asher. filipino. preference for it/its
25, occasionally writing for adult-only audiences
nb, IDing specifically transmasc/butch so i tend to write gender neutral reader
i have written for other fandoms (wednesday, PRISTIN, and LOONA)
other interests: isabeau levito, the handmaiden, smosh, dropout/collegehumor especially dimension 20, the locked tomb series, minecraft
warnings are there for a reason. minors, do not interact with the 18+ content
here is my masterlist
requests: inbox is currently OPEN for requests and OPEN for asks
dms/asks not about writing are also v encouraged. anyone who loves mikey madison is a friend in my books <3
Amber Freeman really is “free my girl, she did all that but idc” to me
art warning for burns/blood/horror
her burn was so cool to draw, I love how this piece turned out! It was mostly js me experimenting with brushes so I’m shocked the final product is like actually not bad 😭
technically chapter 2 (read the first chapter here) but this can be read as a stand-alone if you don't like smut
my masterlist, to check out my other works, is here
ship: alysa liu x isabeau levito (figure skating)
warnings: straight (?) girl experimentation angst, mentions of sex
summary: alysa knows how to quit things, and it should be easy enough to pretend milan never happened. but not when it comes to isabeau
word count: 2400+
This is ridiculous.
Alysa's quit things before. Knows the merit of it. Hell, she quit skating for two years, the one thing in this world she'd excelled at, and didn't regret it. Came back stronger, not regretting a single moment. And this thing is ruining her. So why couldn't she let it go?
Her phone buzzes on the nightstand. She's laying in bed, weighing up the pros and cons of dumping everything onto Amber. Pro: Amber would get it. Might have song suggestions to add to her 'wallowing' playlist, which currently consisted of classic 'in love with my straight friend' songs like She by dodie, and the obligatory amounts of girl in red and Clairo. Her eyes flick to it even though she knows she shouldn't, hand reaching out when she sees Isabeau's @.
Isabeau.Levito has messaged you!
A small, involuntary smile tugs at the corners of her lips, distress about this whole situation abating momentarily sidelined by the familiar dopamine hit of seeing Isabeau's name on her screen. Which is even more ridiculous, of course, because it's all about Isabeau.
Alysa taps the notification, expecting a meme or perhaps a video of a cute kitten, but instead, she’s greeted by a high energy, bass-boosted edit of Papa Smurf that makes her snort.
Isabeau.Levito: this is so you. i'm reposting it 🫶
They've been sending TikToks back and forth for the entire month since Milan. Pretending like it's normal, they're just friends. Nothing's changed. Alysa's world hasn't crumbled underneath her feet. The worst part is that, for all she knew, Isabeau really could be this unfazed, and the older girl was the only one lying awake thinking about how Isabeau felt against her.
frigouscigous: excuse me, i popularized him. papa smurf wishes he looked this good
Her thumb skates over her bookmarked TikToks, finding a fan edit of the aptly named Alysa Smurf from some misguided Halloween where she'd slapped on some blue body paint and shares that to their DM thread.
The jokes aren't new. The thrumming of her heart as she waits for Isabeau to reply, to hopefully be laughing at her message across the country is... also not new.
Isabeau.Levito: ohhh absolutely. i'm reposting that too duh
Isabeau.Levito: why do you kinda pull that off???
Alysa's heart graduates from the thrumming to borderline arrhythmia. She hates it. She's never liked the feeling as it thuds against her ribs too hard, and breathing feels more suffocating. Talking to a friend shouldn't be as intensive as hours of training. And that's what Isabeau is. That's what she has to be. Friends that occasionally make out when they're supposed to be focusing on the peak of their careers and never speak of it again. More than make out. Whatever.
oh i bet you want to pull it off
No.
still wanna kiss alysa smurf?
Absolutely not.
Alysa groans, deleting what she's typed and dropping her phone back on her nightstand before she does something she'll regret. Isabeau's cute little profile picture of her face seems to mock her as the seconds tick by.
Her notifications, which are perpetually on 99+ from her fans tagging her in stuff, fill up impossibly more as Isabeau's repost spreads the edit. Makes her smile. The irony that Isabeau is the cause and the cure of her sickness doesn't escape her.
frigouscigous: you've ruined my notifs [screenshot]
frigouscigous: i'm trying to be cool and chill now. ruining my PR. my street cred.
Isabeau.Levito: sorryyy 🤗
And when it's starting to feel alright, a normal conversation, Alysa's phone buzzes again.
Isabeau.Levito: anyway... how’s cali? miss u (obviously lol)
Was it obvious? Obvious that Isabeau missed her, thought of her, the way Alysa did? She lays awake most nights wondering if she ever crossed the younger girl's mind. And if she did, was it good? Bad? Did she regret what they did? Did she ache the same way? Because it wasn't obvious when Isabeau started posting him in her photo dumps. Not that Alysa wanted to dwell on that. She didn't let herself think about it because she didn't like the way it made her feel.
Alysa leans back against her pillows. Licks her piercing right at the front of her mouth as she shakes away her meandering thoughts. Feelings that she didn't want to deal with always got her impulsive. Needy to tease out a reaction out of Isabeau, to get some proof that she still affected her.
frigouscigous: what do you miss most about me?
Just enough plausible deniability to still be friendly, implying but not direct about it. A loaded question disguised as banter. Dangerous with the weight of everything they haven't said. But also enough of an out, if Isabeau really didn't think of their nights together, to just say something insignificant. Playful on the surface but needing Isabeau's honesty.
because i miss your lips against mine. i miss how you'd grab me so hard you'd leave nail prints in my back. i miss the way you say my name. not just the sex, but shit i miss the way you light up at my nonsense. i miss your witty quips back that make it 10 times funnier. Her thoughts go past a mile a minute, but she doesn't need to focus on any individual one. She's run through all of them again and again.
Her phone buzzes. Alysa's almost afraid to check it, and she isn't afraid of much. She hates the way she always gives Isabeau the key to her joy or pain, especially when Alysa prides herself on her usual independence. Isabeau always seemed to undo her. Made her uncharacteristically gentle, uncharacteristically patient, uncharacteristically cautious. Alysa had never fought back as much want as those nights in her bed, keeping her caresses soft enough to not break her. Alysa had never worried so much about hurting someone.
Isabeau.Levito: i miss how you’d make me laugh until my stomach hurt. and how you’d always say the absolute lamest jokes when i was in a mood
Isabeau.Levito: and i miss that you’re the only person who actually gets my humor. everyone else is so serious all the time
It's safe enough. Honest and sweet, but not betraying any hint of their past intimacy. Alysa misses that too, and for now that shared emotion is enough. Doesn't answer her real question, but maybe Isabeau wasn't ready to. And the acknowledgement of something special between them makes Alysa bite her lip. Of really getting each other, of feeling understood, maybe for the first time.
Isabeau.Levito: what about you? what do you miss about me?
She wants to scream. There's too much she misses, all the little details. Such insignificant things that it makes Alysa feel like a creep for remembering them a month later. Because it's the way Isabeau's hair smelled in the mornings after. The way she'd melt into Alysa's arms after complaining that she needed to get up to practice, or how she'd pretend to be asleep so that Alysa would stay. It's the way Alysa had memorised where she likes to be touched, the differences in the way Isabeau's legs twitched from either stress or pleasure.
She doesn't want to be weird when Isabeau's doing so well. Doesn't want to need someone who doesn't seem to need her back.
frigouscigous: i miss your diva energy, duh
Classic Alysa, evading answering how California was feeling more hollow than ever, and the paragraphs she could write about Isabeau's eyes. Deflecting, dodging, anything to avoid the awkward truths. But before Alysa can feel like she's gotten away with it, Isabeau cuts right to the core of her.
Isabeau.Levito: what are we doing alysa?
Alysa rolls onto her stomach, burying her face in a pillow for a moment of pure, unadulterated frustration. She hates this. Hates that Isabeau never lets her feel like she has the upper hand.
frigouscigous: we aren't doing anything
frigouscigous: we're talking
It's a weak defense, and she knows it. But it's all she has while Isabeau seems intent to tear at the remaining walls she has left.
frigouscigous: it's what people do, isa. revolutionary concept i know
Isabeau.Levito: but you're not saying anything
Isabeau.Levito: like we're just bantering like nothing happened in milan
Isabeau used to tug her head down when Alysa was teasing her too much. Tugging at her hair to guide her right where this needs her. This feels maddeningly similar. Alysa knows she's being frustrating. Now instead of doing it to coax out moans from the younger girl, she just doesn't want to deal with the consequences. Terrified of what happens when she stops dodging the questions.
But the confirmation that Milan is on Isabeau's mind too makes her heart sore and her stomach sink simultaneously.
frigouscigous: milan was a long time ago
frigouscigous: i thought we agreed it was just... the adrenaline. post comp high
Isabeau.Levito: was it?
Isabeau.Levito: because the way you're avoiding this makes it feel like it's still happening right now
Isabeau.Levito: if it was nothing we'd be making fun of it together
Alysa runs a hand through her hair, pacing the cramped space of her room. She's right. They'd be sending each other stupid FWB memes or something. She wants to tell Isabeau there's rarely a day she doesn't think about her. She wants to admit that the 'post comp high' hasn't worn off even a month later. But she remembers the photo dumps, the soft launches. The glimpses of a life that doesn't have a girl-shaped slot in it.
frigouscigous: ok fine. we’re whatever this is
She throws the phone down on the duvet, unable to look at it. It's eating her alive. Had been already, but it's no longer an if. Wants to scream that she hates being an experiment, even though she'd eagerly signed up for the role just to feel Isabeau's skin against hers.
Isabeau.Levito: and what is this?
That's the crux of it, really. They're not nothing. It'd be a lie, an understatement, you don't memorise the insides of 'nothing's mouth. But they definitely aren't something. And there's plenty of good reason for that. Distance, aside.
frigouscigous: it's a distraction. it has to be
The reality of it tastes like copper in her mouth. Her tongue flicks over the side of her mouth, quelling the blood of biting it too hard.
frigouscigous: because you have a boyfriend
The words are out, sent, before she can filter them. It's that same impulsiveness that makes her an amazing skater and a disaster of a person. She's finally released the frustration she's been harbouring all month. But before she can regret it, Isabeau replies.
Isabeau.Levito: i do. but i miss you more.
The honesty hits Alysa like falling on the ice as a kid, before she was taught to fall correctly. Her chest tightens, a stupidly fragile hope sparking to life. She wants to fly to New Jersey right now. She wants to burst into Isabeau's apartment and kiss her until the world stops spinning. She wants to run off and hide and never see Isabeau again.
frigouscigous: is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?
Isabeau.Levito: well how do you feel?
Isabeau.Levito: bc i never know what you're thinking and it's driving me insane
That actually makes Alysa laugh, but it's bitter. Sharp now. It's Isabeau who's confusing, impossible to decipher. The girl who went from "I don't know if I like girls, but if it's you..." to posting a boyfriend in a photo dump within weeks. And she has the gall to call Alysa out on being elusive.
frigouscigous: i'm thinking that this isn't fair
frigouscigous: like, do you even like girls? have you figured that out yet?
She knows it's a low blow. Everyone goes at their own pace and she'd be the first to defend that. Alysa knows it's not right to push. But it wasn't right to go that far in the first place, and she's getting tired of doing what she should.
Isabeau.Levito: that's a stupid question
Isabeau.Levito: you know the answer to that. you've known it since we were in my bed
Isabeau.Levito: i told you back then didn't i?
Alysa's fingers fly across the screen, words losing their usual playfulness, becoming sharper, more defensive. Isabeau seemed to think she was being exceedingly obvious, that it was her that was being difficult when Alysa's been racking her brain about this for forever. Isabeau is attracted to her, that much they both know. But this isn't about sordid nights in secrecy anymore. This is about the now, the here. Whether Isabeau really wanted her enough to say it out loud. To call it like, or love, someday.
frigouscigous: it's not the same
frigouscigous: idk, it's nice that you like me but this is bigger yknow? to be gay. to be seen as that
Alysa's been out to everyone in her personal life for a while. Not out super publicly, especially with her sudden boost in popularity after the Olympics. That was too dangerous lately. But it's still important to her. She's proud of it. And she needs Isabeau to realise what going all in would mean for her. What the younger girl is getting into.
frigouscigous: this is my life. i don't get to just turn it off when it gets complicated
This isn't something Isabeau gets to play around with or treat like it's simple. Some passing curiosity. To Alysa, it's a core part of who she is, a truth she lives every single day. And here Isabeau is, hovering on the periphery, tasting the thrill of it but not ready to own it.
Read.
Each second that passes makes Alysa bite down harder.
Isabeau.Levito: you're being unfair
Isabeau.Levito: you can't just decide for me. i know you’ve known who you are forever, but i’m still figuring it out
Isabeau.Levito: milan wasn't just fun for me. isn't that enough?
Alysa sinks back against her pillows, feeling the fight drain out of her. She had thought she'd be OK waiting. As long as she got to taste her, hold her, love her in silence, the rest didn't matter. But somehow it felt worse this way. The truth was out in the open and the worry stopped being about if Isabeau was thinking of her, and now about waiting. Incomplete, yearning for something she didn't know if the younger girl would ever be ready for.
summary: alysa and isabeau's last night in the olympic village, before they have to end things.
word count: 1300+
Slick. Isabeau felt so sticky and wet on Alysa's fingers that it made the older girl inhale sharply. Slip her fingers in deeper every so slightly. "Shhh," she mutters. "You're OK."
They're pressed together on an Olympic-provided twin-sized bed. Isabeau's, if we're being pedantic. Alysa hasn't slept on her own bed in a week. They were trying to make these last few days count. After the closing ceremony, it'd be back to their opposite coasts. A month or two before they could see each other again.
Alysa can tell by the look on her face that the sensation is overwhelming. Her pretty eyebrows are scrunched tight, like her brain is working overtime to reconcile all this pleasure. This has become her favourite hobby, making Isabeau’s toes curl against the crisp hotel linens, making her sigh against her lips.
The contrast between the chilly air of the Olympic village and the intense, localized heat between her thighs makes Alysa's head swim. But it's not about her own pleasure. Her tongue licks over the cool metal of her piercing to bite back the need.
Every time Alysa’s fingers shift, finding a new rhythm, a soft, uncharacteristic whimper escapes Isabeau’s lips. The kind of sound the public never hears from the poised Ice Princess. Here, away from the cameras, there is no need for grace or elegance. There is only the raw, pulsing reality of being young adults and desperately in love.
"It feels... too much," Isabeau manages to gasp out. Her voice trembles, but not as much as her thighs do as they close around Alysa's hand. Willing her to stay, willing her for more.
The younger girl reaches out blindly, her fingers tangling in the sheets before finding purchase on Alysa’s shoulder, squeezing tight. Isabeau’s breath comes in shallow, jagged hitches, pale skin flushed a deep, feverish pink that spreads from her chest up to her cheeks.
"That's OK, Isababy," Alysa whispers. She's hesitant for a moment, not wanting to pull back from the addictive feeling between Isabeau's legs. But she knows Isabeau's still new to all this. "Do you need me to stop, or to slow down?"
Isabeau lets out a shaky, frustrated little huff, burying her face into the crook of Alysa’s neck to hide how vulnerable she feels. Reminds her that she hates hearing that stupid nickname while they're doing this. She's so cute it makes Alysa's heart ache.
“Don’t stop,” Isabeau whimpers into Alysa’s skin, muffled but desperate. “Please don’t stop.” She shifts her hips experimentally, instinctively, seeking more of that friction.
Alysa normally loves to tease her, but not tonight. The idea of slowing down feels almost sacrilegious right now, like a sudden halt in the middle of a perfect triple axel. Alysa wants to memorise her in this moment. If this is the final crescendo before the closing ceremonies pull them apart, she wants to have this perfect image of Isabeau underneath her. Panting, cheeks flushed, tendrils of hair stuck to her face with sweat. Body quivering and all Alysa's.
They aren't dating. Not really. Their little tryst was out of.... curiosity from the younger girl. And Alysa, who was attracted to her, had liked her for a while, obliged. Even if it hurt to be some straight girl's experiment.
Her hands move from Alysa’s shoulders to grip the older girl’s waist, her nails digging in just enough to ground herself. Alysa's almost glad for the slight pain, because it lets her ignore the real ache. She focuses instead on the way Isabeau is pulsing against her fingers, wonders if Isabeau’s heart is hammering against her ribs the same way.
"Not stopping," Alysa reassures, "but I don't wanna break you. So you're gonna have to be patient for me."
Her fingers slip up, and out, to tease her clit instead. She knows Isabeau will complain about the loss of stimulation, but it's her job to not overstimulate her. She has to be the responsible one. She's not just playing with her body, but her heart. Both of their hearts.
The moment the pressure of Alysa’s fingers shifts from inside her, Isabeau lets out a small, indignant whine. It’s a sound of pure, unbridled protest, her hips jerking upward as if trying to reclaim the fullness she just lost. But then she circles her clit and Isabeau's hiding her face in her neck again.
"It was... it was good there, too. Don't go too far," she murmurs.
It's not what Isabeau meant, really, but it's all that's on Alysa's mind. The thought of leaving, of the inevitable distance between California and New Jersey threatens to break her. When they're apart, when they're reminded that the world isn't just this bubble, will Isabeau even think of her? Will the experiment be over, her real, true feelings chalked up to dumb fun?
Alysa knows it isn't fair. Knows she's painting Isabeau as some villain when she isn't. Even if this didn't, couldn't, mean as much to her as it does to Alysa. But she's always had this fear of being forgotten once she's gone. She doesn't want to be just a curious thought or a temporary distraction because of how gruelling the Olympics are. She wants to be the only thing Isabeau thinks about, even when they're apart.
Her thumb rubs down, and it makes Isabeau shudder, thighs squeezing so hard Alysa wonders if she'll lose circulation. Alysa leans down, capturing Isabeau's lips in a kiss. She tastes so sweet somehow, even with the salty tears that get caught up between their mouths.
Isabeau's eyes flutter open to find the gold medalist’s face mere inches away. Out of sheer dumb luck, Isabeau doesn't seem to clock Alysa's mascara running. Or at least doesn't know it's not from the physical exertion, mind too lost in the sensory overload, too caught up in pleasure to decode Alysa's knotted thoughts.
"Wait," she gasps against Alysa’s lips. The kiss is a lifeline, a way to stifle the needy sounds she’s making, but her body is a traitor, pulsing rhythmically against Alysa’s hand. "Alysa, 'm so close. Please."
And when she asks like that, how could Alysa refuse? She’s a creature of instinct when it comes to Isabeau. A mess driven by the dopamine rush and the intoxicating closeness of the girl she adores most in the world.
She returns to the kiss deep and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that tastes of unsaid things. Registering just how much better Isabeau's gotten at kissing, from the hesitant yet curious presses to the side of her mouth at the start, to this.
Alysa’s thumb remains at her bundle of nerves, beginning a steady, teasing rhythm. Isabeau’s once-protests melt into soft moans. She reaches up, her fingers tangling in the dark strands of Alysa’s hair at the back of her nape, pulling her closer as if she could physically merge their two bodies into one.
Her fingers slide back. No more teasing, slipping inside Isabeau like coming back home. And only when Alysa is back inside does she feel satisfied. Isabeau’s breath hitches, caught in the back of her throat, as the fullness returns to soothe the ache she’d been protesting.
"Alysa... oh God," Isabeau whimpers, her head tossing back against the pillows, pulling back from this kiss so fast that Alysa's smiley scratches her lips. "Just like that."
Her hips move in a frantic, instinctive dance, trying to meet Alysa's hand with everything she has. Hovering on the precipice, the tension in her muscles building toward a crescendo that feels inevitable. Like she’s spinning too fast in a whirlwind, beautiful and terrifying, impossibly exhilarating. Or leaping full force into a jump you haven't prepared to land. Knuckles white as she pulls at Alysa's hair.
This thing between them ends the way it started. Without anyone else knowing.
