ask: can u pls write smut for Top Alysa and fem Model reader she met at an awardshow or something like that
author's note: hiiii! i got this ask and lowk wanted to write more for alysa so here you go. i have one more request for a medieval!alysa, so i'll do that after! reqs are open!
masterlist || wattpad || tiktok
Lights flash and cameras shutter as you walk up the red steps of The Met Gala entrance hall. Celebrities are everywhere, paparazzi calling their names as they walk by, posing for pictures. You have a share of your own attention, hoards of men and women holding cameras up to their faces shout your name, and you turn towards them, smiling and waving as the flashes go off.
You're a mainstream model, definitely well known, but by no means a Kim Kardashian or Taylor Swift. Hell no. You're slightly lower, at like Jennifer Lawrence's level of popularity, and you honestly prefer it that way.
Making your way through the enormous tented hall, various media companies stop and ask you for interviews, but none catch your eye, until her.
Smiling, you recognize her hair before you even see her face, and suddenly you're standing up a little straighter, a smile playing on your lips as Alysa Liu makes her way over, a microphone in hand.
"Oh my gosh, hi- of course," You say, a soft laugh slipping out as she grins up at you, gesturing for you to follow. She's shorter than you thought, but you can't help but notice the way she moves like she's meant to be here. "I'm like obsessed with your Olympics free skate performance," You add, a little more casually than you feel.
She glances back, surprised- really surprised- and it makes something warm fill in your chest. "You watched it?" She asks, almost disbelieving.
"Yes! Are you kidding? I've watched it like an embarrassing amount of times," Just weeks before, you'd been holed up on your couch with your best friends, ice cream in hand, as you watched Alysa both on your TV screen and edits of her on your TikTok, both of you giggling about how you'd totally get with her if you could. Your entire FYP is practically just Alysa's edits. And you definitely aren't mad about it. "You're kind of hard to ignore, you know," You add, teasingly, but you can't help but notice the way her cheeks turn slightly red.
"Honesty, I forget that like half of America watched it," She mumbles, positioning you in front of the camera set up, her hand brushes yours slightly, just enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. "Okay, you ready?" Shifting from her flustered, giggling persona, she's calm and serious now. More masculine yet feminine in a way you'd only seen in her performances. You'd definitely be lying if you said it didn't slightly turn you on.
Nodding at her, Alysa gives the cue to start the cameras up.
“So,” Alysa starts, glancing down at her notes before looking back up at you. “What inspired your look tonight?”
You hum, pretending to think, but your eyes stay on hers. “Honestly? I think I was going for something that would get your attention.”
She blinks, caught off guard, a small laugh slipping out. “My attention?”
“Did it work?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.
“…Yeah,” she admits, quieter this time, before clearing her throat and turning slightly toward the camera again. “Yeah, I’d say it did.”
“Um, uh," She flits her eyes down at her notes again, clearly distracted. "Who are you wearing tonight?”
"Versace," You nod, leaning in slightly.
She holds eye contact for a second too long before asking the next question. “How are you feeling walking into a room like this tonight?”
"Definitely nervous," You laugh, motioning to all the paparazzi surrounding you. "But honestly, it's the people that make it better. Just being able to have that human connection sort of grounds me in a way."
Nodding, she goes to read the next question off her list, but you're quick to ask your own before you can even think.
“Okay, wait, what about you? You can’t ask me that and not answer.”
Starting to protest, you hold a finger up, shaking your head. "What would you ask me if you weren’t on camera?”
She stops for a second before answering, smirking up at you. "For your number to be honest."
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That interview was one of the best and worst things you possibly could have done that night. One, the woman is a fucking smokeshow, and your small crush morphed into a giant one after seeing her in person. Two, you have a giant crush, and you don't have her number.
The cameras cut shortly after Alysa asked for your number, which you stupidly didn't reply to, only brushing it off as if she was joking. She was just joking, right?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wrong. You're soooo wrong.
You can't even see her face as she buries her tongue inside your pussy, her tongue working in a smooth rythum, gently circling your clit while her hand pumps in and out.
"Ohmygod yes," You mumble, your chest heaving as she hitches your leg further onto her shoulder. Thank fuck for single-stalled bathrooms at the Met.
The utter sound of her fingers bottoming inside you is fucking insane, filling the bathroom along with little breathy sounds.
"Fuck baby," She moans, the sound guttural and delicious against your sopping center.
Her pace quickens slightly as her hands scissor inside of you as she pulls out, fast to dive right back in again. You feel your core tighten, that familiar feeling rising as you grab her hair, tugging.
The two of you are an absolute mess by now, her dress gone, her nipples swollen and pink from the attention you gave them earlier, both of your hair tousled from the pulling, and your makeup messed up. Her face and neck are covered with lipstick marks, your body is adorned with teeth imprints, and the familiar blooming of hickies.
Cum drips down your legs and onto her face as you cry out, your orgasm falling through you.
