Bethany Richardson × Sena Hovetz [ONESHOT]
☆ 562 word count — WLW, Opposites Attract, High School/College, Mean Girl × Soft Girl Dynamic.
It was past 8:00 PM, and the school was mostly a ghost town, save for the rhythm of a heavy, rhythmic bass echoing from the cheer team's boombox at one end of the campus, and the soft, rhythmic swish of a satin ribbon at the other.
Sena caught her breath, her chest rising and falling beneath her pastel pink leotard. She caught the wooden stick of her ribbon perfectly, winding the fabric around her forearm with practiced grace. She loved the quiet of the late-night practices. No coaches, no judgment—just her and the flow of her own body.
"You know, for someone who spends all day bending into pretzels, you'd think you'd have better posture when you're just standing there."
Sena jumped, dropping her ribbon.
Leaning against the double doors of the gym was Bethany Richardson. She was still in her full cheer uniform—pleated skirt, tight shell top, hair tied up in a high, aggressive ponytail with a bow that looked like a weapon. Her arms were crossed, a trademark smirk plastered across her face.
"Bethany," Sena breathed, her heart doing a frantic little flip that had absolutely nothing to do with being startled. "What are you doing here? Don't the cheerleaders have the main stadium tonight?"
"We did. But the girls were driving me insane, and I needed a break from being perfect," Bethany said, sauntering into the gym. The heavy thud of her white cheer sneakers contrasted sharply with Sena’s bare feet. She stopped just an inch too close, looking down at Sena with those sharp, calculating eyes. "Besides, I wanted to see what the ribbon girl does when nobody’s watching."
Sena flushed, reaching down to retrieve her ribbon. "I’m a rhythmic gymnast, Bethany. It's not just 'ribbon'."
"Whatever." Bethany reached out, her manicured fingers catching the edge of Sena's chin, tilting her face up. The sudden touch sent a bolt of static electricity straight down Sena's spine. "You're cute when you get defensive."
Sena’s breath hitched. Bethany was notorious for her sharp tongue and ice-queen persona on campus, but whenever they were alone, that icy demeanor melted into something dangerous, teasing, and entirely intoxicating.
"Are you just here to mock me, or did you actually want something?" Sena whispered, her eyes darting down to Bethany’s glossy lips.
"Maybe a little bit of both," Bethany murmured. Her smirk softened into something darker, more intense. She let her hand slide down from Sena's chin, her thumb tracing the sensitive skin of her neck, feeling the rapid flutter of Sena’s pulse. "You think you're so innocent, Sena. All soft smiles and pastel colors. But I see how you look at me during pep rallies."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sena lied, though her voice trembled.
"Oh, really?" Bethany stepped even closer, trapping Sena between her own body and the equipment table behind them. The scent of Bethany’s expensive vanilla perfume enveloped her. "So you weren't watching me lead the halftime routine last Friday? You weren't staring when I did that layout?"
Sena swallowed hard. She had been staring. Everyone stared at Bethany, but Sena looked at her because under all that mean-girl armor, she knew how fiercely passionate Bethany was.
"You're a good flyer, Bethany," Sena managed to say, trying to maintain her composure.
"I'm the best," Bethany corrected flatly, but her eyes darkened as she looked at Sena's lips. "But right now, I don't care about cheer."
Bethany closed the remaining distance, burying her hands in Sena’s soft, loose hair and pulling her into a kiss.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. Bethany kissed the way she lived—demanding, dominant, and intense. Sena let out a soft gasp into the kiss, which was all the invitation Bethany needed to deepen it, her tongue sliding past Sena's lips, tasting of mint and sweet lip gloss.
Sena’s hands found their way to Bethany’s waist, gripping the firm fabric of her cheer uniform. For someone so soft, Sena’s grip was strong—the product of years of core strength and athletic training. She pulled Bethany flush against her, groaning softly as Bethany’s hips pressed forward.
"God, Sena," Bethany muttered against her mouth, breaking the kiss for just a fraction of a second to trail her lips down Sena's jawline to the crook of her neck. She nipped at the sensitive skin there, making Sena arch her back, a quiet, breathless sound escaping her lips.
"Beth—someone might see," Sena whispered, even as her fingers tangled into the roots of Bethany's high ponytail, pulling her closer.
"Let them look," Bethany growled softly, her hands sliding down Sena’s back, mapping the flawless, toned curves of her leotard. "Let them see exactly who you belong to."
The mean-girl attitude was still there, but it was wrapped in a fierce, possessive heat that made Sena’s knees go weak. Bethany lifted Sena onto the edge of the equipment table, stepping between her thighs. The contrast was striking—the rigid, sharp lines of the cheerleader and the fluid, yielding grace of the gymnast, locking together like missing puzzle pieces.
Bethany looked up, her blue eyes burning with a mixture of affection and raw desire. She reached up, gently wiping a smudge of her own lipstick from Sena’s flushed lips.
"You're too good for this place," Bethany said, her voice dropping its sharp edge entirely, leaving behind a rare, genuine vulnerability. "You're too good for me."
Sena smiled softly, her heart aching with a sudden rush of romance. She leaned down, cupping Bethany’s face in both of her hands. "I don't care about 'too good'. I just want you. Even when you're a brat."
Bethany let out a short, breathy laugh, her cheeks tinting pink. "Shut up and kiss me again."
And Sena did, pulling the fierce cheerleader back into a slow, deep, and utterly dizzying kiss, the rest of the world fading into the quiet rhythm of the empty gym.