allie hayes x female reader
summary: with allie having just broken up with sean, feelings for her you’ve been trying to suppress are making their way to the surface. you decide to bake something together as a distraction.
warnings: teeny bit of wlw sadness, one ass smack, fingers in mouth, making out, fluff (?) (i tried)
word count: 2.6k
an: first time writing a wlw fic and i'm highkey obsessed 🥹 i love being a woman and i love loving women ❤️🩹 (also, i apologise if there’s any spag issues, i proofread this at 4am while half asleep 😅)
You know Allie better than she knows herself. You know that right now, she needs a distraction. You know that, truthfully, so do you.
Recently, feelings that you buried back in freshman year (when your very straight roommate, Allie, got a boyfriend) have been coming back to the surface.
Allie, having recently broken up with Sean, is tense. With him out of the picture, your subconscious is making you feel things you should not be feeling for your best friend, so now, you’re also tense.
To be fair, Allie is doing better than she normally would at this stage, but a distraction for both of you is still much needed. Doomscrolling on the couch has gotten very boring after ten minutes.
“Hm,” she hums in acknowledgment, glancing up from her phone.
“We should bake something,” you suggest, hoping it’ll take both of your minds off your respective problems.
Turning off her phone and shifting her attention fully to you, her face lights up. “Oh my god, yes! Please, I have been dying to eat some cinnamon rolls.”
“Are we qualified enough to make cinnamon rolls…?” You questioned, suddenly feeling sceptical of your own idea.
“Okay, don’t be a buzzkill, we’ll figure it out as we go along. I need the distraction.”
You smile to yourself. You really do know Allie better than she knows herself.
An hour and a trip to Target later, you and Allie have almost finished making the dough for your cinnamon rolls.
“Okay, now we have to knead it,” she states, reading the recipe from her phone.
Nodding, you pour the dough out from the bowl and onto the counter. Allie seems to have gotten distracted by something on her phone so you start haphazardly squishing the dough.
“Oh my God, what are you doing?” Allie giggles, finally turning her attention back to the dough.
“Kneading?” you replied without any confidence.
Shaking her head, she walks closer to you. “Here, let me show you how to actually knead.”
Stopping behind you, her arms snake forward, settling her hands on top of yours. Bringing her lips close to your ear, her gentle voice begins directing you.
“Look, you have to scoop the dough like this,” she moves your hands in tandem while continuing to explain, “Then, you use your palms to press down and fold.”
You struggle to stay concentrated, hyper aware of the sensation of her so close to you. Her hands embracing yours, your fingers laced together as you knead the dough. The soft touch of her bare arms on you, the warmth of her breath tickling your neck.
Suddenly, she lets go of your hands, moving them to your waist instead, while her chin lowers to rest on your shoulder. Your brain short circuits.
Tapping you gently, she says, “Try doing it on your own.”
Forcing yourself to your senses, you try to recall her instructions and begin kneading the dough. You curse the thin material of your tank top that does little to suppress the warmth of Allie’s hands that seeps into you. Her touch feels like home—as it should, considering how long you two have been friends—but it’s different this time. You find yourself craving her touch to be like this all the time.
“Atta girl,” she purrs into your ear. “You’re doing such a good job.”
The praise claws away at your remaining composure and you move out of Allie’s embrace.
“I don’t like how the dough feels,” you lied, needing an excuse for your sudden movement. “Can you finish kneading it, please?”
Allie blinks, slightly confused and clearly suspicious. Her voice comes out unsure as she shrugs, “Yeah, okay.”
While she begins kneading the dough, you walk to the sink to wash your hands, silently begging for your feelings to go away.
Sitting on the couch with Allie’s head in your lap, you scroll distractedly on your phone, waiting for the oven timer to go off. You want to run your fingers through her hair, which you could do platonically, but you know it won’t help your case.
Finally, the ringing sound of the oven timer goes off and Allie sits up. You stand immediately and walk over to the oven, Allie trailing behind you. Grabbing an oven mit, you bend over to open the oven and retrieve the cinnamon rolls. Once you’re standing again, the baked goods now sitting on the counter, Allie reaches over and lightly smacks your ass.
“What was that for?!” You blurt, flustered, turning to face her.
“Your ass looks good,” Allie says casually, crossing her arms.
You turn back to the dessert, feeling your cheeks burn as you blush at the compliment. She moves to stand next to you, inhaling deeply.
“Fuck, these smell so good,” she breathes.
“Mhm,” you reply, glancing at her face.
Her expression reads of pure bliss. A small smile rests on her lazy lips, her eyes glinting in anticipation of when she can feast on her hard work. The soft yellow glow of the multiple lamps dotted around the room (Allie is a strong believer in no big lights) enhances her golden skin tone. Her skin is bare—no makeup hiding her from you. She looks ethereal. She is ethereal.
She meets your gaze. “What?”
“Nothing,” you shake your head, quickly looking away.
‘I just think you're the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ you think to yourself, knowing you’ll never say the words out loud.
“Okay, let’s make the icing,” Allie says, snapping you out of your thoughts.
The ingredients had already been waiting on the counter, so Allie started measuring out the correct amounts into a bowl. This was easily a one-woman job, so you lean on the counter and watch as the icing starts coming together. Scooping a small amount onto her finger, Allie tastes the icing, furrowing her brows thoughtfully.
“I can’t tell if this is good or not,” she glances over at you before scooping up some more and offering her finger to you. “Here, you try.”
You freeze for a millisecond. If Allie isn't thinking twice about it, you decide you won’t either. Your gaze remains on hers as you open your mouth and take her finger into it.
Allie’s casual demeanour falters. Her eyelids flutter slightly as your tongue moves over her finger, tasting the sweet icing. A blush begins to appear on her cheeks. You think you might be dreaming.
She doesn’t make any indication of wanting to remove her finger, so you instinctively begin to suck on it, the icing long gone. Her lips part as her breathing grows slightly heavy, and you notice her squeeze her thighs together.
Your eyelids briefly flutter shut before meeting her gaze again. Gently grabbing her hand, you pull her finger out of your mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm. The moment only lasted a few seconds, but to you, it felt like all of those years that you suppressed your feelings. Allie remains frozen, blinking at you, her breathing uneven.
“Just finish making the cinnamon rolls, baby,” you say, your voice almost a whisper. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
Regaining her senses, Allie turns to the bowl of icing and begins scooping spoonfuls onto the rolls. You continue to look at her, thinking about what just happened. Your mind is racing with possibilities, the buried feelings of your subconscious crawling to the surface.
Looking away from Allie, you try to focus your mind. You can’t get swept up in silly fantasies. Maybe Allie just wants to forget this happened. Maybe you just made her uncomfortable and that’s why she reacted the way she did. But, you’ve accidentally hit on straight girls before, so you know the difference between someone being uncomfortable and someone being turned on. The thought makes your heart skip a beat.
Allie being turned on by you? How the hell did you get here?
The thought nags at you, though. That, maybe, you really did make her uncomfortable. The last thing you want to do is lose your friendship over your momentary lapse in judgement. You decide you should say something, be the first to break the silence, just to be safe. Once Allie is placing the now-empty bowl of icing into the sink, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the forthcoming conversation.
“I’m sorry…” She turns to look at you. “...if I made you uncomfortable.”
You look down, suddenly very interested in your cuticles. There’s silence for a moment. Nervous, you look up at Allie, only to find her studying you intensely. When your eyes meet, her lips part, as if to say something, but they close again. She does this a couple more times, clearly unsure on what to do.
“You…” she pauses, shaking her head. “No, don’t apologise.”
You nod once but remain silent, hoping she’ll continue.
“I just— I’m really confused,” she finally manages to speak, laughing nervously. Her eyes begin darting around the room as she mutters, “I’m… I’m straight. I’m straight? I’m straight. I’m straight, right?”
Her gaze meets yours again as her last word forms a question directed to you. You watch her, hiding your slight amusement at her confusion. Everyone’s been there at some point.
You simply settle on saying, “Sexuality is a spectrum.”
She turns around to face the sink, bracing her hands on the edge. Patiently, you wait, standing with her in the kitchen as she experiences what seems to be an existential crisis. After what feels like an age, she turns to face you again.
“W-What?” you stutter, blinking at her dumbfounded.
“Well, if sexuality is a spectrum, then I need to figure out where I fit on it,” she shrugs, but her shoulders remain tense, her expression nervous.
“Allie, baby, you don’t need to figure that out right now,” you say, inching closer to place a comforting hand on her arm.
You notice her eyes travel to your lips and your breath hitches. She meets your gaze again, her wide eyes full of uncertainty, but possibility.
“But I really want to,” she breathes, stepping closer to you as she places a hesitating hand on your waist.
Your eyes dart all over her face, taking in the redness of her blushing cheeks, the slight shimmer of lip balm on her parted lips that let out heavy breaths, her eyes flicking between yours and your lips.
“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” she says softly, bringing a hand to hold your face.
You stay silent, knowing this is all you’ve wanted for years. Your hands instinctively reach to hold Allie’s hips and you notice her breath hitch at the contact.
Her voice drops to a whisper as her face moves closer, “Tell me to stop.”
“I can’t,” you admit, shaking your head slightly.
She meets your eyes one more time before pressing her lips to yours.
It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s better than you could’ve ever imagined.
It’s over within five seconds.
Ripping herself away from you, Allie begins to pace around the kitchen while you remain in a daze, the memory of her lips already haunting you. She begins to bite at her nails when you decide to say something.
Stopping dead in her tracks, she turns to look at you.
“What do you think of me?” she asks, ignoring your question.
“I’m not following, babe, what?”
“I mean, like— Do you— Would you— Ugh! Fuck, I mean do you only see me as a friend?”
You feel like a deer caught in headlights. You knew that one day your feelings would fuck things up. Dread rises inside of you, seeping into whatever foolish hope you had that the two of you could be anything more than friends.
Allie seems to recognise the worry on your face and adds, “No judgement, I promise. Just, please, be honest with me.”
“No,” your voice comes out small as you meet her eyes, “I don’t only see you as a friend.”
Before you could process your confusion at her response, her hands are holding your face, her lips crashing onto yours. This time, it’s less soft. Instead, it’s desperate. She is desperate. But it’s still as sweet, and still better than your wildest dreams. That doesn’t change how confused you are, though.
Pulling back, you place your hands on her waist, “Wait, what’s happening right now?”
“I’ve figured out where I fall on the spectrum,” she smiles, pecking your lips before continuing. “Whatever the word is for being attracted to you—” she mumbles your name while kissing you once more, “that is what I am.”
Any ounce of self control left in your body disappears as you pull her in, kissing her hungrily. The desire that you’d stowed away for years is all coming to the surface and into the heat of your lips on hers, your hands on her waist. You tangle one hand into her hair, titling her head to deepen the kiss. Slipping your tongue into her mouth, she lets out a small whimper—the sound is enough to drive you crazy. The fact that you are the reason she made that sound makes you eager for more. You begin backing Allie towards the counter until she’s pressed against it from behind, with you flat against her front.
As your hands continue to roam over her body, the kiss somehow becomes messier, hungrier. Your tongues are practically down each others’ throats, your lips devouring one another as though you’ve been starving for this. Well, you suppose you have been starving for this. For her. A soft moan escapes her mouth, making you hum in response.
“Fuck, Als, I don’t think you know what you do to me,” you mumble, moving your kisses to her jaw. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“Wait,” her hands hold your face, pulling you up to make eye contact with her. “How long?”
You hesitate for a moment. “Well… I liked you back when we first met. But when you got into a relationship with Sean, I forced myself to ignore my feelings for you. I managed to, for the most part, but since you broke up with him it's been getting harder to pretend they aren’t there.”
She stays silent for a moment, unsettling you.
“I’m sorry. I really tried,” you add.
“No, oh my God, baby, don’t apologise.”
Allie always calls you ‘babe’, but never ‘baby’. The new nickname makes your stomach flip. The way it sounds in her soft voice—you would listen to her call you that all day if you could.
“You know, I always felt differently about you than the rest of my friends. I told myself it was just because we’re roommates, but some days—mainly the days I was fighting or broken up with Sean—I’d lie awake thinking about how I would marry you if you were a man.”
The admission catches you off guard. You can feel the heat of a blush creeping onto your cheeks underneath Allie’s hands. Her thumb caresses you as she bites her lip slightly.
“I was so fucking stupid to be blind to what was right in front of me—who was right in front of me,” she smiles a self-deprecating smile at herself. “You. God, it’s always been you.”
The end of her sentence is mumbled into your mouth as she kisses you again, this time with a newfound tenderness. Her lips are slower, more intentional. You pause at the feeling of something wet meeting your cheek. Pulling back, you see tears leaking out of Allie’s eyes.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, concern suddenly replacing all other emotions.
“Nothing, I just—” she smiles, her glassy eyes meeting yours. “I love you, you know.”
It’s nothing she hasn’t said before, but you recognise the new weight behind it.
