. the feeling of her fingers now teasing your entrance, her lips ghosting over your face, her breath against your cheek. it’s all too much.
you spread your legs wider and plead, “please- mel-” your voice so desperate. she silences you with a kiss, granting her tongue access into your mouth and she slips a finger in, finally. “spread them wider baby.” she whispers into your mouth, you can die this very second. you let one of your legs wrap around her body, holding it up and melissa smiles into the kiss. she adds in a second finger and they curl, hitting just the spot and you can’t help the loud moan escaping your lips. “sshhh you gotta be quiet for me now sweetie. it might be my house but we can’t afford a scandal now can we?” she teases you, even now when she’s burried deep inside and you laugh, a half-moan. “you know ava will never stop talking about it right?” and she doesn’t even slow down her motions, pumping in and out of your pussy while you whimpered for her in her small bathroom, pressed against the wall.
melissa’s fingers works in you and you just can’t keep your hands off of her anymore. both of them trailing up mel’s sides and up at her chest to grab at her breasts. melissa chuckles, “it’s okay hon’, you can touch them.” you groan and it turns into a whimper when the palm of melissa’s hand finds your clit. you try to ride her fingers put she’s got you pinned. so you keep your mind on her breasts instead. and they’re so close to your face, you free a nipple from the fabric, watching it harden with the cool air. you lower your head and suck it into your mouth, melissa’s fingers halt for a single second, you can feel her jaw open, resting on the top of your head. and you’re so close to her you can practically hear her heart beat.
you bite down on her nipple now and she moans, curling her fingers deeper in you. you’re getting closer, the tight nerves coiling in your belly and you can feel it. you leave bite marks all over her chest now, grasping, kneading the soft skin and you can feel her breath in your veins. melissa’s palm keeps pressing against your pounding clit and one, two, three more strokes in your wetness and you’re coming. pure pleasure taking over as you moan against melissa’s cleavage. she slows down her fingers, gently extracting them and when her palm nudges your clit you buck, still sensitive from your lingering orgasm.
you keep your spot on her chest and lay a cheek on top of one of her tits, looking up to meet her green eyes, glinting. melissa’s fingers tangle in your hair and she smiles at your dumb expression. your lips and chin covered with her dark red lipstick, red marks blooming against her own chest and she trails her thumb against your bottom lip. “how do you like my fingers now baby?” she asks you, voice sultry and you have to bite your lips. “much better.” you say and she pushes her wet fingers through your lips. you look up at her with innocent eyes, as if you’re not naked from the bottom half. and you suck on her fingers, cleaning them up, hollowing out your cheeks.
her eyes widen and you can see the want in her eyes. the need to have you, claim you further. “knees. now.” she orders and you immediately lower yourself onto the floor. the cold concrete hits your knees but it doesn’t matter. what matters is that melissa is calling you a good girl now and you can’t even help yourself when you thighs squeeze. “already so needy for me huh?” she asks, noticing your motion. she eyes towards her own pants, silently urging you to take them off. you make quick work, taking them off alongside her panties. and she just stands there, with all her glory, eyes looking down at you and you can feel your throat go dry at the sight of her. her wetness shining through her dark curls at the apex of her thighs, the stretch marks covering the side of her thighs and you hold onto them. your fingers itching onto her and she grabs you by the hair. “make me feel good and then we will think about it baby.” she says all the while guiding your face towards her dripping pussy.
and you feast. your lips make instant contact with her perked up clit and melissa spreads her legs further. you grab onto her thighs with force as your tongue spreads her folds, ravishing her taste and melissa raises one of her legs to rest it on your shoulder. the motion cages your head between her and the wall and it’s everything. you can suffocate in between her thighs and still be thankful. melissa can’t stop moaning as you suck onto her folds and your tongue teases her entrance. “oh, good girl.” she whimpers, holding onto your head, “keep going baby. just like that- fuck-” she starts grinding on your face and you let her use your tongue however way she likes. she’s getting closer by the second, you know it and you let your nose brush her clit now. she curses loudly at that, something in italian.
you switch between licks of your tongue through her entrance to sucking on her clit, testing the water. you want to put your fingers in her but if you take your hands away from her thick thighs there is a high chance mel would fall. so you keep going, stroking your fingers up and down her legs best as you can, hoping you’re making her feel good, fervently sucking at her clit and the quenching noises that come out are loud. on top of you you can see melissa’s other hand that is not holding your head play with her own nipples. you moan at the sight and the vibrations trail up her spine. she whimpers, “oh hon’- mhhm- don’t stop please-” and you can’t even think about it.
it takes a few more laps of your tongue against her wet pussy until she comes with a muffled out scream of your name. you ride her through it, licking lightly against her, engraving her sweet taste in your mind. then she pushes your head away lightly and you help her put her leg back down. “fuck-” she huffs, “i haven’t done anything this crazy in years tesoro- come up here.” and she pulls you up to her, leaning into your body once again. you kiss her hard, letting her taste herself on your mouth and she hums.
“been such a good girl for me, huh hon’?” she teases you. you smile at her cutely, whatever you say beautiful. you’re worried about this being a one time thing until melissa grabs you by the waist, pecking your lips one last time and saying, “now get dressed baby girl, we have people waiting downstairs to be sent out the house…” she gives you a wicked grin, “because i’m not letting you leave my bed tonight- or walk in the morning.”
you can feel your lungs squeeze with excitement with the implications her words hold.
࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
the two of you walk downstairs with mel’s hand wrapped around your waist. the first thing you hear is ava whopping in excitement. “damn girl i knew you were down bad but this is bad.” she says once you’re by her side, wiping at the still visible lipstick stains next to your lips and jaw. melissa made sure there was still some left there, just for good measure. and just cause she liked the way it sat against your skin.
you look over to her now, sitting next to barbara who looked very much pleased about the situation too. melissa gives you a devilish smirk that reminds you too much of the one she just gave behind closed doors and you know that you’re in for a long night.
࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
i kept accidentally changing tenses but this isn’t grammar class soo… you could say i kept it postmodern
.gang its lowkey 4 hours past my bedtime when finishing writing this but I reached ABSOLUTE flow state which is so rare.
based on this ask!
𝓣thinking of hyperfeminine!reader whos been trying to get Melissa's attention for months. always dressing up in the clothes you know Mel likes best (especially that sundress that clings just right in all the perfect places) but you just can't get Melissa to crack, you've even gone so far as to highlight just how skilled you are in all departments, chewing on the end of your pen whilst staring into 'space' (mel's general vacinity) and playing those dumb piano games on your phone do demonstrate that despite the long false nails on your hands, your nimble fingers still work perfectly fine. But nothing seemed to work on her.
So one day you decide to try and take a new angle.. the jealousy angle. In the break room after the summer break you start up a loud conversation with janine about your holiday abroad in the sunshine, how you laid on the beach for hours as men paid for all your drinks you barely had to lift a finger. Then you embellish a little.. telling janine about how some guy gave you the 'night of your life' whilst looking over her shoulder to Melissa in the corner who just continues with what she was doing, the slight arch in her eyebrow the only indication that she'd heard what you'd said.
And thats when you decide that she isn't oblivious, she's just intentionally dense. So that night when you see her at the bar by your apartment on social media, you start the posting game. It started off small, a picture on your Instagram story of you in a pink babydoll shirt with a white skirt, giant sunglasses and a floppy hat on holiday, your perfect maicure on pull display in the mirror. And yet when you see she's seen it there wasn't even so much as a like on it. So, naturally, you up the stakes. A white and pink polkadot shirt, a brown and white houndstooth skirt and knee hugh sheer socks with delicate ribbons laced around them to match the one in your hair. But once again, nothing.
For your final act you upload a picture of you in your bikini, delicate and white with pink lace around the edges and embroidered with tiny little roses that match the pink on the bracelets on your wrists and the sunset behind you. Everything about that picture is perfect, there's a bright smile on your face but a certain flirty twinkle behind your eyes, your hair in two even braids on your head, sunglasses atop of it too. If that wasn't the one to get her she was definitely straight. or blind.
When you check the views you see that once again shes seen it with no other reaction to it. so you begrudgingly decide to call it a night. You pull on your white silk slip and put your slippers on ready for your night time routine when you hear a knock on the door. Pulling a robe over yourself you answer it, and there stands Melissa in all her glory. A black leather jacket and dark jeans paired with a red top that just contrasts you so perfectly, her combat boots clunk against the hardwood floor as she invites herself in, "What the fuck are you playing at?" She half growls, the smell of cigarettes and her perfume mingling in the air around you, something that is just intoxicatingly her.
"I don't know what you mean." You feign ignorance moving to the side to let the redhead through. "So you're just whoring yourself out on the Internet for fun now?" She snaps back, chest heaving with some sort of not entirely misplaced rage. "Its a private account" you reply with as much nonchalance as you can muster in the moment.
"I think it's time you learned who owns you" she snarls, grabbing your throat and pushing you back until your shoulderblades hit the cold wall. "You don't own me. You don't even acknowledge me!" You retort knowing your defences were falling fast with her so close. "Oh Bambina I just don't trust myself to keep my hands off you once I openly notice you"
That sentence makes your heart melt and pool between your thighs, a small weak sound escapes your throat as her lips capture yours in a soft and yet entirely possessive dance, your knees nearly buckle beneath you as her tongue swipes over your bottom lip as if requesting entrance and you, of course, let her right in.
By the time she pulls away your cheeks are brighter than the blush you usually decorate them with and your lips are rosy and swollen, her hand stays wrapped around your throat, not restricting air, just a reminder of her ever-present control over the situation. Her knee presses between your thighs as you pant for breath, the contact making your gasp, hips involuntarily bucking against it, in turn making a soft whine fall from your lips as she smirks. "So eager Bambina.. such a desperate little girl for me" her mouth finds yours neck, sucking and biting like she's some sort of long lost van helsing decendant.
Her slender fingers travel up your thighs, slipping just under the airy silk of your night dress before pulling back "Can I..?" you just nod but she's then tuts at you like you're some third grader she's about to scold "use your words Principessa" she says gently, her eyes fixed on your face, tracing for any and every microexpression. "Please Melissa.. I need you" you beg breathlessly, grinding your cunt down against her thigh and letting her feel just how soaked your delicate panties are for her.
Melissa tsks as the pulls her thigh away from between yours "Did I say you could ride me like a pathetic whore?" She asks, voice low in your ear. You shake your head "No.."
"Thats what I thought." She continues her hand now pushing your nightdress up until it bunches around your waist showing off your lacy pink underwear and the ever growing increasingly prominent wet patch on them. "So wet for me tesoro" she breathes, pushing them to the side and running a single finger through your drenched slit with embarrassing ease. "Its all for you Mel" you reply, voice shaking with pent up need.
your back arches against the cold wall as she pushes two fingers into your aching pussy, your head falls back, mouth hanging open in a silent 'o' as she starts to move, curling them just the right amount to hit that sweet spot inside you every single time. Her thumb eventually finds your clit forcing a string of cuss words and straight up begging from your throat as your hand tangles in her hair.
"Such a good girl for me bambina" she praises as she feels you clench around her, getting closer, "plese mel.. please gotta cum- im gonna-" and then, just before the fireworks in your stomach can explode, she stops dead. Withdrawing her fingers from you with a smirk and cutting off your whine by pushing her fingers into your mouth "suck" she commands, manoeuvring the both of you until your ass hits the dining room table across the room from where you were. She pulls her fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then grabs the backs of your thighs, lifting you up onto it and laying you down, your legs handing off the edge.
"You deserved that princess. Brats don't just get rewarded" she tells you, her voice calm and collected as she sinks to her knees infront of you. Her arms hook under your thighs pulling you closer and putting your legs over her shoulders. An almost phonographic cry leaves your mouth as hers finds your already very sensitive clit, sucking it into her mouth like its her last meal, her fingers still slick with your spit once again find your tight hole and begin thrusting rapidly in and out, only stopping to add a third finger, stretching you out with a scream.
Only babble is coming from your lips at this point, Melissa's name the only thing coming through clearly between the begging and pleading. She continues to eat you out like a woman starved, her nails leaving little crescent moons in your thighs. Your thighs try to close around her head but she somehow manages to keep them open as she drags more moans from you, before finally you cum on her tongue with a scream that leaves your head spinning and thighs trembling.
"Fuck bambina you taste so good" she murmers, getting up from her spot on the kitchen floor and wipes her mouth on her bicep. "You did so good for me tesoro, such a good girl" she smiles, you just stay where you are gasping for air against the solid oak of the table.
She smiles at the sight of you completely fucked out across the table and gently straightens out your slip "lets get you cleaned up"
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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 full fic to . . . having a homoerotic friendship with Jinx
pairing: Jinx x fem!reader, modern au.
# cw. homoerotic friends to ???, soft dom!Jinx x power bottom!reader, bratty!Jinx x softer!reader, codependency, intoxication, double-ended dildo, mutual masturbation, size kink/size queen!Jinx, corruption kink, light degradation + praise, obedience kink-ish, overstimulation, squirting, Jinx gets too greedy, aftercare-ish, smut with plot. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ
# word count. 7k
ᯓ ☘︎ lucky speaks: this got a bit out of hand, i was aiming for 3k words </3 kinda rushed ending! half proofread. this one goes out to the anon who suggested that Jinx is selfish with her pleasure :3
the thing about Jinx and you is that your friendship isn't normal—not by any sane standard, metric, or rulebook ever written. not when you've already burned through every normal boundary two so-called "roommates" should have.
you circle each other with a heat that polite people would call “chemistry” and honest people would call “foreplay.” you're touchy in that way girls with repressed desires often are—careless, intimate, blisteringly casual. Jinx pads around the apartment half-naked: tank top sliding off one shoulder, little shorts that could qualify as underwear, and you don't even blink anymore. your eyes might flick once—traitors—but you pretend it's casual. you change shirts in front of her, and she doesn't look away. she just pretends—badly—that she's only admiring your bra choice or necklace or whatever flimsy excuse she can muster that day.
you share baths like it's a water bill strategy, sitting knee-to-knee in a porcelain tub too small for one person, let alone two grown women pretending not to notice how often your calves slide over each other. like shaving each other's legs is some sort of sisterly bonding activity.
she smacks your ass when she needs attention—no warning, palm heavy, echoing in the hallway—and you retaliate with a hit so hard her thigh tattoo jiggles. she calls you a slut, you call her a whore; and somehow, it lands sweeter than any "good morning" or "i love you" you don't dare say out loud ever could.
it's absurd, borderline perverted, and deeply codependent—but it's working for you. this is affection, apparently. it keeps you both fed in a way normalcy never could. and for the most part, you get away with it; neither of you acknowledges the heat simmering quietly under every touch, nor the way your shared baths grow longer, slower, full of casual nudity that doesn't feel casual at all once the steam starts clinging to the walls like a witness.
your friends pull you aside and ask how you “put up with her.” their tone always shifts—curious, confused, a little nosy—because they’ve seen the way she crowds you in doorways, the way you adjust her necklace for her, the way she tugs you onto her lap at parties half-joking, half-not. they ask why she bites your shoulder when she’s bored. they ask why you let her.
Jinx gets questions, too. people ask if you’re “a thing.” she laughs like the idea is ridiculous, even though she never denies it outright. she just shrugs and says, “we’re close,” which is a lie lacking even the respect of effort.
according to everyone else, you’re either fucking, denying that you’re fucking, or about to start fucking any second now.
"you ever think that if we were straight, people wouldn't be so obsessed with whether or not we're sleeping together?" you asked once, lost in thought, watching her take a rather ambitious hit from her bong.
"oh, we'd fuck if we were straight," she replied, voice hoarse as she coughed through smoke. "just less cutely.”
"we're not cute."
"we're fucking adorable."
and that was that. she said it like it was the simplest fact in the world. somehow, that ended the conversation—though it answered absolutely nothing.
the degeneration begins, as most of your scientific breakthroughs do, with online rabbit holes and questionable sobriety.
you're idly stroking the ends of her hair, wearing nothing but panties and an oversized shirt you definitely stole from her laundry pile. she's wearing a pair of soft shorts and no bra, nipples visible through the fabric of her crop top and absolutely not a problem for anyone involved. you're both flushed, stupid and pliable from a mix of THC and cheap sangria in your shared living room. you end up on your stomachs without even meaning to, slowly sliding off the couch like wax slipping off a candle until you're sprawled on the floor in front of Jinx's laptop. it feels juvenile, like a middle school sleepover where you're googling things your parents would have killed you for.
except you're adults, and this is much, much worse.
the search history starts tame: "worst tattoos ever," "can you microdose nutmeg," and a few subreddits you'll regret opening. but the real fun begins when Jinx opens pornhub like she's pulling up a recipe for banana bread.
the carpet is soft beneath you, shoulders touching, legs kicking behind you in lazy little motions, mirroring each other's rhythm like a pair of bonded siamese cats and betraying your excitement. she clicks on the first video she sees, and something softcore loads: two girls on a bed, all sighs and colorful lighting but nothing too explicit yet. barely porn by internet standards, really, but you both giggle into your hands anyway, like two corrupted schoolgirls sneaking "girls kissing" on the family computer.
and then it devolves—beautifully. somewhere between the second and third video, you morph into the most insufferable pair of sex critics the world has ever spawned.
"no lube? rookie move."
"her nails are way too long for this. she's gonna core her like a fucking apple."
"he needs to shut up. and shave his ass."
"mute him. immediately."
"no one needs a close-up like that. seriously! nobody needs a panoramic shot of swinging balls."
you're choking on laughter, bumping into each other every time one of you shakes too hard. at some point, Jinx's chin hooks over your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin as she steadies herself on you. your foot hooks behind her ankle in response, thoughtless but intimate.
somewhere in the haze of poor lighting, bad acting, and fake orgasms, you lose track of how many videos you've critiqued. obviously neither of you is going to admit that you went from mocking the performers to actually watching—that would be healthy. you're definitely not giggling because the girl's face looks really pretty when she moans. you're definitely not pressing your thighs together because the rhythm is doing something inconveniently effective to your hormones. you're definitely not shifting your hips against the carpet with a little too much intention, searching for a hint of friction.
this is fun. this is platonic. this is just two friends doing dumb shit on a tuesday night.
sure.
you're pretending, because that's what you're best at.
but pretending doesn't stand a chance against the algorithm, and when a toy appears in the next video—a cute-looking rabbit vibrator—Jinx perks up like a meerkat spotting danger on the horizon.
"woah, pause," she blurts, grabbing your wrist and dragging the laptop closer. "zoom in. no, go back—there!" her manicured finger taps against the screen with the kind of excitement that has historically led you both into terribly wonderful decisions. "that one actually seems fun. how much do you think it is?"
"you're joking."
she isn't. you know she isn't—her pupils are too big, her tone too genuine, her interest too real. and that's the exact moment everything starts going downhill in high definition, because of course you google the brand and manage to click yourselves straight into an adult store homepage overflowing with silicone just to satiate her needs.
suddenly, the screen becomes an erotic fever dream with flashing neon banners and lube bottles sorted by flavor. the categories bloom across the header in bold fonts:
"what the fuck," you whisper to yourself, mildly horrified.
"what the fuck," she echoes, but with the delighted awe of a kid in a candy store. she's already scrolling like the investigator she pretends to be, nodding to herself. "ooh—gift cards! makes christmas shopping easier," she chirps.
you inhale sharply, like someone witnessing a car crash you cannot look away from, when you spot a section titled "UNUSUAL FRIENDS," featuring alien dicks and jelly-like appendages with suction cups—products that look less like sex toys and more like sci-fi movie props.
"Jinx, holy fuck. why are there so many ridges?" you gasp, jabbing a finger at a chartreuse tentacle with a price tag so high it should come with dinner and aftercare. you bury your face in the carpet, groaning into the fibers.
"there are too many ridges," she agrees solemnly, rubbing circles into your back like that might help.
you scroll further into the best-sellers: Jinx hums approvingly as glass plugs roll into view, then lets out a low whistle at a sleek, vibrating wand she was not-so-secretly considering for herself two weeks ago.
"you were eyeing that one," you point out, unable to hide the amused glint in your eyes.
"yeah," she admits, shameless, "but the shipping sucked."
then you hit the glitter section—sparkling dildos promising a "magical experience," as if the fairy godmother herself manufactures fake cocks on the side.
"no one's hole is that ambitious," you mutter.
she doesn't even miss a beat. "speak for yourself."
you smack her arm, she smacks your ass, and balance is restored to the universe.
fifteen minutes pass in a blur of silicone, sizing guides, and color options. you get distracted comparing thicknesses, she gets lost comparing vibration patterns; you both get derailed by something labeled "the diplomat."
"i refuse to understand who this is for."
"diplomats, obviously," she deadpans, scrolling away before you have to think about it too hard. she flattens her palm on the carpet, turning to you like she's about to make an announcement. "okay. we pick something just for ourselves, nothing weird. self-care, right?"
"right," you nod, trying not to visibly swallow your own heartbeat. "because we're mature."
you scroll at a cautious pace, cursor hovering over something gentle, pastel, subtle—curved just right, designed for comfort, pretty in that quietly humiliating way that reveals far too much about who you are behind closed doors.
you click it curiously.
Jinx sees.
Jinx pounces.
"awww, look at you," she croons, sliding closer like she's drawn by the scent of embarrassment, "sweet little princess picking her baby dildo."
"some of us have functioning pelvic floors," you reply flatly, giving her a lazy shove. she uses the momentum to burrow in even more, chin hooking over your shoulder again, arms half-wrapped around your waist like she's claiming real estate.
"ohhh, that's how you wanna play it?" she murmurs, nosing at your skin. she's all warmth and limbs and cheap sangria breath as she laughs into your neck.
this isn't new, you remind yourself. this isn't strange.
this is just… Jinx. touchy on a normal day, unbearable when she's high.
"get off," you mumble, not even pretending to mean it.
your denial has no spine.
Jinx has never minded exploiting that.
"mhmm," she hums, not listening at all, already dragging the freckled bridge of her nose along your jaw. "knew you'd go for the soft one." she presses a teasing kiss just below your ear, light but obnoxiously knowing nevertheless. her fingers curl around your hip, tugging you in. "i bet you like everything soft and gentle, hm?" she whispers, voice dropping into something hot and mean. another kiss, closer to your throat. she bites gently, just because she can. "you melt for that shit. slow and nice and sweet—"
"please shut up." you roll your eyes—not because you disagree, but because she's right and you refuse to give her the satisfaction. your head tilts anyway, giving her more room.
she grins against your skin, practically purring, soaking in your reaction like it's her favorite narcotic. when she finally pulls back—just far enough to breathe, not far enough to give you proper space—she sits up and immediately selects something arrogant in size for herself, like she's got something to prove.
"you can't be serious," you whisper, almost in awe, blinking at the toy on the screen. "babe, that's a colonoscopy if you slip it in wrong."
she wiggles her eyebrows in response. "i like a challenge." and then, because she can't help herself, she dips back in and plants another kiss to the crook of your neck—mocking, adoring, filthy in intention but playful in delivery. "what? too big for you?" she asks dumbly, all mock innocence. "you picked your cute little pastel training wheels. i want this."
she knows exactly what she's doing. it's not a boast as much as it is a performance—a demonstration of exactly what kind of girl she is, just in case you still had any doubts. she wants you to imagine it: her struggling to take it, sweating and splitting herself open on colorful silicone and still not giving up until she's overstuffed, whining into her pillow. she wants you to know she's stubborn enough, needy enough, capable. she wants the idea to stick to your brain and rot there.
"don't worry. i'll leave the delicate stuff to you," she murmurs, plum-colored lips brushing along your accelerating pulse, "let me handle the heavy lifting."
"you're fucking insufferable," you groan, but your hand drifts up to her hair all the same, giving her scalp an indulging scratch that makes her melt into you with a low, pleased sound.
"and yet," she murmurs, voice smug and velvet-soft right against your ear, "you're still letting me talk shit."
and for a while, everything is pleasant, manageable—just two girls buying masturbation supplies. you browse, you debate colors and sizes and shapes like you're picking an accent pillow. between the warmth of her body pressed along your back and the slow pulse of the laptop light, you almost forget you're shopping for things meant to make you shake and moan. if the universe had mercy, it would let you stay in this small illusion.
but because curiosity is a slippery creature, it does what it always does with the two of you: mutates into depravity.
Jinx scrolls, pauses, then scrolls back up. her finger hovers over a category neither of you has acknowledged yet—intentionally avoided, even.
"you ever used a double-ended dildo?" her voice comes out too airy and casual to be anything but interest hiding under a joke.
"where the fuck did that come from?"
"we're looking at sex toys," she says with a helpless shrug, as if that explains everything. "my brain is doing its job."
"so is mine," you say dryly, looking unimpressed. "and it's telling me you're about to say something stupid."
"okay but seriously," she presses, waving you off as she turns onto her side to face you fully. "have you?"
"no," you answer simply, refusing to give her any foothold. "why? you need someone to practice on?"
"bitch." she pinches your thigh sharp enough to make you jerk. "i'm just sayin’. seems fun."
you scoff, pretending the heat isn't already pooling low while trying to play it cool. "for who?"
"for us. obviously." she scoffs, like it's the dumbest question you've ever asked.
"yeah, okay. sure. because that's casual."
"it can be casual," Jinx insists, far too confident, far too earnest for someone suggesting a shared silicone toy. "like brushing each other's hair… but sluttier."
you stare at her; she stares back, unblinking, dead serious in the most unserious way you've seen since the day she moved in with three boxes and a promise to "never bring weird shit into the apartment."
lie number one of many.
"this is the worst metaphor anyone has ever said to me."
"what? you think women in ancient greece weren't—"
"i got the message. stop talking."
she snickers, nudging your shoulder with hers like you're in on the joke instead of actively drowning in its implication. "hypothetically speaking," she tries again, "if we got one—"
"hypothetically."
"hypothetically," she repeats with an exaggerated nod, holding up a finger with solemn dignity that means absolutely nothing coming from her.
"uh-uh." you sigh, already exhausted. "and what color would this hypothetical… shared dick be?"
"blue," Jinx replies instantly. "as god intended."
"you just want it to match your aesthetic. pink is literally the universal dildo color."
"boob punch incoming if you keep that up."
and suddenly, the adult store homepage doesn't feel so harmless anymore. neither do the categories. neither do the toys. neither do her eyes when she peers at you and purrs, "we could look at them, y'know."
everything after that happens too fast, too stupid to track—a blackout made of adrenaline and shared intoxication. you're aware of flashes, maybe: her hair brushing your cheek, your hand accidentally covering hers on the trackpad. a pink option. a blue one. her saying, "that's cute," and you humming, "that's nicer."
time stretches, collapses, folds in on itself. you come to, like waking up from a trance, and there it is: a pink-and-blue double-ended dildo sitting in the cart. a compromise, a diplomatic solution—like it fucking matters. as if the color would change anything about the fact that you're ordering a shared dick specifically designed to be inside both of you at once. as if the soft fade from cotton candy pink to electric blue is going to matter once you're both split open on it. as if a stupid silicone hue would distract either of you from the fact that you're ready to ruin your entire, already-rotting friendship over joint penetration.
Jinx's pointer finally drags the cursor to the checkout button. "say please."
"for what?"
"for me to buy us a shared dick. c'mon."
"Jinx, i'm not begging for—"
"you're scared."
"of what? your pussy?"
"you should be."
click.
order confirmed.
your doom is sealed, boxed, and en route.
the world doesn't explode. no alarms go off. no divine being descends to slap the laptop out of your hands—unfortunately. you just lie there, side by side, high out of your minds while the order confirmation number glows in front of you.
because now there's a dildo—three, technically—hurtling toward your apartment through the miracle of express shipping, and you both know exactly what that could mean if you weren't cowards.
it arrives exactly two days later, in a discreet brown box—plain, innocent, offensively unlabelled. the universe hands you plausible deniability on a silver platter; the postal worker, however, drops it against the door with a thud that sounds like judgment.
"special delivery," Jinx announces happily as she carries it in. "our friendship just got balls-deep."
you follow her into the kitchen, scrunching your nose as you peer over her shoulder. she grabs a knife and slices the tape open, peeling the cardboard flaps back.
suddenly there's too much inside.
three toys as promised: the two personal ones you each picked, tucked neatly in their boxes… and the main attraction. the double-ended dildo sits nestled in tissue paper, pink melting into blue with a dreamy and romantic softness that not only mocks you both, but contrasts with the thickness itself.
you both stare at your purchase, heads tilting in tandem.
definitely bigger in person.
"wow," you manage, a bit breathless already. "that's… optimistic."
"still scared of it?" she asks, annoyingly gentle.
"i just think it looks…" you mutter, gesturing vaguely, "a little too eager."
"i like it eager," she replies, with the confidence of a woman who's absolutely planning to break herself on it.
"i didn't think you'd actually—"
"you literally held my hand while i checked out," Jinx reminds you—not even smug anymore, just factual.
you clear your throat and slide it back into the box like you're taming a snake. you both drag it into her nightstand like it weighs sixty pounds of suppressed desire and shove it inside—out of sight, not even remotely out of mind.
the next few days pass in denial; you pretend it's funny, while she pretends she's not waiting. you try not to think about the thickness, or how the silicone might give under pressure, or how your bodies would move against each other… if you follow through. she keeps picking it up at inopportune times—asking your opinion on angles, positions, storage. you argue over what lube counts as "neutral."
still, neither of you says no. and the longer it sits untouched, the harder it becomes to pretend it was just a joke all along.
much harder than taking it ever would be.
everything comes to a halt on a friday—unusually boring, rainy, insomniac-heavy. Jinx is sprawled upside down with her legs hooked over her headboard, flicking her zippo open and closed in an absentminded rhythm. her shirt has rucked up over her ribs, exposing a stretch of soft, pale stomach and the beauty marks scattered across her hips like sugar someone spilled just to tempt you. you're sitting cross-legged on the floor, pretending you're not staring at the curve of her waist every time she shifts.
you're not even talking about anything truly meaningful—just bad exes and worse sexts. how both of you have better luck getting off by yourselves. how dating is exhausting, how hookups are awkward, how lately it just feels easier to not bother.
"i haven't come with someone in, like… over a year," you admit, voice small and blunt in the low light of her bedroom.
"what?" she blinks at you, lighter clicking shut with finality. "babe, that's negligence."
"takes too long." you shrug, rubbing your thumb along your calf almost self-soothingly. "and i hate pretending."
she studies you, and the upside down angle does nothing to soften her expression. "you wouldn't have to pretend with me," she points out simply.
"Jinx—"
"i'm just saying!" she rolls herself upright with a lazy twist, hair messy. she crawls to the edge of the bed, sitting right behind you, peering over your shoulder like she's reading your pulse. "i'm practically your best friend, right? i'd trust you to make me come. easy."
you turn your head slightly, just enough to see her in your periphery, heartbeat tripping over itself. she doesn't smile yet—just watches you, waiting for your brain to catch up.
"that's not what i—you can't just say things like that," you manage, conflicted.
"why not?" she asks softly. her voice has changed—lower, smoother, laced with warmth that curls behind your ribs. she shifts off the bed, landing quietly on her knees behind you. her presence wraps around you like heat, legs bracketing your hips without quite touching. her hands come to rest lightly on your shoulders, thumbs brushing slow arcs into your skin, testing. "i'm serious," she murmurs into your ear, making your skin prickle. "you hate pretending. i hate pretending. feels like an obvious solution."
oh, the irony. the staggering, ridiculous irony—pretending is all you've ever done with her. your entire friendship is a performance; touchier than friends, cleaner than lovers, stitched together with denial and long looks you both refuse to name.
and now she says she's tired of it, like you both didn't build your whole dynamic on it. you're not sure whether to laugh or scream or call her out on it.
but the hypocrisy tastes sweet coming from her mouth.
"that's not fair…"
"hey," Jinx soothes, fingers sliding from your shoulders to your upper arms, slow enough to feel intentional but not indecent just yet. "you said it yourself. it's hard with other people. too much pressure, too much bullshit."
you simply nod, small and helpless, because you can't seem to do anything else.
"but not with me," she continues, voice dripping with something unbearably coaxing and decadent. "i know you. you wouldn't have to fake a thing." she leans in, chest to your back, her breath ghosting down the side of your neck. "i could help you… if you wanted."
a beat, then another. her hands glide down your arms again, stopping just above your elbows—gentle, deliberate, grounding.
"i can do it for you," she adds, softer this time, as if she's afraid you'll spook if she pushes too hard. "you deserve someone who actually pays attention."
you swallow—too hard, too loud—but at least the sound means your throat is still working.
"i'd pay attention. i'd make it good," she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear lightly. "you know i would."
"fuck," you breathe out involuntarily, and she exhales like the sound of you needing her is its own high.
"mhmm," Jinx hums, smiling into your neck. "i can do it for you." her fingers skate down your sides, slow and teasing, until her hands curve around your waist, drawing you back into her in a soft-bodied claim. "we already have the toy."
the words go off inside you like a shot. your stomach flips violently, thighs pressing together before you can stop them, and she tightens her grip on you just a fraction, but enough to tell you she liked it.
"yeah," she breathes, her teeth grazing your jaw like it's taking everything in her to hold back. "it'll just be you and me, like always." her hands slide slowly up your waist, fingertips pressing into the most sensitive spots she has no business knowing this well. "tell me you don't want that."
you can't speak. you can barely breathe, really. your whole body is trembling now, betraying you as you lean back, practically offering yourself to her.
"or…" her voice drops into a velvety kind of whisper, like she knows what comes next, "tell me to keep going."
you strip because she does; Jinx strips because she's been waiting for the excuse. the second her shirt comes off, she looks lighter, energized. her shorts drop to the floor, and she kicks them away with ridiculous enthusiasm. her body is a map you know well: the scattered freckles on her chest, the faint scars across her thighs, marks you've noticed a hundred times but somehow feel new under this lighting.
and when she drops her panties, there's the bush—slightly darker than her hair, shaved down into a cute little heart. a blue heat-center you're not supposed to care about.
you're trying to look calm, but your skin feels too tight, every breath a little too sharp. there's nothing unfamiliar about the nudity, but this is different—this is intent, stripping for each other, stripping for sex.
Jinx warms the lube between her palms, but her hands are shaking with how badly she wants this—wants you, wants this boundary erased, wants the physical proof that she was always right about the two of you. you lie on your side, already soaked, rubbing gentle circles over your clit—enough to take the edge off while keeping yourself aching. she watches openly, unblinking and pupils blown, like seeing your body react is something she's wanted for months.
"if we go ass to ass," she finally says, coating both ends of the dildo with just enough lube, like she's been practicing on fantasies of you, "then it's not, like… intimate intimate."
"you mean if we don't make eye contact while we fuck each other at the same time?"
"exactly!" she beams, almost giddy. "it's practically platonic."
“fine. then rule number two: no kissing.” your laugh breaks halfway through, dissolving into a helpless sound you don't want her to hear. you eventually end up on all fours: face down, backs turned, knees digging into the mattress, toy heavy and slick in your hands.
"okay," Jinx breathes, settling behind you, crouched and buzzing with anticipation, "on the count of three."
you nod, though your head is spinning. she's excited—genuinely, stupidly excited—because to her, this is a door she's been secretly pressing her weight against for months, waiting for the slightest give.
and tonight, you've opened it for her. this moment? this setup? this is the closest she's ever been to getting what she's wanted from you.
"one."
"two."
"three—wait!" she suddenly bursts into cackles. "are we going in together or, like… alternating? i feel like we need a traffic system."
"Jinx!" you whine, spine arching involuntarily, nearly collapsing forward in exasperation. "please."
"right, right. shutting up."
liar.
your thighs tremble as you press back slowly, guiding the blunt head in and letting it nudge you open with a faint whimper. you freeze for a split second, humiliated by your own voice. it's not instant pleasure—it's too big for that, too much. "shit," you whisper, your movements shallow and tentative.
"cute when you swear."
"you're already pushing it."
"i'm pushing it, alright."
behind you, Jinx then grunts—a sound so hungry it tells you she's already taking more than she should, already pushing herself further than you are. you can only imagine it: pink folds dwarfed by the sheer thickness of the toy, taking inch after inch like she's starving for it, hazy-eyed. you don't have to look at her to know it.
"fuuuck, you feel that?" her voice is all grit, low and wild. "i forgot how good that is."
she hasn't; she just likes saying it out loud. she likes reminding you what kind of girl she is—soaked, sensitive, cockdrunk the second something's inside her. she wants you to hear it. she wants her own filth to rub off on you, like a sick little claim.
"this is—" she laughs under her breath, delighted and disgusting all at once, "—so fucked. even for us."
you're too busy gasping into your palm to answer, trembling as you take more. every time you try to steady yourself, another ripple of sensation knocks you off balance, punching shameful moans out of you at the worst moments.
and Jinx is eating it up.
she's the first to start moving properly, grinding back slowly, making the dildo push forward, forcing it deeper into you and bridging you both. she's loving this—the stretch, the pressure, the greedy fullness. it hits something inside her brain like a switch every time. no one else knows that, but she hopes you do—she wants you to.
you whine, hand slipping between your legs to rub fast, wet circles over your throbbing clit. your walls are fluttering frantically as they struggle to adjust, cunt overstretched by pink silicone that begins to brush against the sweetest spot inside you with every thrust Jinx slams right back into you.
"you're fucking tight, huh?" she rasps, voice cracking around the edges of a laugh she’s too far gone to swallow. she fucks herself onto the toy with more force that necessary, grinning through it, wanting to feel you flinch with every slam of her hips. she's always been the impatient one, a greedy little whore when it comes to sensation; so she rolls her hips back harder, meaner, grinning knowingly when you finally cry out. “got ya.”
she begins bullying your g-spot over and over, wanting to push you, overwhelm you, watch you fall apart faster than her; she's enjoying your struggle even more than her own pleasure. she loves how much power she has over you, how she can make your voice stutter and your thoughts go fuzzy just from being a little selfish.
"poor baby can't take it already?” her tone is pure corruption—soft, mocking, coaxing, loving the way your breath stutters every time she speaks. “god, you’re adorable.”
"don't… don't say that—"
"mmh," she groans, pleased and vicious all at once. "knew it. knew you'd be like this."
"like what?" you manage, though your voice is shaking.
"like everything i imagined," she whispers. "sweet, overwhelmed. trying so hard to keep up."
you let out another broken sound, strangled and embarrassing, and she shudders behind you—a full-body reaction she doesn't bother hiding.
"yeah," she pants, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "give me that. let me hear you."
you don't even notice how frantic your movements have become until the bed starts creaking with the motion, but you both keep grinding, fucked full on either end of the same dripping thing. your knees spread wider, backs bowing further and further as you keep chasing the angle that makes your vision swim. the toy finally gives and bottoms out, leaving no room to pretend. it disappears between you and forces your pussies to press close, flushed lips parting against each other from the pressure.
Jinx registers it first and lets out a filthy little giggle, bottom lip happily caught between her teeth. "clits are kissing," she points out. "that's so fucking cute."
you choke on a moan, entire body tensing as you try to pull forward, but the dildo is buried—locking you in place, folds rubbing against hers, wet and swollen. "Jinx! just… shut the fuck up—"
"don't move!" she pants, voice high, panic and exhilaration tangled together. "don't you fucking dare—this is perfect."
"Jinx, please… fuck!”
"you feel that, right? feel how wet we are?" she rocks her hips in deliberate circles as if to emphasize her point. your juices mix, sticky and hot between your mashed folds, clits making out with each thrust. "that's your slick on my clit. you're soaking me."
you're gone—grinding, whining, barely keeping yourself upright as your nails dig into the colorful sheets beneath you. "it's too much… s'too deep, i can't—"
"nuh-uh. you'll take it," she snaps, hips slamming back, wanting to feel you buckle under her. "you'll learn to take it. right here, with me."
you try to keep the rhythm, but Jinx has no sense of moderation, no concept of pacing. you're both moving, sure, but she's the one dragging you into her tempo, like you're an accessory to her pleasure. she's bouncing a little now—short, fast thrusts that make the toy slap wetly between you, obscene in the otherwise quiet apartment. of course she's not even trying to hold back; she's not built for restraint. not when she can feel the toy tug and push with every needy grind of her hips.
and the whole time, she’s loud on purpose. not performative—Jinx doesn’t do fake—but she doesn’t bite back a single moan, not one strained whimper, not a breathy curse. she lets every sound spill out of her, messy and unfiltered, because she knows you can hear her. because she wants you to. she’s loud because she wants you undone by the fact that she’s getting off on you.
it's making you lose composure faster than you’d like to; you need something to cling to while she's ruining you from behind so easily without even looking. you're overwhelmed, dizzy and trembling, but something about that intensity feels right, like she's pressing all the right buttons you didn't even know you had. you reach back blindly, hand fumbling for purchase until it finds her thigh, fingers digging into the soft and creamy flesh to ground yourself. her whole body jumps at the contact, driving the dildo deeper. her brain is pure static by now, near delirious, but she lives for this—you being full, stretched, used, needing her.
your sounds build: moans layered, breaths stuttering, skin slapping, slick squelching. "you sound so fucked out," she giggles, eyes wide and unfocused. "i haven't even touched you." but then she grabs for you, too—one hand gripping the soft meat of your ass, anchoring herself and driving harder. "mmph—harder! c'mon, sweet girl."
you obey before you can think, hand clawing into her hip now, yanking her back. the sound she makes when she feels you commit nearly undoes you. her eyes roll back, and your name starts falling from her lips like a mantra—over and over between high-pitched moans and sobs of pleasure. she tries to touch herself, tries to stay ahead of the sensation, and you can feel how sloppy it is. she's chasing the kind of friction that only makes things overstimulating; she twitches away from her own touch, then forces herself right back into the feeling like she refuses to slow down.
"there you go. good fucking girl," she breathes proudly, voice breaking on a whimper. "you're not—mmph—used to this, huh? bet you're loving it anyway."
she's losing to her own greed, and you're losing to the desperate need to keep up with her, to not disappoint her. you want to be the one who can keep up with the girl who never holds back.
"fuckfuckfuck—i'm right there, m'gonna come—don't stop—"
you beat her to it when your body arches, mouth opening in a silent scream, thighs clenching as your orgasm rips through you—hot and borderline humiliating, gushing around the toy as your pussy sucks it in with each spasm. Jinx groans behind you, hips jerking back with a final slap, pressing your asses flush. she arches and clings to the headboard, face crumpled, nearly sobbing through the unforgiving release as her cunt clenches hard around the other end.
and then you hear it—a heavy, squirting sound as more wetness pools between your locked bodies, soaking the back of your thighs and darkening the sheets beneath you. "oh—fuck—oh my god—" she chokes out, half-laughing, half-crying, the sound coming out wrecked and startled, drunk on her orgasm. "i—gah—i didn't—holy shit!"
you let out a prolonged moan, grinding faintly through the aftershocks as relief floods your body like never before. your releases coat the toy, sticking between your folds in a shared mess—there's no way to tell whose slick is whose anymore. but while you're already done, already whimpering, shaking and breathless, Jinx keeps moving.
"Jinx, wait! shit—" you gasp, but the words barely come out, dissolving into a violent twitch. "m'too sensitive—"
"just a little more… please, don't pull away yet," she whines, only half-apologetic as she tightens her grip and holds you in place.
relentless. greedy. selfish.
because if she still can, she will.
her hips roll back into yours, sticky cunt smearing against yours, toy still buried so deep it squelches when she moves. you feel her clit throbbing right against yours, making you mewl faintly into the pillow, helpless.
"be good," she whimpers, almost pleadingly. "i don't even wanna come—just wanna—"
you try to bear it, to stay with her through the last of it, but your body betrays you, fucked open and raw—you're flinching, toes curled, pussy fluttering around the toy in overstimulated panic. it's the sound of your wet, ruined sob that finally cracks something open in Jinx.
she lets go, hand going slack and falling from your hip, chest heaving. you slump forward at the loss of your anchor, only dragging the toy along your sensitive walls, face buried in the sheets. she peers over her shoulder, dazed and blinking, suddenly aware of how tightly she held on, how hard she came, how much she took.
she pulls the dildo out of you first, movements gentle and careful as to not stimulate you further, before slipping it out of herself with a wet pop and tossing it aside.
"shit, i'm sorry. i didn't—i got carried away. are you—” her voice cracks, the apology tangling itself into something almost scared. "are you okay?"
you can't answer immediately; your lungs don't work yet. your entire body is shuddering as the overstimulation riots under your skin. everything feels too hot, too bright, too intense… but not bad. not wrong.
she inches closer, but not enough to crowd you—just enough that you can feel her warmth at your back, uncertain, guilty, waiting for the verdict like she expects you to flinch.
“sweetheart,” she tries again, barely audible, “talk to me. please.”
it takes a full, shaking breath before you can form any sound at all. then another breath before the sound turns into a laugh—soft, cracked, delirious. you lift your head and let out a stunned giggle that makes your shoulders shake. “Jinx,” you manage, voice wrecked beyond dignity, “holy shit.”
she blinks, startled. “that's not an answer.”
you laugh again—a messy, fucked out little sound—and flop onto your side, facing away so she doesn’t see the stupid smile stretching your lips. “i’m okay,” you pant, still trembling. “i’m… jesus. i'm okay. that was just—” you swallow, cheeks burning, “—a lot.”
Jinx exhales like she’s been underwater. for the first time since the high swallowed her, she lets her hand rest on your bare back—light, cautious, trembling with the leftover adrenaline. "you fucking scared me. i thought i overdid it."
you shake your head, still giggling weakly. "i'm just fried. need a second."
she lets out a shaky breath that sounds like relief and something more awestruck. “you sure?” she asks, softer.
you finally look back at her, eyes heavy, lips parted, expression stupidly dazed. “Jinx,” you whisper, “that was insane.”
her whole posture melts. the guilt, the panic, the tension? it all drains at once, replaced by a grin that’s half-proud, half-disbelieving, all Jinx. “yeah?” she murmurs, settling beside you like she’s afraid to jostle you. “yeah… it kinda was.”
she moves closer, cunt still throbbing faintly from her orgasm, lips wet and shiny from drooling just the tiniest bit in the heat of it all. she tucks her face into your neck, nose against the pleasant warmth of your skin, breathing you in like you're the only real thing left in the world. she's soft, completely undone in a way she usually doesn't let anyone see. your fingers trail up her spine, gentle, stroking like you're afraid she might disappear if you press too hard, heart still stuttering against your ribs.
you both know where you are—the after. the part where the rules get reassembled as if they still matter. the part where you should laugh it off and pretend it didn't mean anything.
but Jinx isn't moving. she's not making a joke. she's not hiding. she stays curled into you, hovering close, mouth brushing the line of your jaw. and when you turn your head just enough to meet her eyes, you can see the ruined look in her face—burning but tender, like she's seeing you for the first time again and it's too much to handle.
her voice comes out hoarse, a whisper against your mouth when she speaks again.
"i"m gonna break the rule."
theres barely time to breathe before she does.
she kisses you like she's been waiting forever, slow and deep, lips parting with the softest sigh as her tongue slides in, tentative but smooth. you open for her instantly, hand sliding to her cheek, pulling her closer, bodies already pressed together but suddenly not close enough. you kiss like cats drink milk—long, slow licks, tongues brushing in the softest glide, breaths catching with every shifts. she whimpers into it, hips grinding just once against your thigh like she can't help herself. you moan back, licking softly into her mouth once more, like tasting her there is simply a continuation of everything you had already done.
and maybe this is kind of intimate.
but not like that, right?
— divider by @/cursed-carmine !!
how it feels to write smut sometimes. i physically cannot drop them in the middle of it with no context or buildup. next thing i’m posting will be bite-sized i am TIRED.
— says girl who is doing this to herself for the love of the game
Your relationship with Jackie Taylor was everything you could have dreamed of...or so you thought. When your plane crashes, will the trials and tribulations of the wilderness help you escape your haunted past, or are you doomed to repeat history?
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Pairing: Jackie Taylor x fem!reader to eventual Shauna Shipman x fem!reader
Warnings: Implied abuse, non-descriptive (yet).
MDNI
Sitting on the dusty attic floor of the cabin, you press your head against the old wooden wall. You hear voices grow louder below you, the argument intensifying. An argument that is your fault. You clench your fists, your fingers digging into the palms of your hands.
You think about home. About how often you would find yourself in a situation just like this. Sitting in a dark closet or laying under a bed. Hiding. His voice booming through the house, destroying everything in its path. Knowing you would be next if he found you. When he found you.
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push the unwanted memory from your mind. You’re not at home. You’re here. Wherever here is.
You know you should go downstairs. Be a voice of reason. But you never were good at using your voice. Instead, you stay. You hide, like you always have. Like a coward, you think.
You try to think back to before the crash. Back to your life in Wiskayok. You think about soccer, about school…about Jackie. You think about the events that led up to this moment.
-----
You think about a party over the summer that Lottie had. The whole team was there, you were all friends even in the offseason. You think about how Jackie had kissed you that night. The feeling of her lips on yours, her breath ghosting over your face. What you expected to be a drunken regret turned into you becoming Jackie Taylor’s girlfriend.
You had been friends with Jackie for years. You were never super close or anything, but friends nonetheless. You were surprised that she had any interest in you at all. When you look at Jackie Taylor, you see perfection. The classic all American girl. You’d expect her to be dating the quarterback, like in all those stupid movies you watch with Van. Instead, she chose you, of all people.
Truthfully, you didn’t even know Jackie liked girls. On the team, you knew there was you, of course. You were kind of obvious, with your short haircut and preference for clothes from the men’s section. You knew about Van, and subsequently Tai. Van had let it slip one day and begged you not to tell. Not that you ever would, but Taissa kind of scared you anyways, so there were zero worries there. There were a few other suspects, like that blonde girl on JV that always wore that stupid hat. But Jackie Taylor was never on your radar.
Jackie had a way of making you feel important. Of drawing people in. It was easy to get absorbed in her. She was magnetizing. There were moments you shared together that let you see a softer side of Jackie, the one that wasn’t trying to impress the world and be so perfect. You felt like you knew a part of Jackie that no one else did. Something you held close, like it was precious. But reaching into someone so deeply has a way of breaking the cracks. When the cracks grow too large, the facade crumbles. Your perfect image of your perfect girlfriend would soon be shattered once you realized one thing; Jackie Taylor had a mean streak.
You first noticed it because of Shauna, actually. Jackie and Shauna being best friends meant you also spent a lot of time with Shauna by default. It was subtle at first, comments Jackie made. Talking about Shauna’s hair, her clothes, who she should date. Shauna seemed to always take it in stride. But you could swear you sometimes saw a look of hurt cross her face when Jackie made a comment that was dig too deep. Usually for just a second. But it was there. You didn’t like how Jackie treated Shauna sometimes.
You think about another party Lottie had when the school year started. Your senior year. Jackie had wanted you and Shauna to get ready with her at her house. So of course, you obliged. You had arrived at Jackie’s around 7pm. You noticed Shauna’s car already in the driveway. Jackie’s mother answered the door.
“Oh hello dear. The girls are up in Jackie’s room” Mrs. Taylor gave you a curt nod. Jackie’s parents weren’t rude to you necessarily, but you don’t think they liked you very much. You’re pretty sure they thought you were “just a phase” for their daughter.
You made your way up to Jackie’s room. Jackie’s eyes lit up when they saw you enter the door. She scanned your outfit, seeing you already ready to go.
“I thought we were getting ready together?” She pouted.
“I didn’t want to carry a whole extra bag with me on the walk over. But you can fix my hair if you want, I think the wind messed it up” you offered Jackie, knowing that she always liked to have some control of what you looked like.
Jackie smiled “Good! Because you know I hate those ratty shoes you wore”. She was referring to your beat up black Converse shoes.
You didn’t notice Shauna rolling her eyes. Jackie always had to criticize something about you.
Jackie left to go grab something from her bathroom, leaving you and Shauna alone.
“Hi Shauna” you finally get a chance to properly acknowledge her.
“Hey” Shauna gives you a warm smile.
Jackie returned with some hairspray, assumingly to fix your hair. Your hair was short and kind of shaggy. You like the tousled look, but Jackie said you couldn’t look homeless either.
You waited around for what felt like forever for them to finish getting ready. Shauna pulled on a dark red jacket, which got Jackie’s attention.
“Ew Shipman take that off, that jacket is disgusting”
“It’s fine Jack let’s just go” Shauna tried, clearly wanting to leave already.
“Y/N, tell her that jacket is hideous” Jackie looked at you expectantly.
You saw that same look of hurt flash across Shauna’s eyes for a split second, before she opted to look at the ground instead.
“I like it”
Your words made Shauna’s eyes snap up to you in surprise, then to Jackie.
“Let’s just go,” Jackie muttered out.
Shauna was out the door first, so she didn’t see the way Jackie spun on her heels. She missed the eye daggers that were thrown your way and the click of her jaw. She didn’t see the way Jackie grabbed a fist full of your denim jacket to yank you forward, or hear her low words.
“Don’t you ever fucking do anything like that again”. Jackie gritted out between clenched teeth. She released your jacket with a slight shove and made her way down the stairs. Leaving you stunned.
That was the first time of many that you felt Jackie Taylor’s mean streak.
-----
You think back to the day of the plane ride. You remember how Jackie was mad. You remember calling her early that morning to see what time she (and her parents) would be by to pick you up, as planned. You didn’t want to keep anyone waiting. Instead, you were met with a harsh tone that meant Jackie was pissed.
“I’m having my parents take me straight to the airport”
“What? Jax, I thought you were picking me up?”
“Well now I’m not Y/N, so figure it out” Jackie hissed out before abruptly ending the call.
You didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s not like you could ask your dad to drive you. You shudder, looking around like he would pop out from you even allowing the thought to cross your mind. Instead, you pick up the phone again, and this time you dial the number of the one person you know you could always count on.
“Hello?”
As soon as you hear her voice crackle through the landline, you swallow hard. You don't know why you feel so guilty.
“…Shauna?”
“Y/N? Hey, what’s up?”
“Um. Well. I was wondering. If it was okay. Do you think - could you maybe give me a ride today?” You nervously stammer out.
Shauna hesitates for just a moment before she responds. “You aren’t going with Jackie?”
“Change of plans…I guess. It’s okay if you can’t or don’t want to, I can just walk-”
“You’re not walking all the way there. Especially with luggage. Are you insane? I’m coming to get you.” Shauna cuts you off.
“Are you sure?” You question softly.
“I’m positive” Shauna’s gentle but firm tone tells you she means it.
“Thank you, Shauna”
“Don’t mention it. I'll be there in an hour, okay?”
“Okay, see you then”
The phone call ends. You feel relieved knowing that Shauna is coming to pick you up. But you still have that pit in your stomach. You have one main worry - Jackie will be mad. To be fair, she did tell you to figure it out, and you did. But something tells you that won’t be enough to satisfy your girlfriend.
You remember Shauna helping you load your luggage into her car. You only had a suitcase and your backpack, but Shauna still insisted. Shauna was always helpful like that. Jackie would probably be sitting in the car already telling you to hurry up.
The car ride to the airport was comfortable. Shauna had some mixtape playing quietly, you can’t remember what it was exactly. You liked Shauna’s music though.
“So. Change of plans, huh?” Shauna asked, glancing at you from the driver’s seat.
“Uh. Yeah. Yeah I guess. She didn’t say anything to you?” You question, trying to hide your nervousness. You didn’t look up in time to see Shauna sparing some more glances your way, spotting how you were playing with your fingers in your lap. Something you did when you were nervous or worried, she had noticed.
“No. She was all pissy that I didn’t want to hook up with Randy at that stupid party yesterday. Then with everyone arguing, well you know how that went.” Shauna explained. You think it’s odd that a girl like Jackie wouldn’t tell her best friend about something like this. But you don’t think Shauna’s lying to you either.
“She was acting kind of weird last night…” you let out. Shauna’s your friend too. You’re allowed to talk about this, right?
“Weird how?”
“Well. I don’t know. She was hanging out with those baseball guys a lot of the night. Especially Jeff Sadecki. I didn’t even think they knew each other like that. She just kind of blew me off. And then after she made us do that stupid group bonding thing, she just…I don’t know”.
“You don’t know?” Shauna saw Jackie hanging out with Jeff. Though hanging out was putting it lightly. She was all over him. It was pathetic. And it made Shauna angry. She saw how you kept looking over at them. The hurt look on your face whenever you saw Jackie laughing or smiling at something Jeff said, all while ignoring you. Shauna leaves that part out though, you’re not blind.
You hesitate before answering Shauna. You do know. Or at least you thought you did. But when you brought it up to Jackie last night, she had gotten angry. You don’t want to make Shauna angry too.
“Hey…you can tell me. I don’t run back and tell Jackie everything we talk about, you know. You’re my friend too” Shauna reassures you softly.
You don’t know why you give in so easily.
“On the way home last night. She was being weird. And I…I asked her why she seemed mad that I partnered up with you during that group bonding thing. She...she told me that it was pathetic that I had to follow around her best friend all night.”
You sounded like you wanted to say more. But Shauna didn’t push. “She said that to you? It was her idea to do group bonding. And you were not following me around all night”.
You stare down at your hands. You don’t want to cause a fight between Shauna and Jackie. You shouldn’t have brought it up.
“Thanks again for the ride” is all you respond. Hopefully signaling that you want to end that topic.
It was weird, flying on a private plane. You had only flown once before, on a big jet with lots of other people. This was a smaller plane, with just your team and the flight crew.
Jackie of course saw you get out of Shauna’s car when you arrived. The irritation was instant. She didn’t say it out loud. But you could tell. You could always tell.
Which is why you found yourself sitting alone on the flight, instead of next to your girlfriend. Jackie insisted Shauna sit by her. Shauna, being put in an awkward spot, suggested Jackie sit in the aisle seat, and you in the window seat, and she would sit in the aisle seat next to Jackie. Jackie, however, claimed she had to have a window seat or she would get sick, so that just wouldn’t work. So now you found yourselves sitting with Jackie in a window seat with Shauna next to her. And yourself sitting in the row directly across from them. You had the row to yourself, so you opted to scoot over to the window seat. You could have gone and sat by Van, but you didn’t think that would go over well with your girlfriend. You accept you’re going to have a pretty silent ride. You certainly didn’t think Jackie would be talking to you much during the flight.
The plane going down was a blur. Or maybe it wasn’t, and you chose to just block it out. You do have patches of vivid memory that always remain clear in your mind though. You remember the scent of smoke and burning fuel filling your nostrils. A high pitched ringing filled your ears. Your head felt like it was pounding. The world felt like it was spinning. You tried moving, and felt a sharp pressure radiating from your right side.
You felt hands on you, shaking your shoulders. Your body winced in pain. It took a lot of effort, but you finally got your eyes opened. When they finally focused enough, they met a pair of worried dark brown eyes staring back at you. Shauna. You saw her mouth moving, but all you could hear was the high pitched ringing still. All you could do was stare at her, your eyes getting too heavy to hold open. You felt movement. A hand on your head, you think it was the only thing keeping it upright. You struggled to open your eyes again. This time, you were met with a pair of hazel eyes. Jackie.
Suddenly, you felt a jolt of pain run through your side. You managed to look down, Jackie’s hands still keeping your head in place. Shauna was trying to pry the seat’s arm rest away from you. It looked like it had got impacted into your ribs. You don’t see any blood, so you don’t think it went through your skin or anything at least. You groan when Shauna pulls again. She is using all her strength to get the bar moved. You look up at Jackie again. She looks worried. You think that’s odd. Especially for how mad Jackie was at you earlier. You see her talking to Shauna, but you can’t make out the words, the ringing still filling your ears. Jackie removes one of her hands from your head, and you catch her eyes go wide. You’re having trouble thinking, so it doesn’t register to you what that means. You don’t notice the blood on Jackie’s hand, or how she rushes to return it to your head, applying more pressure than before.
You assume Shauna got the arm bar free enough. Your mind was getting foggy by now. You remember being pulled out of your seat. Your ribs felt like they were on fire. You remember the flood of sound rushing back into your head. The screaming, the chaos happening around you. A voice from the back of the plane carries with distinction, begging for help. Van. You remember mumbling out her name. Van was your own best friend. Though, since you’ve been dating Jackie, your hangouts have become less frequent.
“Hey, hey, Y/N!” Shauna’s voice sounded panicked, trying to get your attention. You still felt foggy. Like you were slipping again.
“Van..” you mumbled out again.
Shauna looked back at Jackie, then to the back of the plane. There was a small fire starting. Van had to get out soon.
“Shauna I can’t carry Y/N!” Jackie said.
She wasn’t wrong. You were bigger than Jackie, both in height and weight.
Shauna instantly wrapped her arms around you, pulling you to lift you up. You never realized just how strong Shauna really was. Or maybe it was just the adrenaline. “Hey, we need to get you first. I’ll come back for Van okay? I promise”.
You groaned at the pain of being lifted from your seat. Shauna’s arms were tight around you, your head falling to her shoulder. The next few minutes, maybe longer, are fuzzy. You remember Shauna eventually setting you down outside. The bright sunlight making you squeeze your eyes shut.
“Shauna what the hell are you doing?” Jackie asked incredulously.
“Van is still inside! I said I’d go back” is all Shauna said before she was running back into the plane.
“Damnit Shipman”
You must have nodded off. Because the next thing you remember is Misty Quigley pressing something against your head. You groaned at the contact.
“Get away from her” Jackie hissed out. It was odd hearing Jackie be protective of you.
“Jack, she’s trying to help”. Shauna defending Quigley. What a day.
You manage to open your eyes. You try to look around, still dazed.
“Hey…” Jackie starts. “You’re alright. Just try not to move a lot yet. You hit your head. And Misty thinks you have some broken ribs”.
You blink a few times, trying to take in what Jackie said. Then you remember. Your eyes snap to Shauna.
“Van..?” You mumble uncertainly
Shauna glances down before looking back at you. “I went back. She was stuck. I tried to get her out, but Ja-” Shauna stopped herself from what she was about to say. “I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t know if she got out. We’ve been here with you since then...” she deflects sadly.
You would later learn that Van did get out. You also learned what Shauna had stopped herself from saying earlier. That Jackie had pulled her off the plane before she was able to get Van out. It was a miracle Van made it, she had the scorch marks to prove it. But you think about how Shauna went back in for her. How she got you off the plane. Your mind wanders to Jackie being okay with letting your friend burn. You can’t help but wonder if you would have been left to the same fate if Shauna weren’t there. You try to shake the thought out of your head. Jackie was your girlfriend. Your girlfriend that you loved.
You would learn that a plane crash changes people. That it turns people you love into something you don’t recognize. Or maybe, it just shows who people have really been all along. You would learn that help wasn’t coming. You were stuck here. In the wilderness.
Chapter 2
Hope this first chapter was enjoyed! This is my first series, expect many more chapters to come. Excited to see how it plays out...stay tuned!
Unbalanced Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
fluff, sometimes angst, mention of age difference, mention of blood and murders
• She crashes into your cave / apartment like a tornado, and you don't even look up from your book. "Aren't you scared I'll hit a wall one day?" she asks, shaking herself off. "I hope so," you reply, turning the page.
• She always smells like forest, wet fur, and something warm. You smell like blood, old paper, and cold. She regularly sniffs your neck and says: "You smell like death, but in a good way." You don't know what that means. Neither does she.
• You can't sleep next to her during a full moon — she transforms and races around the room trying to catch her own tail. You sit in the corner on top of the closet and watch. "You could help," she whines from below. "I could," you agree. You don't move.
• She brings you gifts. Dead birds, live mice, shiny wrappers, gnawed bones. You stare at them without expression. "That's... nice," you say. Her tail wags so hard she almost knocks over a lamp.
• Cuddling her is like cuddling a furnace. She's hot, heavy, and she drools in her sleep constantly. You allow it for exactly ten minutes. Then you move away. She moves back. It's war.
• She adores children. Stops on the street to pet strangers' kids, plays tag with the neighbor's toddlers (and always loses because she can't run fast — they're too small). You stand off to the side pretending to be disgusted. "You're mean," she says afterward. "I know," you reply.
• You can't be near children. They're loud, they smell strange, and they have too many questions. "Why is your skin so pale? Why don't you go outside in the sun? Why don't you eat our food?" You hide behind Alysa. Alysa distracts them by showing off her ears and telling stupid stories. You hate how good she is at it.
• She tries to drag you into her pack. "They're nice," she says. "They won't try to kill you. I asked." You raise an eyebrow. "You asked a pack of werewolves if they want to kill a vampire?" "I asked politely."
• When you're hungry, she brings you a deer. Alive, antlers tangled in bushes, eyes wide. "Go on," she says, nudging the prey toward you. You stare at her. "Are you serious?" "What? I don't know where to get people. You said people are complicated."
• You move silently. She stomps so hard the walls shake. You enter a room — no one notices. She enters — everyone jumps. "Maybe learn to walk quieter?" you ask. "Maybe learn to walk louder?" she shoots back. You can't. She can't. It works.
• She breathes. Constantly. Loudly, frequently, with a whistle. You cover her mouth with your hand in movie theaters. She licks your palm. You pull your hand away. She does it again. You stopped going to movies.
• She doesn't understand why you don't eat normal food. "Have you even tried pizza?" "I'm allergic to garlic." "What about cheese?" "No." "Tomatoes?" "Also no." "So what's the problem?" "I drink blood, Alysa." "So? You can have both."
• You sleep in a coffin. A real one. With velvet lining. The first time she saw it, she squealed. "That's so romantic! I want one too!" "You won't fit." "Make it bigger! We'll sleep together!" You didn't make it bigger. She climbed in anyway. Cramped. Hot. You hate it. You can't sleep anywhere else anymore.
• She howls at the moon. Not because she has to — because she likes it. You stand nearby, hands in your pockets, waiting for her to finish. Sometimes, when no one is watching, you howl back. Softer. Lower. She turns and looks at you with shining eyes. "I heard that." "You imagined it."
• You can't have children. It never bothered you. Alysa adores kids, and someone once asked her if she wanted her own. "We can't," she said, flicking her tail. "But we have our gross little yard with a hammock, and her, and me. That's enough." You turned away so she wouldn't see your face.
• She protects you from other werewolves. Stands in front of you, growls, shows her teeth. You could protect yourself — you're older, stronger, colder. But you let her. She likes feeling needed. You like the way she looks when she's angry.
• When she's mad at you, she doesn't talk. Just sits, turned away, scratching her ear. You sit next to her. The silence drags on. Then she sighs, turns, and bumps her nose against your cheek. "You're annoying." "You too." "Truce?" "Truce."
• You can fly. Turn into a bat, fold your wings, drop through the darkness. She tried to copy you. She managed to jump off a roof — and land hard. "You don't have wings," you said, looking down at her. "I thought wanting it badly enough would work," she answered from the puddle.
• She loves touching your fangs. With her fingers, her tongue, sometimes her lips. "Sharp," she says. "I could hurt you," you answer. "You won't," she says. And you haven't. Not once.
• You never say "I love you." Instead, you leave your blood in a bowl on the table when you go away. She comes home hungry, finds the bowl, licks it clean. Then she finds a note: "don't die without me." She keeps them in a shoebox.
• She introduces you to other werewolves, even though you asked her not to. They're huge, loud, smell like dog. You sit silently, not drinking, not eating. "She's cool," Alysa tells her friends. "She just needs time." You didn't ask for time. But you wait. For her.
• You were used to loneliness. Hundreds of years of silence, darkness, no attachments. Then Alysa appeared — and the silence ended. She's everywhere: in your coffin, in your fridge (food you don't eat), in your schedule ("we're going for a walk on Saturday, I already planned everything"). You hate it. You can't imagine life without it.
• When you're angry at the world, you hide in the dark. Climb onto a closet, into the basement, up to the attic. She always finds you. Not with her nose — with her instinct, yes. But not hunting prey. Hunting you. "There you are," she says, poking her head in. "Go away." "No." And she climbs inside. Cramped. Dark. She puts her head in your lap and falls asleep.
• You still don't know why you stayed. Why you didn't leave, disappear, do what you always did — cut the connection. Alysa asked once: "What am I to you?" You were silent for a long time. "A pet," you said. She got offended. You didn't explain. You meant: the only living creature you step into the light for.
• She brings you stray kittens she finds on the street. Small, blind, squeaking. "You're a bat, they're basically like mice," she says. "I thought you'd be lonely." You look at the kittens. The kittens look at you. You close the box and take it back. "Don't." But you kept one. It sleeps on your neck. You named it Dog.
• She killed someone who tried to hurt you. You found out the next day when you saw blood under her nails. "I didn't ask for that," you said. "I know," she answered. "I could have handled it myself." "I know." And she fell silent. You never spoke of it again. But you've slept a little easier since then.
• You don't believe in forever. You've seen too many deaths. Alysa believes. "We'll run together," she says, "even when you get old and I go gray." You don't age. She does. You don't tell her that. You let her believe.
• You love her. It's disgusting, inconvenient, and completely against your nature. You are cold, silence, solitude. She is warmth, noise, a pack. You weren't supposed to work. But you sleep in one coffin (cramped, hot), drink blood from the same mug (she doesn't drink but asks you to pour some — "for company"), and when she laughs, you feel something inside you thaw. Something that was frozen for hundreds of years.
"Not in a million years would anyone imagine that the female hockey team's star player would actually be a softie. But Alysa knew better."
warning - masc!reader, i'm in love w Alysa, so i decided to write about :), idk nothing about hockey :/ (i'm a fighter btw)
now playing - Mutt, by Leon Thomas
"Said i'll put my guard down for you, said i'll be vulnerable. So you can break my heart if you want to"
The rink was on fire, which was ironic because everything there was ice. The crowd was screaming wildly, almost as if you and your team were in a life-or-death battle. People jumped, screamed, and kicked with every little move the US hockey team made, and you couldn't deny that in a way you liked feeling the heat of the crowd with you during the games.
The crowd went wild when your stick hit the puck, sending it straight into the goal and driving the crowd crazy. The whistle blew and the game was finally over. The gold is yours. You didn't care much for the celebrations or the shouting, there was only one smile there that you really cared about. In the VIP area, very close to where the game was taking place, was the only person who could make you feel something in the midst of all those people.
Alysa smiled as if she already knew you had the game in your hands, it was almost as if she was sure that the others would have no chance against you and your team. Your eyes darted toward the crowd, locating the girl with colorful hair as if she were the only person there, as if someone were shining a whole spotlight on her.
You smiled under your helmet.
People didn't usually see this side of you, this side that seemed to be completely reserved for your girlfriend. The girls on your team knew you had a soft spot for the figure skater, but seeing you all silly over a five-foot girl was just funny. Alysa was the only person who could pull you out of your tough guy shell and put you on a cloud of love and softness.
Then that cloud dissipated like cotton candy in water. The moment you felt the aggressive touch on your shoulder, your eyes strayed from the angel with colorful hair. The rival team's jersey was all you saw in front of you, and then it was as if ink had stained your eyes, and all you saw was red.
“You know, you may be able to score goals, but maybe your girlfriend will change her mind about you when she sees who you really are.” You never cared about your opponents' taunts. But when they used Alysa, everything was different. “You know I've always had a thing for weird girls...”
You didn't even wait for the girl to finish, your hands pushed her chest hard, making her stagger before being caught by one of her teammates. Blinded by rage, you threw your helmet away, grabbed the girl by the collar of her shirt, oblivious to the gasps of surprise and indignation coming from the audience.
“Say that again!” Your hands tightened their grip on the fabric. “GO AHEAD, SAY THAT AGAIN! I DARE YOU!” The smile on the girl's face made your anger rise, and for a moment, you thought a bloody nose would be just the thing to wipe that smirk off her face.
Fortunately, the team arrived in time. You didn't even see it, but your teammates grabbed you and used all their strength to keep you from breaking free and killing the girl right there. The screams from the audience didn't reach your ears, nor did the shouts from your coach or the pleas for calm from your teammates.
You don't even remember getting to the locker room, you don't remember picking up the gold medal, you don't remember how you left the arena, you don't even remember if you left that girl scared or not, but you remembered her words.
“Maybe she'll change her mind when she sees who you really are!”
The words echoed in your head and the conversation of your teammates seemed like just background noise. Your hands ran through your wet hair, and your nerves were on edge. You weren't exactly the easiest person in the world, and you knew it. But with Alysa, things were always different.
“Knock knock.” The sound of knocks on the door mingled with the voice you loved so much.
The girl entered silently, hands behind her back, posture slightly relaxed, but still stiff enough for you to know that she wasn't exactly happy with what had happened earlier. The girls—polite as always—greeted her with high fives, pats on the back, and a few congratulations for the gold medal she herself had won.
You were still staring at the floor, too embarrassed to face your girlfriend at that moment. Unfortunately, you knew you wouldn't get away that easily when you saw her approaching. The slightly worn shoes she wore appeared in your field of vision, and you finally stopped staring at the floor as if it were the coolest and most interesting thing in the world.
“So... are you going to tell me what happened or...?” Her voice echoed through the space, all your teammates stopping talking the moment Alysa opened her mouth to address you.
It was as if everyone there was waiting for a big reaction, no one allowed themselves to breathe properly, no one seemed ready for the explosion that was about to come, and you swore you saw someone hide slightly out of the corner of your eye.
“She provoked me.” It was the only thing you dared to say.
“And then you went after her? Wow, how mature!” Alysa's voice was low, controlled. And you knew exactly what that meant.
Your eyebrows furrowed, and someone in the locker room sighed.
“Alysa...” You tried.
“No. You know how I feel about this!” She stood her ground.
You got up from the bench.
“You don't know what she said to me!” Your voice was firm, and you swore you saw half of your teammates flinch slightly.
Now standing, you towered over your girlfriend, your body so large that you could have covered her entirely in an embrace without the slightest effort. Your broad shoulders bumped her nose, your muscles tense and flexed, as you looked down at her like a puppy looks at an ant.
All it took was one look into her eyes.
You faltered without even realizing it. Your eyes averted from hers, you looked at the floor while your teammates stared at each other and wondered why you hadn't yet thrown the bench you were previously sitting on against the wall.
“Sit down.” Your girlfriend's firm voice made you obey her like a trained puppy, and all the girls on the team looked mortified that someone had managed to put you in your place.
“You know I'm right.” She started again. “I don't know what she said, but whatever it was, I'm here for you. You could have put the whole team at risk, you could have put yourself at risk. Did you think about that? Huh?”
You shook your head, staring at the floor as you reflected on what your girlfriend was saying.
“I know, but she was talking about you... I just couldn't let her talk about you like that!” Your voice was calm, gentle in a way your teammates had never heard before.
Alysa's hands lifted your chin, making you look into her eyes. Those same eyes that always made you realize how lucky you were to have a woman like her in your life.
“Thanks for defending me, babe. But next time, I'd rather you didn't fall for the provocations of a girl who's literally furious because she just lost the fucking Olympics.” She laughed, and you laughed with her.
“I'm sorry.” You smiled, and then quickly stopped smiling when you heard a chorus of sighs from the girls watching from the stands as your girlfriend lectured you. “Oh, shut up, you idiots!”
Alysa laughed, and so did they.
“I didn't know you had a soft side, captain!” One of the girls fired back.
You raised your middle finger, taking advantage of the moment and making the gesture to all the other girls who were teasing you.
“Damn, captain, she's got you on a leash.” You sighed.
“Fuck you!” You said with conviction, and then held your breath when your girlfriend moved even closer.
Tucking her hands into your hair and pulling your head to her chest, Alysa smiled and giggled smugly.
“No, they're right. I've got you on a leash.” She smiled again, more strongly.
You rolled your eyes. But you knew it would always be like this. Because you would never, ever dare to contradict the love of your life.
Hey everyone, just a little something for Alysa because I've been kind of amazed by her since the Olympics!
I wrote this during my lunch break, so I'm not sure if it's any good. Anyway, I hope you like it. I know I'm not really active, but life has been crazy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
alysa liu and reader childhood friends to lovers..
✶ 𝗪𝗛𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗡'𝗧 𝗜 𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗚𝗢 ? ── alysa liu
𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 ➤ eighteen plus, minors dni. content warning: wc 2,2k, — x female reader, childhood friends to lovers trope, bit of angst, love confession, fluff, kissing, making out, figure skater! reader, ,
𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 ── WHEW, okay this is not that long (it felt super long while i was writing it) and hopefully i caught the vision hehe. never wrote childhood friends to lovers so i tried to yk focus on some of the most important moments but also mentioning some of the smaller ones that could be interesting... i hope you guys enjoy this chopped try of mine- reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!! <3
how many years has it been now?
no one was sure, not even your parents, at what age alysa and you met, because the whole story revolved around her dragging you onto the ice with her like a puppy who refused to walk on a leash.
alysa was gliding around on the ice, already a pro even as a child, constantly asking the coach and her parents why isn't that girl- she pointed to you on the boards- skating? whatever was said to her, in one ear then out the other, running to where you sat, she squints before jumping onto the wall of the rink.
"aren't you gonna come on in?" she asks, basically screaming and she huffs even louder when you shake your head. do i have to do everything myself? she thought as she stormed off the ice, then took you by the hand and hauled you back with her.
"come with me." alysa says and before you even have time to protest, you are on the ice, sliding after her. "i'm gonna fall!" you cry, but she doesn't let up, pulling you by the arms after herself like a sled.
"just copy me, i'm a pro, trust me."
it was hard to avoid the proximity after that, your parents becoming friends, realising she lived just down the street, same schools, same schedule- same everything that kept you on the shared trajectory.
the small world of being kids together- fighting over who can wind the swing the highest, who got the last strawberry popsicle at the ice cream cart. helping each other learn how to ride a bike, picking up skating together, falling into the opposite habits that were like the negative and positive poles of a magnet. sleepovers with stolen makeup from one or the other's mom's vanity table, watching barbie movies, wishing to be princesses together in a shared queendom.
everything was so simple through the eyes of your friendship, as it was still in its infancy, like a flower in early spring, trying to bloom before the frost went away.
then... by the end of middle school, it felt like the two of you were just competing against one another.
there were good times too, sure, but the constant fights, shooting each other disdainful looks from one end of the rink to the other, always trying to one-up the other, hangouts getting shorter before they stopped completely. skating seized to be a shared hobby and just became this thing that ruined your united path to glory.
"i'm quitting," you announced to her after a late practice, basically cornering her in the empty lockers as she was unlacing her skates.
alysa's eyes shot up from the ground, blinking once, then twice, before her whole face softened from the surprise. "that's good... not a lot of people can give up so determinedly." she snorts before her attention is back on her skates.
"i'm giving up on skating because i wanna be your friend, not your rival." you step closer as your words tumble out, throwing your things on the floor carelessly and sitting down on the bench opposite her.
you can see her hesitate as she thinks, actually looking at you without any spite, pointing between the two of you. "after all this?" she asks.
you nodded, a little awkwardly, because admitting it out loud was harder than you imagined, harder than just blurting everything out in the heat of the moment. she pushed herself back, leaning against the wall, her eyes scanning the ceiling- was she scared to admit it to your face? yes, she was.
"alright... we are getting a reboot then."
then high school rolled around faster than anticipated.
everybody kept saying that it changes people, but neither of you believed these 'rumours'. not until the way you looked at girls changed, but it wasn't a phase or anything to overthink- you simply liked girls.
nothing between alysa and you changed- she hugged you, asked if you had a crush on someone, told you that she actually started dating that guy she liked from chemistry.
"if i was interested in girls like that, i'd totally have a crush on you." she laughed as she embraced you again in a tight hug. you laughed with her, still overflowing with a bit too much adrenaline, shaking from the nerves because if you had to like someone, it was her.
you were sure it was her.
it was just before the beijing olympic games when the breaking point came. you remember this exactly because alysa was crying on your shoulder about the boy she was seeing at the time, going off and off about how he was the biggest jerk of all time and you... you were perfect because you were her other half.
it felt like a lifetime to your souls, like they have always flown close by as comets, as stars who never concerned themselves with the heat of your cores burning everything in their paths.
life as you knew it was attached to one another from before the beginning, and both of you agreed on this undeniable fact.
you were destined, made for each other.
she didn't mean it in the way you did, of course, she didn't. it broke your heart a little, but you made peace with it because you simply had to. you rather have alysa as your friend than nothing at all. not that you had any time to pickle in your sorrow because she was retiring from skating after beijing to spend more time living.
that included you more than anything, how could it not- stupid question.
the 2022 winter olympics came and went- the two of you called each and every night, alysa showed you around the olympic village, you filmed yourself watching her performance live, and you never missed one second of it. she showed you all the cool snacks and trinkets she gathered, put on a fashion show with the team sweaters, and you helped her with homework, even if it was the dead of night for you.
you met her at the arrivals gate later that month, and she cried for almost the whole day. she was leaving skating behind, she cried because she was finally free of the stress and the unwanted commitment of the sport- the two of you were free together.
two years passed and you made up for all the years you missed of each other in middle school when you were too busy crossing horns over who was the best. choosing colleges was right around the corner, and both of you knew where you wanted to go pretty early on- alysa picked ucla and you reached for the stars by going abroad to a fancy european university.
and this day?
this day was supposed to be the last day in the next four years that you see each other in person.
it's funny because both of you started rambling about how important it would be if you guys could talk face-to-face for one last time.
somehow alysa convinced you to meet at your old ice rink, something about how you should put a pause on everything at the place where it all began. you laughed a bit because it didn't make sense at all, but of course, you said yes.
returning to the ice wasn't as horrible as you imagined it to be.
when you quit, you deleted everything that reminded you of skating- gave away your skates, donated your dresses, medals and thropies ended up in a well-hidden cardboard box in the attic. you did everything to erase this part of you.
everything came back like a flood- the moves, the spins, the techniques. your heart was tearing at the seams as you laughed, overwhelming happiness bursting through you as you tried to run through your old routines. you fall, you laugh, then you stand up to continue with the biggest smile on your face.
the biggest grin alysa has ever seen you wear and it looked mesmerising on you.
her face contours too, the ends of her lips curving up and creasing, sighing with a face stretching, burning with joy, because she is finally ready to say it. "i think i finally figured out when i fell in love with you."
you freeze and almost fall over.
what?
"it was when i was in beijing- we kept facetiming, texting, and i... i realised in the middle of the night when i rolled over how i wished you were there with me because everything would be easier. it wasn't even because i wanted to compete with you i just wanted you to be there." alysa laughs as she recites the memory so casually, spinning in place before hugging herself. the cold air catching in her throat as the spin slows, her blades whispering against the ice until they come to a quiet stop.
she barely notices that you came to a halt, eyes slipping apart like a fish's eyes, brain working overtime as you try to keep yourself up and comprehend what she said.
"i just... wanted to tell you since you're leaving for college." she almost whispers, leaning back against the boards, the bottom half of her face hiding behind her scarf, hands in her pockets, her eyes firmly set on yours.
you don't answer her.
not right away, anyway.
the lights buzz around the two of you, enveloping the two of you in a soft glow as you just stand there, staring at one another, waiting for the needle to drop and break the silence.
but it doesn't and you don’t realize you have started moving until your blades scrape forward, landing right next to her, leaning against the boards, eyes still caught in hers.
"when you dragged me onto the ice."
"what about it?" she asks a little confused, blinking at you, tilting her head.
"way back when we first started skating together- i think that's when i... fell in love with you." you sigh, your shoulders dropping as you are finally able to say the words. "of course i didn't understand the feeling then, not until high school anyway." you explained, your hand gesturing aguely between the two of you, as if you could map years of enmeshed history in the air.
"and i'm not leaving... i'm staying." finally you tear your gaze away from her, and then she’s suddenly on you. fast, without notice, a rush of motion that makes your heart stutter. one second she’s standing there, poised and tauntingly calm, and the next her hands are at your shoulders, pulling you close, lips crashing against yours like she’s been holding back for years and can’t wait another second. it’s hurried, almost frantic, like the world is collapsing around you both and she’s bent upon carving this moment into eternity before it slips away.
your knees get weak. her hands get tangled in your hair as her warmth crushes on you. the kiss is intense and sudden, nearly messy, but it's real- painfully, blindingly real.
when she finally pulls back, just a fraction, her forehead touching yours. her breath is ragged, eyes wide and unguarded. "good, 'cuz i don't think i could do this long distance."
"this?!" you almost scream before her hand clasps over your mouth, shutting you up.
"i'm asking you on a date, dumbass." she laughs.
"weird way of doing it, tho i'm not complaining." you say, muffled by her palm as you shrug and she giggles, letting her hand fall to your hip. her grin is ear to ear, much like yours when one of your hands moves to cup her cheek. your fingers linger against the side of her face, tracing the line of her jaw, memorizing it. her pulse thrums under your touch, a rapid, insistent beat that mirrors your own.
she leans in slightly, almost imperceptibly, and your lips twitch at the corner of hers, hovering, testing, desperate to bridge the space between 'almost' and 'finally'.
her hands rest lightly on your waist, steadying, guiding, and it feels like an invitation. you tilt your head, slowly, giving her the chance to pull away if she wants- but she doesn’t.
she doesn’t even flinch.
instead, her eyelashes brush your cheek as she leans the tiniest bit closer, and your heart threatens to explode with the anticipation.
then, finally, you close the gap.
your lips meet hers in a tentative, gentle press at first, a whisper of a kiss that tastes of everything you’ve held in for years. it’s soft, exploratory, a careful question that demands an answer. her eyes flutter shut, and her grip tightens just slightly around your hips, answering in kind.
it hits both of you at the same time that this wasn't a new feeling at all- that the way she circled you with her heavy gravitational pull as if she were a black hole, trying to consume the fever of your supernova about to burst for years, and you let her without ever being afraid of everything ending.
how many years has it been now?
who cared, she was finally yours and you were hers.
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Summary: After using her safeword, Alysa comforts her gf.
warnings: none
————————————————————————The word slips out quietly.
“Watermelon.”
Everything stops.
Alysa freezes for half a second before immediately pulling back, like the word itself rewired her instincts. Her head lifts, eyes searching yours, all the intensity from moments before gone—replaced with something soft, something careful.
“Hey… hey,” she murmurs, voice gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “I’ve got you.”
Her hand moves to your cheek without hesitation, thumb brushing lightly across your skin like she’s grounding both of you at once.
“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I didn’t mean to—I just—I didn’t want to ruin it.”
Her expression shifts instantly, concern taking over.
“Ruin it?” she repeats, almost incredulous. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
She shifts so she’s fully beside you now, not above you, not overwhelming—just there. Equal. Safe.
“Using the safeword isn’t ruining anything,” she says softly. “It’s you trusting me. That’s… that’s the opposite of ruining it.”
You hesitate, eyes dropping. “I just feel bad.”
Alysa gently tilts your chin back up so you have to look at her.
“Don’t,” she says, firm but still warm.
She exhales, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“I’m really sorry if I got too rough. That wasn’t my intention.”
The sincerity in her voice settles something in your chest.
“It’s okay,” you whisper.
She studies you for a second longer, like she’s making sure you actually mean it, then leans in just enough for her forehead to rest against yours.
“You matter more than anything,” she says quietly. “Nothing—nothing—is more important than you feeling safe with me. Not anything.”
Her hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, grounding and steady.
You squeeze back.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s calm.
She presses a soft kiss to your temple—light, careful, like she’s asking permission even now.
She shifts just enough to pull the blanket up around you both, tucking it gently over your shoulder like she’s done it a hundred times before. Every movement is slower now, deliberate—like she’s thinking about you in every small decision.
Her arm wraps around your waist, not tight, just there—steady and grounding. Her other hand finds yours again, fingers slipping between yours like it’s instinct.
“You warm enough?” she asks softly.
You nod against her shoulder, but she still rubs her hand up and down your arm anyway, creating a quiet warmth that has nothing to do with the blanket.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
It’s quiet in that comfortable way, where the silence isn’t empty—it’s full. Full of breath, of presence, of the way her thumb keeps tracing little absent-minded patterns against your skin.
“I really am sorry,” she murmurs after a bit, her voice almost lost in the stillness. “I should’ve checked in sooner.”
You shift slightly so you can look up at her. “You stopped right away.”
“Because you trusted me to,” she says. “That matters.”
Her gaze softens even more, if that’s possible, and she brushes her fingers lightly along your jaw, like she’s memorizing the feeling.
Your hand tightens in hers, and she responds immediately, squeezing back—just enough to say I’m here without words.
After a second, she leans in, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your forehead. Then another, softer one near your temple. Nothing rushed, nothing overwhelming—just soft, reassuring contact.
“Better?” she asks.
“A lot,” you say.
She smiles at that, a small, relieved curve of her lips, and shifts so you’re tucked more securely against her. One of her legs hooks loosely over yours, anchoring you there without trapping you.
Her hand moves to your hair, fingers threading through it carefully, like she’s double-checking that even this is okay. When you don’t pull away, she keeps going—slow, rhythmic, soothing.
“You can tell me if you want more space,” she murmurs.
“I don’t,” you say quickly, then softer, “I like this.”
“Okay,” she replies, almost like she’s making a note of it, committing it to memory.
Her breathing evens out, and after a minute you realize she’s syncing it with yours—subtly, but intentionally—like she’s trying to help you settle fully.
“You feel okay?” she asks again, quieter now.
You take a second to actually check in with yourself this time. The earlier tension is gone, replaced by warmth and the steady feeling of her beside you.
“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”
“Good.” Her thumb brushes over your knuckles again. “You deserve to.”
Another pause, softer this time.
You tilt your head slightly, pressing a small kiss against her collarbone, and she stills for a second—like she’s surprised—before relaxing into it.
“Hey,” she whispers, a hint of a smile in her voice.
“Hi,” you mumble back.
She laughs quietly under her breath, the sound warm and light, and presses her cheek against the top of your head.
“Next time,” she says gently, “I’ll check in more. And slower, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And you keep telling me what you need.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
You nod against her. “Promise.”
She presses another soft kiss to your hair, lingering this time.
“Good,” she whispers.
Her hand never stops moving—still tracing slow, comforting patterns along your arm, your back, your hand—like she’s reminding you, over and over again, that she’s here.
That she’s listening.
That you’re safe.
And eventually, without even realizing when it happens, your body relaxes completely into hers—every bit of tension melting away as she holds you just a little closer.
“I love you.”
It’s not dramatic. Not heavy.
Just certain.
You shift just enough to nuzzle closer into her, your answer soft and a little mumbled, but real.
“I love you too.”
Her hold tightens just a fraction—not enough to wake you, just enough to keep you there.
To keep you safe.
Her chin rests lightly against the top of your head as she exhales, slow and content, her body fully relaxed now that yours is too.
Summary: Alysa is seen in public with her girly girl girlfriend.
warnings: none
————————————————————————
The first thing people noticed about Alysa Liu was how effortlessly cool she looked.
The second thing they noticed… was you.
Because standing next to her in a frilly pastel skirt, glossy lip balm, and a tote bag covered in tiny bows and charms—you looked like you’d stepped out of a completely different universe.
And somehow, it worked.
————————————————————————
“Wait—stand right there,” you said, grabbing Alysa’s sleeve as she tried to keep walking down the street.
She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because the lighting is cute and you look… like, extra cool right now.”
“I always look cool,” she shot back, but she still stopped.
You grinned, already pulling out your phone. “Yeah, yeah, ego queen. Just lean a little—no, not like that, you look like you’re about to fight someone.”
“I am always ready to fight someone.”
You giggled. “That’s the problem!”
She tried not to smile, but failed. You snapped the photo right as her lips twitched.
“Got it,” you said proudly.
Alysa leaned over your shoulder. “Let me see.”
You turned the screen toward her—and yeah, it was kind of perfect. She was all dark hoodie, messy hair, hands shoved in pockets… and next to her you were basically sunshine in human form.
“Wow,” she said. “We look like a ‘before and after’ of the same person.”
“Rude,” you gasped. “I’m clearly the after.”
She laughed—actually laughed—and nudged your shoulder.
————————————————————————
Across the street, someone else had noticed too.
A quiet click of a camera.
A quick post.
“so apparently Alysa Liu has a girlfriend?? 😭gf(?) and they’re literally the definition of opposites 😭 one looks like she listens to indie rock and the other looks like she owns 500 lip glosses… they’re so cute tho???”
user1: THIS IS SO CUTE WHAT 😭
user2: awwweee so sweet, i’m unwell
user3: “coffee + strawberry milk” IM CRYING
user4: she def lets her pick out her outfits sometimes idc
user5: yeah she’s in LOVE
user6: i need what they have immediately
user7: 🎀 girl won fr
————————————————————————
You didn’t see the post yet.
You were too busy trying to convince Alysa to go into a tiny boutique filled with pink everything.
“I’m not going in there,” she said immediately.
“You literally owe me.”
“For what?”
“For… emotional support. And also I bought you coffee.”
“That was five hours ago.”
“Debt doesn’t expire.”
She sighed dramatically. “This is blackmail.”
“It’s love.”
She stared at you for a second… then shook her head, smiling.
“Fine. But if I come out covered in glitter, I’m blaming you.”
“You’ll look cute.”
“I already look cute.”
“Okay yeah, that’s true,” you admitted.
————————————————————————
Inside the store, Alysa stuck out like a shadow in a glitter storm.
She followed you around, hands in her pockets, watching as you got excited over literally everything.
“Look at this!” you said, holding up a tiny bow hair clip.
“No.”
“What about this one?”
“No.”
“This one?”
“…maybe.”
You gasped. “Progress!”
————————————————————————
At checkout, you turned to her with a soft smile. “You didn’t have to come in, you know.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
She shrugged, like it was obvious. “You wanted me there.”
That simple.
Your heart did that thing again.
————————————————————————
Outside, you reached for her hand without thinking.
She didn’t hesitate—just laced her fingers with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey,” you said softly.
“Yeah?”
You leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
She froze for half a second—then huffed, pretending to be annoyed.
“You’re so extra.”
“And you love it.”
“…yeah,” she admitted.
————————————————————————
Later that night, while doomscrolling on the couch together, you finally saw the post and read some of the comments.
You showed her, grinning. “Look—we’re famous.”
Alysa read it, then rolled her eyes. “Indie rock? I don’t even—”
“You totally give that vibe.”
“And you definitely own 500 lip glosses.”
“Okay, that part is accurate.”
You both laughed.
Then she pulled you a little closer, resting her head lightly against yours.
“Opposites, huh?”
You smiled. “Yeah.”
She squeezed your hand.
“Good thing it works.”
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